Sister Peters in Amsterdam. Бетти Нилс

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ their meal. It had been pleasant and homely and she would write a long letter home about it.

      It was very quiet in the clinic; Casualty was empty. She went along to her little office; she might as well start her letters, it would give her something to do. There was a parcel on her desk, wrapped in red paper patterned with robins, and tied with tinsel ribbon. Her name was on the label, written in the professor’s deplorable writing. Inside were three books: she looked at the authors—Jan de Hartog, Johan Fabricius, and Charles Dickens. She was relieved to see that they were all in English as she laid them on the desk before her. It was nice to be remembered; probably the professor had thought that she would miss the presents she would have had had she been in England. He was, she noticed, very considerate towards his staff. She had read quite a lot of A Christmas Carol when the phone rang. She picked up the receiver quickly, expecting a casualty call; instead, she heard the professor’s voice, sounding remote, wishing her a happy Christmas. She wished him one in return, and thanked him shyly for the books. She could hear a background of children laughing and shouting, and the steady murmur of voices, and pictured the family party gathered at his home; she supposed Freule Keizer was there too. Quite unbidden, a large lump came into her throat; she swallowed it desperately back and said in a steady voice: ‘I’m wanted on the other phone, sir. Goodbye.’

      After a minute or two she pulled herself together, chided herself for being such a spiritless goose, and went into the tiny clinic kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

      Two days after Christmas, the clinic opened again, and as was to be expected, it was packed. The waiting room was full to overflowing by nine o’clock, and Adelaide, feverishly hunting for notes and X-rays, hoped that they would get finished by first dinner. Punctual to the minute, the professor, accompanied by Piet Beekman, stalked in. He wished her good morning briskly and added briefly in a deceptively mild voice: ‘As fast as you like, Sister. I hope all the notes and X-rays are here; we have a full morning’s work.’

      Adelaide stiffened with resentment at the unfairness of his remark. She wasn’t a conceited girl, but she was aware that she did her work well. She shot him a cross look, wasted on his downbent head.

      Staff Nurse Wilsma, back from a well-earned coffee break, had brought Adelaide’s post with her. She took it gratefully, glancing at the envelopes before stuffing them behind her apron bib. One of them had an Amsterdam postmark. She wondered what it could be, but there was no time to look. Zuster Steensma was struggling in with a small boy who was screaming and kicking and hitting at her with his small fists. His mother scuttled in after them; she looked frightened as she dodged round them and took the chair in front of the desk. The professor looked up from his notes and smiled at her, but forbore to speak; he would not have been heard in the din.

      Adelaide handed Piet the examination tray she was holding and sailed across the room like a pocket battleship, plucked the small tyrant from the wilting nurse, and whisked him on to a couch. Admonishing him soundly for being such a bad boy, she removed his shoes and top clothes with the ease of long practice, evading his arms and legs with skill. He was so astonished that he stopped crying, and when he opened his mouth to start again, Adelaide pulled such a face that he burst out laughing instead.

      ‘Now be quiet,’ said Adelaide. She had discovered that the children responded just as well to English as Dutch; it was the tone of voice that mattered. There was quiet in the room. The professor murmured something to Dr Beekman, who laughed. They came over to the couch together, and Piet smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder.

      ‘It must be that hair of yours, Adelaide!’

      While they were drinking their coffee, she remembered her letters; there was no time to read them all, but she glanced at the two from England, then opened the Dutch one. The envelope was large and of very thick paper. There was an invitation inside from the professor’s aunt, for Old Year’s Night. She couldn’t understand quite all of it, and took it over to the professor.

      ‘My aunt,’ he said. ‘She has a party every year, and always invites my clinic Sister.’ He frowned at Piet’s astonished face, and not giving him the chance to speak, said, ‘You and Leen are going, aren’t you, Piet? You could take Sister along with you, couldn’t you?’

      ‘Yes, of course.’ He turned to Adelaide. ‘You’ll love it, it’s like Christmas and St Nicolaas rolled into one.’

      That evening, he told Leen about it. ‘There’s never been a clinic Sister invited to his aunt’s house before.’

      His wife laughed. ‘But, Piet, remember that Adelaide is a stranger here—I expect Coenraad thinks she deserves some fun while she’s in Holland.’

      Adelaide was ready and waiting when the Beekmans called for her. She had taken great care with her hair, the chestnut brown bow she wore in it exactly matched her velvet dress. It was last year’s, but it suited her anyway. She hadn’t been able to afford a new one. It was a bitter cold night, and they were thankful for the fragrant warmth which enveloped them as Bundle, the butler, ushered them into the hall of the Baroness’s house. A maid took the girls upstairs while Bundle took Piet’s coat and went in search of the professor, who followed him back into the hall.

      ‘Piet, before we begin the festivities, that case we admitted today…’ the two men became absorbed. Adelaide, coming downstairs with Leen, had ample opportunity of studying the professor in the hall below. She hadn’t seen him in a dinner jacket before; he looked very handsome. Her heart began to beat faster; he had never seen her out of uniform. The two men turned round, and the professor’s eyes swept over her and on to Leen. She doubted if he had even noticed that she wasn’t wearing her cap and apron. She said good evening in a small voice, and they all went into the salon where his aunt was standing. She greeted Adelaide pleasantly, and beckoned to Mijnheer de Wit, who was standing nearby, and asked him to take her round and introduce her to everyone. Adelaide went with him from group to group, murmuring her name as she had been taught, and trying to remember the names murmured back to her. Her hand was shaken so many times her arm began to ache. The old gentleman drew her on one side.

      ‘Now you know everyone, Miss Peters.’

      Adelaide shook her head. ‘I can’t remember a single face or name.’

      He laughed, and patted her arm. ‘Never mind, here’s someone you know anyway.’ He nodded towards the professor, who was crossing the room. Margriet Keizer was with him; she had an arm in his, and was chattering gaily. She looked charming, her green dress making Adelaide very aware of her own slightly out-of-date model. The head-to-heels glance Margriet gave her as they shook hands did nothing to improve Adelaide’s feelings, and she suddenly wished with all her heart that she had never come. She glanced around her; she just didn’t belong, these people were so obviously well-to-do and leisured and beautifully gowned. The thought that they might be pitying her, as Margriet was, pinkened her cheeks. She hated the professor’s aunt for inviting her; she hated him too, just because he was there, carelessly friendly and not in the least interested in her.

      They stood together in a small group, while she matched Margriet’s gaiety with a wholly false vivacity of her own. This put a strain on her usually retiring nature, and when a young man in a brocade waistcoat joined the group and asked her to dance, she accepted with pleasure. She didn’t much care for the owner of the waistcoat, who was, she suspected, younger than herself, but at least he wanted to dance with her. The professor had had ample opportunity to do the same if he had wished. She sensibly decided to enjoy herself. Her partner danced well, their steps suited, they circled the large room, and she took care to turn a smiling face in the professor’s direction. It was a pity that he wasn’t looking. He was dancing with Margriet.

      During the next hour or so she had frequent glimpses of him; she noted that he danced with a great number of the women guests, СКАЧАТЬ