Grasp a Nettle Read online

  The next day and the day after that were very much the same; Jenny, not sleeping well, presented a tired, pale face at breakfast, and it was perhaps as well that their host had already left in the morning before she and Oliver got downstairs, and if he did notice her quietness, he didn’t remark upon it, although he was pleasant enough in a remote way and very considerate of her comfort as well as that of her aunt. And on the third morning, while she waited for Aunt Bess in the X-ray department, he sought her out to tell her that if she wished, one of the Sisters would take her round the hospital.

  It was an enjoyable hour. Her guide had been a girl of her own age whose English, although limited, was enthusiastic. She was the Children’s Ward Sister and they went there first, and Jenny, very impressed with the bright, cheerful place, peered and poked and asked endless questions before going to the Surgical Block; they spent so much time there that they had had to skimp the Medical side in order to see the Theatre Wing. Here Jenny was on home ground, and the two of them became immersed in a discussion on the best equipment for the recovery room and how it should be run, the number of nurses necessary to deal with it all, and they had their heads together over the newest thing in pumps for heart surgery when a student nurse came to tell them that the Professor was waiting for them.

  They found him at the entrance, looking impatient, and Jenny made haste to apologise, still so full of her tour that she forgot to be distant with him. ‘I got carried away,’ she explained. ‘There was such a lot to see in the Theatre Block.’

  ‘I’m glad you found it interesting,’ he told her repressively, and then turned to say something in a quite different tone of voice to her guide, who smiled and nodded and looked pleased with herself before shaking Jenny’s hand and hurrying away.

  ‘Your aunt refused to wait for you,’ said the Professor crossly. ‘You will have to come with me—I’ll drop you off on my way.’

  ‘Where to?’ asked Jenny, and regretted her words when he replied, still cross:

  ‘Since you are curious enough to ask—Amsterdam.’

  He walked towards the door and a porter hurried after them to open it, and she was ushered out to the forecourt where the Panther de Ville was parked. They didn’t speak at all until he drew up before his own front door, and when Jenny said politely: ‘Thank you very much, Professor,’ all she got was a curt: ‘Well, don’t expect me to say that it was a pleasure,’ a remark which cast her into the depths for the remainder of that day.

  There were to be no more tests for Aunt Bess, only a few days waiting for the results, so that she declared that she would enjoy a little peace and quiet in the gardens, recruiting her strength, and Jenny, egged on by Oliver, suggested that the pair of them might go to Amsterdam and have a look round. ‘Oliver’s dying to go, and so am I,’ she declared. ‘If Dobbs would drive us there, we could come back by train and telephone when we get to the station and he can pick us up there.’

  The Professor wasn’t there to cast a damper on her suggestion, and Aunt Bess could see no harm in it. Jenny was warned to take good care of Oliver, make sure that she had sufficient money with her and took care what they ate, and allowed to make her plans.

  It seemed prudent to make them while the Professor was still absent, so that when the subject was broached at dinner that evening, there was really nothing much he could do about it, although she could see that he didn’t approve. She sat, a delightful picture in the silvery crêpe dress she had put on with the mistaken idea that it made her look inconspicuous, her eyes on her plate, so that the lashes curled on her cheeks, trying not to look pleased because he was, for once, not to have his own way.

  She could see no reason at all why she and Oliver shouldn’t go to Amsterdam; Dobbs could drop them off in the heart of the city and from there they could take a canal boat and tour the waterways before having a good look at the shops. Left to herself she would have visited as many museums as she could have crowded into the time available, but one could hardly expect a lively six-year-old boy to do that—besides, he wanted to buy his mother a present. They would have lunch too, somewhere well-known; Jenny had a guide book and had ticked off the most likely restaurants.

  She mentioned all this reluctantly to her host, but only because she was unable to do anything else in the face of his direct questions. His final grunt of disapproval made her all the more determined to go. It was ridiculous that he should consider her incapable of spending a day out without coming to grief.

  And it was infuriating to watch his nasty little smile. She could imagine him saying ‘I told you so’ if by some remote chance their day should go awry. Spurred on by the smile, she remarked defiantly: ‘It will be a day to remember,’ and added for good measure: ‘I don’t suppose you enjoy that sort of thing any more.’

  He had looked at her then with a sudden cold anger which caught the breath in her throat, aware that she had been rude and unkind too. She wanted to get up and run to him and beg his forgiveness and tell him that she hadn’t meant a word of it. Who was it who had said that one always wanted to hurt the one one loved? How very true! She had actually made a movement to rise when Aunt Bess, silent too long, began a rambling dissertation on the intricacies of family history, which allowed of neither of her listeners speaking until she had finished, and by then it was too late. All the same, Jenny tried again when they left the table, asking diffidently if he had a few minutes to spare her as she had something she wished to say to him, to be instantly snubbed with a chilly civility which froze her bones.

  ‘Unfortunately I have several important telephone calls to make,’ he told her with a smile which didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Tomorrow, perhaps?’

  But of course he had left the house by the time she and Oliver got downstairs; moreover, Hans told her that the master of the house expected to be late home that evening and trusted that his guests would excuse him.

  ‘So that’s that,’ sighed Jenny, and because it was Oliver’s day, applied herself to the excitements lying head of them.

  They left soon after breakfast, having bidden Aunt Bess goodbye and made sure that she had all she wanted before getting into the car with Dobbs at the wheel. Jenny, on the back seat by herself, studied her map of Amsterdam once more and then sat back to view the countryside. It was a fine day with a blue sky and a brisk wind and little chance of rain, which was a good thing for to please Oliver she had put on a pale blue jersey dress he particularly liked. If it rained it would be tiresome, but there would be shelter enough in the city and Hans had assured her that there were plenty of trains running when they wanted to return.

  Dobbs didn’t like leaving them when they reached the square in front of the main station; he spent quite five minutes trying to persuade them to get back into the car while he drove them on a personally conducted tour of the city, until Jenny said gently: ‘Look, Dobbs, it isn’t that we wouldn’t like to come with you, it’s just that we want to escape—just an hour or two…’

  He understood her well enough and grinned in sympathy as he said goodbye, leaving them to join the queue for a canal boat.

  The trip was exciting because they were in a foreign city and everything looked different, especially from the canals: the funny little gabled houses with their windows overlooking the water, the enormous mansions with their high windows and great doors, the narrow bridges and the people walking or cycling along the streets alongside them, even a street organ belting out some jolly tune which exactly suited their mood. As they stepped out of the boat, Oliver wheedled: ‘Let’s do it again, Jenny—please! I want to look at it all—it was so quick…look, there’s another boat just going to leave!’

  Jenny laughed at him. ‘All right, my lamb, but I’ll have to race to get the tickets. Wait here.’

  There were quite a lot of people round the ticket booths even though the tourist season was almost over now. Foreigners like herself, she thought resignedly, waiting her turn. It was a minute or two before she had her new tickets and made her way back to where
she had left Oliver. He wasn’t there; she looked round carefully, for he couldn’t be far away. But he was; she heard his shrill voice calling her name gleefully and turned round once more to see the boat gliding away at a great rate with him waving from a seat in the middle. He was perfectly happy, indeed she could see that he was laughing. She just had time to memorise the number of the boat before it disappeared under the first bridge; there was nothing to do for it but to remain where she was until it returned, almost an hour away.

  She found a stone wall to sit on and fell to pondering what she should do. Must Oliver be punished by being taken straight back to the Professor’s house? But probably he hadn’t done it deliberately, only become impatient and gone on board in his eagerness not to miss a further treat.

  And if he had done it deliberately, wasn’t it the kind of thing all little boys did at some time or other? Margaret didn’t allow him much freedom and he led a dull life… Jenny sensibly decided to wait and see what he had to say for himself when he got back, and waited patiently for the hour to pass while a dozen frightening possibilities chased themselves round and round inside her head.

  The waiting time seemed long; when she saw the boat at last she made herself walk unhurriedly to the spot where it would berth, prepared to use more patience, for the boat was very full. But she knew real panic when the last passenger disembarked and there was no Oliver. There were already people boarding the craft for the next trip and she wormed her way through them, oblivious of the annoyed glances around her, and found the guide.

  ‘A little boy,’ she said breathlessly, ‘six years with coppery-red-hair. He got on while I was getting the tickets. He hasn’t come back.’

  The guide was a tall girl with a cheerful face, ‘I saw him,’ she spoke in excellent English, ‘he sat over there.’ She pointed to a seat halfway along the gang way. ‘He was talking to the people with him—I thought he belonged to them.’ She paused. ‘Not?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Not,’ said Jenny soberly. ‘Did he get off, with them? I didn’t know these boats stopped.’

  The guide nodded. ‘I am sure that he did. We are not supposed to stop, but sometimes if it is something very special, and these people were Dutch and had a reason—the lady felt sick.’

  Jenny’s mouth had gone dry, but she said steadily: ‘Please will you tell me where that was? I must find him—he’ll be lost…’

  ‘Just past the Leidesstraat; we go under a bridge there and there is another canal crossing the Heerengracht at that point. There is a small landing stage there—we stopped for only a minute.’

  ‘I don’t even know where it is,’ said Jenny wildly, and then, common sense coming to her aid: ‘Thank you very much, you’ve been very kind—I’ll get a taxi.’

  The intending passengers were milling all round her now, annoyed at being delayed. It took her a few minutes to get off the boat, for as fast as she made for the exit, she was pushed back by a fresh wave of incoming people. Once on the quay she made herself stand still and think sensibly. Oliver had some money with him—not much, though, and although he was an adventurous little boy she didn’t think that he would do anything foolish. He might even think of taking a taxi back to the boat stage. She went back to the ticket booth and found someone there who understood English. ‘If a small boy with red hair comes here, will you please ask him to wait? That I’ll be back very soon. I’m going to look for him.’ She repeated the words for a second time, not quite sure that her listener understood, and finally turned away.

  The Professor was so close behind her that she tumbled into him and had to catch his sleeve to avoid falling. Her spontaneous, ‘Eduard—oh, thank heaven you’re here!’ was uttered before she remembered that they weren’t on speaking terms any more, it seemed quite right and natural that he should be there when she wanted him, so she gave him a shaky smile, unaware that her face was quite white and that she looked scared out of her wits. ‘I’ve lost Oliver—he got on the boat while I was getting the tickets…’ The whole story tumbled out in a cascade of words, half of which didn’t make sense.

  The Professor removed her hands from his coat sleeve. ‘So he has been gone for just over an hour.’ His eyes, very cold and blue, stared down into hers. ‘He could be anywhere. We will go to the landing stage you speak of and find out if anyone saw him leave the boat and which direction he took. If we draw a blank, we will go to the police.’

  He walked her across the street to a taxi rank and told her to get into the cab. When he was seated beside her, he asked: ‘How much money had he with him?’

  ‘About twenty gulden—he was going to buy his mother a present.’ Jenny spoke in a carefully controlled voice, her hands gripping each other tightly on her lap, while a procession of all the frightful things which could happen to a small lost boy wove its way through her brain.

  At the landing stage she made herself stand quietly while the Professor made some enquiries and at the third attempt had success.

  An old man, sitting on a stool, smoking and watching the world go by. He remembered Oliver quite clearly; the boy had stood for a few moments talking to a man and woman who had apparently been pointing out the way to him, for he had waved quite cheerfully to them and gone off down the steeg between the general stores and the tobacconists—and furthermore, in answer to the Professor’s persistent questions, the boy had seemed perfectly happy—certainly not frightened. That was the extent of his memory. The Professor rewarded him suitably and rejoined Jenny.

  She said at once: ‘You’ve got news, haven’t you? Is he all right? Where is he?’ Her mouth, despite her best efforts, shook a little. ‘I’m very sorry…’

  ‘A little late in the day for that,’ remarked her companion severely. ‘Of all the silly things to do…however, that can wait. He went down this steeg, I imagine, on his way to the shops, for they can be reached from here, provided one knows the way I suggest that we walk down it now, searching every passage leading off it. You take that side, I will take this, and we will meet at the end. He may have fallen down or lost his way—the steegs all look alike—he may even be asleep in some corner, so look well. Can you whistle?’

  Jenny understood him at once. ‘Yes.’

  ‘That is at least something to be thankful for,’ he commented drily. ‘One long and two short if you find him—and stay with him, for pity’s sake.’

  She had no idea of doing anything else, but she supposed she deserved his scorn and set off meekly beside him, to turn into the first narrow passage after a few yards. She went to its end—a blank wall, part of a factory, she supposed, and the tiny, derelict houses on either side showed no sign of life either. She retraced her footsteps and encountered the Professor returning from a similar search on his side, and parted from him almost immediately to turn into the next alley, with high walls on either side this time and ending in a shed neatly piled with bits and pieces of old cars. She searched every inch of it before going back, this time to see her companion’s large back disappearing down a similar passage on his side. The next steeg wound itself between small houses at first and then blank walls again. Jenny had gone halfway down its length when she saw Oliver ahead of her, coming in her direction. He had a boy on either side of him, both coloured and in their early teens, each holding a hand. Jenny began to run, tearing over the cobbles at a great rate, calling his name in little gusty breaths while all the while she was wondering what he was doing there and who were the boys. Was he being kidnapped? He was calling to her now, but she didn’t stop to listen—supposing the boys turned and ran off with him before she could reach them? She didn’t see the banana skin on the ground; she skidded along the cobbles and fell, banging her head, aware at the last split second that she had knocked herself out.

  When she opened her eyes, it was to encounter the Professor’s blazing down at her, so that she closed them again at once, unwilling to face such fury. But she heard him say furiously: ‘Why the hell didn’t you whistle?’ and before she could answer that: ‘No don�
�t talk. Oliver is here safe—these two boys were showing him the way back. His sense of adventure got the better of him, I fancy. You will stay exactly as you are while I get a taxi.’

  Which remark naturally made her want to sit up immediately. ‘I’m perfectly all right,’ she said in a voice which wasn’t quite steady.

  ‘I know that,’ he sounded annoyingly matter-of-fact about it, ‘but you cut your head a little and knocked yourself out. You should pay more attention to where you are going.’

  It was really the last straw—to be hauled over the coals like this when she had been doing her utmost…’Oh, stop pointing out my faults!’ she cried furiously. ‘That’s all you do…I’m sick and tired…’

  He said something she couldn’t understand because it was in his own language and she didn’t bother to open her eyes because her head ached. She felt his arm slide from her shoulders and instead Oliver’s small hand wormed its way into hers. His voice, a little worried, whispered in her ear: ‘Jenny, I didn’t mean to frighten you, truly I didn’t— I thought I’d look for a present for Mummy and then we would have more time for lunch. I was going to come back, but I got lost. Those boys were super—the Professor gave them some money. He’s gone to get a taxi.’

  She opened her eyes then and smiled at the small, earnest face peering down at her. ‘Yes, my lamb.’

  ‘You’re not cross? He wasn’t.’

  She gave the Professor a good mark for that; he must understand children. ‘No, I’m not cross—not a bit. Only you frightened me a little, Oliver—you see, you knew where you’d gone, but I didn’t. Next time just let me know before you go, then I shan’t worry. But it’s really a much better idea to know your way around before you go off on your own—I’m sure the Professor would agree with that.’

  She closed her eyes again and then opened them quickly because the taxi had arrived and she felt a fool, propped up against the wall, looking, she felt sure, like nothing on earth. And indeed, looking down at herself, she was a sight; the dress was a ruin for a start, for she had caught her heel in it as she fell, and the bodice was covered with small flecks of blood. Worse, her hair had come loose and was hanging round her shoulders in a very tatty fashion.