Promise of Happiness

Her companion cast her a glance full of sympathy, but all she said was: ‘I think you will like Trondheim better, although it is a great deal smaller, of course.’

They circled the lake slowly before going back to the shopping centre where the driver parked outside a confectioner’s whose windows displayed extravagantly boxed sweets of every sort, and Becky, obedient to her patient’s request, went rather hesitantly inside. There were no difficulties, however. She was perfectly understood, her purchases were made and paid for and with several prettily wrapped boxes she got back into the taxi. It surprised her very much when the taxi stopped once more and the driver got out, went into a café and emerged presently with a waiter carrying a tray with coffee and cream cakes. The tray was set carefully upon Becky’s knees and they were left to take their elevenses in peace. ‘I like my little comforts,’ explained the Baroness placidly. And get them too, thought Becky admiringly.

Their return to the ship was as smooth as their departure had been. A steward was by the taxi door almost before it had stopped and the Baroness was bestowed carefully into her wheelchair once more. Only when she was quite comfortable did she open her handbag and pay the driver—generously too, if the smile on his face was anything to go by. Becky, trotting along beside the chair, wondered what it must be like to be rich enough to command all the attention and comfort one required without apparent effort. Probably one got used to it and took it as a matter of course; thinking about it, she remembered that the Baron hadn’t seemed surprised when she had accepted the job he had offered her out of the blue. She was deeply grateful to him, of course, but at the same time she couldn’t help wondering what he would have done if she had refused.

The Baroness was tired after their outing, so she elected to take a light lunch in her stateroom and then rest, sending Becky down to the restaurant for her own lunch while she ate hers. Becky found the place quite full, for a good many more passengers had boarded the ship that morning. She sat at her table, set discreetly in a corner, and ate a rather hurried meal, in case the Baroness should want her the minute she had finished her own lunch, and then slipped away, smiling rather shyly at the waiter as she did so. She hadn’t quite got used to being waited on.

The Baroness was drinking her coffee but professed herself quite ready to rest. Becky made her comfortable on the sofa along one wall, covered her with a rug and sat down nearby because her patient had asked her not to go away for a little while. ‘I’m expecting a call from Tiele,’ explained the Baroness, ‘and if you would stay until it comes through…’ She closed her eyes and dozed while Becky sat, still as a mouse, listening to the exciting noises going on all around them—people talking, music coming from somewhere, but faintly, the winch loading the luggage, an occasional voice raised in command or order. It was all very exciting; she contemplated her new shoes and thought about the Baron, his mother, the journey they were about to make, Norway, about which she knew almost nothing, and then the Baron again. It was a pity he didn’t like her, but very understandable, and it made his kindness in taking care of Bertie and Pooch all the greater; it couldn’t be much fun doing kindnesses to someone you didn’t care a row of pins for. Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint tinkle of the telephone, and she picked it up quickly with a glance at the still sleeping Baroness. Her hullo was quiet and the Baron said at once: ‘Becky? My mother’s asleep?’

‘Yes, but I think she would like me to wake her, if you would wait a moment.’

He didn’t answer her but asked: ‘You’re settling down, I hope? No snags? You won’t give way to seasickness or anything of that sort, I hope?’ She heard him sigh. ‘You didn’t look very strong.’

Becky’s voice stayed quiet but held indignation. ‘I’m very strong,’ she told him quite sharply, ‘and as the sea is as calm as a millpond, I’m not likely to be seasick.’

‘You seem to have a temper too,’ remarked the Baron. ‘As long as you don’t vent it on my mother…’

‘Well,’ breathed Becky, her chest swelling with rage under the neat dress, ‘I never did! As though I would! And I haven’t got a temper…’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Bertie and Pooch are quite nicely settled.’

‘I’m so glad—I’ve been worrying about them just a little; you’re sure…?’

‘Quite. Now if you would wake up my mother, Nurse?’

She was to be nurse, was she? And what was she to call him? Baron or doctor or sir? She crossed the room and roused the Baroness with a gentle touch on her shoulder and that lady opened her eyes at once with a look of such innocence that Becky didn’t even begin to suspect that her patient had been listening to every word she had uttered.

She went to her cabin while mother and son carried on a quite lengthy conversation and spent ten minutes or so doing things to her face. She had bought make-up, the brand she had always used when she had money of her own to spend, and now she was enjoying the luxury of using it. She applied powder to her small nose, lipstick to her too large mouth, and tidied her hair under her cap and then studied her face. Nothing remarkable; no wonder her employer had dismissed her with the kind of casual kindness he would afford a stray cat. She sighed and then adjusted her expression to a cheerful calm at the sound of her patient’s voice calling her.

The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough with the Baroness remarkably amenable when called upon to do her exercises. The moment they got on shore at Trondheim, Becky had been told to instruct her in the use of crutches, something she wasn’t looking forward to over-much. The Baroness could be a trifle pettish if called upon to do something she didn’t fancy doing, and yet Becky already liked her; she had probably spent a spoilt life with a doting husband and now a doting son, having everything she wanted within reason, but she could be kind too and thoughtful of others, and, Becky reminded herself, she had a wonderful job; well paid, by no means exhausting and offering her the chance of seeing something of the world.

There were almost two days before they would arrive at Trondheim, and Becky found that they went too quickly. A good deal of time was spent on deck, the Baroness in her wheelchair, Becky sitting beside her while they carried on a gentle flow of small talk. There was plenty to talk about; the distant coastline of Sweden and then Norway, their fellow passengers, the day’s events on board; there was so much to do and even though neither of them took part in any of them, it was fun to discuss them. The Captain was giving a cocktail party that evening, but the Baroness had declared that nothing would persuade her to go to it in a wheelchair; they would dine quietly in her stateroom as usual, and Becky didn’t mind; she had nothing to wear and the idea of appearing at such a glittering gathering in a nurse’s uniform didn’t appeal to her in the least. All the same, it would have been fun to have seen some of the dresses…

The Baroness liked to dress for the evening. Becky, helping her into a black chiffon gown and laying a lacy shawl over her knees, wished just for a moment that they had been going to the party, it seemed such a waste…

It wasn’t a waste. Instead of the sherry which the steward brought to the stateroom, he carried a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, and following hard on his heels was the Captain himself, accompanied by several of his officers, and they were followed by more stewards bearing trays of delicious bits and pieces, presumably to help the champagne down. Becky, with a young officer on either side of her, intent on keeping her glass filled and carrying on the kind of conversation she had almost forgotten existed, found life, for the first time in two years, was fun.

When the gentlemen had gone the Baroness sat back in her chair and eyed Becky. ‘You must buy yourself some pretty clothes,’ she observed. ‘You won’t always be on duty, you know—I know there was no time in Newcastle to do more than get the few essentials, but once we are in Trondheim you shall go shopping. Tiele gave you enough money, I hope?’

Becky thought with still amazed astonishment of the notes in her purse. ‘More than enough,’ she explained. ‘A week’s salary in advance and money to buy my uniforms and—and things.’

‘A week’s salary? What is that? Let me see, sixty pounds, did we not say? What is sixty pounds?’ It was lucky that she didn’t expect an answer, for Becky was quite prepared to tell her that for her, at least, it was a small fortune. ‘When we get to Trondheim you will have your second week’s wages—not very much, but I daresay you will be able to find something to wear.’

Becky thought privately that she would have no difficulty at all, although she had no intention of spending all that money. It was of course tempting to do so, but she had the future to think of; she supposed her present job would last a month or a little longer and even though she managed to get another job at once, there would be rent to pay if she were lucky enough to find somewhere to live, and food for herself and the animals until she drew her pay. All the same she allowed herself the luxury of planning a modest outfit or two. They would arrive at Trondheim the next day and a little thrill of excitement ran through her, just for the moment she forgot the future and the unpleasant past; Norway, as yet invisible over the horizon, was before her and after that Holland. Perhaps later she would be homesick for England, but now she felt secure and content, with almost the width of the North Sea between her and her stepmother and Basil.

She fell to planning the little home she would make for herself and Bertie and Pooch and was only disturbed in this pleasant occupation by the Baroness, who had been reading and now put down her book and suggested a game of dominoes before the leisurely process of getting ready for bed.

The next day was fine and warm, the sea was calm and very blue and the shores of Norway, towering on either side of the Trondheimsfjord, looked magnificent. Becky, released from the patient’s company for an hour, hung over the rail, not missing a thing; the tiny villages in the narrow valleys, the farms perched impossibly on narrow ledges half way up the mountains with apparently no way of reaching them, the camping sites on the edge of the water and the cosy wooden houses. It was only when Trondheim came into sight, still some way off on a bend of the fjord, that she went reluctantly back to the Baroness. She had packed earlier, there was little left to do other than eat their lunch and collect the last few odds and ends, but there would be ample time for that; the Baroness had elected to wait until the passengers who were going on the shore excursions had left the ship; they would have to go ashore by tender, and Becky knew enough of her patient by now to guess that that lady avoided curious glances as much as possible.

The passengers were taken ashore with despatch and wouldn’t return until five o’clock. Becky, sent on deck to take a breath of air while her patient enjoyed a last-minute chat with the ship’s doctor, the purser and the first officer, watched the last tender returning from the shore. Trondheim looked well worth a visit and she longed to get a closer look. It was nice to think that she would have two or three weeks in which to explore it thoroughly. There was a lot to see; the cathedral, the old warehouses, the royal palace, the Folk Museum…she pitied the passengers who had just gone ashore and who would have to view all these delights in the space of a few hours. One of the young officers who had come to the Baroness’s cabin joined her at the rail. ‘You get off here, don’t you?’ he asked in a friendly voice. He glanced at her trim uniform. ‘Will you get time to look around Trondheim?—it’s a lovely old place.’

‘Oh, I’m sure I shall—I don’t have to work hard, you know. The Baroness is kindness itself and I get free time each day just like anyone else.’ She smiled at him. ‘I loved being on board this ship.’

He smiled back at her; he was a nice young man with a pretty girl at home waiting to marry him and he felt vague pity for this small plain creature, who didn’t look plain at all when she smiled. He said now: ‘Well, I hope you enjoy your stay in Norway. Do you go back to Holland with the Baroness?’

‘Yes, just for a little while, then I’ll get a job there.’

He looked at her curiously. ‘Don’t you want to go back to England?’

She was saved from answering him by the stewardess coming in search of her to tell her that the Baroness was ready to go ashore now. Getting that lady into the tender was a delicate operation involving careful lifting while Becky hovered over the plastered leg, in a panic that the tender would give a lurch and it would receive a thump which would undo all the good it had been doing. But nothing happened, the Baroness was seated at last, the leg carefully propped up before her and Becky beside her, their luggage was stowed on board, and they made the short trip to the shore. Here the same procedure had to be carried out, although it wasn’t quite as bad because there were no stairs to negotiate. Becky nipped on to the wooden pier and had the wheelchair ready by the time the Baroness was borne ashore. Escorted by a petty officer, they made their way off the pier to the land proper.

There were a lot of people about and a couple of officials who made short work of examining their papers before waving them on to where a Saab Turbo was waiting. The lady sitting in the car got out when she saw them coming, not waiting for her companion, and ran to meet them. She was a small woman, a little older than the Baroness and very like her in looks. The two ladies embraced, both talking at once, and only broke off when the elderly gentleman who had been in the car reached them. The Baroness embraced him too and embarked on another conversation to stop in the middle of a sentence and say in English: ‘I am so excited, you must forgive me, I had forgotten my dear Becky. She has looked after me so very well and she is going to stay with me until I return home.’ She turned to Becky standing quietly a few paces away. ‘Becky, come and meet my sister and brother-in-law. Mijnheer and Mevrouw van Denne—he is Consul here and will know exactly the right places for you to see while you are here. And now if I could be put in the car…?’

An oldish man joined them and was introduced as Jaap the chauffeur, between them Becky and he lifted the Baroness into the back seat where she was joined by the Consul and his wife while Becky, having seen the chair and the luggage safely stowed in the boot, got in beside Jaap.

She tried to see everything as they went through the city, of course, but she would have needed eyes all round her head. But she glimpsed two department stores and a street of pleasant shops with other streets leading from it and she had the palace pointed out to her, an imposing building built entirely of wood, then they were in a wide street with the cathedral at its far end. But they didn’t get as far as that; half way down Jaap turned into a tree-lined avenue with large houses, before one of which he slowed to turn again into a short drive and stop before its solid front door. They had arrived. Becky drew a deep breath to calm herself. It would never do to get too excited; she was a nurse and must preserve a calm front, but her eyes shone with delight and her pale face held a nice colour for once. The Baroness, watching her with some amusement, decided that she wasn’t only a nice girl, she was—just now and again—quite a pretty one, too.

CHAPTER THREE

THE HOUSE WAS surprisingly light inside and furnished with large, comfortable furniture. The whole party crossed the hall and went into a lofty sitting room with a splendid view of the cathedral in the distance, and the Baroness, still talking, was transferred from her wheelchair to a high-backed winged chair while coffee and little cakes were served by a cheerful young woman whom the Baroness’s sister introduced as Luce. She added, smiling at Becky, ‘And you do not mind if we call you Becky?’ Her English was as good as her sister’s.

‘Please do,’ said Becky, and was interrupted by her patient with: ‘And tomorrow morning, my dear, you shall go to the shops as soon as you have helped me, and buy yourself some pretty clothes. It is a good idea to wear uniform, I know, but now you will get some free time each day and then you will want to go out and enjoy yourself.’

Her three companions turned to look at her kindly, but she could also see doubt in their elderly faces. If she had been pretty, she thought wryly, she would probably have a simply super time, as it was she would have to content herself with a round of museums and places of interest. She gave herself a mental shake, appalled at her self-pity; good fortune was smiling on her at last, and she had no need to be sorry for herself. She agreed with enthusiasm tempered with a reminder that exercises for the day hadn’t yet been done and since the family doctor was going to call that evening, it might be as well if they were done and over before he arrived—a remark which was the signal to convey the Baroness to her room on the ground floor. It was a charming apartment and extremely comfortable with a bathroom leading from it and on the other side of that, a smaller but just as comfortable room for Becky. The exercises over, she settled her patient back into a chair by the window and prepared to unpack, a task which was frequently interrupted by her companion who was watching the traffic in the distance and declared that she could see the coachloads of passengers off the ship on their way to the cathedral. ‘You must go there,’ she declared. ‘It is quite beautiful— I should like to see it again myself.’

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