Ring in a Teacup

‘Oh, rather, though I daresay I’ll be scared to death in Amsterdam.’

The doctor glanced up. ‘I think that maybe I will take a few hours off and we will take you for a little trip, Lucy. Into the country, perhaps?’

‘Sounds smashing,’ agreed Lucy happily, ‘but just pottering suits me, you know.’

‘We will also potter,’ declared Mies seriously, ‘and you will speak English to me, Lucy, for I am now with rust.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I speak only a very little and I forget.’

‘You’ll remember every word in a couple of days,’ observed Lucy comfortably. ‘I wish I could speak Dutch even half as well.’

Mies poured their after supper coffee. ‘Truly? Then we will also speak Dutch and you will learn quickly.’

They spent the rest of the evening telling each other what they did and whether they liked it or not while the doctor retired to his study to read his post. ‘I shall marry,’ declared Mies, ‘it is nice to work for Papa but not for too long, I think. I have many friends but no one that I wish to marry.’ She paused. ‘At least I think so.’

Lucy thought how nice it must be; so pretty that one could pick and choose instead of just waiting and hoping that one day some man would come along and want to marry one. True, she was only twenty-three, but the years went fast and there were any number of pretty girls growing up all the time. Probably she would have to settle for someone who had been crossed in love and wanted to make a second choice, or a widower with troublesome children, looking for a sensible woman to mind them; probably no one would ask her at all. A sudden and quite surprising memory flashed through her head of Mr der Linssen and with it a kind of nameless wish that he could have fallen for her—even for a day or two, she conceded; it would have done her ego no end of good.

‘You dream?’ enquired Mies.

Lucy shook her head. ‘What sort of a man are you going to marry?’ she asked.

The subject kept them happily talking until bedtime.

Lucy spent the next two days renewing her acquaintance with Amsterdam; the actual city hadn’t changed, she discovered, only the Kalverstraat was full of modern shops now, crowding out the small, expensive ones she remembered, but de Bijenkorf was still there and so was Vroom and Dreesman, and C. & A. The pair of them wandered happily from shop to shop, buying nothing at all and drinking coffee in one of the small coffee bars which were all over the place. They spent a long time in Krause en Vogelzang too, looking at wildly expensive undies and clothes which Mies had made up her mind she would have if she got married. ‘Papa gives me a salary,’ she explained, ‘but it isn’t much,’ she mentioned a sum which was almost twice Lucy’s salary—‘but when I decide to marry then he will give me all the money I want. I shall have beautiful clothes and the finest linen for my house.’ She smiled brilliantly at Lucy. ‘And you, your papa will do that for you also?’

‘Oh, rather,’ agreed Lucy promptly, telling herself that it wasn’t really a fib; he would if he had the money. Mies was an only child and it was a little hard for her to understand that not everyone lived in the comfort she had had all her life.

‘You shall come to the wedding,’ said Mies, tucking an arm into Lucy’s, ‘and there you will meet a very suitable husband.’ She gave the arm a tug. ‘Let us drink more coffee before we return home.’

It was during dinner that Doctor de Groot suggested that Lucy might like to see the clinic he had set up in a street off the Haarlemmerdijk. ‘Not my own, of course,’ he explained, ‘but I have the widest support from the Health Service and work closely with the hospital authorities.’

‘Every day?’ asked Lucy.

‘On four days a week, afternoon and evenings. I have my own surgery each morning—you remember it, close by?’

‘That’s where I work,’ interrupted Mies. ‘Papa doesn’t like me to go to the clinic, only to visit. I shall come with you tomorrow. Shall we go with you, Papa, or take a taxi?’

‘Supposing you come in the afternoon? I shall be home for lunch and I can drive you both there, then you can take a taxi home when you are ready.’

The weather had changed in the morning, the bright autumn sunshine had been nudged away by a nippy little wind and billowing clouds. The two girls spent the morning going through Mies’ wardrobe while the daily maid did the housework and made the beds and presently brought them coffee.

She prepared most of their lunch too; Lucy, used to giving a hand round the house, felt guilty at doing nothing at all, but Mies, when consulted, had looked quite surprised. ‘But of course you do nothing,’ she exclaimed, ‘Anneke is paid for her work and would not like to be helped, but if you wish we will arrange the table.’

The doctor was a little late for lunch so that they had to hurry over it rather. Lucy, getting into her raincoat and changing her light shoes for her sensible ones, paused only long enough to dab powder on her unpretentious nose, snatch up her shoulder bag, and run back into the hall where he was waiting. They had to wait for Mies, who wasn’t the hurrying sort so that he became a little impatient and Lucy hoped that he wouldn’t try and make up time driving through the city, but perhaps he was careful in Amsterdam.

He wasn’t; he drove like a demented Jehu, spilling out Dutch oaths through clenched teeth and taking hair’s-breadth risks between trams and buses, but as Mies sat without turning a hair, Lucy concluded that she must do the same. She had never been so pleased to see anything as their destination when he finally scraped to a halt in a narrow street, lined with grey warehouses and old-fashioned blocks of flats. The clinic was old-fashioned enough too on the outside, but once through its door and down the long narrow passage it was transformed into something very modern indeed; a waiting room on the left; a brightly painted apartment with plenty of chairs, coffee machine, papers and magazines on several well-placed tables and a cheerful elderly woman sitting behind a desk in one corner, introduced by the doctor as Mevrouw Valker. And back in the passage again, the end door revealed another wide passage with several doors leading from it; consulting rooms, treatment rooms, an X-ray department, cloakrooms and a small changing room for the staff.

‘Very nice,’ declared Lucy, poking her inquisitive nose round every door. ‘Do you specialise or is it general?’

‘I suppose one might say general, although we deal largely with Reynaud’s disease and thromboangiitis obliterans—inflammation of the blood vessels—a distressing condition, probably you have never encountered it, Lucy.’

She said, quite truthfully that no, she hadn’t, and forbore to mention that she had slept through a masterly lecture upon it, and because she still found the memory of it disquieting, changed the subject quickly. The first patients began to arrive presently and she and Mies retired to an empty consulting room, so that Mies could explain exactly how the clinic was run. ‘Of course, Papa receives an honorarium, but it is not very much, you understand, and there are many doctors who come here also to give advice and help him too and they receive nothing at all, for they do not wish it—the experience is great.’ She added in a burst of honesty: ‘Papa is very clever, but not as clever as some of the doctors and surgeons who come here to see the patients.’

‘Do they pay?’ Lucy wanted to know.

‘There are those who do; those who cannot are treated free. It—how do you say?—evens up.’

Lucy was peering in the well equipped cupboards. ‘You don’t work here?’

‘No—it is not a very nice part of the city and Papa does not like me to walk here alone. When we wish to go we shall telephone for a taxi.’

Lucy, who had traipsed some pretty grotty streets round St Norbert’s, suggested that as there would be two of them they would be safe enough, but Mies wasn’t going to agree, she could see that, so she contented herself with asking if there was any more to see.

‘I think that you have seen all,’ said Mies, and turned round as her father put his head round the door. ‘Tell Mevrouw Valker to keep the boy van Berends back—she can send the patient after him.’ He spoke in English, for he was far too polite to speak Dutch in front of Lucy, and Mies said at once: ‘Certainly, Papa. I’ll go now.’

The two girls went into the passage together and Mies disappeared into the waiting room, leaving Lucy to dawdle towards the entrance for lack of anything better to do. She was almost at the door when it opened.

‘Well, well, the parson’s daughter!’ exclaimed Mr der Linssen as he shut it behind him.

‘Well, you’ve no reason to make it sound as though I were exhibit A at an old-tyme exhibition,’ snapped Lucy, her temper fired by the faint mockery with which he was regarding her.

He gave a shout of laughter. ‘And you haven’t lost that tongue of yours either,’ he commented. ‘Always ready with an answer, aren’t you?’

He took off his car coat and hung it any old how on a peg on the wall. ‘How did you get here?’

Very much on her dignity she told him. ‘And how did you get here?’ she asked in a chilly little voice.

He frowned her down. ‘I hardly think…’ he began, and then broke off to exclaim: ‘Mies—more beautiful than ever! Why haven’t I seen you lately?’

Mies had come out of the waiting room and now, with every appearance of delight, had skipped down the passage to fling herself at him. ‘Fraam, how nice to see you! You are always so busy…and here is my good friend Lucy Prendergast.’

He bent and kissed her lovely face. ‘Yes, we’ve met in England.’ He turned round and kissed Lucy too in an absent-minded manner. ‘I’ve just one check to make. Wait and I’ll give you a lift back.’

He had gone while Lucy was still getting her breath back.

Mies took her arm and led her back to the room they had been in. ‘Now that is splendid, that you know Fraam. Is he not handsome? And he is also rich and not yet married, even though he has all the girls to choose from.’ She giggled. ‘I think that I shall marry him; I am a little in love with him, you know, although he is old, and he is devoted to me. Would we not make a nice pair?’

Lucy eyed her friend. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact, you would, and you’re a doctor’s daughter, too, you know what to expect if you marry him.’

‘That is true, but you must understand that he is not a house doctor, he is consultant surgeon with many hospitals and travels to other countries. He has a practice of course in the best part of Amsterdam, but he works in many of the clinics also. He has a large house, too.’

‘It sounds just right,’ observed Lucy. ‘You wouldn’t want to marry a poor man, would you?’

Mies looked horrified. ‘Oh, no, I could not. And you, Lucy? You would also wish to marry a man with money?’

She was saved from answering by the entrance of a young man. He was tall and thin and studious-looking, with fair hair, steady blue eyes and a ready smile. He spoke to Mies in Dutch and she answered him in what Lucy considered to be a very off-hand way before switching to English.

‘This is Willem de Vries, Lucy—he is a doctor also and works at the Grotehof Ziekenhuis. He comes here to work with Papa.’ She added carelessly: ‘I have known him for ever.’

Willem looked shy and Lucy made haste to say how glad she was to meet him and added a few rather inane remarks because the atmosphere seemed a little strained. ‘Did you go to school together?’ she asked chattily, and just as he was on the point of replying, Mies said quickly: ‘Yes, we did. Willem, should you not be working?’

He nodded and then asked hesitantly: ‘We’ll see each other soon?’ and had to be content with her brief, ‘I expect so. You can take us to a bioscoop one evening if you want to.’

After he had gone there was a short silence while Lucy tried to think of something casual to say, but it was Mies who spoke first. ‘Willem is a dull person. I have known him all my life, and besides, he does not kiss and laugh like Fraam.’

‘I thought he looked rather a dear. How old is he?’

‘Twenty-six. Fraam is going to be forty soon.’

‘Poor old Fraam,’ said Lucy naughtily, and then caught her breath when he said from the door behind her:

‘Your concern for my advanced age does you credit, Miss Prendergast.’

She turned round and looked at him; of course she would be Miss Prendergast from now on because she had had the nerve to call him Fraam, a liberty he would repay four-fold, she had no doubt. She said with an airiness she didn’t quite feel: ‘Hullo. Listeners never hear any good of themselves,’ and added: ‘Mr der Linssen.’

His smile was frosty. ‘But you are quite right, Miss Prendergast. It is a pity that we do not all have the gift of dropping off when we do not wish to listen, though.’

Her green eyes sparked temper. ‘What a very unfair thing to say—you know quite well that I’d been up all night!’

Mies was staring at them both in turn. ‘Don’t you like each other?’ she asked in an interested way.

‘That remains to be seen,’ observed Mr der Linssen, and he smiled in what Lucy considered to be a nasty fashion. ‘Our acquaintance is so far of the very slightest.’

‘Oh, well,’ declared Mies a little pettishly, ‘you will have to become friends, for it is most disagreeable when two people meet and do not speak.’ Her tone changed to charming beguilement. ‘Fraam, do you go to the hospital dance next Saturday? Would you not like to take me?’ She added quickly: ‘Willem can take Lucy.’

Lucy, watching his handsome, bland features, waited for him to say ‘Poor Willem,’ but he didn’t, only laughed and said: ‘Of course I would like to take you, schat, but I have already promised to take Eloise. Besides, surely Willem had already asked you?’

Mies hunched a shoulder. ‘Oh, him. Of course he has asked me, but he cannot always have what he wants. And now I must find someone for Lucy.’

They both looked at her thoughtfully, just as though, she fumed silently, I had a wart on my nose or cross-eyes. Out loud she said in a cool voice: ‘Oh, is there to be a dance? Well, don’t bother about me, Mies, I don’t particularly want to go—I’m not all that keen on dancing.’

And that was a wicked lie, if ever there was one; she loved it, what was more, she was very good at it too; once on the dance floor she became a graceful creature, never putting a foot wrong, her almost plain face pink and animated, her green eyes flashing with pleasure. She need not have spoken. Mies said firmly: ‘But of course you will come, it is the greatest pleasure, and if you cannot dance then there are always people who do not wish to do so. Professors…’

Mr der Linssen allowed a small sound to escape his lips. ‘There are some most interesting professors,’ he agreed gravely, ‘and now if you two are ready, shall I drive you back?’

‘Which car have you?’ demanded Mies.

‘The Panther.’

She nodded in a satisfied manner. ‘Fraam has three cars,’ she explained to Lucy, ‘the Panther, and a Rolls-Royce Camargue, which I prefer, and also a silly little car, a Mini, handy for town but not very comfortable. Oh, and I forget that he has a Range Rover somewhere in England.’

‘I have a bicycle too,’ supplied Mr der Linssen, ‘and I use it sometimes.’ He glanced at Lucy, goggling at such a superfluity of cars. ‘It helps to keep old age at bay,’ he told her as he opened the door.

Lucy sat in the back as he drove them home, listening to Mies chattering away, no longer needing to speak English, and from the amused chuckles uttered by her companion, they were enjoying themselves. Let them, brooded Lucy, and when they reached the flat, she thanked him in a severe voice for the lift and stood silently while Mies giggled and chattered for another five minutes. Presently, though, he said in English: ‘I must go—I have work to do. No, I will not come in for a drink. What would Eloise say if she knew that I was spending so much time with you?’ He kissed her on her cheek and looked across at Lucy who had taken a step backwards. She wished she hadn’t when she saw the mocking amusement on his face. ‘Good night, Miss Prendergast.’

She mumbled in reply and then had to explain to Mies why he kept calling her Miss Prendergast. ‘You see, I’m only a student nurse and he’s a consultant and so it’s not quite the thing to call him Fraam, and now he’s put out because I did and that’s his way of letting me know that I’ve been too—too familiar.’

Mies shrieked with laughter. ‘Lucy, you are so sweet and so oudewetse—old-fashioned, you say?’ She tucked an arm under Lucy’s. ‘Let us have coffee and discuss the dance.’

‘I really meant it—that I’d rather not go. Anyway, I don’t think I’ve anything to wear.’

Mies didn’t believe her and together they inspected the two dresses Lucy had brought with her. ‘They are most deftig,’ said Mies politely. ‘You shall wear this one.’ She spread out the green jersey dress Lucy had held up for her inspection. It was very plain, but the colour went well with her eyes and its cut was so simple that it hardly mattered that it was two years old. ‘And if you do not dance,’ went on Mies, unconsciously cruel, ‘no one will notice what you’re wearing. I will be sure and introduce you to a great many people who will like to talk to you.’

It sounded as though it was going to be an awful evening, but there would be no difficulty in avoiding Mr der Linssen; there would be a great crush of people, and besides, he would be wholly taken up with his Eloise.

Lucy, in bed, allowed her thoughts to dwell on the enchanting prospect of turning beautiful overnight, and clad in something quite stunning in silk chiffon, taking the entire company at the dance by storm. She would take the hateful Fraam by storm too and when he wanted to dance with her she would turn her back, or perhaps an icy stare would be better?

She slid from her ridiculous daydreaming into sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

LUCY DRESSED very carefully for the dance, and the result, she considered, when she surveyed herself in the looking glass, wasn’t too bad. Her mousy hair she had brushed until it shone and then piled in a topknot of sausage curls on the top of her head. It had taken a long time to do, but she was clever at dressing hair although she could seldom be bothered to do it. Her face she had done the best she could with and excitement had given her a pretty colour, so that her eyes seemed more brilliant than ever. And as for the dress, it would do. The colour was pretty and the silk jersey fell in graceful folds, but it was one of thousands like it, and another woman would take it for what it was, something off the peg from a large store; all the same, it would pass in a crowd. She fastened the old-fashioned silver locket on its heavy chain and clasped the thick silver bracelet her father had given her when she was twenty-one, caught up the silver kid purse which matched her sandals and went along to Mies’ room to fetch the cloak she was to borrow.

Mies looked like the front cover of Vogue; her dress, blue and pleated finely, certainly had never seen anything as ordinary as a peg; it swirled around her, its neckline daringly low, its full skirt sweeping the floor. She whirled round for Lucy to see and asked: ‘I look good, yes?’ She was so pleased with her own appearance that she had time only to comment: ‘You look nice, Lucy,’ before plunging into the important matter of deciding which shoes she should wear. Lucy, arranging Mies’ brown velvet cape round her shoulders, fought a rising envy, feeling ashamed of it; if it wasn’t for Mies and her father she wouldn’t be going to a big dance where, she assured herself, she had every intention of enjoying herself.

They were a little late getting there and the entrance hall of the hospital was full of people on their way to leave their wraps, stopping to greet friends as they went. Doctor de Groot took them both by the arm and made his way through the crowd and said with the air of a man determined to do his duty that he would stay just where he was while they got rid of their cloaks and when they rejoined him, he offered them each an arm and told them gallantly, if not truthfully in Lucy’s case, that they were the two prettiest girls there.

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