Making Sure of Sarah Read online

  She looked away, searching for an answer which wouldn’t sound like a fib.

  ‘The police said I could collect our cases and things in the morning from the police station…’

  ‘You know where that is?’

  ‘No, but I can ask.’

  ‘And until morning?’ he persisted.

  She opened her mouth to utter something misleading but convincing.

  ‘No, no. Let us have no nonsense. You have no money, no clothes, you are extremely dirty and probably hungry. You will come home with me…’

  He spoke pleasantly, but he sounded as though he meant it. All the same, she said tartly, ‘Indeed I won’t.’

  Mr ter Breukel slid effortlessly into his bedside manner. ‘My dear young lady, my sister will be delighted to meet you, and help you in any way she can.’ He didn’t smile, but Sarah, peeping at him, had to admit that he looked—she sought the right word—safe.

  ‘If you’re sure I won’t be a nuisance, thank you.’

  He nodded, walked to where a dark grey Rolls Royce was parked and popped her neatly into it, got in beside her and drove away.

  After a moment Sarah asked, ‘Will I be able to arrange for Mother to go home soon? If she isn’t seriously hurt…’

  ‘Shall we leave that for the moment? Time enough when you have seen the police in the morning. You will probably have to make a statement, as will your parents. Once the matter has been dealt with, arrangements can be made for you to return to England.’

  He drove to the city’s heart, where there were still ancient houses and shops which had miraculously escaped damage during the terrific battle towards the end of World War II, stopping presently in a narrow, canal-lined street.

  The houses in it were old, narrow and tall, leaning against each other, each with a splendid gable. He stopped the car halfway down, got out and opened the door for Sarah. She got out and looked around her. She could have stepped back into the seventeenth century, for there was no traffic, no cars parked, only the rustle of trees lining the canal to break the stillness.

  ‘You live here?’

  ‘Yes.’ He took her arm and marched her across the narrow pavement and up some worn steps to a handsome door flanked by long narrow windows on either side of it. He unlocked the door and urged her gently before him into the narrow hall beyond, its walls panelled, black and white tiles underfoot, a brass chandelier, probably as old as the house, hanging from the beautiful plaster ceiling.

  As they entered, a door at the end of the hall opened, and a short, stout man came to meet them. He was accompanied by a large dog with small yellow eyes and a thick grey pelt, who bared awesome teeth in what Sarah hoped was a smile. Apparently it was, for he pranced up to Mr ter Breukel and offered his head for a scratch with reassuring meekness.

  Mr ter Breukel obliged, exchanged a few words with the man and switched to English. ‘This is Jaap; he and his wife look after me. And this is Max; he looks fierce, but he has the disposition of a lamb.’

  Sarah shook Jaap’s hand, then patted Max’s woolly head and tried not to notice the teeth before she was propelled gently through a door into a high-ceilinged room with narrow windows and a hooded fireplace. She had no time to see more than that before a young woman got up from a chair by the cheerful fire and came to meet them.

  ‘Litrik, you’re late.’ She lifted a face for his kiss and smiled at Sarah.

  ‘Suzanne, this is Sarah Beckwith. She and her parents had a car accident this afternoon. They are at St Bravo’s and she has agreed to stay here with us for the night. The police have all their things, and it is rather late to find a hotel…’

  Suzanne took Sarah’s hand. ‘How horrid for you, and we’ll love to have you; you must be feeling awful.’ She cast a discreet eye over Sarah’s deplorable person. ‘Would you like a bath before dinner? Anneke can get your clothes cleaned up while I lend you something to wear.’

  She took Sarah’s arm. ‘This is fun—not for you, of course, but I’m so pleased you’re here. We’ll find Anneke and I’ll take you upstairs.’

  She turned to her brother. ‘Dinner in half an hour? You don’t have to go back this evening?’

  ‘No, not unless something turns up.’ He gave a casual nod and smile and went to the fire, and Sarah, reassured by the matter-of-fact air he was careful to maintain, went back into the hall and up a carved staircase in a recess halfway down it.

  A small, thin woman was waiting for them when they reached the landing.

  ‘This is Anneke,’ said Suzanne. ‘Jaap’s wife and a family friend for years and years.’

  Sarah offered a hand once more and was aware that she was being carefully studied from beady brown eyes. Then Anneke smiled and led the way down a passage leading off the landing, opened a door and waved Suzanne and Sarah into the room beyond.

  A charming room of pale pastel colours, deeply carpeted, with curtained windows a froth of white muslin. Sarah paused on the threshold. ‘My filthy shoes…’ She took them off and Anneke took them from her with a smile and said something to Suzanne.

  ‘Take everything off and have a bath. Anneke will see to your things and I’ll bring you some clothes.’ She studied Sarah’s small person. ‘We’re almost the same size. A sweater and trousers?’ She gave Sarah a little push. ‘Anneke’s running a bath for you; I’ll be back in ten minutes.’

  Left alone, Sarah shed her damp and dirty clothes, laid them tidily on a towel so as not to spoil the carpet or quilt, and got into the bath. It was blissfully hot and delightfully scented. She could have stayed there for hours, but Suzanne, calling from the open door into the bedroom, roused her.

  ‘I’ve put some things on the bed. Something is bound to fit, more or less. Dinner in ten minutes.’

  Sarah, wrapped in a vast white towel, went to have a look. There was a heap of coloured sweaters, a couple of pairs of trousers, gossamer undies, slippers…

  Dressed, her hair still damp and tied back in an untidy plait for lack of ribbons or pins, the trousers on the large side and the pink sweater she had chosen shrouding her person, she took a final look at her reflection. She looked as plain as always, she decided, but at least she was clean and smelling sweet.

  She went downstairs and found Jaap in the hall, waiting for her. He led her with a fatherly air back into the drawing room and Mr ter Breukel got up out of his chair and crossed the room with just the right air of a polite host ready to put an unexpected guest at ease.

  Suzanne, watching him, hid a smile. Litrik, impervious to the charms of various young ladies that his family, anxious for him to marry, had produced, was showing interest in this nice little creature with the plain face and the lovely eyes. And the pink sweater suited her very well…

  Sarah, accepting a chair and a glass of sherry, happily unaware of Suzanne’s thoughts, made polite conversation with her host and hostess, and, encouraged by Mr ter Breukel’s artless questioning, said that no, she had never been to Arnhem before, had never been in Holland—only her stepfather had wanted to return to England by the night ferry to Harwich.

  ‘Ah, yes—you live somewhere along the east coast? By far the easiest way to return.’

  ‘He has a house near Clapham Common—that’s London,’ said Sarah flatly. And, since his raised eyebrows invited more than that, added, ‘We—that is, Mother and Father, before he died, and me…’ She paused. Perhaps it was ‘I’. ‘We used to live in a small village in Berkshire.’

  ‘Delightful country,’ murmured Mr ter Breukel, inviting further confidences.

  ‘Yes, quite different from Clapham Common.’

  ‘You live at home?’

  ‘Yes. Mother isn’t very strong…’

  Suzanne asked, ‘You’re not getting married or anything like that?’

  ‘No, we—I don’t go out much.’

  Mr ter Breukel said easily, ‘One never knows what awaits one round the corner.’ He knew, of course, but patience was something of which he had plenty. Having found her, he wasn’t going
to lose her by being hasty.

  Jaap came to tell them that dinner was served; Suzanne took his arm and they crossed the hall to the dining room, with its panelled walls and oval table, the George the First Oak dresser along one wall, the oak Chippendale chairs. A pair of crystal candelabra stood on the dresser, and a silver and cut-glass epergne was at the centre of the table, which was set with lace mats and silverware—very plain, with a crest worn by time.

  Sarah gave a quick glance around her and sighed with pleasure. Everything in the room was old and perfect and used—not taken for granted, but neither was it hidden away behind cabinet doors or packed in green baize, to be used only on very special occasions.

  The food was good too, simple and beautifully cooked, enhanced by the plates upon which it was served; Delft, she recognised, and old, for they were patterned in pale lavender, not the blue one expected. Washing up would be a hazardous undertaking…

  She drank the wine she was offered and Mr ter Breukel watched with satisfaction as the colour came back into her pale face. She hadn’t been injured but she had been shocked, although she had done her best to hide that. A good night’s sleep, he reflected, and tomorrow he would find the time to consider the future.

  Suzanne escorted Sarah to her bed, after a cheerful goodnight from her host.

  Sarah got into the silk and lacy nightie Suzanne had found for her and slid into bed, determined to make sensible plans for the morning; once she had retrieved their luggage and money and passports from the police, she reflected, she could decide what was best to be done. She would have to find out just how long her mother and stepfather would have to stay in hospital… That was as far as she got before falling into a refreshing sleep.

  She woke to find Anneke standing by the bed with a little tray of tea and holding her clothes, clean and pressed, over one arm. Anneke beamed at her, nodding in response to her good morning, and handed her a note. The writing was a scrawl; it could have been written by a spider dipped in ink. With difficulty Sarah made out that breakfast was at eight o’clock and she would be taken to the hospital directly after the meal. So she smiled and nodded to Anneke, who smiled and nodded in return, before Sarah drank her tea and got out of bed. There wasn’t much time; she showered, dressed, did the best she could with her face and hair, and went downstairs.

  Mr ter Breukel and Suzanne were already at the table, but he got up to pull out her chair and expressed the hope that she had slept well.

  ‘Very well,’ said Sarah. ‘Such a pretty room, and the sort of bed you sink into.’

  ‘Good. You had my note?’

  She buttered a roll. ‘Yes. What shocking handwriting you have. But I suppose all medical men write badly so that no one can understand, if you see what I mean?’

  Suzanne turned a laugh into a cough, and Mr ter Breukel said gravely, ‘I think that is very likely.’ He gave her a glance just long enough to take in the delightful sight of her in her cleaned and pressed clothes, no make-up and shining mousy hair. Sarah, not seeing the glance, drank her coffee and remarked that he would be wishing to leave for the hospital and she was quite ready when he wished to go.

  ‘Although I’m sure I should be quite all right to walk to the police station. Unless perhaps I should go to the hospital first?’

  ‘Yes, that would be best. Everything depends on the condition of your mother and stepfather.’ He got up from the table. ‘You’ll excuse me? I must telephone. Could you be ready to leave in ten minutes?’

  She got into the car beside him presently; she had bidden Suzanne goodbye and thanked her for her kindness, and Suzanne had kissed her cheek, rather to Sarah’s surprise, and said it had been fun. Sarah, thinking about it, supposed that for Suzanne it had been just that, and she had liked her… She liked the man sitting beside her too.

  At the hospital he nodded a casual goodbye, said that he would see her later, and handed her over to a nurse who took her to her mother.

  Mrs Holt was awake and complaining.

  ‘There you are. I hope you’ll arrange for us to go back home as quickly as possible. I shall never recover in this place. Tea with no milk, and nothing but thin bread and butter and a boiled egg.’

  Sarah bent to kiss her. ‘Did you sleep? Do you feel better this morning?’

  ‘Of course I didn’t close my eyes all night, and I feel very poorly. Have you got our things yet? I want my own nightgowns; someone must do my hair…’

  ‘I’m going to collect them this morning; I’ll bring whatever you need here, Mother.’

  ‘Have you seen your father?’

  ‘Stepfather,’ said Sarah. ‘No, Nurse tells me that he is to have his leg seen to this morning.’

  ‘How tiresome.’ Mrs Holt turned her head away. ‘Go and get my things; when you get back I’ll tell you if I want anything else.’

  Sarah went through the hospital once more and, because she was a kind girl, asked if she could see her stepfather.

  He was in a small ward with three other men, and she saw at a glance that he was in no mood to answer her ‘good morning’. She stood listening to his diatribe in reply to her enquiry as to how he felt, and, when he had run out of breath, said that she would come and see him after he had had his operation. Only to be told that he couldn’t care less if he never saw her again! So she bade him goodbye and started back to the entrance. Neither parent had asked where she had slept or how she felt.

  Getting lost on the way out, she had time to think about her future. She supposed that some time during the day someone at the hospital would tell her how long her mother and stepfather would have to remain there. Mr ter Breukel had told her that someone would arrange their return to England, so it seemed best for her to go back as quickly as possible and look after the house until they returned.

  She preferred not to think further ahead than that; life hadn’t been easy living at home, her sense of duty outweighing her longing to have a life of her own. But her mother, each time Sarah suggested that she might train for something and be independent, had made life unbearable, with her reproaches and sly reminders that her father had told Sarah to look after her mother. Then, of course, he had had no idea that his wife would remarry—and to a man who was in a position to give her a comfortable life. And who had taken a dislike to his stepdaughter the moment they had met.

  She found the main entrance at last, but halfway to it she was stopped.

  A porter addressed her in surprisingly good English. She was to wait—he indicated an open doorway beyond which people were sitting.

  Perhaps she was to be told what arrangements had been made for her parents. She sat down obediently; there was no point in getting fussed. She had hoped to return to England that day, but probably she would have to spend another night in Arnhem. Which should hold no terrors for her; she would have some money once she had been to the police station, and all she had to do was wait for someone to tell her what to do next.

  There were a great many posters on the walls, and she was making futile guesses as to what they were about when the porter tapped her on the shoulder.

  She followed him back to the entrance hall and saw Mr ter Breukel standing by the doors. Her smile at the sight of him—filled with relief and delight—shook him badly, but all he said was ‘I’ll take you to the police station,’ with detached courtesy.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘CAN you spare the time?’ asked Sarah anxiously. ‘Don’t you have patients to see?’

  ‘I have already seen them.’ Mr ter Breukel was at his most soothing. ‘I shall be operating this afternoon. On your stepfather, amongst others.’

  ‘How soon will I know when he can go home?’

  ‘Probably later this evening. Ah, here is the police station.’

  She was glad that he was with her. She gave a succinct account of the accident, and from time to time he was a great help translating some tricky word the officer hadn’t understood. All the same it took a long time, and after that the luggage had to be checked, money coun
ted, passports examined. She was given hers, as well as some money from her stepfather’s wallet. He wouldn’t like that, she reflected, signing for it, but she would need money to get back home. And supposing her mother travelled with her?

  She explained that to Mr ter Breukel and waited for his advice.

  ‘Does your mother have traveller’s cheques in her handbag?’

  The handbag was an expensive one from one of the big fashion houses, unlike Sarah’s own rather shabby leather shoulder bag, and there were traveller’s cheques inside, and quite a lot of money.

  ‘Good. You can give the bag to your mother and she can arrange for it to be kept in safe-keeping until she leaves.’

  Put like that, it all sounded very simple. But they went back to St Bravo’s and suddenly nothing was simple any more.

  Her mother’s X-ray had shown a hairline fracture; there was no question of her leaving the hospital for some time. And there was no time to talk about it, for Mr ter Breukel had been called away the moment they arrived back.

  Sarah unpacked what she thought her mother might need, and when that lady demanded her handbag gave it to her. Then she went in search of the ward sister, who told her kindly enough that it would be most unwise for her mother to be moved. ‘And, since your father must stay also, they can return together when they are able to travel.’

  Sarah went to see the other ward sister about her stepfather then. He was already in Theatre, and Mr ter Breukel was operating. ‘Come back later, about six o’clock, and we will tell you what has been done.’

  So Sarah went out of the hospital and into the main streets. The luggage was safe with a porter, she had money in her pocket and she was hungry.

  She found a small café and sat over coffee and a roll filled with cheese, deciding what she should do next. It made sense to find a tourist information office and find out about getting back home. Maybe not for a few days, but she would need to know…

  It wasn’t difficult to find, so she went inside and found that the girls behind the counter spoke English. She could fly, they told her, an easy train ride to the airport at Schiphol, or she could get a ferry from the Hoek van Holland or from Scheveningen to Harwich. They could arrange it for her.