Pineapple Girl

‘Indeed they do.’ Mijnheer Pringle was scrutinising the bill with such intensity that she had the uncomfortable feeling that he might not have enough money to pay it. ‘Perhaps you like the idea, Eloise?’ he asked her kindly, counting out notes with care.

‘Well, it might be fun, but there’s my mother—she really wants to go back to Eddlescombe, you know.’

Mevrouw Pringle gathered up her handbag and gloves. ‘Well, things do happen,’ she remarked vaguely. ‘I’m ready whenever you are.’

It was still afternoon when they reached Groningen and Eloise looked round her eagerly, craning her neck to see everything at once and quite failing to do so; she was left with a delightful hotchpotch of tall, narrow houses, canals, bridges, a great many cyclists and even more people hurrying to and fro, darting into the streets and disappearing round tantalising corners.

‘You shall come whenever you wish,’ Mevrouw Pringle promised. ‘I don’t care for towns much—I like to sit about at home, being lazy.’ She spoke so convincingly that Eloise almost believed her.

Mijnheer Pringle had been quite right about the roads. They were narrow, made of brick, and wandered through the wide landscape, perched as it were upon the numerous dykes. And the villages were indeed small, each a neat handful of houses encircling a church, a caf and a shop, and lying around and beyond the villages she could see the farms, large and solid with great barns at their backs, their fields dotted with black and white cows. Looking around her, she began to wonder just where the Pringles’ house might be, and had her answer almost immediately when they passed through a village much like the rest and then turned between high gateposts into a short drive bisecting the grounds of a house. It looked a little like a farmhouse, only there was no barn built on to its back, although there were plenty of outbuildings to one side of it. Its front door was plain and solid with an ornate wrought iron transom above it and the windows were old-fashioned and sashed, two each side of the door and five in the row above. There were flower beds, well laid out, and shrubs and trees carefully sited; it looked peaceful and homely and exactly what Eloise had hoped for. When Mevrouw Pringle said eagerly: ‘Here we are—I do hope you’ll like it here, Eloise,’ she replied that yes, she would, quite sincerely.

Inside was like outside; the rooms lofty and light, furnished with large comfortable chairs and solid tables and cupboards. The carpets were thick underfoot and the curtains were equally thick velvet, fringed and draped, not quite to Eloise’s own taste but nonetheless very pleasing. But she had very little time to examine her surroundings; her patient was tired now and made no demur when her husband suggested that perhaps an hour’s rest would be just the thing. They all went upstairs, Mijnheer Pringle explaining as they went that Juffrouw Blot, the housekeeper, would be along with a tray of tea just as soon as his wife was on her bed. ‘We guessed that you would be tired, my dear, and you can have a good gossip with her later on, when you’re rested.’

Alone with Mevrouw Pringle, Eloise quietly took charge, changed the dressing deftly, took off her patient’s dress and tucked her under her quilt.

‘Your room, Eloise,’ protested Mevrouw Pringle. ‘There’s been no time to show you…here’s Juffrouw Blot with my tea, she can take you…and ask Cor for anything.’

Eloise made soothing little sounds while she tidied the room, was introduced to the housekeeper, a stoutly built middle-aged woman who smiled and nodded and talked to her for all the world as though she could understand every word, and then followed her obediently across the wide landing to the room which was to be hers.

It was a pleasant apartment, lofty like all the other rooms in the house, and comfortably furnished with good taste if without much imagination. Eloise unpacked her bag, tidied her hair and did her face, peeped in at Mrs Pringle to make sure that she really was asleep and went downstairs.

Mijnheer Pringle was lying in wait for her. ‘She’s all right?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Such a long journey, but she would insist…it is good of you to come…’ He looked away for a moment. ‘Her doctor will be coming this evening—our friend too. He will talk to you and explain…’

‘Explain what, Mijnheer Pringle?’ She knew the answer already, though.

‘Well—Debby has had this operation, you will have been told about that, of course. What you weren’t told is that she is going to die very soon—weeks, perhaps less. She doesn’t know that; they told her six months or more, got her on her feet and allowed her home because that was what she wanted…’ He sighed, one of the saddest sounds Eloise had heard for a long time. ‘She’s to do exactly what she wants,’ he went on, ‘because nothing can make any difference now. I hope that if she needs you and your holiday is finished, there will be some way of keeping you here. She has taken a fancy to you, you know—she has always been fond of your mother.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m determined that she shall be as happy as possible for these last few weeks.’

Eloise swallowed the lump in her own throat. ‘Of course, and if she wants me to stay, I think it could be arranged; you would have to contact the hospital, of course—her doctor could help there. And if there’s anything I can do to help, will you let me know?’

He nodded. ‘Thank you. Shall we go and have tea? It’s been taken into the sitting room.’

There was no milk with the tea, drunk from small cups which held only a few mouthfuls. Eloise, dying of thirst, was debating whether to ask for a third cup and run the risk of being considered greedy when Juffrouw Blot opened the door, said something to Mijnheer Pringle and flattened herself to allow a visitor to enter the room. The man who had sent her the basket of fruit; her firm little chin dropped and her eyes rounded in surprise—a surprise which he didn’t appear to share, for his: ‘Ah, the pineapple girl,’ was casual to say the least as he crossed the room to shake Mijnheer Pringle’s hand.

‘You know each other?’ queried that gentleman.

‘No,’ said his visitor cheerfully. ‘That is to say, no one has introduced us, although we have met.’

Mijnheer Pringle looked puzzled, but he was a stickler for good manners. ‘Eloise, this is Doctor van Zeilst, our very good friend. Timon, this is Miss Eloise Bennett who has kindly consented to spend her holidays with Deborah.’

‘I know.’ The doctor grinned at her. ‘News travels fast in hospitals, doesn’t it?’

‘Apparently.’ She looked at him coldly, quite put out because he had shown no pleasure at meeting her again. ‘I believe I have to thank you for your gift of fruit.’

‘Healthy stuff, fruit.’ He nodded carelessly and turned to Mijnheer Pringle. ‘How is Deborah?’ and then: ‘No, I’d better ask Nurse that.’

He looked across the room, smiling faintly, but for all that she sensed that she was now the nurse giving a report to the doctor. She complied with commendable conciseness, adding: ‘I know little about Mevrouw Pringle’s stay at the nursing home, only what she has told me herself—I’ve had no instructions…’ Her voice held faint reproach.

He must have heard it, for he said blandly: ‘Done deliberately. Sir Arthur felt that in this case, the fewer people who knew the truth, the better. However, I’ll go into the whole thing with you presently.’

He smiled nicely at her and with a word of apology began to talk to Mijnheer Pringle in their own language. After a few minutes she was a little taken aback to hear him observe: ‘You don’t have to look like that, we’re not discussing you.’

She lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t for one moment imagine that you were.’

‘Splendid, touchy females stir up the worst in me.’ He was smiling again. ‘Shall we have our little talk now? It seems a good opportunity; Mijnheer Pringle has some work to do.’

When they were alone he sat down opposite her. ‘You know Mevrouw Pringle well?’

‘No, not really—she’s my mother’s friend—oh, for a very long time. She used to visit us when we lived in Eddlescombe, but I’ve not met Mijnheer Pringle before.’ She added soberly: ‘It’s very sad.’

He answered her just as soberly. ‘Yes, it is, but it would be a good deal sadder if Mevrouw Pringle were to linger on for months in discomfort and perhaps pain, and later spend the last inevitable weeks in hospital. I think sometimes the longing to be in one’s home is worse than the pain. Her husband and I are only thankful that this won’t be necessary in her case.’ He crossed his long legs, contemplating his beautifully polished shoes. ‘I’ll outline the case for you.’

Which he did, clearly and concisely in his quite perfect English, pausing now and then to allow her to ask questions. ‘So there you have it,’ he concluded. ‘The haemoglobin is going down fast and nothing we can give her will check it now; her spleen, her liver…’ he shrugged his great shoulders. ‘The opiate we’re giving her is strong, you will have noticed that; don’t hesitate to let me know if it doesn’t give enough cover. I shall come each day and you can telephone me at any time.’

‘Do you live close by?’ asked Eloise, and went delicately pink because it sounded as though she were being curious.

‘I can be with you in ten minutes.’

He could have told her a little more than that, surely, but he didn’t, merely went on to discuss the various small nursing duties she would be called upon to undertake. ‘And you will remember that no one—and that means no one, is to know about Mevrouw Pringle’s condition.’ It sounded like an order.

‘I am not a gossip,’ she assured him coolly, ‘and you seem to forget that I’m a nurse.’

She was quite outraged by his easy: ‘Yes, I find I do, frequently.’ But before she could frame a suitable reply to this, he went on: ‘Will you be lonely here? It is very quiet—there are plenty of friends around but no bright lights and most of the young men are bespoke.’

There was no end to his rudeness. ‘I can manage very well without bright lights,’ she told him crossly, ‘and I’m not accustomed to being surrounded by young men, so I shall hardly notice their absence, shall I?’

He laughed softly. ‘I say, you have got a sharp tongue, dear girl. Might one venture to suggest that if you took the edge off it the young men might be more prone to surround you?’

She said flatly: ‘Young men like pretty girls.’

‘Young men, yes.’

Absurdly she flared up. ‘Are you suggesting that I’m only suitable for a middle-aged widower with a string of children…?’ She stopped because he was laughing at her, and anyway the conversation had got completely out of hand.

His next question surprised her. ‘What did you do before you trained as a nurse?’

‘I helped my father—he had a bookshop, he sold rare books and engravings.’

‘Straight from books to patients—no fun, then. How old are you?’

She had answered him before she had had time to think that it was no business of his. ‘Twenty-three.’

He nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘Just right,’ he observed, and taking no notice of her puzzled look, went on in a practical voice: ‘Now this is what we will do. Mevrouw Pringle is to do exactly what she wishes—shopping trips, visits to friends…do you drive, by the way?’

‘Well, Father had a little van, and I used to drive that, but I haven’t driven much since we moved to London.’

‘You have your licence with you? Good; it will be best if you go everywhere with her and if you’re driving she’ll not suspect.’

Eloise said helplessly, not liking the idea: ‘But it’s years—besides, it’s on the other side of the road…’

The doctor got to his feet, unfolding his enormous frame slowly, until he seemed to tower over her. ‘We’ll have ten minutes in my car now,’ he told her. ‘I’ll soon see if you can cope.’

She found herself being led outside to where a dark grey Rolls-Royce convertible stood before the front door. She stopped short when she saw it. ‘Is that yours?’ she wanted to know urgently, ‘because if it is I can’t possibly drive it.’

He didn’t even bother to answer her, but opened the door and stood there holding it until she got in, then he settled himself beside her and said: ‘Off we go.’

She went; there was nothing else to do anyway, pride forbade her from getting out again. She fumbled for a few minutes, not understanding the gears, terrified of accelerating too hard and shooting through the bushes on either side of them, turning on the lights—even blowing the horn. To none of these errors did he respond, merely sitting quietly looking ahead of him while she wobbled down to the gate, to turn obediently when he uttered a laconic: ‘Left.’ But on the road her terror gradually subsided; true, she was driving a Rolls and if she damaged it heaven only knew what its owner would do to her, even though the whole thing had been his idea. She gripped the wheel firmly; she would show him, after all, even if the van had been small and old, she had driven well. After a few kilometres along the quiet road she even began to enjoy herself.

‘Very nice,’ said the doctor, ‘and perfectly safe. One doesn’t expect to find a girl driving with such cool. On the rare occasions—the very rare occasions, when I have been persuaded to let a girl take the wheel, she has invariably flung her hands into the air and squawked like a frightened hen after the first few yards.’ His sidelong glance took in the pinkness of her cheeks. ‘Mevrouw Pringle has a Citroën, easy to drive and quite small. You’ll be all right. Now stop, and we’ll go back. I’ve several more calls to make.’

He didn’t talk as he drove back, fast, relaxed and very sure of himself, and Eloise, in a splendid muddle of vexation at his manner towards her and pride at her prowess, didn’t speak either.

At the house he opened the door for her and ushered her into the hall, saying quietly: ‘If I know Deborah Pringle, she will be in the sitting room…’ And he was right; she was, smiling from a white face while she greeted them, assuring him that she was rested and had never felt better and was already planning some amusements for Eloise. ‘And Timon,’ she begged, ‘don’t dare suggest examining me today.’

He laughed gently and took her hand. ‘It’s delightful to see you again, Deborah, and I’ve no intention of spoiling your homecoming—besides, I’ve two more patients to see on my way home and then evening surgery. How about tomorrow? In the morning before you get up—ten o’clock. Nothing much, you know, just a check-up.’

He said goodbye and wandered to the door. ‘I’ll see myself out.’ He gave Eloise a casual nod as he went.

‘Such a dear man,’ murmured Mevrouw Pringle. ‘You’d never think he was a doctor, would you? So relaxed—I always feel he should be sitting by a canal, fishing.’

‘Perhaps he does when he’s got the time,’ suggested Eloise.

‘He’s too much in demand, and not only as a doctor. He’s something of a catch, my dear, only no one’s caught him yet, although there are one or two girls…’ She paused, leaving Eloise to conjure up pictures of any number of raving beauties doing their best to snap up the prize. The idea made her feel a little low-spirited and she told herself it was because not being a beauty herself, she couldn’t have the fun of competing with them, rather the reverse; she could see that their relationship was going to be strictly businesslike, excepting of course when he chose to find her amusing.

‘I daresay he feels very flattered,’ she remarked airily, and went on to suggest that her patient might like to have an early night, and how about supper in bed. She was glad she had suggested it, because Mijnheer Pringle threw her a grateful look and added his voice to hers, and she spent the next hour making Mevrouw Pringle comfortable for the night and then went downstairs again to sit and read in the drawing room while Mijnheer Pringle went to have a chat with his wife; he took a bottle of sherry and some glasses with him and Eloise applauded his action.

Presently he came downstairs again and they dined in the rather severe dining room on the other side of the hall, while her host kept the conversation to trivialities, concealing his true feelings with a flow of small talk which lasted until she felt she could excuse herself and go up to bed. She went to see Mevrouw Pringle on the way, to give her her tablets and warn her that she was to ring for her if she needed anything during the night, and an hour later, when she crept back to take another look, it was to find her patient sleeping quietly, so that she could go to her own bed with a quiet mind. It had been a long, eventful day, and surprising too. She had never expected to meet the doctor again, although she admitted to herself that she hadn’t really forgotten him, only tucked him away in the back of her mind. It was a pity that he had no interest in her whatever, but then why should he? Especially if he could take his pick of all those girls her patient had hinted at.

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