Pineapple Girl. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ she knew that the happiness would be dimmed before long—Mrs Pringle had put a brave face on things, but there were going to be days when she wouldn’t feel so good, when Eloise would have to coax and encourage and somehow rekindle the spark of hope every patient had tucked away inside them. And there was always the possibility, however remote, that Mrs Pringle might make a recovery—it could happen, no one knew why, and it didn’t happen often, but it was something to bear in mind and work for.

      Her patient was in the back of the car; if she were secretly worried about herself, no trace of it showed on her face. She told the driver to stow the luggage in the boot, invited Eloise to get in beside her and exclaimed happily: ‘I’m so thrilled at the idea of going home! I’ve been thinking of some of the things we might do together, but first I must tell you about your mother. I left her looking ten years younger and so happy—she sent her love and said you were to enjoy yourself. Such a dear creature and not changed at all, which is more than I can say for your aunt—how lucky she is to have you, Eloise. I always wanted a daughter. Of course it’s lovely having Pieter, but he doesn’t live at home.’ She sighed. ‘We always said that we would have six children.’

      ‘Mother wanted a large family…’

      ‘Yes. Ah, well, perhaps when you marry you’ll make up for it and have a pack of them—that will please her, though it’s not fashionable.’

      ‘Pooh,’ declared Eloise, ‘who cares about fashion?’ and just for a moment she saw herself, surrounded by several quite beautiful children, with a pleasant house in the background and an enormous garden, and somewhere close by, but regrettably vague, a husband. She might have elaborated on his appearance, only her companion was speaking again.

      ‘Well be met at Schiphol—Cor will be there with the car—this one is hired; as you know. It won’t take long to drive home from there—it’s less than a hundred and fifty miles. The village where we live is called Scharmerbloem—it’s small, but then you like the country, don’t you, dear? Just a few houses and a church. Groningen is only ten miles away, though.’

      ‘And your doctor—does he live in Groningen?’

      ‘Well, he has his consulting rooms there and beds in the hospital, but he lives quite close by us, by the side of a charming lake called Schildermeer. The village is called Oostersum—it’s as small as ours.’ She paused, ‘We do depend on our cars, of course, as although the main road isn’t too far away, it’s a good walk, though once you’re there the bus service is good.’

      They were threading their way through the London traffic towards the airport and Mrs Pringle glanced out of the window rather wistfully so that Eloise said quickly: ‘Of course you’ll be coming back in a month or so for a check-up, won’t you? Sir Arthur would want that.’

      ‘Yes, although he did suggest that he might come and see me—he’s an old friend of our doctor and it would give him an excuse to visit him.’

      ‘What a good idea! I expect your doctor knows everything there is to know about you, Mrs Pringle?’

      ‘Yes, dear, and I’ve great faith in him; he’s quiet and solid and sure of himself.’

      Eloise decided silently that probably he was big-headed; quite likely he wouldn’t take kindly to giving instructions to a foreign nurse. It was to be hoped that his English was adequate. She reflected uneasily that she had better get herself a dictionary and learn a few vital words of the Dutch language. In a way it was a pity that she wouldn’t be wearing uniform; a nurse never seemed a nurse unless she was in an apron and cap. As though her companion had read her thoughts, Mrs Pringle observed. ‘I’ve got some white dresses for you, dear—you don’t mind? There’s that dressing, and just in case I should have to stay in bed…’

      ‘How thoughtful of you, Mrs Pringle. I’ll wear uniform all the time if you want me to.’

      Her companion was shocked. ‘Good heavens, no, dear—you’re on holiday, at least, more or less—besides, I don’t want any of my friends to know about me. I shall say that you’re the daughter of an old friend come to spend a couple of weeks with us—will that do?’

      ‘Very well, I should think.’ Eloise looked out of the window. ‘We’re almost there; I’m quite excited, I’ve not been in a plane before.’

      Mrs Pringle was looking at herself in a pocket mirror. ‘I hate them,’ she said, ‘but they’re quick. The driver will see to our luggage and if I give you the tickets do you think you could cope?’

      It was all a little strange but straightforward enough; Eloise coped and presently found herself sitting beside Mrs Pringle, watching the runway under the plane slide away at an alarming speed. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, so she looked away and didn’t look again until they had left the ground beneath them.

      It was similar to travelling in a bus, she discovered, and once over her initial uneasiness, she peered down through the gaps in the cloud and saw that they were already over the water. It seemed no time at all before her companion pointed out the Dutch coast, flat and very tidy, far below them, the sea frothing endlessly at its unending sands.

      Mijnheer Pringle was waiting for them and at first sight Eloise was disappointed; she hadn’t met him before, but his wife had always spoken of him with such warmth that Eloise had formed a picture of a commanding man, handsome and self-assured. And here he was, short, middle-aged and a little stout, with a round cheerful face from which the hair was receding, and not in the least good-looking. Nor was he commanding, although the porter seemed to treat him with respect. He embraced his wife carefully as though she were something precious and porcelain and then turned to Eloise, to shake her hand with a surprisingly hard grip and bid her welcome in fluent English. ‘The car’s here,’ he said, and took his wife’s arm. ‘Shall we go straight home or would you like to stop somewhere for coffee?’ He looked anxious. ‘Should you rest for an hour or two, Debby? We could go to an hotel.’

      Mrs Pringle gave him a loving look. ‘I never felt better, Cor.’ She glanced at Eloise. ‘We had a very quiet flight, didn’t we, dear? and I’d love to go home…’

      Mijnheer Pringle drove well, his wife beside him and Eloise in the back of the car. He kept up a steady flow of conversation, pointing out anything which he thought might be of interest to her and making little jokes. He was as brave as his wife, and she liked him. When he asked: ‘Do you not wonder why I, a Dutchman, should have so English a name?’ she said, surprised: ‘Well, I never thought about it—but of course it is English, isn’t it? I’ve always said Mrs Pringle, but that’s wrong, isn’t it? It’s Mevrouw. But you’re Dutch, Mijnheer Pringle, so why…?’

      ‘My grandfather came here when he was a young man and married a Dutchwoman, and my father was of course born here and married a Dutchwoman in his turn, so that I am truly Dutch although I have married an Englishwoman—amusing, is it not?’ He added: ‘And my good fortune.’

      Eloise saw him glance sideways at his wife and smile; it must be marvellous to be loved like that; the kind of love which would surmount illness and worse. Perhaps somewhere in the world there was someone like Mijnheer Pringle waiting for her. It would be nice if he were tall and handsome, but that didn’t matter very much; it was being loved that mattered. She thought briefly of the very few young men who had shown any interest in her, and even that had been casual. She wasn’t eye-catching and she hadn’t been any good at pretending to love someone when she didn’t; they had found her amusing but shy and old-fashioned, and mostly treated her in a brotherly fashion, before long telling her all about some wonderful girl they had met and asking her advice. It had been a little lowering.

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