Once for All Time Page 11

  The afternoon passed remarkably quickly. Clotilde was taken on a tour of the house while her host and hostess took a nap. Katrina led her in and out of rooms and up and down passages, talking all the time. ‘When we were little we always came here for school holidays—of course, James was already at medical school by the time I was old enough to come. He was my favourite—still is, although he’s fourteen years older than I am. I see him much more often. Dilys is married, so is Peter, he’s next after James—he lives in Scotland now, he’s a doctor too, and Andrew is in Canada, he’s a physicist. But we all meet for Christmas. Oma and Opa come to England and we have a house full—it’s such fun! What will you do at Christmas, Clotilde?’

  ‘I shall be on duty.’ Clotilde spoke with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. ‘We decorate the wards, you know, and the surgeons carve the turkey and we pay visits and the visitors have tea. Oh, and we sing carols on Christmas Eve.’

  Katrina looked at her with something like horror. ‘Don’t you put on pretty clothes and go out—dancing and the theatre and dinner…?’

  ‘Well, there’s not much time for that,’ said Clotilde almost apologetically. ‘When we’re off duty, we go out, of course.’

  She remembered last Christmas. She and Bruce had gone out after she had gone off duty and had had a meal in a funny little restaurant in Soho. She had been very happy; she wondered briefly if she would ever be happy like that again. Probably not, so she must be thankful for what she had had. She said with genuine cheerfulness this time; ‘Tell me what you do. It must be fun with a large family.’

  ‘Oh, it is! Mother and Father…’ Katrina stopped on a quick breath. ‘Oh, Tilly, I’m so sorry— I forgot, just for a moment, you know. I don’t suppose you want to hear— I mean, it must hurt you…’

  ‘But I’d like to hear, just the same,’ prompted Clotilde gently. ‘Do you have any Dutch customs at Christmas, or is it the same in both countries?’

  They chatted idly as they went round the old house and presently went down to tea, to sit talking to Mevrouw van Asdaadt while her husband went away to his study. He was writing a book, Clotilde was told. He had been an eminent surgeon in his time and now, in his early eighties, he was writing his reminiscences. ‘So many medical men in the family,’ declared Mevrouw van Asdaadt, ‘for James’s father is a physician, you know, and so is Peter, I have gleaned enough knowledge from them to set up a practice on my own account!’ She smiled widely. ‘Though I do not look like a doctor, I think.’

  Katrina jumped up and gave her a hug. ‘You look like a super grandmother, Oma, and that’s much nicer.’

  It had been a lovely evening, Clotilde decided, lying sleepily in her comfortable bed in the quiet house. James had returned as they were sitting with their drinks before dinner, and she had open glad she had changed into a patterned silk jersey dress in soft browns and coral, for he had looked at her with approval and said in his placid way: ‘That’s nice—it suits you.’

  Hardly an extravagant compliment, but for some reason she had been delighted with it. And dinner had been fun, with a lot of lighthearted talking into which she was skilfully drawn by him. She hadn’t noticed that at the time, but now, with hindsight, she did. James was good at putting people at their ease. Her thoughts strayed away from the evening. His grandmother had said he was going to marry, and Clotilde wondered who the girl was and why there was no mention of her. Perhaps she lived in another part of the country or, more likely, near his parents’ home. She would dearly like to know, but somehow she hesitated to ask James. He might snub her—very nicely, but snub her just the same. At least they were friends now and she hoped they would remain that way for a long time to come.

  She thought drowsily that it would be nice to see him happily married. He would be a splendid husband, with the added bonus of good looks and enough money to make life very pleasant. He would be a super father too; but of course he would need a house outside London, large enough to accommodate his family but near enough for him to commute each day… She dozed off before deciding where that would be.

  At breakfast James observed that he was entirely at their disposal all day.

  ‘Oh good!’ Katrina beamed at him over her coffee cup. ‘Then you can drive us into Leyden and I’ll finish my packing, then I can lock up the flat and come back here for the night, can’t I, Oma?’ She bit into a roll, then added: ‘While I’m packing, James, you could take Tilly for a walk along Rapenburg and tell her about our famous siege.’

  ‘Delighted,’ murmured her brother, ‘provided that it won’t bore Clotilde.’

  ‘Me, bored? Of course not, but perhaps there’s something you want to do?’

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing—we might visit the Hortus Botanicus too. Very improving!’ He twinkled nicely at her and she laughed.

  ‘You’re bent on improving my mind. I’d love to go.’

  ‘And I hope you will all be my guests this evening. We shall have to leave tomorrow Grandmother, about two o’clock. You will be flying over for Christmas, of course? I’ll meet your plane.’

  Listening to these cheerful family arrangements, Clotilde felt a pang of regret; to be one of a large happy affectionate family seemed to her to be the epitome of happiness. She gave herself a mental shake; self-pity never did anyone any good, and she had a lot to be thankful for.

  She caught James’s eyes and smiled widely, anxious to let him see how much she was enjoying herself.

  And as a matter of fact, as the day unfolded itself, she did enjoy herself very much. James deposited Katrina at her flat, arranged to meet her for coffee in the town in a couple of hours’ time, parked the car and set off to show Clotilde the beauties of Rapenburg. And as they walked briskly beside its steely cold water, he told her about the siege in the sixteenth century and how ever since the lifting of that siege had been marked by the eating of fish and loaves of white bread, and it was because of that siege that the city had been granted a university by William the Silent.

  Clotilde looked at the building, ringed around the quad with lecture halls, library and the famous garden, and wanted to know if James had studied there.

  ‘Yes, I took my degree here and then went to Cambridge—that pleased both sides of the family.’

  ‘But you like living in England?’ She asked a little anxiously.

  ‘Of course. I was educated there, and although I come to Holland frequently I’m Dorset born and bred.’

  She just stopped herself in time from asking whereabouts in Dorset. ‘The best of both worlds,’ she observed brightly.

  It was a cold raw morning, but she didn’t notice that. They explored the Hortus Botanicus and she was quite astonished when James reminded her that they were to meet Katrina. And over coffee, Katrina declared that she surely had to have a new pair of boots and Clotilde must go with her to buy them. ‘We’ll be half an hour,’ she told James, ‘so go and talk to one of your professors…’ She broke off as a pretty young woman with gleaming golden hair under a little fur hat came across the café to their table. ‘Better still,’ said Katrina softly, ‘here’s Hortense. Chat her up, James—you’ve been neglecting her shamefully.’

  ‘Such a good idea’. He showed no sign of discomfiture and his voice was as placid as ever. He got to his feet. ‘You two run off, then— I’ll be in the University car park in an hour’s time.’ He turned a smiling face to the girl. ‘Hortense, how delightful! Sit down and have coffee and I’ll have another cup to keep you company…’

  ‘An old girl-friend,’ said Katrina as she and Clotilde reached the pavement. ‘And she’s never given up hope—she hasn’t got a chance, though. James has fallen hook, line and sinker for someone at St Alma’s.’ She spoke in a guileless voice and glanced at Clotilde. ‘Did you know that?’

  ‘Well, no, but I don’t see much of James at St Alma’s— I mean, he’s a consultant—he does his rounds on the ward and tells me what he wants done…’

  ‘But he doesn’t discuss his love life with you?’
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  Clotilde said in a shocked voice: ‘Good gracious, I should think not!’ and then: ‘Though I’m sure he has one.’

  ‘Oh, he’s always had girl-friends, but he’s never wanted to get married until now—it’s all very—how do you say it? Hush-hush. He’s very good at keeping it dark, and then suddenly you’ll all be surprised…’

  It must be Mary Evans, thought Clotilde, for the entire hospital would fall over backwards with astonishment. Perhaps the girl had a hidden something no one else had noticed. Certainly it must be something with more appeal than a padded bra. ‘What a tearing shame,’ said Clotilde forcefully, and realised with horror that she had spoken out loud. ‘That none of us are able to guess,’ she finished hastily.

  ‘Oh well,’ observed Katrina cheerfully, ‘he’ll tell you in his own time. He never was one to show his feelings.’

  With which remark, upon reflection, Clotilde was bound to agree.

  The three of them drove to Katwijk-aan-zee after lunch and walked along the wide stretch of sand in the teeth of a bitter wind, with grey clouds scudding low above their heads, before having tea at one of the hotels, now almost empty, on the boulevard, and in the evening they all went into Leyden and had dinner at the Rotisserie Oudt Leyden; smoked eel for starters, roast pheasant with an array of vegetables, and gigantic and very ornate icecreams for dessert. And since it was something of an occasion, they drank champagne, then sat around drinking coffee until late in the evening. A lovely dinner, mused Clotilde, getting ready for bed, sad at the thought that it was the last evening there. She was happy in the charming old house and she liked James’s grandparents; not for one moment had she ever felt a stranger there, she had been accepted and absorbed into the family circle quite effortlessly. Despite the grandeur of their surroundings, the old people lived a simple, placid, contented life. True, they had all that they could possibly wish for, but since, presumably, they had had that all their lives, they merely accepted it in a matter-of-fact manner. In two days’ time she would be back at St Alma’s, drinking strong tea with her friends and gossiping over the days’ work. And when she got back, she reflected, she would have to go home, choose the furniture she needed, and go over the list of things to be sold which doubtless Mr Trent would have ready by now. Something she dreaded but which had to be done.

  They did nothing much the next day. James had to go into town once again, but this time he didn’t offer to take them with him. They passed the morning happily enough and by the time they had lingered over lunch, it was time to leave. The journey back wasn’t all that like the one coming. Katrina, sitting in front with her brother, talked for most of the time. She was a delightful companion, and Clotilde was surprised to find they were back in Calais. The crossing was a different matter; the sea was uncommonly rough and Katrina retired to a cabin for the whole of the short crossing, leaving Clotilde to keep James company, which meant that they sat comfortably reading, barely exchanging a word, perfectly at ease with each other.

  Once on dry land Katrina regained her vivacity, talking nineteen to the dozen, planning what she would do when she got home, wanting to know what Clotilde was going to do.

  ‘Go to bed,’ said Clotilde with her usual good sense. ‘I’m on duty in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, my poor Tilly, while I am home you must come and see me. James can drive you down when he comes. For Christmas, perhaps?’

  ‘That’s sweet of you,’ said Clotilde quickly before James felt that he must add his voice to the invitation, ‘but I’m on duty over Christmas—we always are, you know.’

  ‘Then before Christmas,’ persisted Katrina.

  ‘I really can’t,’ declared Clotilde, knowing that if James had added his voice to his sister’s she would have found a way. But he didn’t, so she added: ‘I have to go home and decide what furniture I’m to keep and see about Rosie—that’s the housekeeper. I shall need all my free days to get everything settled.’ She changed the conversation quickly, anxious to get away from her own affairs, suddenly terrified that James would offer to help in some way, not because he really wanted to but because he felt that he should. ‘How long are you staying in England? I expect you go to a lot of parties while you’re here.’

  Katrina was easily diverted. She enlarged at some length on the pleasures in store and was earnestly discussing the merits of a ballerina-length dress as opposed to a slim sheath her mother thought was too old for her, when James swept into St Alma’s forecourt and stopped.

  It took Katrina all of five minutes to say goodbye while James sat patiently, but finally he got out, opened the door for Clotilde and reached for her case. It was only a stone’s throw to the door. She began on her little speech of thanks before they reached it, gabbling rather because she had the nasty feeling that he was anxious to be gone. He had probably been bored stiff for the whole journey, because he had hardly spoken, and the quicker she said goodbye the better. She held out a hand and thanked him again in a hurried voice not at all like her usual quiet calm one. His own quiet goodbye echoed in her ears as she went through the doors, picked up her case and hurried across the entrance hall without a backward glance.

  A delightful episode, she told herself soberly as she got ready for bed, but only an episode. She would take care to avoid James as much as possible from now on, and that shouldn’t be too difficult. On the ward he wasn’t James at all, but Dr Thackery, and the hospital was large enough for her to nip out of sight if a chance encounter was likely. She turned her thoughts resolutely to her own problems, now imminent; she wouldn’t have any days off for a week at least, and before then she must find time to go and see Mr Trent to make sure that everything was going ahead as he had hoped. She concentrated hard on a variety of knotty problems, but somehow her thoughts drifted back to James which was surprising, because after all he had nothing to do with her future.

  Pushing open the door of the ward in the morning, she felt as though she had been away for weeks instead of a mere four days. She wished the patients a general good morning and went into her office, to be considerably cheered by the relieved faces of the night nurses and Sally. Their pleasure at seeing her back was comforting and she listened with an attentive ear to the report, asked a few sapient questions, sent the night nurses off duty, went briskly to make sure that the student nurses were dealing properly with breakfasts, then went back to her desk. Sally joined her almost at once with two cups of tea and a handful of notes.

  ‘Odds and ends I thought you’d want to know about,’ she explained, ‘mostly requests for off duty, but there are one or two queries from relations and the dispensary want to see you about a prescription they can’t account for, and the laundry…’

  Clotilde made a face and Sally laughed. ‘It’s sheets this time—they say we’ve ordered too many during the last month and they’ll have to cut down.’

  Clotilde took a gulp of tea. ‘We’ll see about that. You’ve managed very well, Sally. You’ve got days off tomorrow, haven’t you?’

  The morning round took a long time. There were a handful of new patients and those she already knew kept her talking. She went down the ward back to her desk thinking that it didn’t take long to slip back into harness again, and perhaps that was a good thing. The morning went in a flash and in the afternoon Dr Evans did a protracted round. She answered Clotilde’s polite greeting sulkily and stared at her darkly. She must have known about Clotilde’s trip to Holland, but she said nothing, only as she was on the point of going she remarked: ‘I heard that you’re thinking of leaving, Sister Collins. A change might be a good idea, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ agreed Clotilde serenely, ‘but I haven’t any definite plans yet.’

  ‘There are some splendid jobs abroad for young women like you,’ said Dr Evans. She made it sound like a threat. ‘Dr Thackery was only saying last week that it would be best for you to start a new life somewhere else; I said I’d suggest it to you when I had a chance.’

  Clotilde looked down at the other g
irl, taking comfort from the fact that she was several inches taller. She had no intention of losing her temper. Whether James had said that or no was something to be guessed at, but of one thing she was sure—he must be on very intimate terms with Mary Evans if he discussed the nursing staff with her. She knew he wasn’t that kind of man, he wouldn’t gossip around. She said sweetly: ‘Why, thank you, Dr Evans for wanting to help me, I really must do some serious thinking. It’s a pity Christmas is so close; that’s such a busy time, but once it’s over…’ She left her sentence in mid-air for her companion to make what she liked of it.

  She dismissed the distasteful conversation from her mind very firmly. If she thought about it for too long she would get angry, not only that, she would begin to wonder if James had really discussed her behind her back.

  There was more than enough to keep her busy for the rest of the day, and by evening she was tired enough to go to bed after supper. Not that she went to sleep; a steady stream of friends popped in at intervals wanting to know what she had thought of Holland and what she had done while she was there. ‘Did you see much of Dr Thackery?’ they all asked inevitably.

  And she answered with a fair amount of truth. ‘He was away for most of the time, seeing people at the University, but his sister and I had a lovely time.’ She recounted the more interesting aspects of Leyden to each enquirer in turn, and made a point of telling Fiona, who was, after all, one of her closest friends, that Dr Thackery had been kindness itself and that he would have done the same for anyone. ‘He’s helped me over such a bad patch,’ she pointed out, ‘and I shall always be so grateful to him.’

  Fiona, eating the last of the biscuits in Clotilde’s tin, said, ‘Um,’ rather indistinctly, and then: ‘Have you decided to leave? Dr Evans told me this evening that it would be the best thing that you could do.’ She glanced at Clotilde. ‘She’s a bitch,’ she observed inelegantly. ‘I think she hates us all.’