A Girl in a Million. Betty Neels
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told those of her friends who were in the sitting-room that Caroline had gone out with a man.
‘Good for her,’ said someone. ‘It’s time she had some fun.’
If Caroline had heard that remark she would have felt doubtful about the fun. Mr van Houben was waiting for her, looking remote, almost forbidding, and she very nearly turned tail and went back through the door. The prospect of a good supper was a powerful incentive, however, and she went to where he was standing and said quietly, ‘Well, here I am, Mr van Houben.’
He stood for a moment looking down at her. She had got into the first thing which had come to hand, a short jacket over a thin sweater and a pleated skirt, and, because ten minutes hadn’t been nearly long enough, her hair, though tidy, had been pinned back ruthlessly into a bun instead of its usual French pleat, and there had been even less time to spend on her face.
Mr van Houben laughed inwardly at his sudden decision to take this small unassuming person out for a meal. It had been triggered off by the sight of her sitting by little Marc; she had been the one who had first seen his faint stirrings and acted promptly, but no one had so much as spared her a smile and she had been sent off duty without so much as a thank-you. She must have longed to share their triumph and relief. He was a kind man; at least he could make up for that by giving her a meal.
He said with impersonal friendliness, ‘You hadn’t anything planned for this evening?’ As he ushered her through the doors and out into the forecourt.
She answered him in her sensible way, ‘No, nothing at all.’
He took her arm as they crossed the busy street. ‘No boyfriend to disappoint?’ He was sorry he had said that for, looking down at her in the light of a street lamp, he saw the look on her face and to make amends he added, ‘I should imagine that there is little time for serious friendships while you are training. Plenty of time for that once that’s done with! You might like to travel—there are quite a number of English nurses in our bigger hospitals in Holland.’
He eased the conversation into impersonal channels until they reached the Bristling Dog, where he urged her into the saloon bar, half filled already, mostly by elderly couples and a sprinkling of younger people, most of them eating as well as drinking, and several, Caroline noticed, from the hospital.
Mr van Houben sat her down at a small corner table and fetched the well-thumbed menu card from the bar. It held a surprising variety of food, but Mr van Houben had suggested sausages… ‘Sausages and chips, please,’ she told him, anxious to fall in with his own wishes.
‘Splendid,’ he said, and with unerring instinct, ‘and a pot of tea?’
He was rewarded with her smile. ‘That would be nice.’
The food came, hot and tasty, and with it a pot of tea and thick cups and saucers. Caroline poured out and handed him his cup. It was strong, and even with milk and sugar he found it unpalatable. All the same, he drank a second cup because it was obvious that Caroline expected him to. He was rewarded by her sweet smile and the observation given in matter-of-fact tones that a cup of tea was a splendid pick-me-up when tired.
Over the last of the chips he asked her what she thought of London. ‘You live here?’ he asked casually.
‘No, I live with my aunt at Basing—that’s near Basingstoke. I go home twice a month.’
‘The English countryside is very charming,’ he observed, and from then until they returned to the hospital they talked about it, and the weather, of course, a conversation which gave him no insight as to her likes and dislikes. She was a sensible girl with nice manners and a gentle way with her, and he was surprised to discover that he had rather enjoyed his evening with her. He bade her goodnight in the entrance hall and listened to her nicely put thanks and didn’t tell her that he would be returning to Holland in the morning. Marc’s father, recalled from a remote region of South America where he was building a bridge, would be installed with his wife and baby daughter by now, and Mr van Houben could return to his own work with a moderately easy mind.
He watched her go through the door at the back of the hall and made his way to the children’s wing where he found Mr Spence, his brother Bartus and Sister Crump, who quite often stayed on duty if she saw fit.
‘Very satisfactory,’ said Mr Spence. ‘We’re not out of the wood but there’s plenty of movement. You’ll be over again?’
Marius van Houben nodded. ‘In a few days, just a flying visit.’ He put a large hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘You’ll stay with Emmie until we know how things are? As soon as he’s fit, perhaps we could get him back home with a nurse but that’s early days yet…’
‘A good idea all the same,’ agreed Mr Spence. ‘Familiar surroundings may be the answer.’
‘I’m going along to Theatre to collect up my equipment, I’ll give you a lift back, Bartus—see you at the car presently.’ He bade Mr Spence goodnight with the remark that he would see him before he left the next day, and with a last look at his small nephew he went away. Sister Crump caught up with him as he reached the end of the ward. It was very quiet, the children slept and the night nurses were sitting in the middle of the ward at the night table, shadowy figures under the dark red lampshade.
‘I’m sorry you’re going,’ said Sister Crump in a whisper. ‘Marc wouldn’t have pulled through without your expertise.’
She wasn’t praising him, just stating a fact. ‘I don’t like to lose a patient.’
‘He has had splendid nursing care.’
‘Yes—they’re good girls.’ She frowned. ‘I hope that child had a meal—I should have made sure. She went off duty very late too.’
Mr van Houben smiled down at her worried face. ‘She had sausages and chips and a pot of the strongest tea I have ever been forced to drink.’
‘You? You were with her?’
‘We met in the entrance hall and I happened to be hungry too.’ He opened the door, ‘Goodnight, Sister.’
Sister Crump went back to Mr Spence. She was smiling widely but she rearranged her features into suitable severity as she joined him.
Caroline was pounced upon by Janey on her way to the bath. ‘Where have you been?’ demanded her friend. ‘And who with? And why were you in such a hurry?’
She had been joined by various of Caroline’s friends and one of them added, ‘Have you been out to dinner?’
‘No—just the Bristling Dog.’
There was a concerted gasp. ‘But nurses don’t go there. Whoever took you there and why didn’t you tell him?’
‘Well, I didn’t like to—I suppose he can go where he likes and if I was with him it wouldn’t matter.’
‘Who?’ They hissed at her from all sides.
‘Mr van Houben.’
One of her listeners was doing her six weeks in Theatre. ‘Him? That marvellous man who came specially to give the anaesthetic for Marc? Caroline, how did you do it? We’ve all had a go at him…’
‘He asked me if I was hungry and when I said yes, he said he was too.’
‘Oh, love,’ said Janey, ‘you were wearing that jacket you’ve had for ages, the one that doesn’t fit very well across the shoulders.’
‘He told me to be ready in ten minutes or he’d come and fetch me. I hadn’t time…’
Her friends groaned. ‘What did you eat?’
She told them. ‘And a pot of tea.’ She thought for a bit. ‘And we talked about little Marc and the weather and how flat Holland is…’
‘He won’t even remember you,’ groaned Janey. ‘Why didn’t you tell him that you would like to go out to a splendid meal at the Savoy