The Fateful Bargain

‘There’s nothing we can sell?’

‘There would be very little money left by the time I’d redeemed the mortgage, my dear, and how could we afford to find a house to rent, or even a flat?’ He added slowly, ‘I could go into a geriatric ward…’

‘Over my dead body!’ declared Emily. ‘Let’s keep on as we are and hope for the best.’

She hated leaving her father. London, sprawling to meet her as she sat in the train, looked drab. She was aware that large parts of the city were elegant, with spacious squares and quiet streets lined with lovely old houses, and sometimes on her nights off she would take a bus to St James’s Park, eat her sandwiches there, and then roam the neighbouring streets. A very different London from the one in which she worked and lived.

Back in hospital, the notice board informed her that she was to go to the Men’s Orthopaedic Ward in six days’ time—day duty, of course. Crowded round the notice as she and the other night nurses were on their way to the wards, she was surprised to hear cries of envy from such of her friends as were being posted at the same time.

’emily, you lucky creature!’ declared the pretty student nurse who was to report to Women’s Surgical. ‘You’ll see that new consultant!’

Emily turned away from the noticeboard. ‘You can have him as far as I’m concerned,’ she observed matter-of-factly, ‘though I like the idea of Orthopaedics.’

A nice change from the medical ladies, mostly chronic bronchitis, bad hearts and diabetes and, by the very nature of their illnesses, dispirited. Emily was a shy girl, but nursing a man was quite a different matter from socialising; she was completely at ease with her patients, but put them into their clothes and let her meet them away from their beds, outside the hospital, and she became a quiet, mouselike girl with no conversation. Yet she was liked at Pearson’s; the students and the young housemen looked upon her as a rather silent sister, always ready to make cocoa or cut them a sandwich if they had been called out during the night. But none of them had ever asked her out.

Her last few nights on duty were busy ones; a sudden influx of elderly ladies with nasty chests, naturally enough sorry for themselves, anxious about husbands they had left to manage on their own, cats and dogs dependent upon neighbours and uncertain as to whether they had turned off the gas. Emily soothed and encouraged, listened endlessly to their worries and even, for one old lady, offered to go to her nearby flat and make sure that the canary was being properly fed. It made her late, which was why Mr van Tecqx saw her on the way home. He had walked to the hospital since it was a fine day and he was nearing it as she hurried down the street towards the Underground. She had a plastic bag under one arm and was so deep in thought that she didn’t see him. She was, as she so often was, engaged in mental arithmetic.

She spent her nights off turning out her room and reading up Orthopaedics so that at least she would have some idea about that branch of nursing. The Sister on the ward was reputed to be an old tartar but a splendid nurse. Even the more lively of her companions had declared that they would go anywhere but Orthopaedics, although now that the mysterious consultant was there they were prepared to change their ideas. Emily, if given the chance, would quite cheerfully have exchanged a posting with any one of them.

She climbed the staircase in plenty of time on her first morning of day duty. Sister Cook set great store by punctuality and, although she wouldn’t be on duty until half an hour after the nursing staff, she invariably asked her staff nurses if there had been any latecomers.

In her first year, Emily had spent six weeks on the women’s side, but since she had had very little to do with the actual treatment of the patients then, what knowledge she had gleaned was of little use to her now.

Staff Nurse Ash was a large comforting type. ‘You’ll soon get the hang of things,’ she assured Emily. ‘Don’t worry if Sister Cook blasts your head off, it’s just her way. We’ve just got time to go round the ward before she comes on duty.’

All the beds were occupied and most of them had various frames and cradles to support or protect the inmates’ broken bones. They were a cheerful lot of men, calling up and down the ward to each other, joking with Staff Nurse Ash, and wishing Emily cheerful good mornings. It was a far cry from Women’s Medical; she was going to like it.

She wasn’t quite so sure an hour later. Sister Cook was in a testy mood that morning; she disliked having her nurses changed, and here was a girl who didn’t look capable of the quite heavy work she would be expected to do. True, her reports from the other wards were good, but she looked as if a strong breeze would knock her down. Sister Cook, a big woman herself, rather despised the smaller members of her sex.

Over coffee in the canteen, Emily was questioned by her friends. They brushed aside her comments about Sister Cook and the patients; they wanted to know if the Dutch consultant had been on the ward, and if so, was he as marvellous as rumour had it?

Emily hadn’t seen him. There had been a couple of housemen who had been friendly and there was a consultant’s round at eleven o’clock, but she had no idea who was going to take it. With a customary eye on the clock she hurried back to the ward.

There was an hour before the round was due to start. Sister Cook marched up and down the ward, her hawklike eye searching out every small defect which might spoil the perfection of it. A junior nurse had already retired into the sluice room in tears, it just needed someone to trip over a Balkan Beam or drop a bowl; heaven forfend that she would be the one to do it, thought Emily with unhappy memories of the French consultant who had been so scathing about her clumsiness.

The ward clock pointed to eleven and the ward doors swung open. Sister Cook had taken up her position facing it; behind her stood the staff nurse, Nurse Ashe, and the junior staff nurse, both holding X-rays, Path Lab forms and all the paraphernalia necessary for the round, and behind them stood Emily, entrusted with a small trolley upon which were laid out, in an orderly fashion, the patients’ notes.

It was a very good thing that they were laid out so neatly on the trolley, for when the door was thrust open and she saw who it was who came in, she would have dropped the lot if she had been holding on to them. The man who had almost knocked her down, no less, looking quite different in a dark grey suit of impeccable design, looming head and shoulders above the group of people milling about him; his Registrar, his housemen, medical students, the rather hearty lady from Physiotherapy and the social worker, the whole party swollen by Sister Cook, her staff nurses and Emily, trying to look as though she wasn’t there. Not that she needed to worry; his gaze swept over her with no sign of recognition.

The round pursued its usual course with frequent pauses to assess a patient’s mobility, lengthy arguments as to treatments, and even longer pauses while Mr van Tecqx listened patiently to the complaints, fears and doubts of the occupants of the beds. It took all of an hour, and the smell of the patients’ dinners was strong from the ward kitchen as they all halted at the doors and polite exchanges were made before the consultant’s posse moved off down the corridor.

‘Nurse Grenfell, take the patients’ charts back to my Office.’ Sister Cook was already sailing in the opposite direction, intent on ticking off a patient who had had the temerity to complain to the consultant, of all people, about the breakfast porridge.

Emily escaped thankfully. It had been exciting meeting the man again, and thank heaven he hadn’t recognised her, although it had been pretty mean of him to let her ramble on about her work when he was working at Pearson’s himself.

She gained the office and started to stack the notes exactly as Sister liked them. She was almost finished when the door opened and Mr van Tecqx walked in.

Emily dropped the notes she was holding and said with a snap, ‘There, look what you’ve made me do!’ and then she remembered who she was talking to.

Her, ‘Sorry, sir,’ was polite but insincere, and she got down on to the floor and started to pick up the scattered sheets.

He got down beside her, taking up so much room that the Office seemed very small indeed. ‘Surprised to see me?’ he asked.

‘Yes—well, yes, of course I am. I never imagined—you could have told me…’ She took the papers from him and got to her feet. ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you. Sister Cook will…’

‘No, she won’t.’ He had taken the notes from her again and was arranging them tidily in their folder. ‘Do you like this ward?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

He stared down at her, neat and rather prim. ‘I can see that if we are to get anywhere conversationally, it will have to be away from this place. I’ll be outside at eight o’clock this evening; we’ll go somewhere and eat and exchange our life histories.’

Emily goggled up at his placid face. ‘But we can’t! Besides,’ she added with some spirit, ‘I haven’t a life history.’

When he didn’t say anything, only smiled at her, she went on, ‘This just won’t do, you know. I must go back on the ward…’

He opened the door for her. ‘Eight o’clock,’ he reminded her as she edged past him.

CHAPTER TWO

EMILY HAD NO intention of doing anything of the sort; she told herself that a dozen times during the day. It was absurd anyway—how could she possibly go out with anyone in the elderly coat she wore to work? She would have had a long day and she would be tired and her hair would look awful. He must have been joking—but just to be on the safe side, she would go out through the side entrance. She would have to nip across the back of the entrance hall to reach it, but no one would see her.

All the same, she rushed back to her room during her three hours off after midday dinner, saw to Podge, washed her hair and, while it was drying, did her nails. Not because she had any intention of accepting Mr van Tecqx’s surprising invitation, indeed she still wasn’t sure if it was a joke. And she was far too busy to speculate about that during the evening; there were arms and legs to prepare ready for operation in the morning and supper to serve, and since both staff nurses were off duty and she was on with Sister Cook, there was the added complication of keeping out of that lady’s way as much as possible.

At length she was allowed to go, and skipped through the corridors and down the stairs to the cloakroom, where she bundled on her coat and with no thought as to her appearance, hurried down the back stairs to the back of the entrance hall. It was empty, although she could see Briggs’ bald head in his lodge. Quelling a wish to go out of the entrance and have supper with Mr van Tecqx even as, she strongly suspected, he wouldn’t be waiting for her, Emily nipped across the hall and opened the side door used by the staff and those fortunate enough to travel in their own cars.

The Bentley was parked exactly outside the door and Mr van Tecqx was leaning against its bonnet. Emily would have bounced back inside, only he was beside her before she could do so.

‘I am much encouraged,’ he told her, ‘to find that we think alike—you, that you would escape by this door, and I quite certain of it. Come along, now, I’m hungry.’

Emily stood outside the door, his hand on her arm. ‘Look, Mr van Tecqx, this really won’t do—you’re a consultant and I’m not even trained…’

A silly sort of remark, she realised as soon as she had uttered it. She tried again. ‘I can’t possibly go out with you in this.’ She waved a hand at her coat.

‘Well, of course you can’t. I’ll drive you to your lodgings and wait while you tidy yourself. You can have ten minutes; I’ve booked a table for half past eight.’

She made no effort to move. ‘You were sure I would come?’

‘No, that’s why I waited here.’ He smiled at her suddenly, which somehow made it perfectly normal to be going out to supper with him, although she was convinced that when she had the time to think about it she would be horrified. ‘Student nurses just don’t go out with consultants,’ she voiced her thoughts out loud.

‘There is always a first time.’

He popped her into the car and got in beside her.

Outside her gate she said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t ask you in—I’ve only got one room…’

For answer he got out of the car and went to open the door for her. ‘Ten minutes,’ he reminded her carefully.

Emily fed Podge, washed her face and made it up rather sketchily, then tore into her only decent dress—navy blue needlecord, bought in a C & A sale. Her coat was navy blue too, almost as elderly as the one she wore to work but neatly brushed and pressed. Her hair she brushed and tied back with a ribbon, as there was no time to pin it up. She thrust her feet into her one pair of high-heeled shoes, caught up her handbag and gloves, patted Podge and told him to be a good boy, and went out of the house followed by Mrs Winter’s shrill voice.

‘Got yerself a boyfriend, dearie? ’Ave a nice evening!’

If Mr van Tecqx heard her he gave no sign, merely remarked that punctuality was a virtue he seldom met with among his female acquaintances and stowed Emily into the car again.

He took her to Bubb’s, just off the Farringdon Road and only a short distance away from Pearson’s, and she was relieved to find that the people dining there were dressed very much as she was. The navy blue outfit, dull though it was, had the virtue of being inconspicuous. But she forgot to be shy in her companion’s placid company; he talked as easily as anything about this and that, ordered her a sherry and told her to order what she fancied, and when she tried to make a bewildered choice, offered to do it for her: salmon mousse on a bed of lettuce, breast of chicken in an aspic glaze, accompanied by a variety of vegetables, followed by nougat glacé with strawberries and topped with cream.

The good food loosened her tongue, and, skilfully drawn out by her companion, Emily talked, something she hadn’t done so freely with anyone for a very long time, but somehow her companion gave the impression of being a comfortable listener, putting questions just at the right moment, saying little. She was carried away, what with the delicacies which she was offered, the wine she was drinking and Mr van Tecqx’s gentle interest. She was on the point of telling him her plans for her father when common sense took over and she stopped in mid-sentence.

Mr van Tecqx studied her face, on which a look of shocked wariness had settled. ‘Yes?’ he prompted softly.

‘Oh, nothing—I can’t remember what I was going to say, it wasn’t in the least important. I hope I haven’t bored you, Mr van Tecqx; this wine doesn’t taste as strong as the bottle we got from the supermarket when Staff Nurse had her birthday…but I’m not used to drinking wine…’

Mr van Tecqx preserved an admirable calm. To anyone who compared the very expensive Chablis Grand Cru with something cheap probably chosen because of its pretty label, he would have been scathing in his opinion of such gross ignorance, but all he did was agree with her blandly, and when she added in her sensible way, ‘I’m afraid it made me talk too much,’ said politely,

‘Not at all, Emily—you don’t mind if I call you Emily?’

She shook her head. ‘Everyone does.’ She hesitated. ‘Why did you ask me to have dinner with you, Mr van Tecqx?’

‘I’m a stranger in a strange land, and you have a kind appearance, Emily.’

It seemed to her that he was quite at home in London; his English was only very faintly accented, he knew his way around the city and if Staff Nurse was to be believed, he delivered scholarly lectures at hospitals other than Pearson’s. She stared at him across the table. Because of the wine she had drunk his handsome features were slightly fuzzy round the edges, but even so, he was by far the most magnificent man she had ever met. She said now, ‘You must have a great many friends.’

‘Indeed, I have. Now, Emily, what was it you were going to tell me?’

‘Oh, I can’t remember…’

‘About your father?’ he prompted gently.

Her denial was instant, ‘No, no, it wasn’t anything…’

He had already discovered where she lived, now he observed, ‘You must miss village life—Pearson’s is situated in very drab surroundings. You look forward to your days off, I expect.’

Emily poured them more coffee. ‘Oh, yes—only I don’t go home each week.’ She stopped again, her wretched tongue tripping along ahead of her wits. She expected him to ask, ‘And why not?’ Only he didn’t, knowing that she wasn’t going to tell him anyway.

He said easily: ‘It is always a surprise to me that there is such charming country so close to London. Even in London itself—Hampstead and Richmond—one could almost be living in the country.’

She was on safe ground again; they did discuss London and its environs, until she said diffidently that she had to be in by eleven o’clock. ‘I haven’t an outdoor key, and Mrs Winter is very strict about us being in by then unless we make special arrangements.’

‘There are other people living there?’

‘Oh, yes, there are six rooms—she calls them flatlets and she’s fussy about the tenants.’

‘And you have a flatlet?’

There was no point in pretending. ‘Well, no. Just a room—it’s the attic really. But I’ve a sink and a little stove. It’s quite cosy.’ She uttered the lie cheerfully, relieved to see that he accepted it without comment, paid the bill and settled her in the car once more.

At her gate she said, ‘Please don’t get out—there’s no need.’

A waste of breath, for he went with her up the path and opened the street door, to be confronted by Mrs Winter standing at the top of the basement stairs. ‘There you are—I was jus’ wondering?’ She eyed Mr van Tecqx with belligerence. ‘Me tenants ‘as ter be in by eleven o’clock unless there’s an arrangement made.’

‘Very wise,’ said Mr van Tecqx. ‘I am relieved to hear it. One cannot be too careful.’ He looked down at Emily, standing silently beside him. ‘Thank you for a delightful evening, Emily.’

She was very conscious of Mrs Winter’s interested eyes. ‘Thank you for my dinner, Mr van Tecqx, I enjoyed the evening very much. Goodnight.’

He answered her unsmilingly, bade Mrs Winter goodnight and went away, shutting the door quietly behind him. Mrs Winter secured the bolts.

‘Wot did yer ’ave ter eat?’ she asked.

Podge was waiting impatiently when Emily reached her room. She gave him his warm milk, got ready for bed and made a pot of tea while she told him about her evening. He sat, tidying his whiskers, his round eyes on her face, and when she observed in a puzzled voice, ‘I can’t think why he asked me out; Podge, even if he was lonely. I’m quite sure he must know lots of pretty girls with the right clothes…’ he jumped on to her lap and butted her with his round head, offering a sympathy he felt was needed.

‘Although,’ went on Emily, thinking aloud, ‘I ought to feel over the moon, oughtn’t I?’

She got into bed, and with Podge curled up on her feet, went to sleep at once. In the morning, hurrying through the usual routine, the previous evening seemed like a distant dream.

That was how it was going to stay, she decided sensibly. She had let her tongue run away with her and told Mr van Tecqx far too much about herself, while he had remained reticent about himself. She blushed at the thought.

Even if she had wanted to, she was given no opportunity of saying so much as a ‘Good morning, sir,’ for the best part of the week. True, he appeared at his rounds, but she was not on duty for all of them, and when she was, she did no more than hand case sheets, hovering on the fringe of the group making its steady way from bed to bed, and once or twice when she had seen him as she hurried to the dispensary or the laundry at Sister’s command it had seemed to her that he had deliberately not seen her. She had plenty of good sense; she told herself that it was only to be expected. Just because he had taken her out—no doubt on a sudden whim—it didn’t mean to say that he had any interest in her. They didn’t move in the same circles, a fact brought home to him when he had accompanied her to her lodgings. With good sense Emily bundled all thought of him to the back of her head, and even though his image popped out again far too often for her peace of mind, she thrust it back where it belonged—with her vague daydreams of the future.

The ward was full and a number of patients needed careful and constant nursing. Two burly young men who had fallen from a scaffolding on a high-rise block of flats had fractured spines, both with a degree of paralysis; they were nursed on ripple beds and had to be turned every two hours; no easy task and a continuous drain on the nurses’ time, and, more than that, they had to be kept cheerful until such time as the paralysis should give way to the return of sensation. At the other end of the ward there was another young man recovering from the laminectomy which Mr van Tecqx had recently performed. A sprinkling of broken arms and legs and three fractured skulls made up the ward’s inhabitants, most of them recovering nicely, but it was heavy work, and several times Emily saw Sister Cook looking at her in a thoughtful way, measuring her small person against the immovable arms and legs and backs and doubtless wondering if Emily would hold out. Which made Emily work all the harder, but it was worth it. She was learning as she worked, and even though she hadn’t laughed all the way to the bank on pay-day, at least she smiled widely when she saw her nest-egg swell with the latest contribution.

What made it even more worth while was the discovery that one of the spinal fractures wiggled his toes as she was bed-bathing him. Even Sister Cook smiled at her and observed with slightly less acidity than usual that Emily had been most observant in her work. The Registrar was sent for and he in his turn requested the presence of Mr van Tecqx.

It was after he had finished his examination and expressed his opinion that his patient was on the mend, standing at the foot of the bed with Sister, his Registrar and, since Staff Nurse wasn’t available, Emily, that he addressed her. ‘You are to be commended for your sharp eyes, Nurse.’ She gave a slight smile and he gave her a kindly smile as he walked away.

Emily went pink and a nearby patient with his leg slung up on a Balkan Beam said indignantly, ‘Well, I’ll be blowed! ‘E could at least ’ave given you a pat on the shoulder, ducks.’

Emily gave him a severe look. ‘Certainly not, Mr Crump, that wouldn’t do at all—besides, any one of us could have been me.’

Upon which muddled speech she tucked him in with a brisk motherliness and started off down the ward. She was met half-way by one of the first-year nurses. ’emily, you’re to go to Sister’s Office—’ She paused to take a breath. ‘He’s there!’

‘Who’s he?’ But Emily knew without being told. Was she going to be ticked off about something she should or should not have done? She was casting round anxiously in her mind as she pushed open the door of the Office to find Sister, Henry Parker, looking amused, and Mr van Tecqx, looking bland.

It was Sister who spoke. ‘Nurse Grenfell, Mr van Tecqx has made a suggestion to me which I’m sure will gratify you. It seems that he has to drive past your home on your day off—tomorrow—and offers to give you a lift. It’s most kind of him, and I’m sure you will be delighted to accept his most generous offer.’

Emily cast a quick look at him. He was gazing out of the window at the vista of chimneypots, just as though the conversation had nothing to do with him. She felt tempted to refuse since his offer, given second-hand as it were, held no vestige of interest, but on the other hand an unexpected chance to go home wasn’t to be missed. She said with polite woodenness, ‘Thank you, Sister, I shall be most grateful to have a lift home.’

Mr van Tecqx turned away from his scrutiny of the hospital’s environment. There was a faint tremor at the corners of his firm mouth which might have been the beginnings of a smile. ‘My pleasure, Nurse. No doubt Sister will be kind enough to give you the details at her convenience.’