Making Sure of Sarah Read online

  Sarah thanked them, then asked if they knew of a small, inexpensive hotel. They went to a lot of trouble, and she left presently with a short list from which to choose. Now it was just a question of going back to St Bravo’s, finding out about her stepfather, seeing her mother, collecting her case from the porter and moving into whichever hotel had a room vacant.

  She went into another café and had a cup of tea and some biscuits, and then found her way back to the hospital. She went first to see her stepfather, who was nicely recovered from the anaesthetic but whose temper was uncertain. He was propped up on his pillows, a leg in plaster under a cradle. In reply to her civil and sympathetic enquiry as to how he felt, he said angrily, ‘That infernal surgeon says that I must remain here for at least two weeks…’

  ‘I thought that once the plaster was dry you could walk with a crutch…’

  ‘Don’t be a fool. A broken rib has pierced my lung; it has to heal before I’m fit to be moved.’

  ‘Oh—oh, I’m sorry. I’ll tell Mother. I’m going to see her now.’

  ‘And don’t bother to come and see me. The less I see of you the better—if it hadn’t been for you…’

  No doubt he had told anyone who would listen that it had been her fault. She bade him goodbye and went along to see her mother.

  That lady was sitting up in bed, pecking at her supper.

  ‘It’s so early,’ she complained, as soon as she set eyes on Sarah. ‘How can I possibly eat at half past six in the evening?’

  Sarah sat down by the bed and listened with outward patience to her parent’s grumbles. When there was a pause, she told her about her stepfather.

  ‘How tiresome. What is to happen to me, I should like to know? I’ve no intention of staying here a day longer than I must. You will have to take me home, Sarah. Your father—’ she caught Sarah’s eye ‘—stepfather can return when he’s recovered. I can’t be expected to look after him. Of course you will be at home, but I suppose you will need some help.’

  She didn’t ask Sarah how she had spent her day—Sarah hadn’t expected her to—but told her to come the next morning.

  ‘You must get me that special night-cream—and a paler lipstick, oh, and a bed jacket. Pink, something pretty. I don’t see why I should look dowdy just because I am in this horrible place.’

  ‘Mother,’ said Sarah, ‘this is a splendid hospital, and if you hadn’t been brought here you might be feeling a lot worse.’

  Mrs Holt squeezed out a tear. ‘How hard-hearted you are, Sarah. Go away and enjoy yourself—and don’t be late here in the morning. I want that bed jacket before the doctors do their rounds.’

  Sarah stifled a wish to burst into tears; she was tired and hungry by now, and the future loomed ahead in a most unsatisfactory manner. She bade her mother goodnight and went in search of Sister.

  Her mother was doing well, she was told; rather excitable and unco-operative, but that was to be expected with concussion. Sarah could rest assured that hospital was the best place for her mother for the moment, and that as soon as possible she and Mr Holt would be transferred back home.

  ‘So you need have no more worries,’ said Sister kindly.

  Sarah began the lengthy walk back to the entrance. She must get her case and then go to one of the hotels. She had spent rather longer that she had meant to with her mother, and somewhere a clock chimed seven. She hadn’t been looking where she was going and had got lost again. She stood in the long corridor, wondering if she should go to the left or the right…

  A hand on her arm swept her straight ahead. ‘Lost?’ asked Mr ter Breukel cheerfully. ‘We’ll collect your case and go home. Suzanne will be wondering where we are.’

  Sarah, trotting to keep up, and aware that everything was suddenly all right again, said, ‘Well, thank you very much, but I’m going to a hotel. I went to something called VVV and they gave me a list…’

  Mr ter Breukel stopped so suddenly that she almost fell over. ‘Did I not tell you this morning that you would be staying with us until we know more about your parents? You must forgive me; I have a shocking memory.’

  ‘No, you didn’t say anything.’ She gave him a thoughtful look. ‘You can’t have a bad memory; surgeons must have excellent memories, otherwise they would put things back in the wrong place!’

  ‘That is a terrifying thought,’ said Mr ter Breukel, grave-faced, and he hurried her along to the entrance. He found a porter to fetch her case, opened his car door, ushered her in and got in beside her.

  ‘The hotel,’ said Sarah. ‘I mean, I can’t impose upon your kindness, really, I can’t.’

  He said briskly, ‘I must tell you about your stepfather, give you some idea of how long he will be with us—and your mother, too. I’m a busy man during the day, so our only chance to discuss this is in the evening. You do agree?’

  ‘Well, yes…’

  ‘Good. Are you hungry?’

  ‘Famished,’ said Sarah, without thinking, and then very quickly added, ‘I had something to eat in a café.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I’m not sure exactly. It said “Snack Bar” over the door.’

  ‘A roll and cheese and a cup of coffee?’ He added gently, ‘Sarah, you don’t need to pretend with me.’

  She realised with contented relief that he meant what he said. ‘I know that, and I promise I won’t do that. I am famished.’

  Mr ter Breukel’s handsome features remained impassive. A step in the right direction, he reflected. He cast a quick glance at her profile, which she didn’t see. Her small nose had a slight tilt to it—most endearing…

  What happy chance, reflected Sarah, had led them to meet again like this?

  Mr ter Breukel could have told her, of course, but he didn’t intend to. He had his own methods of getting information about visitors, and an intimate knowledge of the many corridors of St Bravo’s helped.

  Suzanne came to meet them as they entered the house. ‘Oh, good, you’re punctual. Oh, and you’ve got your case, Sarah. Jaap will take it up to your room, but don’t bother to unpack it till later. Come and have a drink before dinner.’

  Sarah, rather overwhelmed by this ready welcoming—just as though she had been expected to return, she thought—followed Jaap and her case upstairs and, despite Suzanne’s invitation to go straight back down again and have a drink, fished around in her case and found the jersey dress she intended to wear. It was an unpretentious garment, in an inoffensive blue, and she didn’t like it much, but it could be rolled up small and stuffed into her case and didn’t crease.

  She put it on quickly and tidied her hair, did her face rather carelessly and went back downstairs. She would have liked time to make the best of herself—she supposed Mr ter Breukel had that effect on any girl—but she was only here in his house so that he could tell her if any arrangements should be made for her mother and stepfather’s return to England…

  She accepted a glass of sherry, gave Suzanne an account of her day when she was pressed to do so, glossing over the bits that had been dull, and then ate her dinner, making polite conversation—the weather, the amazing ability of everyone in Arnhem to speak English, the delicious coffee.

  Mr ter Breukel listened to her pretty voice, entranced; as far as he was concerned she could recite the multiplication tables and he would find it exciting. He made suitable replies in a voice of impersonal friendliness, and only as they were drinking their coffee in the drawing room did he begin to tell her about her parents.

  They were sitting round the fireplace, she and Suzanne on the vast sofa facing it, he in a great wingback chair with Max lying over his feet. The room looked beautiful, the soft light from the table lamps showing up the magnificent bow-fronted cabinets with their displays of silver and porcelain, casting shadows on the heavy velvet curtains, and yet, despite the magnificence of its contents, the room was welcoming and lived in. And Mr ter Breukel was exactly right for it, thought Sarah; he fitted the room and the room fitted him.

 
You’re letting your imagination run away with you, Sarah told herself silently, and sat up straight because he had put down his coffee cup and saucer and now said briskly, ‘Let me tell you what has been done today—your mother is comfortable, but she is, if you will forgive me for saying so, not an easy patient. She wishes to go back to England, naturally enough, but I can’t advise that. She needs rest and quiet and to have time to resume her normal outlook on life; I have explained to her that once she is home with your stepfather she will need to feel fit herself.

  ‘I operated on him this afternoon; he has quite a severe fracture of the tibia, which I have put together and put in plaster. He will be got up within a few days, but there’s no question of him using the leg for weeks. He will be given crutches, but he is a heavy man and not very co-operative. So I think that their return to England must be ruled out for two weeks at least. Arrangements must be made so that they can travel easily, and there must be some kind of nursing aid at your home. Your mother tells me that she would be quite unable to do that. He’ll need physiotherapy, and of course the plaster will probably need renewing later on.’

  He paused, but Sarah didn’t say anything. She was thinking with despair of the weeks ahead, at the beck and call of her stepfather, who would expect her to fulfil the duties of nurse as well as the major tasks of the household. There was a housekeeper, and help for the heavy chores, but there would be the shopping and the ironing and the endless jobs her mother would want done…I mustn’t moan, reflected Sarah.

  ‘So I had better go home as quickly as possible and get things arranged.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I’d have to come back when they’re ready to return—to help Mother.’

  ‘That is, of course, one solution.’ Mr ter Breukel gave the impression of someone giving friendly advice. ‘But I wonder if you have given thought to remaining here and returning with your parents? It so happens that I might be able to offer an alternative solution.

  ‘We have a great-aunt, living in Arnhem, whose companion has had to return to her home to nurse her mother; she may be away for several weeks. You might take over her duties until your parents are ready to leave the hospital. It is probably a job you wouldn’t care to undertake—rather dull and needing a good deal of patience. On the other hand, you would have a roof over your head, be able to visit your mother and be here when they are ready to leave.’

  ‘What a splendid idea,’ declared Suzanne. She had visited her aunt that very afternoon and her companion, Juffrouw Telle, had been there. Moreover there had been no question of her going home. But Suzanne had no doubt that if Litrik said that Juffrouw Telle was going to nurse her sick mother, then he had contrived something for his own ends. Sarah, thought Suzanne with satisfaction, had done something none of the other women acquaintances in whom he had shown no interest had been able to do—she had stolen his heart.

  Suzanne said encouragingly to Sarah, ‘Do think about that, Sarah. Great-Aunt is quite an old dear, and you would be able to see your mother every day. I’m sure she would miss you terribly if you went back to England.’

  Sarah said, ‘Your aunt—great-aunt—might not like me…Besides, her companion might not be ready to return when Mother and my stepfather leave.’ She added, ‘Or she might come back within the next few days.’

  ‘Unlikely. Her mother will need nursing for ten days at least,’ improvised Mr ter Breukel smoothly, ‘and if you should have to leave before she returns, then we shall have to find someone else. In the meantime you would be helping several people, and I for one would be most grateful.’

  Which reminded Sarah that this was a way in which she could repay him for his kindness. And there was no denying that it was a way out of her problem.

  Mr ter Breukel, watching her face, was delighted to see that his plotting and planning were likely to be successful. He reminded himself that he must find a suitable gift for Juffrouw Telle. Middle-aged, patient and kind-hearted, she had been with his great-aunt for years; she was almost one of the family, and had been only too ready to agree to his scheme. It gave her an unexpected holiday, and the pleasure of sharing a secret which held more than a whiff of romance…

  Sarah didn’t waste time weighing up the pros and cons; the pros were obvious, and if there were any cons she would deal with them later. She said, ‘Thank you, I would be glad to help out until your aunt’s companion is able to return. And it is I who should be grateful, for now I don’t need to worry about anything.’

  For the next week or two, at any rate, she added silently. And after that I’ll think of something.

  Suzanne said, ‘Oh, splendid. I’ll take you to Great-Aunt tomorrow. In the afternoon? You’ll want to see your mother and stepfather first.’

  Sarah thanked her, stifling the wish that Mr ter Breukel had offered to take her, reminding herself that he was a busy man and had wasted enough of his time on her anyway.

  Her stepfather showed no pleasure at the sight of her, and, apprised of her plans, merely grunted. ‘Do what you please, as long as you’re back here to look after your mother when we go home. And that can’t be soon enough.’ He began a tirade against the nurses, the doctors, the food, and the fact that there was no private room available for him. Sarah, having heard it all before, listened patiently and assured him that he would be able to go home the moment he was allowed to, and then she slipped away. It seemed to her that the hospital staff would be only too glad to see the back of him.

  Her mother was sitting in the Day Room, reading a magazine, and she greeted Sarah peevishly.

  ‘Should you be reading?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘No, but the nurses don’t come in here very often, and when they do I hide it under a cushion.’ Mrs Holt allowed her mouth to droop. ‘I have such a headache.’

  ‘That’s because you’re reading.’

  ‘Well, I’m bored. I want to go home…’

  ‘I dare say it won’t be much longer. Mother, I’ve got a job. Not paid, of course, but being a companion to an old lady while her usual companion goes home to look after her mother. I may stay there until we go back home.’

  ‘Trust you to find a comfortable place to live while I have to stay in this dreary place.’

  Sarah supposed that the concussion had made her mother so difficult. ‘It’s not so bad, Mother. I expect I’ll be able to come and see you quite often.’

  ‘When you do, bring me some nail varnish. Elizabeth Arden, pink—at least I can give myself a manicure.’ Mrs Holt closed her eyes. ‘I do have a headache…’

  Sarah kissed her and left the hospital. On the way out she caught a glimpse of Mr ter Breukel, enormous even at a distance, surrounded by white-coated satellites. He didn’t see her, but the sight of him cheered her up as she walked back to his house.

  He had, in fact, turned his head in time to see her disappearing down one of the endless corridors. He would have liked to have taken her himself to his great-aunt’s house, but to display too much interest might frighten her off…

  Sarah got into Suzanne’s car after they had had coffee and was driven into the centre of the city to another old gabled house in a quiet street close to the Grote Kerk. Suzanne didn’t give Sarah time to feel nervous. She urged her out of the car, thumped the massive door-knocker and they were admitted before Sarah could draw breath.

  The old man who opened the door looked shaky on his legs. He had white hair and pale blue eyes in a wrinkled face. Suzanne threw her arms around him and kissed his cheek, and said something to make him chuckle before she turned to Sarah.

  ‘Kaes has been with Great-Aunt for almost the whole of his life. He’s part of the house.’ She spoke to him again, and Sarah held out a hand and smiled at the friendly old man. He studied her for a moment and then led them down the hall to double doors on one side of it, opened them, said something to the room’s occupant and trotted off.

  Suzanne gave Sarah a friendly shove, and Sarah found herself crossing a vast expanse of carpet to the very old lady sitting in a high-backed chair
by one of the tall windows.

  Suzanne skipped to her side, kissed her and spoke rapidly in Dutch, and then switched to English.

  ‘This is Sarah Beckwith, Tante, come to keep you company until Juffrouw Telle gets back. She can’t speak a word of Dutch, but that won’t matter, will it? She will be able to read your English novels. You like being read to, don’t you?’

  The little old lady spoke. She had a soft voice, but now it had a slight edge to it. ‘Suzanne, don’t mumble. Where is this young woman who is to stay with me until Anna Telle returns? If she mumbles she will be of no use to me.’

  Suzanne beckoned Sarah. ‘She’s here, Tante.’

  Sarah stood quietly while she was studied through a pair of lorgnettes, and then took the small be-ringed hand and shook it gently. She said clearly, ‘How do you do, Mevrouw? I hope I shall be of use to you until Juffrouw Telle returns. I am sorry I can’t speak Dutch…’

  ‘No matter, just as long as you speak your own language clearly. Suzanne, ring the bell, Reneke shall take Miss Beckwith to her room. We will have lunch together in half an hour.’

  Which meant, reflected Sarah, that she was to go to her room and return in half an hour. She followed a stout, placid woman up the staircase at the end of the hall and into a room at the front of the house. It was large, and the furniture in it was solid. It was comfortable, too, and there were flowers in a little vase on the massive dressing table. There was a bathroom across the passage, as old-fashioned as the room, but equipped with modern comforts. The bath, thought Sarah, eyeing its size, in the middle of the room, balanced on its four iron feet, had been installed for a giant. Her thoughts wandered for a moment; Mr ter Breukel was a giant, and a very nice one…

  She unpacked, tidied her person, examined her face in the oval mirror and wished for good looks, applied discreet lipstick and then went to look out of the window. It was tall and wide and gave her an excellent view of the street below and the buildings around it, with the Grote Kerk towering at its end. It was quiet there, but at the other end of the street she could see a busy thoroughfare and the glint of water. She would have to discover the best way to reach the hospital, but just for the moment the hospital, her mother, and all the adherent problems seemed blessedly far away.