Ring in a Teacup Read online

  But the next time they met was quite another kettle of fish. Lucy had crossed the busy street outside the hospital to purchase fish and chips for such of the night nurses who had been out that morning and now found themselves too famished to go to their beds without something to eat. True, they hadn’t been far, only to the Royal College of Surgeons to view its somewhat gruesome exhibits, under Sister Tutor’s eagle eye, but they had walked there and back, very neat in their uniforms and caps, and now their appetites had been sharpened, and Lucy, judged to be the most appropriate of them to fetch the food because she was the only one who didn’t put her hair into rollers before she went to bed, had nipped smartly across between the buses and cars and vans, purchased mouth-watering pieces of cod in batter and a large parcel of chips, and was on the point of nipping back again when a small boy darted past her and ran into the street, looking neither left nor right as he went.

  There were cars and buses coming both ways and a taxi so close that only a miracle would stop it. Lucy plunged after him with no very clear idea as to what she was going to do. She was aware of the taxi right on top of her, the squealing of brakes as the oncoming cars skidded to a halt, then she had plucked the boy from under the taxi’s wheels, lurched away and with him and the fish and chips clasped to her bosom, tripped over, caught by the taxi’s bumper.

  She wasn’t knocked out; she could hear the boy yelling from somewhere underneath her and there was a fishy smell from her parcels as they squashed flat under her weight. The next moment she was being helped to her feet.

  ‘Well, well,’ observed Mr der Linssen mildly, ‘you again.’ He added quite unnecessarily: ‘You smell of fish.’

  She looked at him in a woolly fashion and then at the willing helpers lifting the boy up carefully. He was screaming his head off and Mr der Linssen said: ‘Hang on, I’ll just take a look.’

  It gave her a moment to pull herself together, something which she badly needed to do—a nice burst of tears, which would have done her a lot of good, had to be squashed. She stood up straight, a deplorable figure, smeared with pieces of fish and mangled chips, her uniform filthy and torn and her cap crooked. The Panther, she saw at once, was right beside the taxi, and the same girl was sitting in it. Doctor der Linssen, with the boy in his arms, was speaking to her now. The girl hardly glanced at the boy, only nodded in a rather bored way and then looked at Lucy with a mocking little smile, but that didn’t matter, because she was surrounded by people now, patting her on the shoulder, telling her that she was a brave girl and asking if she were hurt; she had no chance to answer any of them because Mr der Linssen, with the boy still bawling in his arms, marched her into Casualty without further ado, said in an authoritative way: ‘I don’t think this boy’s hurt, but he’ll need a good going over,’ laid him on an examination couch and turned his attention to Lucy. ‘You had a nasty thump from that bumper—where was it exactly?’ and when she didn’t answer at once: ‘There’s no need to be mealy-mouthed about it—your behind, I take it—better get undressed and get someone to look at it...’

  ‘I wasn’t being mealy-mouthed,’ said Lucy pettishly, ‘I was trying to decide exactly which spot hurt most.’

  He smiled in what she considered to be an unpleasant manner. ‘Undress anyway, and I’ll get someone along to see to it. It was only a glancing blow, but you’re such a scrap of a thing you’re probably badly bruised.’ To her utter astonishment he added: ‘For whom were the fish and chips? If you’ll let me know I’ll see that they get a fresh supply—you’ve got most of what you bought smeared over you.’

  She said quite humbly: ‘Thank you, that would be kind. They were for the night nurses on the surgical wards...eight cod pieces and fifty pence worth of chips. They’re waiting for them before they go to bed—over in the Home.’ She added: ‘I’m sorry I haven’t any more money with me—I’ll leave it in an envelope at the Lodge for you, sir.’

  He only smiled, pushed her gently into one of the bays and pulled the curtains and turned to speak to Casualty Sister. Lucy couldn’t hear what he was saying and she didn’t care. The couch looked very inviting and she was suddenly so sleepy that even her aching back didn’t matter. She took off her uniform and her shoes and stretched herself out on its hard leather surface, muffled to the eyes with the cosy red blanket lying at its foot. She was asleep within minutes.

  She woke reluctantly to Casualty Sister’s voice, begging her to rouse herself. ‘Bed for you, Nurse Prendergast,’ said that lady cheerfully, ‘and someone will have another look at you tomorrow and decide if you’re fit for duty then. Bad bruising and a few abrasions, but nothing else. Mr der Linssen examined you with Mr Trevett; you couldn’t have had better men.’ She added kindly: ‘There’s a porter waiting with a chair, he’ll take you over to the home—Home Sister’s waiting to help you into a nice hot bath and give you something to eat—after that you can sleep your head off.’

  ‘Yes, Sister. Why did Mr der Linssen need to examine me?’

  Sister was helping her to her reluctant feet. ‘Well, dear, he was here—and since he’d been on the spot, as it were, he felt it his duty...by the way, I was to tell you that the food was delivered, whatever that means, and the police have taken eye-witness accounts and they’ll come and see you later.’ She smiled hugely. ‘Little heroine, aren’t you?’

  ‘Is the boy all right, Sister?’

  ‘He’s in Children’s, under observation, but nothing much wrong with him, I gather. And now if you’re ready, Nurse.’

  Lucy was off for two days and despite the stiffness and bruising, she hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for some time. The Principal Nursing Officer paid her a stately visit, praised her for her quick action in saving the boy and added that the hospital was proud of her, and Lucy, sitting gingerly on a sore spot, listened meekly; she much preferred Home Sister’s visits, for that lady was a cosy middle-aged woman who had had children of her own and knew about tempting appetites and sending in pots of tea when Lucy’s numerous friends called in to see her. Indeed, her room was the focal point of a good deal of noise and laughter and a good deal of joking, too, about Mr der Linssen’s unexpected appearance.

  He had disappeared again, of course. Lucy was visited by Mr Trevett, but there was no sign of his colleague, nor was he mentioned; and a good thing too, she thought. On neither of the occasions upon which they had met had she exactly shone. She dismissed him from her mind because, as she told herself sensibly, there was no point in doing anything else.

  She was forcibly reminded of him later that day when Home Sister came in with a great sheaf of summer flowers, beautifully ribboned. She handed it to Lucy with a comfortable: ‘Well, Nurse, whatever you may think about consultants, here’s one who appreciates you.’

  She smiled nicely without mockery or envy. It was super, thought Lucy, that the hospital still believed in the old-fashioned Home Sister and hadn’t had her displaced by some official, who, not being a nurse, had no personal interest in her charges.

  There was a card with the flowers. The message upon it was austere: ‘To Miss Prendergast with kind regards, Fraam der Linssen.’

  Lucy studied it carefully. It was a kind gesture even if rather on the cold side. And what a very peculiar name!

  It was decided that instead of going on night duty the next day, Lucy should have her nights off with the addition of two days’ sick leave. She didn’t feel in the least sick, but she was still sore, and parts of her person were all colours of the rainbow and Authority having decreed it, who was she to dispute their ruling?

  Her family welcomed her warmly, but beyond commending her for conduct which he, good man that he was, took for granted, her father had little to say about her rescue of the little boy. Her brothers teased her affectionately, but it was her mother who said: ‘Your father is so proud of you, darling, and so are the boys, but you know what boys are.’ They smiled at each other. ‘I’m proud of you to
o—you’re such a small creature and you could have been mown down.’ Mrs Prendergast smiled again, rather mistily. ‘That nice man who stopped and took you both into the hospital wrote me a letter—I’ve got it here; I thought you might like to see it—a Dutch name, too. I suppose he was just passing...’

  ‘He’s the lecturer—you remember, Mother? When I fell asleep.’

  Her mother giggled. ‘Darling—I didn’t know, do tell me all about it.’

  Lucy did, and now that it was all over and done with she laughed just as much as her mother over the fish and chips.

  ‘But what a nice man to get you another lot—he sounds a poppet.’

  Lucy said that probably he was, although she didn’t believe that Mr der Linssen was quite the type one would describe as a poppet. Poppets were plump and cosy and good-natured, and he was none of these. She read his letter, sitting on the kitchen table eating the bits of pastry left over from the pie her mother was making, and had to admit that it was a very nice one, although she didn’t believe the bit where he wrote that he admired her for bravery. He hadn’t admired her in the least, on the contrary he had complained that she smelt of fish...but the flowers had been lovely even if he’d been doing the polite thing; probably his secretary had bought them. She folded the letter up carefully. ‘He sent me some flowers,’ she told her mother, ‘but I expect he only did it because he thought he should.’

  Her mother put the pie in the oven. ‘I expect so, too, darling,’ she said carefully casual.

  Lucy was still sitting there, swinging her rather nice legs, when her father came in to join them. ‘Never let it be said,’ he observed earnestly, ‘that virtue has no reward. You remember my friend Theodul de Groot? I’ve just received a telephone call from him; he’s in London attending some medical seminar or other, and asks particularly after you, Lucy. Indeed he wished to know if you have any holiday due and if so would you like to pay him a visit. Mies liked you when you met seven—eight? years ago and you’re of a similar age. I daresay she’s lonely now that her mother is dead. Do you have any holiday, my dear?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lucy very fast, ‘two weeks due and I’m to take them at the end of next week—that’s when I come off night duty.’

  ‘Splendid—he’ll be in London for a few days yet, but he’s anxious to come and see us. I’m sure he will be willing to stay until you’re free and take you back with him.’

  ‘You would like to go, love?’ asked her mother.

  ‘Oh, rather—it’ll be super! I loved it when I went before, but that’s ages ago—I was at school. Does Doctor de Groot still practise?’

  ‘Oh, yes. He has a large practice in Amsterdam still, mostly poor patients, I believe, but he has a splendid reputation in the city and numbers a great many prominent men among his friends.’

  ‘And Mies? I haven’t heard from her for ages.’

  ‘She helps her father—receptionist and so on, I gather. But I’m sure she’ll have plenty of free time to spend with you.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it be strange if you met that lecturer while you were there?’ Mrs Prendergast’s tone was artless.

  ‘Well, I shan’t. I should think he lived in London, wouldn’t you?’ Lucy ran her finger round the remains of custard in a dish and licked it carefully. ‘I wonder what clothes I should take?’

  The rest of her nights off were spent in pleasurable planning and she went back happily enough to finish her night duty, her bruises now an unpleasant yellow. The four nights went quickly enough now that she had something to look forward to, even though they were busier than ever, what with a clutch of very ill babies to be dealt with hourly and watched over with care, and two toddlers who kept the night hours as noisy as the day with their cries of rage because they wanted to go home.

  Lucy had just finished the ten o’clock feeds on her last night, and was trying to soothe a very small, very angry baby, when Mr Henderson, the Surgical Registrar, came into the ward, and with him Mr der Linssen. At the sight of them the baby yelled even louder, as red in the face and as peppery as an ill-tempered colonel, so that Lucy, holding him with one hand over her shoulder while she straightened the cot with the other, looked round to see what was putting the infant into an even worse rage.

  ‘Mr der Linssen wants a word with you, Nurse Prendergast,’ said the Registrar importantly, and she frowned at him; he was a short, pompous man who always made the babies cry, not because he was unkind to them but because he disliked having them sick up on his coat and sometimes worse than that, and they must have known it. ‘Put him back in the cot, Nurse.’

  She had no intention of doing anything of the sort, but Mr der Linssen stretched out a long arm and took the infant from her, settling him against one great shoulder, where, to her great annoyance, it stopped bawling at once, hiccoughed loudly and went to sleep, its head tucked against the superfine wool of his jacket. Lucy, annoyed that the baby should put her in a bad light, hoped fervently that it would dribble all over him.

  ‘Babies like me,’ observed Mr der Linssen smugly, and then: ‘I hear from Mr Trevett that you are going to your home tomorrow. I have to drive to Bristol—I’ll give you a lift.’

  She eyed him frostily. ‘How kind, but I’m going by train.’ She added: ‘Beaminster’s rather out of your way.’

  ‘A part of England I have always wished to see,’ he assured her airily. ‘Will ten o’clock suit you?’ He smiled most engagingly. ‘You may sleep the whole way if you wish.’

  In other words, she thought ungraciously, he couldn’t care less whether I’m there or not, and then went pink as he went on: ‘I should much prefer you to stay awake, but never let it be said that I’m an unreasonable man.’

  He handed the baby back and it instantly started screaming its head off again. ‘Ten o’clock?’ he repeated. It wasn’t a question, just a statement of fact.

  Lucy was already tired and to tell the truth the prospect of a long train journey on top of a busy night wasn’t all that enthralling. ‘Oh, very well,’ she said ungraciously, and had a moment’s amusement at the Registrar’s face.

  Mr der Linssen’s handsome features didn’t alter. He nodded calmly and went away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LUCY SAT STIFFLY in the comfort of the Panther as Mr der Linssen cut a swathe through the London traffic and drove due west. It seemed that he was as good at driving a car as he was at soothing a baby and just as patient; through the number of hold-ups they were caught up in he sat quietly, neither tapping an impatient tattoo with his long, well-manicured fingers, nor muttering under his breath; in fact, beyond wishing her a cheerful good morning when she had presented herself, punctual but inimical, at the hospital entrance, he hadn’t spoken. She was wondering about that when he observed suddenly: ‘Still feeling cross? No need; I am at times ill-tempered, arrogant and inconsiderate, but I do not bear malice and nor—as I suspect you are thinking—am I heaping coals of fire upon your mousy head because you dropped off during one of my lectures... It was a good lecture too.’

  And how did she answer that? thought Lucy, and need he have reminded her that her hair was mousy? She almost exploded when he added kindly: ‘Even if it is mousy it is always clean and shining. Don’t ever give it one of those rinses—my young sister did and ended up with bright red streaks in all the wrong places.’

  ‘Have you got a sister?’ she was surprised into asking.

  ‘Lord, yes, and years younger than I am. You sound surprised.’

  He was working his way towards the M3 and she looked out at the river as they crossed Putney Bridge and swept on towards Richmond. She said slowly, not wishing to offend him even though she didn’t think she liked him at all: ‘Well, I am, a bit... I mean when one gets—gets older one talks about a wife and children...’

  ‘But I have neither, as I have already told you. You mean perhaps that I am middle-aged. Well
, I suppose I am; nudging forty is hardly youth.’

  ‘The prime of life,’ said Lucy. ‘I’m twenty-three, but women get older much quicker than men do.’

  He drove gently through the suburbs. ‘That I cannot believe, what with hairdressers and beauty parlours and an endless succession of new clothes.’

  Probably he had girl-friends who enjoyed these aids to youth and beauty, reflected Lucy; it wasn’t much use telling him that student nurses did their own hair, sleeping in rollers which kept them awake half the night in the pursuit of beauty, and as for boutiques and up-to-the-minute clothes, they either made their own or shopped at Marks & Spencer or C. & A.

  She said politely: ‘I expect you’re right’ and then made a banal remark about the weather and presently, when they reached the motorway and were doing a steady seventy, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

  She woke up just before midday to find that they were already on the outskirts of Sherborne and to her disjointed apologies he rejoined casually: ‘You needed a nap. We’ll have coffee—is there anywhere quiet and easy to park?’

  She directed him to an old timbered building opposite the Abbey where they drank coffee and ate old-fashioned currant buns, and nicely refreshed with her sleep and the food, Lucy told him about the little town. ‘We don’t come here often,’ she observed. ‘Crewkerne is nearer, and anyway we can always go into Beaminster.’

  ‘And that is a country town?’ he asked idly.

  ‘Well, it’s a large village, I suppose.’

  He smiled. ‘Then let us go and inspect this village, shall we? Unless you could eat another bun?’

  She assured him that she had had enough and feeling quite friendly towards him, she climbed back into the car and as he turned back into the main street to take the road to Crewkerne she apologised again, only to have the little glow of friendliness doused by his casual: ‘You are making too much of a brief doze, Lucy. I did tell you that you could sleep all the way if you wished to.’ He made it worse by adding: ‘I’m only giving you a lift, you know, you don’t have to feel bound to entertain me.’