Hannah

The young man didn’t ask her out again; they still smiled and nodded at each other when they met in the hospital, but that was all. It hadn’t been quite the romance Hannah had dreamed of, but it had been pleasant enough while it lasted, and somehow after that the little outings were discontinued. Her mother liked to watch TV in the evenings and do her embroidery or knit, and on the one or two occasions that Hannah had met friends from the hospital and gone to a cinema, she had been gently chided for leaving her parent by herself. So nowadays she turned the flat out, did the week’s shopping and the washing and escaped thankfully to the library, where she spent a long time choosing books.

Very occasionally she went shopping for herself, but by the time their living expenses were paid and her mother had deducted her allowance from her pension, there wasn’t much money over. Hannah, who loved clothes, had to make do with things in the sales and the multiple stores, but she had a splendid dress sense and a nose for a bargain and contrived to be in the fashion even if the clothes she bought were cheap.

There would be more money soon, she thought as, her days off over once more, she started back to the hospital. She had been offered a relief Sister’s post in a couple of months’ time, and she was going to accept it. It would mean leaving the baby unit which she loved, but she had to get a Sister’s post as soon as she could, and one couldn’t quarrel with one’s bread and butter. Perhaps later on, when Sister Thorne retired…Ten years’ time—it seemed an age away; she would be thirty-four and settled into a rut from whence there was no escape—perhaps by then she would apply for her job.

She turned in at the entrance to the hospital, looking up at its mid-Victorian pile with an affectionate eye. It was a frankly hideous building, red brick and a mass of unnecessary turrets and balconies, high narrow windows which took the strength of an ox to open and shut and dreadfully out-of-date departments, yet she had a very soft spot for it. When, in a few years’ time, St Egberts was moved to the magnificent new buildings across the river and already half completed, she would regret going. It had stood for hundreds of years where it now was, dominating the narrow city streets and rows of smoke-grimed houses, and it would never be quite the same again.

She had chosen to go back after supper. She could have stayed at home for another night and got up early and gone on duty in the morning, but it was always such a rush. She pushed open the main doors and crossed the entrance hall. Just as she was turning into one of the dark passages leading from it she was hailed by old Michael, the Head Porter.

‘Message for you, Staff Nurse—Mevrouw van Eysink wants you to go to her room as soon as you come in.’ He grinned at her. ‘Very important, she said.’

Hannah had gone to poke her head through the small window in the lodge. ‘Me? Why? Have I done something awful, Michael?’

‘Don’t ask me, love. She sounded excited like and said I was to be sure and keep an eye open in case you came back this evening. Her hubby’s with her.’

Hannah frowned. ‘I can’t think of anything…’ she began. ‘I suppose I’d better go.’

She altered course, taking another passage which led her to the lifts. She wasn’t supposed to use them, but there was no one about. She gained the Prem. Unit and slid inside the doors and peered cautiously round the office door. Louise was there, writing: the night nurses would already be busy settling their small patients for the first part of the night, making up feeds and handing out cocoa and sleeping pills to the mothers.

‘You’re late,’ whispered Hannah.

Louise raised her pretty head. ‘Hullo—Sister went off late and left me a mass of stuff to finish and of course we had an emergency in. I’m almost finished, though. I say, your Mevrouw van Eysink wants to see you.’

‘That’s why I’m here. Is something awful wrong?’

‘Not a thing—all a bit mysterious and hush-hush; hubby’s here, and the uncle was here this morning. I say, did you know that he’s a famous paediatrician?’

‘Yes, I knew. I’ll nip along now—see you presently—I’ll make a pot of tea.’

Mevrouw van Eysink was sitting up in bed and her husband was sitting beside her, an arm round her shoulders. He was a nice-looking young man and as he got up when Hannah went into the room, he was smiling widely.

‘Hannah!’ cried Mevrouw van Eysink. ‘You do not object that we take your free time? But Paul must go back tonight and it is most important that we talk together.’

Hannah walked over to the bed, casting an eye over the sleeping small Paul as she went. ‘Paul’s all right?’ she wanted to know.

‘He has gained three hundred grams, but he does not like the other nurse—she is sweet and very efficient, but I think that deep inside her she becomes impatient and he knows it. He is a clever boy.’

Hannah agreed warmly. Baby Paul, arriving too soon into the world, had shown a good deal of spirit in just staying in it, let alone turning himself into a normal healthy baby.

‘We wish to ask you…’ began Mevrouw van Eysink, and nudged her husband, who went on:

‘I am taking Paul and Corinna home at the end of next week, Hannah, and we want you to come with us. I have spoken to your Directrice and the doctors who have been attending and they say that it would be quite possible for this to be done, provided that you agree.’

Hannah’s wide mouth had opened, so had her eyes. ‘Me? Go with you to Holland? Oh, I’d love to!’ She beamed at them both. ‘But how?’

‘Oh, you would be lent to us as a necessity to little Paul’s health. Three weeks or a month. By then Corinna will be almost her own self once more.’ He added slyly: ‘Don’t worry about your chances for the relief Sister’s post; they’re as good as ever.’

Hannah had forgotten all about that anyway. ‘Oh, I’d be glad to come.’ The smile faded as she remembered her mother. ‘Mijnheer van Eysink, could I let you know for certain tomorrow? You see, I live with my Mother and she—she doesn’t like being on her own; I’d have to arrange for someone…’

‘Why, of course, Hannah, but I’m sure your mother would manage for a week or two with someone to help her. Is she ill or an invalid?’

‘No, no, she’s…she’s just…’

Mevrouw van Eysink gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Well, you talk to her, Hannah,’ she advised briskly, ‘and let us know tomorrow. Perhaps if she realised how important it is for little Paul to thrive for the next few weeks—and he does it better with you than with anyone else—I am sure she will fall in with your plans.’

Hannah, looking at the two smiling, happy faces, decided not to argue the point. She would have to think of something; she would be off in the evening and although she hadn’t meant to, she would go home and talk to her mother.

She stayed a few minutes longer and then went over to the home, where she joined her closest friends over the inevitable pot of tea and told them her news. They were flatteringly surprised and excited, although one or two of them wondered privately if she would be able to persuade her mother to let her go—they had met Mrs Lang upon occasion and found her charming, pretty and quite ruthless when it came to having her own way.

Hannah went on duty in the morning, half prepared to find that the van Eysinks had changed their minds, but the moment she entered Mevrouw van Eysink’s room, she was met with an eager demand for her answer.

She picked up little Paul and handed him to his mother before she replied. She would have to explain a little more about her mother, and she did it carefully, anxious that her patient wouldn’t think that she was finding excuses not to go to Holland. ‘So you see,’ she finished, ‘it’s just a question of finding someone to be with Mother while I’m away, only it is a little difficult. She hasn’t many friends and almost no family, and she would dislike a stranger.’ She wrapped herself in the bathing apron and went to fetch Paul from Mevrouw van Eysink.

‘We must think of something, Hannah.’ Lost in thought, Mevrouw van Eysink nibbled at a beautifully manicured finger. ‘I think perhaps I know what to do, but I will say no more at present.’ She smiled brilliantly. ‘You will see your mother this evening? Good, then we must hope, is it not?’

‘I’m bound to think of something,’ declared Hannah, more to comfort herself than anyone else. She bathed and fed Paul while his mother kept up a lively chatter about nothing in particular. And Hannah, her neat head bowed over the scrap on her knee, tried to think of someone whom her mother would accept as a companion for a few weeks. She could call to mind no one at all.

Presently, her two patients comfortable, she tidied everything away, and with the promise of sending coffee as soon as she could reach the kitchen, she picked up her tray and left the room. She was halfway along the corridor when she met Uncle Valentijn. He passed her with a coolly courteous good morning and a glance which didn’t really see her. She doubted very much if he remembered who she was.

CHAPTER TWO

BUT HANNAH WAS WRONG. Uncle Valentijn greeted his favourite niece with a kiss, peered at the baby and asked: ‘What have you been saying to your so sensible Hannah? She was fairly dancing down the corridor.’

He was told with such a wealth of detail that finally he put up a large, well-kept hand. ‘Now let me get this straight. She’s to go back with you? A splendid idea; she’s been with you both since you were admitted, hasn’t she? She seems a very calm young woman, hard-working and presumably unencumbered by boy-friends?’

‘Well, you make her sound very dull!’ declared Mevrouw van Eysink indignantly.

‘She is not what I would call eye-catching.’ He was laughing at her.

‘Pooh, I’d rather have her than six of your Nerissas—lanky, self-centred…’

Uncle Valentijn’s eyebrows drew together and the smile disappeared. ‘Perhaps I should mention to you that Nerissa and I have just become engaged.’

‘Oom Valentijn, you haven’t!—it’s a joke!’

‘No, it is time that I married again. I’m nearly forty, you know, liefje. Nerissa is a lovely girl, very chic and good company.’

‘Is that what you want?’ His niece’s voice was quite shrill. ‘Don’t you want to love someone and be loved and give you a nice family?’

He got up and walked over to the window. He said flatly: ‘I used to think that I did. Nerissa and I suit each other very well; I think I am past the fine raptures of youth.’ He added soberly: ‘And I’ll thank you to be courteous to my future wife at all times.’

He turned round and smiled at her, but his eyes were angry, so that she said weakly: ‘Yes, of course, Uncle Valentijn,’ and then to change the subject as quickly as possible, ‘What shall I do about Hannah? Her mother—it seems she is likely to make it difficult for Hannah to come with us. Not that Hannah said so, but the nurse who relieves her told me that Mrs Lang is a very selfish woman; she is a widow and has been spoilt all her life. Hannah goes out very seldom, I am told, because although her mother is never unpleasant, she makes Hannah feel guilty. And I am sure that she hasn’t enough money to get a companion, and even then her mother might refuse to have such a person. What am I to do?’ She raised tearful blue eyes to her listener.

‘You’ve set your heart on having Hannah, haven’t you?’

‘She saved little Paul’s life when everyone else said that he had no chance, and she made me be brave. If anything should happen to little Paul now…’

‘In that case we must think of something, must we not?’ He turned round as a ward maid came in with the coffee tray. ‘Leave it to me, my dear.’

Stowing her worries away behind a calm face, Hannah worked her way through her day and then took herself off home, reluctant to have to explain what her mother would regard as unwelcome news, and still vainly searching for some argument which her mother might agree to. Not that that lady would refuse point blank, nor would she rant and rave, but she would weep a little and point out that she led a lonely life and Hannah mustn’t consider her, so that Hannah, with her too soft heart, would give in.

And Mevrouw van Eysink had made her promise to go and see her when she got back to the hospital, declaring dramatically that she wouldn’t sleep until she knew if Hannah was to go with them or not, and because the staff nurse on night duty was a friend of Hannah’s and would turn a blind eye to a late visit, she had agreed, which added yet another worry, for how was she to explain if her mother had made it quite impossible for her to go with baby Paul?

She made her way home with mixed feelings—reluctance to start an argument with her mother, and eagerness to get it over, and as luck would have it, the bus was dead on time and had never gone so fast. She found herself walking down the street, only a few steps from the front door, with not a thought in her head.

As she turned the key in the lock she was surprised to hear her mother’s quite cheerful voice call: ‘Oh, there you are! I was expecting you—come in and tell me all about it.’

Hannah advanced cautiously into the sitting room, to find her mother sitting in her favourite chair with, of all things, a tray with glasses and a bottle of sherry upon it.

‘Whatever…?’ began Hannah, quite at a loss.

Her mother smiled archly. ‘I’ve had a charming visitor. Such a delightful man—Doctor van Bertes—an important figure in the medical world, I imagine. Your patient’s uncle, and so anxious about the little baby. It seems you are the only nurse he cares to trust him with and he came to beg me to manage without you for a few weeks.’ She smiled to herself. ‘He quite understood that I needed someone to care for me and he fully appreciated the sacrifice I would be making, and he begged me—oh, so charmingly!—to allow him to substitute your occasional help with a very good woman of his acquaintance who would come each morning and see to the household, do the shopping and cook me a little meal. Of course, how could I refuse such a generous offer?’ She added peevishly: ‘I don’t know why you couldn’t have told me about it sooner, Hannah.’

‘I didn’t know, Mother. That’s why I came home this evening—to tell you.’ Hannah took a deep breath and tried not to sound eager. ‘You agreed to Doctor van Bertes’ suggestion?’

‘That’s what I’ve just said if you’d been listening.’ Her mother’s voice was sharp. ‘Now you’re here, I could fancy an omelette—but have a glass of this excellent sherry first. Doctor van Bertes sent me half a dozen bottles with his compliments and thanks.’

Hannah needed a drink. She sipped with appreciation while she brooded on Uncle Valentijn; a man of resource and a bit high-handed too—supposing, just supposing she hadn’t wanted to go? She had said that she did, though, and Mevrouw van Eysink must have voiced her doubts to him. Probably he considered that she was incapable of arranging her own affairs. Which, she considered fairly, was perfectly true.

She drank her sherry, got a dainty supper for her mother while that lady reiterated her high opinion of Uncle Valentijn and presently took her departure. It was still fairly early and although she had had a cup of coffee with her mother she hadn’t had her own supper, and although she was a sensible girl and independent she wasn’t all that keen on going into one of the small cafés near the hospital. She could, of course, see what there was on the ward when she went to see Mevrouw van Eysink. She sat in the almost empty bus thinking about clothes and should she wear uniform, and what about off duty and who was going to pay her, and had to be roused by a friendly conductor when the bus stopped by the hospital. She was still pondering these as she went up to the Prem. Unit, where she found her friend in the office, reading the report for the second time.

She looked up as Hannah went in. ‘Hullo. Mevrouw van Eysink’s waiting for you—says she won’t go to sleep until you’ve seen her. You lucky devil, Hannah, going to Holland—I expect they’ve got pots of money and you’ll live off the fat of the land. Why can’t these things happen to me?’

‘Well, you don’t need them,’ observed Hannah. ‘You’re getting married in six months and then you’ll be able to do your own housekeeping and live off the fat of the land yourself.’

Her companion laughed. ‘On a house surgeon’s salary? You must be joking!’ Hannah smiled because she knew she didn’t mean a word of it. ‘Can I pop along?’

‘Yes, do—I’ve fed baby Paul and she’s only waiting to see you before we tuck her down for the night.’

But it wasn’t only Mevrouw van Eysink who was waiting, Uncle Valentijn was there too, the epitome of understated elegance. Hannah, seeing him, hesitated at the door. ‘Oh, I’ll come back later,’ she said, and withdrew her head, to have the door opened and find herself taken by the arm and drawn into the room. ‘We’re waiting for you,’ observed the doctor. ‘Corinna refused to sleep, so perhaps you will tell her at once if you are going with her to Holland.’

‘Yes—oh, yes, I am.’ Hannah smiled widely at her patient and was quite unprepared for the sudden gush of tears from Mevrouw van Eysink. ‘My goodness, have you changed your mind?’ she asked. ‘I can easily…’

‘Tears of joy’, declared Uncle Valentijn. ‘She has been on tenterhooks.’

‘Oh, well, it’s all fixed,’ Hannah gave him a considering look. ‘Thank you, Doctor van Bertes, for—for persuading my mother, it was kind of you.’

His blue eyes, cool and amused, stared back at her. ‘High-handed, I suspect, is the word you would prefer to use, but baby Paul must be our first concern. I hope that your mother is content with the arrangements which I suggested.’

‘Oh, very—and the sherry.’

His mouth twitched. ‘I’m glad, and I know that Corinna, once she has finished weeping, will tell you that she is quite content with matters as they stand.’

His niece blew her delicate nose and smiled mistily. ‘Dear Uncle Valentijn, what would we do without you? Paul will be so pleased that everything is settled, and so easily too.’

Hannah caught the doctor’s eye and said quickly, ‘Well, I’ll say goodnight. It’s time you were asleep, and I’m not really supposed to be here.’

‘Nor am I.’ He bent to kiss his niece, looked briefly at the sleeping Paul and went to the door where Hannah was still standing. She hadn’t expected him to come with her and she stood awkwardly before muttering again: ‘Well, I’ll be off—see you in the morning, Mevrouw van Eysink.’ She added very quickly, ‘Goodnight, Doctor van Bertes.’

He didn’t answer for the simple reason that he went with her, striding down the corridor while she fumed, wondering how she could slip away into the kitchen and see if there was a slice of bread and butter to be had. She was still mulling over one or two quite unsuitable plans when he came to a halt outside Sister’s office. ‘Have you had supper?’ he asked.

‘Supper? Why, no, but—but I’m going to have it now.’

‘Good, I’ll join you—I’m famished.’

How to tell him that he would be expected to creep into the kitchen and hack a chunk off the loaf and if Night Sister had done her rounds, make tea?

‘Well—’ she began.

‘What I should have said,’ observed her companion smoothly, ‘was will you join me?’ And at her obvious hesitation, even more smoothly: ‘I can perhaps give you some idea of what will be expected of you when you accompany my niece.’

Hannah was too surprised to speak for a moment, but hunger got the better of all her other feelings. ‘That would be nice,’ she said sedately.

‘Good. We’re not too far from the Baron of Beef. I take it that you may stay out until a reasonable hour?’

‘Midnight, but I wouldn’t want to be out as late as that.’

The blue eyes gleamed, but all he said was: ‘Naturally not—you’re on duty in the morning, I presume.’

He swept her through the hospital and out into the street and into a taxi, where she sat very upright in the corner, unaware that in the dark he was grinning with amusement, but once in the restaurant, among the lights and crowded tables, she relaxed a little.

‘I hope you are hungry,’ remarked her host. ‘I am.’

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am.’ Hannah essayed a small smile, wishing that he wouldn’t look at her with a faint mockery which made her uncomfortable. And as though he read her thoughts the mockery wasn’t there any more, only a kind smile. ‘Good. Would you like a drink while we decide?’

She accepted a sherry because she wasn’t sure what else to ask for and bent to the enjoyable task of choosing her supper. She had dined out so seldom that she found this difficult, and when her companion suggested artichoke hearts with vinaigrette dressing for a start, followed by tournedos Rossini with new peas and new potatoes, she agreed happily and with relief. He didn’t consult her about the wine, though; she drank what was poured into her glass and enjoyed it, only asking after the first sip, what it was.

‘A claret,’ she was told, ‘quite harmless and most suitable to drink with a steak.’ He glanced at her. ‘I don’t suppose you have much opportunity to go out, Hannah.’

The sherry had put a different complexion on things, and the claret was improving it with every minute. ‘No, hardly ever. When my father was alive we had people to dinner and we went out to other people’s houses, but not to restaurants.’

‘Ah, yes, your father was a rural dean, your mother was telling me; you must have had a pleasant life.’

‘Oh, yes!’ Hannah just stopped herself in time from pouring out her pleasant memories to him and went red at the thought. The Doctor eyed her over his glass and wondered what he had said to make her face flame. He hadn’t met anyone quite so shy and stiff for years; certainly he hadn’t been in his right mind when he had asked her to join him for supper. Now if it had been Nerissa, with her gaiety and clever talk— He frowned down at his plate and Hannah, seeing it and the faint boredom on his face, launched into what she hoped was interesting chatter. He listened courteously, answering her when it was required of him, and uneasily aware that she wasn’t used to drinking half a bottle of claret and it had loosened her tongue past repair.

Hannah, happily unaware of her companion’s thoughts, chatted brightly over her trifle, having a little difficulty with words now and then. It wasn’t until she had had two cups of black coffee and they were in the taxi going back to the hospital that her usual good sense took over again.

She checked the flow of talk with such suddenness that Uncle Valentijn turned to look at her, but whatever he intended saying didn’t get said, for they were back at the hospital and she was already opening the door. He leaned across her. ‘No,’ he said quietly, and got out and went round and helped her out. He told the driver to wait and walked with her to the doors.

‘Thank you for my supper,’ said Hannah, and swallowed. ‘I’m sorry I talked so much—it must have been frightfully boring for you. I had a glass of sherry with Mother and then another one with you and all that wine, and I’m not awfully used to it.’ She added, to convince him, ‘I’m a very sober kind of person, really. I—I hope you won’t think I’m not—not careful enough to look after baby Paul.’

He took her hand in his. ‘Hannah, I think you are a most fitting person to look after my godson. I would trust him with you absolutely.’

She drew a deep breath. ‘Oh, that’s all right, then. I wouldn’t like you to think I’m not to be trusted.’

‘My dear girl, Corinna trusts you, doesn’t she, and likes you? I am very fond of her and of her husband and I would go to any lengths to make them happy; their opinion of you is much more important than mine.’

A remark Hannah didn’t much care for, although she wasn’t sure why, only that it hinted vaguely that he didn’t like her, or at least, didn’t think her worth an opinion. She wished him a sober goodnight and went through the swing doors, her pleasure in the evening quite spoiled.

But a sound night’s sleep dispelled her doubts and she went on duty with a light heart. It remained light until almost noon, when Uncle Valentijn paid a lightning visit to his niece in order to wish her goodbye, and Hannah, unaware of this and walking down the corridor with Paul’s feed from the milk kitchen, was brought up short outside Mevrouw van Eysink’s partly open door. For once her patient and visitor were speaking English and Uncle Valentijn’s voice, while not loud, was very clear.