A Summer Idyll. Бетти Нилс
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I’ll apply to start training.’
‘But didn’t I hear that you’d done a year already? Won’t your old hospital take you back?’
‘I don’t want to go back to London. I’d forgotten how lovely it is living in the country. I thought I’d try a provincial town.’
Nurse Wilkins prudently refrained from pointing out that the country could be quite a long way from a provincial town large enough to have a training school for nurses. ‘You’ll find a pile in the sitting room—there are some Nursing Mirrors there too—take as many as you want. I’d ask you to stay to have a meal, but I popped back for half an hour from a midder case. I’m sorry you’ve had such rotten luck.’
‘That’s all right. Actually I’ve liked being here very much, and thanks.’
Nurse Wilkins waved her spoon at her. ‘Any time.’
There were depressingly few hospitals offering vacancies. Phoebe made a careful note of them while she ate her lunch and then sat down to apply to each one of them. She couldn’t expect to be taken on for at least a month, but she had a little money saved, so perhaps she could find a job in Stowmarket while she waited for the answers. She wrote her letters, and since she had no stamps and Mrs Platt was closed for the half day, put on her jacket and took herself off for a long walk. The house seemed very empty when she got back. She made tea, then sat in the kitchen at the table and worked out how long she would be able to manage on the money she had. The result wasn’t very satisfactory. She went into the sitting room and settled down to washing the china in the cabinet opposite the window. While she was doing it she saw Dr Pritchard, splendid in a black tie, get into his Bristol and drive off. Somehow the sight of him made her feel lonelier than ever. She ate her sausages gloomily, then took herself off to bed and stayed awake a long time feeling depressed.
It was a relief to wake early to a lovely morning with the sun already streaming through the window. She got up and dressed in the grey dress once more, did her hair rather more severely than usual and at half-past seven crossed the green and rang Dr Pritchard’s bell.
Mrs Thirsk opened the door with a cheerful good morning, and the news that she was on the point of dishing up the bacon and eggs and would Phoebe like to go straight into the dining room. ‘Doctor had an early morning call, and he’s having a shave, but he’ll be down in a moment.’
‘Oh,’ said Phoebe, ‘perhaps some other time—I mean, I daresay he’s tired…’
‘No, he’s not, only ravenous. Good morning, Phoebe.’ He had come down the stairs and caught her arm and whisked her into the dining room. ‘Pour the coffee, there’s a good girl.’
She did as she was asked, taking a quick look at him. He didn’t look in the least tired and his manner was as unhurried as it always was.
Mrs Thirsk came in with their breakfast then, and beyond a word here and there for politeness’ sake, he said very little. Only when they had got to the toast and marmalade and his third cup of coffee did he ask: ‘Made any plans?’
‘I’ve borrowed some nursing magazines from Nurse Wilkins and written to five hospitals to see if they’ll take me in their training schools.’
‘Posted them?’
Phoebe thought it a funny question. ‘As a matter of fact, no—I hadn’t any stamps.’
‘Good. Tear them up, I’ve got a much better idea.’
She opened her grey eyes wide. ‘You have? Whatever is it?’
‘It seems to me to be an excellent idea if we were to get married.’
Phoebe’s eyes almost popped out of her head. ‘Married? You and me? But you don’t and I don’t…that is, we don’t know anything about each other.’
‘Oh, I know a great deal about you, quite enough to be sure you’ll make me an excellent wife. As for me—well, I live here, don’t I? I live in this house and intend to live here for the rest of my life. I like it here. I like to travel too. My mother is Dutch; my father died several years ago and she spends a good deal of the year in Holland—she has a home there as well as a house in Grantchester; naturally I visit her frequently.’
Phoebe closed her open mouth to ask: ‘You’re half Dutch?’ A silly question, but it was all she could think of.
‘Yes.’ He smiled at her. ‘I could practise there if I wished—I qualified there as well as in England.’
‘Oh, yes, well…’ She gave him a bewildered stare. ‘But why do you want to marry me?’
‘I’m thirty-two and it’s time I settled down. I haven’t met a girl I wanted to marry, someone who would fit into my life—but you, you would. We could, of course, get to know each other better, have a long engagement, but what would be the point of that? You have no plans for the future, no money, no family, your heart is whole…’
Phoebe nodded. ‘Yes, oh yes. But I’m not sure…I mean, would it work?’
‘I can’t think why not. We get on well, don’t we? We might just as well get married now and get to know each other.’ He smiled kindly. ‘I won’t rush you, Phoebe. We’ll have a month or two of getting to know each other, just as an engaged couple would, only we’ll get married for the sake of convenience.’
Phoebe was still bowled over. ‘I—I must think about it—it’s a bit of a surprise.’
He glanced at his watch and said matter-of-factly: ‘Off you go, then. I must start surgery. Only promise me one thing—don’t send those letters until you’ve made up your mind. Give it a couple of days’ thought.’
‘All right,’ said Phoebe, ‘I’ll think about it, and I won’t send those letters.’
‘Good girl! I must fly.’ He patted her shoulder and left the room as Mrs Thirsk came in.
‘It was a lovely breakfast,’ said Phoebe. ‘Thank you, Mrs Thirsk.’ She had no idea how agitated her face looked, nor did she see Mrs Thirsk’s thoughtful glance. ‘I must get on with the packing up,’ she told that lady, and got herself out of the house.
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