Never the Time and the Place. Betty Neels
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who was looking at her with a fascinated eye. ‘Now eat up and there’s more tea if yer fancy it.’
Josephine thanked her and when Mrs Cross had gone said demurely, ‘She doesn’t mean to be familiar—she’s above rubies and has been here for heaven knows how many years. She has never gone on strike or gone slow and once or twice when there’s been a flap on, she’ll just stay in the kitchen making tea to keep us going.’
She poured the tea, a strong, dark brew which she milked generously before she passed it with the sugar bowl.
Mr van Tacx helped himself lavishly and sipped appreciatively. ‘I have acquired the habit of drinking tea,’ he remarked. ‘In Holland we drink coffee, and tea is milkless and much weaker. This would drive a train.’
He settled into his chair and Josephine said severely, ‘If you don’t sit still the chair is going to collapse. Have a sandwich.’
They sat for a moment in a pleasant companionship but presently Mr van Tacx started to discuss the patients and Josephine became at once a Ward Sister who knew exactly what was expected of her. She replenished their cups, passed the sandwiches to his side of the desk and got out her pen; like Mr Bull, he fired off instructions at an alarming rate and she couldn’t hold all of them in her head.
Presently he got up to go. ‘I’ll be in later,’ he told her, ‘and ring down to the lodge when Mr Prior gets here. You’re on this evening?’
She didn’t tell him that she should have been off duty at five o’clock but as so often happened on theatre day, she had stayed on duty.
‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m on until eight o’clock, Mr van Tacx, and I’ll phone down for you. But will you be here?’
He said coldly, ‘Did I not make myself clear, Sister?’
A remark which effectively wiped away the faint liking she had begun to admit to.
At supper, when she was at last off duty, several of her friends wanted to know why she hadn’t gone off duty. ‘How’s that new man?’ they wanted to know. ‘Slow?’
She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, but the first case took about twice as long as he had expected and then I stayed on because that particular patient’s husband was coming to visit. He was a bit difficult yesterday. Mr van Tacx came up to see him…’
‘And what’s Malcolm going to say to that?’ asked a voice, ‘staying on duty just to oblige a consultant and him too good looking to be true.’ The speaker sighed gustily. ‘I wouldn’t mind being in your shoes, Jo…’
Josephine put her knife and fork carefully together on her plate. She didn’t like the girl who spoke; the Medical Ward Sister, a good nurse but spiteful at times. ‘You can jump in any time you like,’ she said calmly, ‘for my part you can have carte blanche, and as for Malcolm, since we are no longer engaged, he has no say in the matter.’
She got up from the table and walked out of the canteen and the hapless girl who had spoken was attacked from all sides. To her cries that she hadn’t known and she hadn’t meant any harm anyway she met with a forthright warning to hold her silly tongue in future and mind her own business.
Josephine went to her room, took off her cap, wrapped a tweed coat over her uniform, pulled her leather boots over her black tights, and left the nurses’ home by the side door nearest the car park used by the staff. She wasn’t very clear as to what she intended to do or where she was going—it was already dark, a nasty blustery evening and chilly. She wanted above all things to go home but that was too far. She unlocked the Mini and got into the driver’s seat and sat there, her mind a miserable blank.
‘And where are you going?’ asked Mr van Tacx gently, and poked his head through the open window.
She had let out a squeak of fright which she covered in a dignified but breathless, ‘Out, Mr van Tacx, and I do not care to have the wits scared out of me…’
‘Sorry.’ He sounded not in the least sorry and he made no attempt to remove his head from the window. ‘Feeling low, aren’t you? It’s unpleasant to be jilted…’ She muttered furiously and he went on calmly, ‘Oh, several persons have told me, you’re a nine days wonder you know. You’ll get over it.’
‘I do not care to discuss my affairs with you, Mr van Tacx and I cannot think of what possible interest they can be to you anyway.’
‘Well, no—why should you? All you really need now is a shoulder to weep into and someone to listen. I haven’t felt the need of a shoulder myself but I’m willing to lend you mine—you’ll feel better when you’ve talked about it.’
She said furiously, ‘How could you possibly know?’
‘Because I’ve been jilted myself.’ He opened the door. ‘Move over, I’ll drive somewhere where we can have coffee or a drink.’
She opened her mouth to refuse, realised that it would be useless anyway and found herself squashed into the other seat. The small part of her brain that wasn’t numbed by surprise, noted that a Mini really wasn’t a car for a man of his size.
‘Do you mind where we go?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Is the tank full?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. We’ll keep to this side of town shall we? Do you know Epping Forest? Buckhurst Hill—the Roebuck—we can get something there.’
He didn’t speak as they took the little car through Hackney and on to the dreary bricks of Leyton and Wanstead, but then going north towards Epping Forest, he began to talk. Later she couldn’t remember what he had said, but his voice had been pleasantly soothing and she had relaxed. By the time they reached the Roebuck she had pulled herself together, even felt a little ashamed of herself. Next time, she promised herself, she would be armed against being taken unawares, and anyway, by the morning the whole Hospital would know…
The pub was very much to her taste, actually a country hotel with a comfortable bar nicely filled. Mr van Tacx parked the Mini and marched her briskly inside and sat her down at a table in a quiet corner.
‘Coffee and a brandy with it and sandwiches?’
She nodded, suddenly remembering that she was still in uniform and that she had done nothing to her hair or her face. It was disconcerting when he observed, ‘You look quite all right and no one can see the uniform.’
He wandered off then to the bar and came back presently with coffee and the brandy, followed a moment later by a plump smiling girl with the sandwiches.
‘I went to supper,’ said Josephine.
‘Did you eat anything?’
‘Well, no…’
‘Eat up, we can’t have you wilting away while Mr Bull’s gone—I need all the help I can get.’
She didn’t believe that; he looked the kind of man who would never need help, certainly not with his work. She said, searching for a safe topic, ‘There’s a long waiting list…’
‘I know.’ He bit into a sandwich. ‘Drink your brandy. What do you intend to do?’
Her eyes watered as she sipped. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t be a dim girl. Get him back? Forget him and dedicate yourself to nursing for ever and ever? Or turn your back on him and start again? There are plenty of fish in the sea, you know, and you’ve the looks to pick and choose.’
Later on, she thought, when she had the time to think about it, his words were going to annoy her very much, but at the moment nothing seemed quite real. She took a sip of coffee to counteract the brandy and said with dignity, ‘I prefer not to discuss it with you. I appreciate your kindness in bringing me here, I really do, but my—my private life can be of no interest to you…’
‘Don’t be so priggish. What you mean to say is mind your own business.