Damsel In Green

The young man went white. ‘Revenge is sweet!’ he muttered.

‘I imagine you don’t mean that, Karel,’ the big man spoke patiently with no trace of ill-humour. He eased the injured shoulder up a little so that Georgina could arrange the pad, and she heard her patient say, ‘Sorry, Julius—I apologise.’

No one spoke again until she had finished her bandage. She nodded with satisfaction at the neatness of it and said briskly, ‘I should like particulars of you all, please, but I’ll get you a cup of tea first.’

She peeped in at Beatrix as she passed the cubicle; the little girl was asleep with Ned sitting beside her, writing up notes. He looked up and said crossly, ‘There you are! Wherever do you go?’

‘Round and about,’ said Georgina soothingly. ‘Is this one to be warded too?’

He nodded. ‘After X-ray, yes. Twenty-four hours’ observation.’ He nodded towards the benches, where a few of the hardier patients were still waiting. ‘Better run through that lot, hadn’t we?’

She nodded. ‘All right. Nurse can make the tea, then stay with the boy until he goes to theatre. I’ll take this one to X-Ray; that’ll leave her free to help you.’

She went back again after she had primed the runner about the tea, and the Professor, who was standing with his hands in his pockets, looked up and said vaguely, ‘Ah, yes,’ and walked away, leaving her patient to answer her questions. She began to fill in the cards and only just restrained herself from speaking when he gave the address as being very near Debden, which was only a few miles from her own home. Dalmers Place, he had said; she dimly remembered cycling through the village years ago. There had been several old Tudor houses in the neighbourhood—it must be one of those. She had barely finished taking the particulars when they came for the boy from theatre. She left him to drink his tea while she went with the child, and wasn’t in the least surprised to find the Professor, gowned and capped, waiting by the anaesthetic trolley.

She left the patient in the care of the theatre staff and sped back to Cas. The young man and Ned had joined forces over their tea. Ned said, ‘Ward the little girl, will you, ducky, and I’ll fix a taxi for Mr Eyffert.’

She came back to find Ned impatient to finish the diehards on the benches, and the younger Mr Eyffert on the point of departure. He wished her goodbye, thanked her charmingly and hoped to see her again, and it warmed her to think that he really meant it. He explained, ‘I’d like to stay, but Julius told me to go round to the hotel.’ Apparently Julius gave the orders and expected them carried out. She shook his sound hand and said soothingly, ‘That’s a fine idea; a good night’s sleep will do you a world of good. I’m sure Professor Eyffert will let you know how things go.’

‘Lord, yes. You see, the accident wasn’t my fault, but I am to blame. I decided to come to town for the evening and the kids got into the back of the car for a lark, so I brought them with me for the ride.’ He saw her astonished eyebrows. ‘I know it sounds silly. It was. Julius wiped the floor with me, and I deserved it.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Poor chap, saddled with four children and me—but he’s a wonderful guardian.’

Georgina felt a peculiar lifting of her spirits. ‘Guardian? I thought he was their father.’

He laughed again, ruefully. ‘He’s not had much chance to think about getting married. Well, so long, Staff Nurse. I shall see you again.’

She agreed lightly, aware that it was unlikely—nearly all patients said that. She didn’t see the Professor again, either. He had called in on his way back from theatre while she was at her meal and expressed regret at missing her. She was surprised to find that she minded not seeing him again very much, but she was far too busy to ponder the matter.

She called in to the children’s unit on her way off duty in the morning. Beatrix was sitting up in bed, eating her breakfast; rather battered but apparently none the worse for her experience, and delighted to see her. Cornelis had regained consciousness an hour or two earlier and Georgina was invited to go along and see him. His eyes were closed; his face looked small and white and lonely on the pillow, as though it had nothing to do with the two legs in their Thomas’s splints.

‘They made a good job of them,’ commented the staff nurse who was with Georgina. ‘Sliding traction—they were both nice clean breaks. He’ll be as good as new in a few months’ time.’

He opened his eyes then, and asked, just as his sister had done, ‘Who are you?’

‘Hullo, Cornelis. I saw you last night when you were brought here.’

He nodded, staring at her. ‘I like you. What’s your name?’

‘Georgina Rodman.’

‘Mine’s Cornelis van den Berg Eyffert. You may call me Cor if you like.’ He added, ‘I shall call you George,’ and added again, very politely, ‘That’s if you don’t mind.’

There was no need to reply, for he had dropped off to sleep again. George went back to Beatrix and reiterated her promise to see her again, then ran downstairs to the dining-room, where she ate her meal rather dreamily without contributing greatly to the conversation. She was wondering if she would ever see Professor Eyffert again, and even if she did, whether he would remember her. In the No Man’s Land of muddled thoughts before she slept, she remembered that the children had called him Julius. A nice name, she thought sleepily, for a nice man. She slept.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE WENT every evening and morning to see the two children. Cor didn’t talk a great deal, unless it was to ask endless questions as to how long it would be before he could walk again, but Beatrix would sit up in bed, her face wreathed in smiles, and chatter for as long as she was allowed. It was from her that Georgina heard that her guardian had been every day to see them, and that she was to go home the next day, although Cor would have to stay.

‘Will you come and see Cor when he’s left behind?’ she wanted to know.

‘If he wants me to, of course I’ll come,’ said Georgina.

‘Julius said you would,’ said the little girl, ‘but I just wanted to make sure.’

Georgina let out a suddenly held breath. So he hadn’t forgotten her! She smiled, then frowned at her silliness in supposing that he remembered her in any other context than that of nurse.

She said goodbye to the little girl with real regret; she would herself be going on nights off in two days’ time, but Cornelis would still be there when she returned. She explained this carefully to him, and was astonished at the storm of protest it triggered off. Only by promising to write to him every day was she able to calm him down to coherency.

‘You’ll have your guardian to see you,’ she observed in conciliating tones, ‘and your other—er—uncle.’

‘He’s not my uncle, he’s my stepbrother,’ said the huffy little voice from the bed.

She looked surprised. ‘Oh, is he? I thought that he—they—were both your uncles.’

‘You’ll listen carefully if I explain?’

‘Of course.’ She willed herself to stay awake and interested, while she longed above all things to get a meal and go to bed for an hour or two before going home.

‘Well, it’s like this, you see. Cousin Julius’s mother and Karel’s mother were sisters; only Cousin Julius’s mother was almost grown up when Karel’s mother was still a little girl … and she married Julius’s father and he was Dutch. Her sister—my mother—died when Beatrix was born. My father was married before he married my mother—to Karel’s mother …,’ he broke off. ‘You do see, don’t you?’

Georgina blinked. ‘Yes, I think so. But you’ve all got the same name.’

He eyed her with youthful scorn. ‘Well, of course. My father and Cousin Julius’s father were brothers.’

She gathered woolly wits together. ‘Two brothers married two sisters. But why do you live in England if you are Dutch?’

‘We live in Holland sometimes. My father lived in England for years; his first wife was English. Cousin Julius says we’re all half and half. So are Franz and Dimphena.’

Georgina stifled a yawn. ‘So stupid of me—I feel I should know who they are.’

‘My brother and sister, of course; Franz is twelve and Dimphena is almost grown-up—she’s sixteen.’ He eyed her through the ordered tangle of cords and pulleys fastened to the Balkan frame over his bed. ‘Are you sleepy?—your eyes are closed.’

She smiled, ‘I am, I’m afraid, but thank you for explaining so clearly about your family—are they all as nice as you and Beatrix?’

‘You’ve met Cousin Julius—he’s super, absolutely wizard.’ He seemed to feel that this was sufficient answer. She thought tiredly that it would be interesting to know more about Julius, but as she wasn’t likely to see him again, there wasn’t much point in pursuing that train of thought. She got off the side of the bed, where she shouldn’t have been sitting anyway, bade him goodbye and went, very late, to the dining-room.

She got home at teatime. The fragrance of buttered crumpets filled the little house as she closed the front door behind her. She breathed it in and sighed contentedly. She had six days of freedom.

It was incredible how the days flew by. On one of them, she coaxed Jim Bale to lend her the car and took Aunt Polly for a gentle drive, suppressing a great desire to go to Debden and look for Dalmers Place. Instead, she turned the car’s nose in the direction of Elmdon, where Great-Aunt Polly had a friend. The two old ladies gossiped gently over their tea, and Georgina left them together and went for a stroll past the Tudor cottages with their carved bargeboards and elaborate plaster bands, and went into the church and peered at Tudors perpetrated for ever on its brasses. They were very large families, depicted in graduated heights and according to age, on either side of their stiffly robed parents—the sight of them reminded her of Cor and Beatrix. She had written to Cor every day, as she had said she would, and rather to her surprise had received one or two highly coloured postcards from him, each one asking her when she would be returning. She went into the village shop on her way back, bought a postcard and wrote it then and there, and posted it in her turn. She would have liked to have sent one to Beatrix too, but the Professor might think that she was trying to curry favour. She was rather silent on the way home and when Aunt Polly asked if she was sorry to be going back in two days’ time, she agreed hastily, knowing that that really wasn’t the reason. She had been thinking about Professor Eyffert—indeed, she was forced to admit to herself that she had been thinking about him a great deal—a useless waste of time, she kept telling herself, at the same time making no attempt to check her thoughts.

The following day it rained—a cold drizzle which depressed her usually cheerful spirits. She spent the morning pottering about the little house, and while her aunt took her after-lunch nap, went upstairs to put away the ironing. She had her head in the cupboard on the tiny landing, counting pillowcases, when she heard the front door knocker, and a moment later Mrs Mogg opened the door. Georgina withdrew her head long enough from the cupboard to call:

‘If that’s Mr Payne, Moggy, would you ask him to let us have some more eggs—tomorrow if he can.’

She didn’t wait for an answer, but fell to sorting the sheets, and it was quite some minutes later when Mrs Mogg called to her from the hall below.

‘Miss Georgina, will you come down? You’re wanted in the sitting-room.’

She ran down the stairs and opened the sitting-room door, went in and stopped short, saying foolishly:

‘Oh, it’s you!’ at the same time very aware of her hair hanging in a ponytail and her rather elderly slacks and sweater—the sweater was a deep orange, faded now, but still becoming; it made her eyes seem very bright and dark and emphasized the soft brown of her despised ponytail. She was positive that she looked as plain as a pikestaff, unconscious of the fact that she had never looked so pretty.

Professor Eyffert had been sitting beside her aunt’s chair, but he got up now, the low-ceilinged little room accentuating his height, so that she had her mouth open to warn him to stoop, then desisted when she saw that there were still several inches to spare.

She said primly, ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ frowned heavily and went pink when his brows rose and his mouth twitched at its corners.

‘I was afraid that you might have forgotten me,’ he remarked mildly.

‘No, of course I haven’t forgotten you. How could I when Cor quotes you at me night and morning?’ She stopped, struck by a thought. ‘They’re all right, aren’t they? Beatrix and Cor?’

‘It is about Cor that I have come,’ he said slowly, and her heart checked its crazy pace. Of course the reason for his coming hadn’t anything to do with her! ‘You must forgive me for calling like this, but I have a favour to ask of you.’

She thought she knew what it was then—that she should go back a day sooner because Cor wanted her. ‘If I can help in any way …’ she began, and was interrupted by Aunt Polly.

‘Take Professor Eyffert into the dining-room, child, so that he can discuss whatever it is with you.’

‘I should prefer to remain here if I may,’ he said decidedly. ‘You see, I imagine Miss Rodman will wish to tell you of my plans.’

‘Sit down then, both of you,’ said Great-Aunt Polly. ‘I’m all agog.’

So was Georgina. She was trying to think what plans he could have which would include herself. She sat down in the little crinoline chair opposite her aunt and left the Professor to dispose his bulk in the sturdy old Windsor chair between them.

‘I propose to take Cor home.’ At his words Georgina opened her pretty mouth to protest, then closed it hastily under his amused look.

‘I quite agree, Miss Rodman. An awkward and difficult business, involving complicated transport, portable X-rays, fixing of a Balkan frame, nursing care … I should like you to undertake the nursing care.’

She blinked at him. ‘You don’t mean that.’

‘I seldom say things I don’t mean,’ he countered placidly. ‘I have given the whole matter a great deal of consideration—Cor is eating his young heart out at the moment. We are a very united family.’ He gave her a quick glance. ‘I daresay Cor or Beatrix have already told you that they have no parents?’

She nodded. ‘Oh, yes. I thought you were their father, so your cousin explained a little, and then Cor told me. I—I have a rough idea.’

He laughed. ‘Very rough, I should imagine. You’ll come?’

Georgina stared at him. He quite obviously expected her to say yes. He stared back at her with a self-confidence which wasn’t quite arrogance. She would assert herself; it would be ridiculous to say yes in such a weak fashion. She swallowed—then said yes, and added, to justify her weak and instant acceptance, ‘But I shall need to know a great deal more about the whole thing.’

And he said in a tone of voice to make her cheeks burn and her pulses race, ‘Oh, my dear girl, I thought that you were going to refuse.’ He smiled briefly and brilliantly, and then, as though he wished to forget what he had said, went on in a businesslike way, ‘I will explain what I intend to do, and then you can ask as many questions as you wish.’ He turned to Aunt Polly. ‘We do not bore you, I hope, Miss Rodman?’

‘On the contrary, young man, I am diverted.’ She smiled and nodded to her niece, ignoring the look of horror on her face. Georgina hoped that the Professor had not noticed that he had been called ‘young man’ although she felt this to be extremely unlikely. She suspected that very little escaped those cool blue eyes … or, for that matter, those sharp ears.

She folded her hands in her lap, looking, despite the slacks, very demure, emptied her head of the ridiculous but delightful notions which had been filling it, and said in a brisk voice, ‘Yes, sir,’ and was quelled when he said, ‘As we are not in hospital, Miss Rodman, I feel that there is no need for you to call me “sir” with every other breath.’

Her cooling cheeks took fire again. ‘Just as you wish, … Professor.’

She thought for a moment that he was going to object to that too, but he let it pass and went on blandly:

‘It is now the eighth of November—I believe that you finish night duty on the eighteenth. Am I right?’ He barely gave her time to nod. ‘You will have Cor as your sole care, you understand, but you will of course take reasonable time off each day as well as a completely free day each week.’

He stopped, and turned to look at her, gravely waiting for her to speak. It seemed ridiculous to mention it, but she said diffidently:

‘I’m a staff nurse in Casualty, and I hadn’t intended to give in my notice.’

‘Ah, a point I forgot to mention. I have not yet spoken to your Matron; I wished to see how you felt about my proposition before doing so, but I believe that I may have you on loan for a reasonable time—it has been done before. If you will leave that to me?’

She went on doggedly, ‘And the surgeon? Will Cor be under Old Saw … Mr Sawbridge? And shall I be responsible to him?’

‘Yes, most certainly you will. Old Sawbones—and do not scruple to call him by that name, Miss Rodman, for I have known him for many years and he has never been called anything else—has agreed to visit Cor as often as necessary, and will arrange for X-rays, special treatment and so forth.’

‘I see. Very well, Professor—provided that Matron has no objection.’

‘I see no reason why she should,’ he replied coolly. ‘Do you drive?’

‘We haven’t a car, but I have a licence.’

‘Good. There is a car you may care to use while you are with us.’

Aunt Polly spoke. ‘Splendid! Georgina, you’ll be able to come home each week; it’s only a few miles. How very pleasant that will be!’ She caught Georgina’s eye. ‘Perhaps you would ask Mrs Mogg to bring in the tea, dear? You’ll stay for a cup, I hope, Professor?’

Georgina went to the kitchen, feeling somehow that she had been got at without exactly knowing how it had happened. She helped Mrs Mogg carry in the tea things and arranged them on the small table by her aunt’s chair, and would have taken a cup and saucer over to the Professor, but he forestalled her, and she found herself sitting in the crinoline chair again being waited upon by the Professor, who most certainly would not have been expected to lift a finger in hospital. She took a sandwich and caught his eye, and he smiled and said, ‘The boot is on the other foot, is it not, Miss Rodman—it makes a nice change.’ He spoke with a lazy good nature and his smile was so kind that she laughed.

He proved to be an excellent companion. Georgina watched her aunt sparkle, exchanging a gentle repartee with her guest and enjoying every minute of it. He got up to go presently, and as he shook hands he said:

‘I do hope that we shall meet again, Miss Rodman,’ at which Aunt Polly smiled.

She said without a trace of bitterness, ‘I’m always here,’ she gestured towards her sticks. ‘Come when you like, if you care to.’ She inclined her head. ‘Georgina will see you to the door, Professor.’

So Georgina found herself at the front door, standing beside him, contemplating with some awe the Silver Shadow drophead coupé in the lane outside. However, she had little time to do more than recognize it for what it was before he said briskly:

‘Well, goodbye, Miss Rodman.’ He shook hands in a no-nonsense fashion and added as an afterthought, ‘Just one thing. I shall require you to wear your uniform at the times while you are with us. Not of course when you go out in your free time.’

Georgina, who had forgotten about the slacks and sweater, was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of them again. With the fine impulsiveness for which she had received many a reprimand in hospital, she blurted out:

‘But I don’t always look as scruffy as this!’

He eyed her coolly. ‘Did I say that you looked scruffy?’ he wanted to know. ‘I can assure you that my wishes on the matter have no bearing on your present—er—most sensible garments.’ He allowed his gaze to travel from top to toe of her person. ‘Charming, too,’ he murmured.

She gaped at him. This from a man wearing tweeds, which, although not new, bore the hallmark of Savile Row! He was joking, of course. She said so.

‘Did I not say a short time ago, my dear girl, that I seldom say anything which I do not mean?’

Georgina blushed. ‘Oh,’ she said faintly. ‘May I know why—I mean about the uniform?’ She looked up at him, looming beside her in the early dusk; it was difficult to read the expression on his face, but his voice was decisive.

‘No, you may not,’ he said blandly. ‘Goodbye for the present.’

He went so quickly down the path that he would never have heard her reply, which was a good thing, for her voice had been an astonished squeak. At the gate he turned. ‘Beatrix and Cor send their love.’ The next minute he had got into the car and driven away.

Back in the sitting-room, Aunt Polly put down her book. ‘A delightful young man,’ she said in positive tones. ‘While you were getting tea he told me something about himself.’ Georgina smiled. Aunt Polly had her own methods of extracting information—she could, when it pleased her, be a remorseless and relentless interrogator. ‘He’s not married.’

Georgina rattled a tea cup in its saucer, and said ‘Oh,’ in what she hoped was a non-committal voice.

‘But he intends to marry in the near future. I wonder who she is? He spends quite a lot of time in Holland—he has a home there too; perhaps she is a Dutch girl—after all, he is a Dutchman himself.’

She settled her elegantly rimmed glasses on her small nose. ‘Will you pass me my knitting, please, dear?’ She started on one of the complicated patterns she favoured—not because she liked them overly, but because they forced her to concentrate and saved her from other, sometimes unhappy thoughts. ‘Shall you like nursing the little boy?’ she asked.

Georgina had picked up the tray and was on her way to the door. ‘Oh, yes, Aunt. Of course I shall.’ She spoke quietly, aware that she was going to like being in the Professor’s house very much indeed, although perhaps not for the right reasons.

Georgina had been back on duty for several nights before she met Professor Eyffert again. She knew that he had been to the hospital each day because Cor told her when she paid her morning and evening visits, but the little boy said nothing about going home and she forbore from mentioning it. When they did meet, it wasn’t quite half past seven in the morning. She had had a busy night and was clearing the last of the trolleys ready for the day nurses. She was tired, and because she was tired, she was cold. Her hair hung wispily where it had escaped the pins she had had no time to deal with; her nose shone with chill and lack of powder. As she saw him come into Casualty, she thought peevishly that they always met when she was looking at her worst. She scowled and said, ‘Good morning, sir’ without warmth, and felt, unreasonably, even more peevish when he smiled sympathetically and said, ‘Good morning, Staff Nurse. You’ve had a busy night. Do you never have help?’

She was scrubbing instruments at the sink. ‘Yes, but we had an overdose in at midnight and another at five. They make a lot of extra work on the wards—the runner hasn’t had a minute.’ She rinsed the tube and funnel of the wash-out apparatus and cast him a look full of curiosity, and he said to disconcert her, ‘Yes, I’m very early, am I not? But the first overdose isn’t responding as she ought—Dr Woodrow telephoned me an hour or so ago—I think she is out of the wood now.’

The door opened and the day nurses trooped in, with Gregg in the rear, urging them on. They looked curiously at the Professor, said good morning politely and plunged at once into the early morning ritual of cleaning and sterilizing and making ready. Only Gregg lingered. She ignored Georgina and smiled bewitchingly at the Dutchman, conscious that her make-up was perfection and her hairstyle immaculate. She said, at her most charming, ‘Night Nurse is off duty—perhaps I can help you, sir?’