The Final Touch. Бетти Нилс

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СКАЧАТЬ She ate the lunch Zuster Hengstma brought to her but she had no intention of going to sleep. Lying in bed on her day off was a complete waste of time; she would go along to the nurses sitting-room and see what was on TV. She pushed the tray to one side and lay thinking about the rest of her day. When the warden slipped into the room ten minutes or so later Charity was asleep.

       She was still asleep when the professor came to take another look at her. He nodded his satisfaction, handed the flowers he had brought to Zuster Hengstma and left a pile of magazines and books on the bedside table.

       ‘Just keep her in bed for breakfast,’ he suggested. ‘She can get up and dress during the morning. I’ll be along to see her about noon.’

       The directrice had accompanied him this time, a stern-visaged lady with a heart of gold which was never allowed to show. She stood looking down at Charity, lying there with her hair all over the pillow, her mouth slightly open, her poor scorched hands lying neatly on the coverlet.

       ‘We must let her see that we appreciate her bravery, Professor.’

       ‘Indeed we must. If she is fit tomorrow I shall take her out to lunch.’ He ignored her sharp look. ‘And is there any way in which her clothes can be replaced? Could you suggest that she is covered by insurance or something similar?’

       The directrice’s stern mouth twitched. ‘I’m sure that I can think of something, Mr van der Brons.’

       They went away together and when Charity awoke it was to see Zuster Hengstma standing by the bed with the tea tray.

       ‘The professor came again,’ explained that lady. ‘He has brought you flowers and books and after tea you may have visitors.’

       The flowers were beautiful and the books would keep her happy for hours. And visitors… She wondered just for a moment if Cor would come and see her and then dismissed the thought.

       Of course he didn’t, but several of the nurses came, eager to hear all about the fire and her part in it, being friendly and kind and talking a lot so that by the time she had had her supper she was ready for bed again. She lay back against the extra pillows the warden had brought for her, dipping into the books and glancing every now and then at the vase of lilac, carnations, roses and freesias on the dressing table. Mr van der Brons was really very kind, she thought sleepily: he didn’t say much but somehow he didn’t need to; he was the kind of person one could confide in without feeling a fool. She began to wonder what kind of life he led away from the hospital. It would be interesting to know, but she thought it unlikely that she ever would; he wasn’t a talkative man and to try to find out about him from other people seemed sneaky.

       She put down the books and turned off the bedside light. When she saw him again on duty she must thank him for his kindness. He must have been thinking of his sister in Edinburgh, she thought sleepily, a little muddled in the head, but knowing exactly what she meant.

       She closed her eyes and thought about the next day; she had been told to stay in bed for breakfast but after that she would go out and buy a new coat. Grey or brown, she debated, useful colours which would go with everything she had; she would have to spend the money she had earmarked for a dress and boots. It was her last waking, regretful thought.

      CHAPTER THREE

      EXCEPT for the backs of her hands, Charity felt quite herself when she woke up the following morning. Having breakfast brought to her in her bed seemed quite unnecessary, but a treat she had seldom enjoyed. Zuster Hengstma fussed around her, chattering away in Dutch just as though Charity understood every word, and, since she was a kind-hearted woman, Charity made no bones about trying out her own version of the Dutch language.

       Zuster Hengstma patted her shoulder. ‘Your Dutch is good,’ she said not quite truthfully, ‘and it will be better. Now you may get up if you wish. The directrice will come and see you later.’

       So Charity dressed herself and settled down to read one of the books. When the directrice had been she would take herself off for the rest of the day, somewhere quiet; the Amsterdam Historic Museum would do nicely and one of the nurses had told her that there was a restaurant there—she could have a snack lunch before going in search of a new coat. Having decided what to do with the rest of her day, she opened the copy of Jane Eyre which Mr van der Brons had sent, reflecting that it was a happy surprise that the books were all very much to her taste.

       The directrice came shortly after eleven o’clock, accompanied by Mr van der Brons, who wished her a civil good morning, hoped that she had slept well, gave her hands a quick look and then stood by the window, staring out at the wintry day, which gave the directrice an opportunity to enquire in her turn as to Charity’s health.

       ‘I am delighted that you were not more seriously hurt,’ she told her, ‘and I must commend you upon your courage and quick thinking. You have ruined your coat, I am told. Perhaps you do not know that our nurses are insured against mishap of any sort, so that within a short time you will receive a sum sufficient to replace what you have lost. In the meantime, if you present yourself at the secretary’s office today or tomorrow an advance payment will be made so that you may purchase a coat without any delay.’

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