Promise of Happiness. Betty Neels
Читать онлайн книгу.
there easily enough—besides, Tiele can help you there.’
‘He has a practice in Leeuwarden?’
‘Yes, although he doesn’t live there.’ She put down her cup and saucer. ‘I have talked a great deal, but it is pleasant to chat with someone as restful as you are, Becky. I think we shall get on very well together. Tiele says that we must arrange our days in a businesslike fashion, so will you tell me what you think is best?’ She opened her bag. ‘I almost forgot, he left this for you—instructions, I believe.’
Very precise ones, written in a frightful scrawl, telling her just what he wanted done for his mother, reminding her that she was to take the usual off duty, that she might possibly have to get up at night if the Baroness wasn’t sleeping, that she was to report to the ship’s doctor immediately she went on board that afternoon and that she was to persevere with active movements however much his mother objected to them. At Trondheim there would be a doctor, already in possession of all the details of his mother’s injuries, and he would call very shortly after they arrived there.
He hadn’t forgotten anything; organising, she considered, must be his strong point.
‘That’s all very clear,’ she told her patient. ‘Shall we go over it together and get some sort of a routine thought out?’
It took them until a waiter came with the lunch menu. The Baroness had made one or two suggestions which Becky secretly decided were really commands and to which she acceded readily enough, since none of them were important, but she thought that they were going to get on very well. The Baroness was accustomed to having her own way but she was nice about it. To Becky, who had lived without affection save for her animal friends, her patient seemed kindness itself. They decided on their lunch and she got her settled nicely in a chair with a small table conveniently placed between them and then went away to change her clothes.
She felt a different girl after she had bathed and done her hair up into a neat bun and donned the uniform dress. She had bought some caps too, and she put one on now and went to join the Baroness, who studied her carefully, remarking: ‘You’re far too thin, Becky, but I like you in uniform. Have you bought clothes as well?’
‘Well, no. You see, I should need such a lot….’
Her companion nodded. ‘Yes, of course, but there are some nice shops in Trondheim, you can enjoy yourself buying all you want there. There’s sherry on the table, child, pour us each a glass and we will wish ourselves luck.’
Becky hadn’t had sherry in ages. It went straight to her head and made her feel as though life was fun after all and in a sincere effort not to be thin any longer, she ate her lunch with a splendid appetite. It was later, over coffee, that her patient said: ‘We have a couple of hours still. Supposing you tell me about yourself, Becky?’
CHAPTER TWO
AFTERWARDS, thinking about it, Becky came to the conclusion that she had had far too much to say about herself, but somehow the Baroness had seemed so sympathetic—not that she had said very much, but Becky, who hadn’t had anyone to talk to like that for a long time, sensed that the interest was real, as real as the sympathy. She hadn’t meant to say much; only that she had trained at Hull because she had always wanted to be a nurse, and besides, her father was a country GP, and that her mother had died five years earlier and her father three years after her. But when she had paused there her companion had urged: ‘But my dear, your stepmother— I wish to hear about her and this so unpleasant son of hers with the funny name…’
‘Basil,’ said Becky, and shivered a little. ‘He’s very good-looking and he smiles a lot and he never quite looks at you. He’s cruel; he’ll beat a dog and smile while he’s doing it. He held my finger in a gas flame once because I’d forgotten to iron a shirt he wanted, and he smiled all the time.’
‘The brute! But why were they so unkind to you? How did they treat your father?’
‘Oh, they were very nice to him, and of course while he was alive I was at the hospital so I only went home for holidays, and then they persuaded my father to alter his will; my stepmother said that there was no need to leave me anything because she would take care of me and share whatever he left with me. That was a lie, of course. I knew it would be, but I couldn’t do much about it, could I?’ She sighed. ‘And I had already decided that I would get a job abroad. But then Father died and my stepmother told me that I had nothing and that she wasn’t going to give me anything and that I wasn’t welcome at home any more, but I went all the same because Bertie and Pooch had belonged to my father and I wanted to make sure that they were looked after. We still had the housekeeper Father had before he married again and she took care of them as best she could. And then my stepmother had jaundice. She didn’t really need a nurse, but she wrote to the hospital and made it look as though it was vital that I should go home— and then Basil came and told me that they had sacked the housekeeper and that if I didn’t go home they’d let Bertie and Pooch starve. So I went home. The house was on the edge of the village and Stoney Chase is a bit isolated anyway. They made it quite clear that I was to take the housekeeper’s place, only they didn’t pay me any wages to speak of and I couldn’t go anywhere, you see, because I had no money after a little while—once I’d used up what I had on things like soap and tights from the village shop…’
‘You told no one?’
‘No. You see, Basil said that if I did he’d kill Pooch and Bertie, so then I knew I’d have to get away somehow, so each week I kept a bit from the shopping—I had aimed at fifty pounds, but then yesterday Basil and my stepmother were talking and I was in the garden and heard them. He said he was going to drown them both while I was in the village shopping the next day, so then I knew I’d have to leave sooner. We left about three o’clock this morning…’ She had smiled then. ‘The doctor stopped and gave us a lift, it was kind of him, especially as he was in such a hurry and we were all so wet and he didn’t even know if I was making up the whole thing.’ She had added uncomfortably: ‘I must have bored you; I hate people who are sorry for themselves.’
‘I should hardly say that you were sorry for yourself. A most unpleasant experience, my dear, and one which we must try and erase from your mind. I see no reason why you shouldn’t make a pleasant future for yourself when we get to Holland. Nurses are always needed, and with Tiele’s help you should be able to find something to suit you and somewhere to live.’
Becky had felt happy for the first time in a long while.
Their removal to the ship took place with an effortless ease which Becky attributed to the doctor’s forethought. People materialised to take the luggage, push the wheelchair and get them into a taxi, and at the docks a businesslike man in a bowler hat saw them through Customs and into the hands of a steward on board. Becky, who had visualised a good deal of delay and bother on account of her having no passport, even though the Baroness had assured her that her son had arranged that too, was quite taken aback when the man in the bowler hat handed her a visitor’s passport which he assured her would see her safely on her way. She remembered that the doctor had asked her some swift questions about her age and where she was born, but she hadn’t taken, much notice at the time. It was evident that he was a man who got things done.
The Baroness had a suite on the promenade deck, a large stateroom, a sitting room with a dear little balcony leading from it, overlooking the deck below a splendidly appointed bathroom and a second stateroom which was to be Becky’s. It was only a little smaller than her patient’s and she circled round it, her eyes round with excitement, taking in the fluffy white towels in the bathroom, the telephone, the radio, the basket of fruit on the table. None of it seemed quite real, and she said so to the Baroness while she made her comfortable and started the unpacking; there was a formidable amount of it; the Baroness liked clothes, she told Becky blandly, and she had a great many. Becky, lovingly folding silk undies which must have cost a fortune and hanging dresses with couture labels, hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for years. Perhaps in other circumstances she might have felt envy, but she had a wardrobe of her own to gloat over; Marks & Spencer’s undies in place of pure silk, but they were pretty and new. Even her uniform dresses