Roses Have Thorns

At the hospital he got out and opened her door. He said stiffly, ‘My mother will be most grateful to you, Miss Fletcher. I am sure that you are no gossip, but I should be obliged to you if you will refrain from discussing our arrangement with anyone. The hospital manager will of course be in full possession of the facts.’

He got back into the car and drove away and she went back to her desk, five minutes late. It was unfortunate that the supervisor who headed the clerical staff was talking to Mrs Pearce. Miss Payne didn’t like Sarah, and here was an opportunity to tick her off for being late.

‘You mustn’t make a habit of these slovenly ways,’ said Miss Payne nastily. ‘I haven’t forgotten those three extra days you took with your last holidays on some trumped-up excuse. There are plenty of girls waiting to step into your shoes.’

Sarah didn’t answer; indeed, she wasn’t really listening, and Miss Payne turned back to Mrs Pearce, which left Sarah free to get ready for the afternoon’s influx of patients while she thought about Professor Nauta’s astonishing proposition. And what was more astonishing, she had agreed to it, and now that she had she felt excited. It would be wonderful to get out of the rut of her dull life for a couple of weeks; she began making plans as she ticked off names. She would raid the modest nest-egg in the bank and get some new clothes, something sensible that she could wear once the trip was over. There would be no need for anything other than blouses and skirts and a jacket; she would take her only decent dress to the cleaners on her way to work in the morning. Dove-grey wool jersey, timeless in its style and undoubtedly suitable.

The trickle of patients became a steady flow and then a flood and she had to call a halt to her plans.

* * *

IT WAS TWO days before she had any further news of her trip. She had got herself a passport, washed and pressed and ironed, polished her elderly baggage, but she hadn’t bought any clothes, not until she was quite certain… The Professor had taken his usual clinic, stalking past her desk without as much as a glance and, on his way out, accompanied by his registrar, he had paused briefly to say goodnight. Probably he hadn’t meant a word of it, she told Charles as she got their suppers. ‘And what a blessing I haven’t bought any new clothes,’ she observed rather crossly. ‘Oh, well, we’ll have to keep each other company, won’t we?’ She paused as she made the tea. ‘And another thing—I wouldn’t have taken two weeks’ holiday at this time of year…’

There was an envelope on her desk the following morning. It contained flight tickets, instructions and the address of where she was going. She would be met at Schiphol, the Professor wrote in his crabbed handwriting, and she would find her expenses enclosed. He hoped that she would be agreeable to her fee being paid weekly. The size of it sent her mousy eyebrows soaring. His granny must be a handful…

Her holiday had been allowed, and, if she would present herself at the hospital entrance at half-past seven on the following Saturday, a taxi would convey her to Heathrow. Charles would be fetched on Friday evening, and he trusted that she would consent to that. It was signed, without protestations of sincerity or faith, Radolf Nauta. Very businesslike, thought Sarah, but she hadn’t expected anything less.

She put the envelope into her handbag in the drawer, and applied herself to the morning’s work. Her holiday, by some lucky chance, was to start from noon on Friday—overtime, stated the slip she had had from the office—if she went without lunch and was lucky with buses she would be able to go to Oxford Street and replenish her wardrobe. Mrs Pearce and Mrs Drew wished her goodbye with ill-concealed curiosity. Sarah never went anywhere, not even on holidays, and beyond telling them that she would be going away she had said nothing. They settled back behind their desks when she had gone and speculated about it; they came up with any number of ideas, most of them far-fetched, but not as far-fetched as the truth.

Sarah got on a bus and took herself to Oxford Street, where she found herself a sensible pleated skirt in a useful shade of brown, a neat little jacket to go with it and a couple of drip-dry blouses. They did nothing to enhance her appearance, but they were suitable. A word she had come to loathe. Perhaps one day, she promised herself, her little nose very close to a shop window while she studied the latest fashions for the younger woman, she would take the whole of her nest-egg and spend the lot, and never mind the rainy day.

She hadn’t been told who was to fetch Charles; she got out his shabby basket and put it ready, gave him an extra-special supper and sat down to wait. By eight o’clock no one had arrived, so she started to get her supper. ‘And if no one comes,’ she assured the animal, ‘I shan’t budge from here, so you don’t need to worry.’

She was opening a can of beans when someone knocked on her door. The Professor stood there. ‘I’ve come to collect Charles.’

She stood aside for him to squeeze past her. ‘Good evening, Professor Nauta,’ she said pointedly—quite lost on him, for he was examining her room with the air of a man who didn’t find it to his taste.

‘You live here?’ he asked.

A silly question—she wished she could think of a silly answer. She said, ‘Yes.’ And then, remembering her manners, ‘Will you sit down? Would you like a cup of coffee?’

‘Thank you, no. I’m now on my way home; I’ll hand Charles over as I go.’

She said urgently, ‘You’re sure he’ll be all right? Properly looked after?’

‘Quite sure.’

She picked up Charles, tucked him into his basket and fastened the lid, and he put a paw through the hole at the side and she held it for a moment. ‘Be good,’ she begged him. ‘It’s only for a little while.’

If the Professor hadn’t been watching her with the faintest of sneers on his mouth, she would have wept; Charles was, after all, her companion in a lonely life. As it was, she closed her gentle mouth firmly and handed him the basket.

‘I promise you that he will be most lovingly cared for,’ said the Professor, surprising her, ‘and when you return all you need to do is phone this number—’ he gave her a slip of paper ‘—and he will be returned to you at once.’

She was lonely that night without Charles’ portly form curled up at the bottom of the divan; it was a relief when she got up and had her breakfast and then got ready to leave. Mrs Potter, the landlady who lived in the basement, poked her head round the basement stairs to see her go. ‘I’ll keep your room, ducks!’ she shouted, quite unnecessarily since Sarah had paid her rent for the two weeks she would be away. ‘And ’ave a good time—meet a jolly bloke and ’ave some fun.’

Sarah thought it unlikely that there would be any jolly blokes near Granny. One never knew, of course; she fell into a pleasant daydream as she walked to the hospital: she would meet a man, handsome, rich, and he would fall instantly in love with her. It would be nice to go back to her bedsit a married woman, although of course if she married she wouldn’t go back, would she? He would have to like cats…

The taxi was waiting for her. She wished the driver good morning, got in and was borne away to Heathrow and in due course found herself sitting—to her surprise—in a first-class seat of a KLM plane.

Accepting the coffee she was offered, she looked around her. Everyone else looked as though he or she flew to Schiphol every day as a matter of course—they even waved away the coffee in a bored kind of way and buried their noses in books. Sarah, who had never flown before, looked out of the window. There was nothing to see, only white and grey cloud; she wasn’t sure that she felt quite safe, but it was an experience.

With the other passengers, she was processed through Schiphol, past Passport Control and Customs, who ignored both her and her case, and finally into the vast hall filled with passengers hurrying to and fro, coming and going with a confidence which made her feel suddenly a little scared. Supposing no one met her? The Professor had failed to give her a description of whoever it would be—indeed, now she came to think about it, she wasn’t quite sure just where she was to go. There had been nothing about that in the envelope, although he had muttered some unintelligible name when she had asked him. She stood where she had been instructed to stand, by the enquiries desk, and tried to look as though she knew what she would be doing next.

The man who stopped in front of her was short and stout, with a round face under a peaked cap. It was a nice face, friendly and solid, and his little blue eyes twinkled. ‘Miss Fletcher? I am Mevrouw Nauta’s chauffeur, and if you will come with me I will drive you to her house.’

He offered a hand and she shook it. ‘Oh, you speak English, I was wondering what I would do if no one understood me.’

‘English is spoken freely in Holland, Miss Fletcher. If you will come?’ He picked up her case and led her outside to where an old-fashioned Daimler, beautifully kept, was parked.

‘May I sit with you?’ asked Sarah. ‘And will you tell me your name?’

‘Hans, miss.’ He settled her in the front seat and got in beside her. ‘It is quite a long drive. I am instructed to stop on the way so that you may have coffee.’

He was driving away from the airport, and Sarah said, ‘I’m not quite sure where it is—where I am to go. Professor Nauta told me, but it sounded a strange name and I didn’t like to ask him again…’

‘In the north, miss, just south of Leeuwarden—that is in Friesland.’

He had turned on to the motorway. ‘We shall travel on the motorway for almost the whole way so that you will see little of Holland, and that is a pity, but perhaps before you go again you will have a chance.’

‘You speak English very well.’

‘I have lived in England, and I drive Mevrouw Nauta to see the Professor frequently.’

‘Mevrouw Nauta is English?’ She glanced at him. ‘Please don’t mind my asking questions; it would help me if I knew something of the people I am to work for.’

‘She is English, miss, married to Mijnheer Nauta. He is also a physician, like his son, but now he works only at times. It is his mother whom you are to be with, I am told… An old lady, very old and very ill also. It is expected that she will die within a very short time, and she wished to be with her family.’

‘The house—is it in the country?’

‘Yes, by a small village, very quiet.’ He sent the car speeding ahead. ‘We circle Amsterdam, and travel north and across the dyke of the Ijsselmeer, but we will stop for coffee before we cross to Friesland.’

Sarah watched the outskirts of Amsterdam slip past. She didn’t like to ask any more questions, but at least she knew where she was going. She settled down to enjoy the ride, although just for the moment there wasn’t a great deal to see. But presently they left the city behind them, went through Purmerend and started on the stretch of motorway to Hoorn and the dyke, and Hans took care to point out everything which he thought might interest her as they went. They stopped at a pleasant restaurant only a few miles from the great sluice gates leading to the Afsluitdijk. Sarah asked Hans to have his coffee with her, and they spent a pleasant twenty minutes while he told her about his life in England, although he had nothing more to say about his employers.

On the dijk Sarah felt a pleasant excitement. She could see the land ahead of them, and in another half-hour or so they would be there. Supposing they didn’t like her? Supposing Mevrouw Nauta’s sudden wish to employ her had undergone a change? Supposing the old lady didn’t like her? And that would be worse.

On land again, Hans cast her a sidelong look. ‘No need to be nervous, miss. It is a happy family, and kind.’

Sarah, unable to imagine the Professor either particularly happy or kind, had her doubts.

They reached Franeker, and Hans turned off the road on to a narrow country road leading into a vista of flat green fields and small canals. Here and there villages, each with its vast church, were planted, screened by trees. He drove for several miles and the country changed, became more wooded, and in places there were glimpses of water.

‘There are many lakes,’ said Hans. ‘These are very small, and beyond Sneek they are large and lead one to the other.’

They were nearing another village, its red roofs surrounding the church and ringed around by trees. ‘Baardwerd,’ said Hans. ‘We have arrived.’

He drove through the tiny place and turned in through open gates and along a short drive. The house at the end of it was painted white, its many windows shuttered, and a double stairway led to its front door. Its roof was steep, with a clock over the wrought-iron balcony above the door. Sarah hadn’t known what to expect; she had imagined several likely houses: red brick villas, a comfortable country house like her own home had been, even a narrow town house with a gabled roof. None of them as grand as this. She got out of the car, her heart beating rather too quickly from nerves.

CHAPTER TWO

WITH HANS CLOSE behind her, Sarah mounted the steps and found the door open and a tall, bony middle-aged woman standing there. The woman said something in Dutch and offered a hand, and Sarah took it gratefully as Hans said, ‘This is my wife, Nel. She is housekeeper and speaks no English, but you will understand each other.’

Nel and Sarah smiled at each other hopefully as Hans opened the inner door of the lobby and ushered her into the hall. It was large and square with panelled walls and a very large chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. The black and white marble floor was exactly what anyone, having seen the pictures of Dutch interiors so often painted by the Dutch Old Masters, would have expected. The furniture was right, too: old chests, heavily carved, and massive armchairs capable of seating giants. Sarah followed Nel across the hall to the big double doors at one side, and was urged inside.

The room was just as vast as the hall, except there was no chandelier, only wall sconces and reading-lamps shaded in a delicate peach silk, and the furniture was a nice mixture of comfortable sofas and armchairs together with imposing display cabinets. The floor was carpeted and there was a fire burning under the hooded chimney-piece, so despite its grandeur it looked lived-in, almost homely.

Mevrouw Nauta got out of her chair by the fire as Nel stood aside and Sarah walked on alone.

‘Miss Fletcher,’ Mevrouw Nauta surged towards her and took her hand. ‘I—we are delighted to see you and we are so grateful to you for giving up your holidays in order to help us.’ She paused to say something to Nel, who went away. ‘I’m sure you would like a cup of coffee… We lunch at half-past twelve, so there is just time for you to see your room and have a little chat. You must find all this very confusing, but I have these strong feelings and I always act upon them. I simply felt sure that you were exactly right for my husband’s mother. She was brought back from hospital just an hour ago, and is resting quietly. You shall meet her presently—’ She broke off as Nel came back with a young girl carrying a tray of coffee. ‘Sit down, Miss Fletcher—must we call you that? Do you mind if we use your Christian name?’

‘Sarah,’ said Sarah. Mevrouw Nauta gave her the feeling that she was sitting in a strong wind—not unpleasant, but a bit overwhelming. She wondered fleetingly if the woman’s son felt the same way, although if he had grown up with her he would be used to it. The door opened and a tall, elderly man came in, undoubtedly the Professor’s father. He was white-haired and very slightly stooping, but had the same nose and blue eyes. Sarah, introduced, bade him a serene, ‘How do you do?’ and listened while he made her welcome. His voice was so like his son’s that if she shut her eyes it could have been the Professor speaking…

‘No sinecure,’ he was saying. ‘I hope Radolf made that clear. My mother is a fiery old lady even in these, the last days of her life. But I—and my son—have great faith in my wife’s intuition; I feel sure that you will cope admirably. We are most grateful.’

She drank her coffee from paper-thin china, and presently was borne away by Nel. ‘If you would like to unpack,’ suggested Mevrouw Nauta junior, ‘and return here, we will have lunch together before I take you to Mevrouw Nauta’s room.’ She hesitated. ‘I think probably Radolf did not mention free time and so on? I thought not. I must warn you that, if Mevrouw Nauta takes a fancy to you, it will be necessary for you to take any time to yourself while she is resting—she sleeps a good deal but she is difficult to sedate, and day and night are much the same to her.’

Sarah followed Nel up the grand staircase, reflecting that, however difficult the old lady was, it was only for a fortnight, and with the extra money from her fees she would take herself off for a walking holiday weekend in the Cotswolds later in the year. And really, when she saw the room Nel ushered her into, she decided that she had no reason to quibble however difficult the old lady was. It was large and high-ceilinged, with two long windows and a door between them opening on to a balcony. The carpet underfoot was deep and soft, and the furnishings were in a restful mushroom-pink with pink patterned curtains and bedspread. The bed and dressing-table were in the style of Sheraton, and there was a dear little writing-desk between the windows and a small armchair drawn up to a reading-table. She had a brief vision of her bedsit in London—the contrast was cruel, and there was no point in making it. She peeped into the adjoining bathroom, which was peach-pink and white, its fluffy towels, bowls of soap and bottles of lotions calling forth a sigh of pleasure from her, and then she started to unpack. It didn’t take long; she tidied herself and went down the staircase, feeling nervous. Hans was in the hall, and he ushered her into the drawing-room again. The Nautas gave her a drink, and engaged her in gentle talk until they crossed the hall to the dining-room, where she sat between them at a large, round mahogany table, eating the delicious food before her and keeping up her end of the conversation. After they had had their coffee she was led back upstairs, but this time they turned away from the gallery which overlooked the hall and went down a wide corridor. At a door halfway along it, Mevrouw Nauta paused. ‘I should have told you—it may be necessary for you to stay up late or get up in the night, so we have turned a small dressing-room next to my mother-in-law’s room into a bedroom for you, so that if you think it necessary you can sleep there and be at hand. We hope that there will be no need of that; we do not expect you to stay with her for twenty-four hours at a time, but as she grows weaker…’

‘I understand, Mevrouw Nauta—I won’t leave her if she wants my company.’

The room they entered was at the back of the house overlooking the garden, which sloped away in a vast sweep of lawn to a belt of trees. It was a very large room and the small four-poster bed against one wall was almost dwarfed by its size, although it in its turn was dwarfing the tiny figure lying in it. The Professor’s grandmother was a very small lady, and frail. All the same, the eyes she turned on her visitors were still a vivid blue and her voice, a mere thread of sound, sounded decidedly ill-tempered.

Sarah didn’t understand what she said, but then she switched to English, fluent but heavily accented. ‘So you’re the girl my son has decided I must have breathing down my neck. Well, my girl, I can’t say I’m glad to see you, for I’m not. Come over here so that I can look at you.’

This is far worse than anything I had imagined, reflected Sarah, obligingly going to stand in a patch of sunlight. She stood still, looking a good deal calmer than she felt, and looked back at the cross face.

‘Well, why did you come?’ demanded the old lady.

‘Because I was asked to.’

‘You’re being paid? Too much, I’ll be bound.’

‘Of course I’m being paid, Mevrouw; as to whether it’s too much, I cannot say because I don’t know.’

‘Hmm—got a tongue in your head, too.’ The blue eyes turned upon Mevrouw Nauta junior. ‘Adele, go away while I talk to this girl.’

Mevrouw Nauta said something in a soothing tone and went away, and the old lady said briskly in her worn-out voice, ‘Get a chair and come and sit by me. What’s your name?’

‘Sarah.’ She sat obediently, and waited patiently while her companion closed her eyes and appeared to snooze for a few minutes.

‘I’m dying, do you know that?’

‘I have been told that you are very ill,’ said Sarah cautiously.

‘Have you met my grandson?’

‘Yes. I work in the hospital where he is a consultant.’

‘Like him?’

‘I don’t know him. I’m a clerk—’

‘No looks to speak of,’ muttered the old lady. ‘Nice eyes, doesn’t cringe, thank heaven. Give me a drink, Sarah.’ The water revived her. ‘Radolf isn’t married.’ She gave a naughty cackle of laughter. ‘Setting your cap at him?’

Sarah laughed. ‘Good gracious, no. He doesn’t like me overmuch, you know, and I only work at the clinic where he’s the consultant. I think perhaps you don’t quite understand—we don’t move in the same circles.’

‘No looks, but not dim either,’ said Mevrouw Nauta senior. ‘I like to be read to. Late at night when everyone else is asleep.’ She stared at Sarah. ‘Did they tell you that? That I like company during the small hours? Not that you’ll have to put up with that for long. If I don’t like you, I shall say so.’

‘Very sensible,’ agreed Sarah pleasantly. ‘Would you like me to read to you now?’

‘Yes. Jane Eyre, over there on that table by the window. My daughter-in-law has been reading it to me, and it’s almost finished. I’ll have Pride and Prejudice next, not that there will be time to read it to the end.’

Sarah had fetched the book and opened it at the marker.

‘Do you know how old I am?’

‘Yes, Mevrouw Nauta, ninety.’

‘The Nautas live long lives, but of course we none of us can go on forever.’

‘I don’t suppose that would be very pleasant,’ agreed Sarah, and she began to read. She had a pleasant, very clear voice, and she read steadily until she glanced up and saw that the old lady was asleep. She put the marker back in the book and walked over to the window and looked out. The garden was quite beautiful and it was very quiet—after the noise and bustle of London it was bliss. But she doubted if she would have much opportunity to enjoy it. It seemed to her that she was expected to spend her days and nights with the old lady, with only the briefest of respites when it was convenient. But this gloomy outlook was quite wrong. Just before four o’clock, while the old lady still slept, Mevrouw Nauta came back.

‘There has been little time to talk,’ she observed. ‘You must be thinking that we intended leaving you here for the rest of the day. I always have my tea up here, so you will be free for an hour at least. Then, if you will come back until just before eight o’clock, while you have dinner my mother-in-law’s maid will make her ready for the night—that takes about an hour. It is then that I must ask you to take over until Mevrouw Nauta goes to sleep; she likes to be read to, and she loves to talk although it exhausts her. If she falls asleep around midnight, then she will not wake before six o’clock or later, but if she has a bad night then I am afraid I must ask you to sleep in the dressing-room…’ She looked rather anxiously at Sarah. ‘I think that Radolf didn’t make all this quite clear to you? I thought not. During the day someone will relieve you for an hour or two so that you may feel free to do as you like. There is a pool in the garden if you like to swim and books in the library, and the village is close by. Of course, if her condition worsens, you may have to stay with her for longer periods. We shall do our best to make it up to you later. Now, do go and have your tea—you will find it in the drawing-room—and then take a stroll round the garden. There will still be time for you to change for the evening before you come back here.’