Sun and Candlelight Page 3

  He spoke in such a matter-of-fact way that she wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a statement of fact. She said ‘Thank you,’ and then: ‘It has been a busy day.’

  They discussed it easily and at some length without being too serious about it until he parked and walked her across the pavement into the restaurant. It seemed that he was known there; they were greeted with a warm civility and when she had left her coat and taken a dissatisfied look at herself in the cloakroom, she found him waiting for her in the tiny foyer, talking with a man who she guessed might be the proprietor.

  The bar was small but cosy and she was given time to choose her drink; she had become so accustomed to Nick ordering a dry sherry that for a moment she had to think. ‘I don’t really care for dry sherry,’ she told her companion. ‘What else is there?’

  ‘Dubonnet?’ he enquired placidly, ‘or how about a Madeira?’

  She chose the latter and when the barman had served Mr van Diederijk with a gin and tonic, she took a sip of her own drink. It was nice, and even nicer because she had been asked what she would like and not just had a glass handed to her. They sat side by side, talking about nothing much and deciding what they should eat; soup with garlic, Barquettes Girondines for Alethea and Entrecote Bordelais for her companion. She sat back feeling more peaceful than she had done since the previous evening, while he chose the wines.

  Getting ready for bed, much later, she found herself unable to remember just what they had talked about; they hadn’t hurried over their meal, and she paused in her hairbrushing to drool a little over the memory of the zabaglione and then worried because the memory of its deliciousness was so much sharper than their conversation. It was just as she was on the edge of sleep that she realised that she hadn’t thought about Nick at all, not once they had started their meal. Simultaneously she remembered that Mr van Diederijk had suggested that they might go to a theatre one evening. She had accepted, too, with the sudden thought that perhaps if Nick heard about it, he might feel jealous enough to discover that he was in love with her after all. She woke in the night with the clear recollection of the understanding in Mr van Diederijk’s face when she had accepted his invitation.

  Alethea was half way through her breakfast the next morning when she paused, a fork half way to her mouth. How could she possibly have forgotten to pay Mr van Diederijk the money she, or rather, Nick, owed him?

  Her friends stared at her. ‘Alethea, what’s up? You look as though you’ve remembered something simply frightful,’ and someone said cheerfully: ‘She’s left the weights off someone’s Balkan Beam…’

  There was a little ripple of laughter and Alethea laughed with them. ‘Much worse!’ but she didn’t say more, and they, who had guessed that something had happened between her and Nick, carefully didn’t ask what it was.

  She would be bound to see him within the next day or so, perhaps even this very day, Alethea decided as she set about the business of allocating the day’s work, but she didn’t. There was no sign of him. Sir Walter came surrounded by his posse of assistants, talking to Nick, discussing his cases, but of Mr van Diederijk there was no sign. Alethea, with a half day she didn’t want, took herself off duty and spent it washing her hair, writing letters and going for a brisk walk through the rather dingy streets around the hospital. She might just as well have taken a bus and gone up to Oxford Street and at least gone out to tea, but she had no heart for doing anything. Nick hadn’t bothered to look at her during the round, and it dawned on her painfully that he really had finished with her, that he had meant it when he had declared that he wasn’t going to waste time on her. He had called her prissy too. The thought roused her to anger, so that she glared at a perfectly blameless housewife, loaded with shopping, coming towards her on the pavement.

  She walked herself tired and returned in time for supper at the hospital, and her friends, seeing her bleak face, talked about everything under the sun excepting herself.

  ‘That charmer’s gone,’ observed Philly Chambers, a small dark girl who was junior sister in the orthopaedic theatre. ‘Much in demand he was too, and I’m not surprised—he should have been a film star.’

  ‘You mean that giant who was wandering round with Sir Walter?’ asked Patty Cox, senior sister on Women’s Surgical. ‘Very self-effacing despite his size, never used two words when one would do. I hear he’s in charge of some new hospital in Holland where they combine orthopaedics with osteopathy; surgeons and osteopaths work hand in glove, as it were. Sir Walter’s interested, that’s why he’s been over here. He’s coming back…’

  ‘You know an awful lot about him,’ commented Philly, and looked across at Alethea. ‘You’re the one who ought to know all the gen, Alethea,’ she cried, and went on unthinkingly: ‘Nick must know all about him…’ She stopped, muttered: ‘Oh, lord, I’m sorry,’ and then: ‘I’ll fetch the pudding, shall I?’

  Alethea had gone rather pale, so that her already pale face looked quite pinched. She said in an expressionless voice: ‘I don’t know anything about him,’ and realised that she only spoke the truth; he had told her nothing of himself, indeed, she could remember nothing of their conversations, perhaps she hadn’t been listening… She added: ‘He seemed very nice, though.’

  There was a little burst of talk with everyone doing their best to change the conversation. There had been a good deal of gossip about Alethea and Nick Penrose. No one had actually found out exactly what had happened, but the hospital grapevine was loaded with rumours. That they had quarrelled was a certainty and it looked as though their romance was at an end, judging from Alethea’s face and unhappy air. Besides, Sue had told the staff nurse on Women’s Surgical, who had told Patty in her turn, that Nick Penrose was ignoring Alethea when he came on the ward; he had always had coffee with her after his round in the mornings, and they had smiled a good deal at each other and although their conversations had been brief anyone could have seen that they were wrapped up in each other—but not any more. Besides, Patty had seen with her own eyes Nick strolling down the theatre corridor with the theatre staff nurse, a pretty girl who made no secret of the fact that she was out to get a member of the medical profession as a husband. He had looked remarkably carefree and pleased with himself too.

  She finished her pudding, saw that Alethea had merely spread hers round her plate, and suggested that it might be worth going to the rather dreary little cinema a stone’s throw from the hospital. ‘There’s that film on that I’ve been longing to see,’ she declared, ‘but I won’t go alone—Alethea, keep me company, there’s a dear, and what about you, Philly?’

  She gathered a handful of friends round her and by sheer weight of numbers persuaded Alethea to accompany them. It was unfortunate that on their way out they should meet Nick Penrose, arm in arm with the theatre staff nurse.

  Alethea went home for her days off at the end of the week, travelling down to the little village near Dunmow in her rather battered Fiat 500 on Friday evening, happy to shake off the hospital and its unhappy memories for a time at least. Once clear of London and its suburbs, the newly green and peaceful Essex countryside soothed her feelings. She had purposely left the main road at the earliest moment and had kept to the narrow lanes. It took a good deal longer, but the evening was a pleasant one and although she had told her grandmother that she was coming she had mentioned no special time. She reached Great Dunmow about seven o’clock and took the country road which would lead her eventually to Little Braugh, resolutely thinking about anything and everything except Nick. She had been a fool, she reflected, quite unable to keep to her resolution; Nick was an ambitious man and she had nothing to offer him but a pretty face and the qualities of a first-class nurse—he would want money too, for without that he would take twice as long to reach the top of his profession, and, whispered a small voice at the back of her head, Theatre Staff Nurse Petts was the only daughter of a rich grocer. She shook her head free of its worrying and concentrated on the road. But Nick’s image remained clear behind he
r eyelids and no amount of telling herself that she was well rid of someone who had had no real regard for her could dispel it.

  But there was no sign of her worrying when she drew up outside a small cottage on the edge of the scattering of houses which was Little Braugh. It was a pretty little place with a hedged garden and a brick path to its solid front door, set squarely into its plain front. But the porch was a handsome one and the paint on its window frames was immaculate and a neat border of spring flowers testified to a careful gardener. Alethea beat a tattoo on the door knocker and opened the door, calling out as she went inside, and her grandmother, a brisk upright woman in her late sixties, came from the back of the house to greet her.

  Mrs Thomas kissed her granddaughter with pleasure. They were much of a height and her keen eyes stared into Alethea’s large brown ones with faint worry in their depths, but she didn’t make any remark about Alethea’s still too pale face, instead she enquired as to the journey, observed that there was steak and kidney pie for supper and expressed the hope that Alethea was hungry enough to do it justice.

  It wasn’t until the meal, served by Mrs Thomas’s devoted housekeeper, Mrs Bustle, was over and they were sitting round the small log fire in the comfortable, rather shabby sitting room, that Mrs Thomas asked casually: ‘You’ve been busy? You look washed out, Alethea.’ She frowned a little. ‘I sometimes wish you would give up that job at Theobald’s and get something nearer here in a small hospital where the work isn’t so exacting.’

  Alethea picked a thread off her skirt. ‘I enjoy my work, Granny, even when I’m tired, but if you would like me to get something locally, I’ll do that.’

  Mrs Thomas’s frown deepened. ‘Indeed you will not, my dear. I wouldn’t dream of spoiling a promising career through my selfishness.’ She stopped frowning, picked up her knitting and went on in a carefully casual way: ‘You have no intention of getting married? You must meet any number of men…’

  ‘Yes, Granny, I do—most of them are married…’

  ‘And those that aren’t?’

  ‘Well, I go out sometimes—quite often, but there isn’t any particular one.’ She added honestly: ‘Not now, at any rate.’

  Her grandmother nodded, pleased that she had guessed rightly although all she said was: ‘There are plenty of other good fish in the sea.’ She added gently: ‘Do you mind very much, my dear?’

  Alethea bent forward to poke the fire. ‘Yes, I do, Granny. You see, I thought he was going to marry me…’

  ‘And of course you have to see him every day?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Awkward for you. Could you not take a holiday?’

  ‘And run away, Granny? I can’t do that. I—I expect it won’t be so bad in a day or two. One gets over these things.’

  Her grandmother opened her mouth to say something and then thought better of it; instead she embarked on a long account of the last WI meeting, of which she was president. It lasted until bedtime.

  But if she had hoped that it might take her granddaughter’s mind off her unhappiness, she was mistaken. Alethea came down to breakfast the next morning looking as though she had hardly slept a wink, which she hadn’t. She had thought that once away from Theobald’s with no chance of seeing Nick, she might feel better. Instead, she thought about him all the time, allowing herself to dream foolish little daydreams in which he arrived at her grandmother’s door, unable to live without her. Her usually sensible mind rejected this absurdity, but the daydreams persisted, although she did her best to dispel them by a bout of gardening, a walk to the village for the groceries and then a game of chess with her grandmother, who having her wits about her and being good at the game anyway, beat her to a standstill.

  She went back on the following evening, sorry to leave the quiet little house which had been her home since her parents had died, but excited at the thought of seeing Nick again.

  And she did see him; he was crossing the yard at the back of the hospital where the staff parked their cars. Staff Nurse Petts was with him and they were obviously making for his car. As they drew level with her, Marie Petts accorded her a smug smile. Nick said, ‘Good evening, Sister Thomas,’ with the air of only just remembering who she was.

  Alethea, rather pale with her desire to fling herself at Nick, wished them both a serene ‘Hullo,’ and would have gone on her way, but Marie wasn’t going to be done out of her triumph. She stopped, so that Nick had to stop too, and said with false friendliness: ‘We’re going to the Palladium—that marvellous show everyone’s talking about.’

  Alethea, listening to her own voice, cool and pleasant, marvelled at it. ‘I hear it’s quite super…’ She would have babbled on, intent on letting them both see that she didn’t care two straws even though there was a cold lump of misery under her ribs, but she was interrupted. Mr van Diederijk, sprung apparently from the ground, so silently had he joined them, spoke before she could utter any more banalities.

  ‘There you are, Alethea,’ he remarked placidly. ‘I was beginning to think that that funny little car of yours had broken down. Can you manage to change in twenty minutes or so? I’ve booked a table for half past eight.’

  He had slipped between her and the other two so that they didn’t see her startled face and open mouth. After a moment she began: ‘But I…’

  ‘Need longer? You can have an extra five minutes, then—I’ll wait in the main entrance.’

  She turned without a word and almost ran in to the Nurses’ Home entrance, up the stairs and into her room, where she sat down on the bed without bothering to take off her jacket. Of course Mr van Diederijk hadn’t meant a word of it. He had rescued her from an awkward situation, that was all; she would have a bath and go to bed early and thank him for his kindness when she saw him again. She was already in her dressing gown when one of the home maids knocked on the door and told her that she was wanted on the telephone, and just for a second the absurd idea that it might be Nick crossed her mind. It wasn’t; Mr van Diederijk’s calm voice asked matter-of-factly if she was changing. ‘Because if you are, put on something pretty. I thought we might go to Eatons.’

  ‘Oh, I thought—that is, I thought that you were just helping me out, or something.’ She added doggedly: ‘You were, weren’t you? You didn’t mean to ask me out to dinner…’

  His chuckle was comforting and reassuring. ‘Oh, yes, I was helping you out, but I certainly meant to ask you to dine with me, both this evening and as frequently as possible.’

  She took the receiver from her ear and looked at it, wondering if she could have heard him aright. After a minute she said: ‘Thank you, I’d like to come out this evening. I’ll be very quick.’

  Something pretty, he had said. She had an almost new crêpe dress, smoky grey delicately patterned with amber and a misty green. She had worn it once to go out with Nick and as she put it on she remembered that he had barely noticed it. She zipped it up defiantly, brushed out her hair so that it curled on her neck, dug her feet into slippers, caught up the dark grey flannel coat she had bought years ago and which was happily dateless and ran downstairs.

  Mr van Diederijk was waiting just where he said he would be and she sighed with relief without knowing it. He made some commonplace remark as she joined him, opened the door and led her to the Jaguar and during the brief journey he kept the conversation firmly in his own hands; even if she had wanted to say anything about her meeting with Nick he didn’t give her the chance. It was the same during their dinner, a delicious meal—smoked salmon, pork escalope and a rich creamy dessert. They drank Hock, and Alethea, considerably cheered by two glasses of it, prudently refused the brandy offered with her coffee. She was pouring second cups when Mr van Diederijk observed: ‘That’s a pretty dress,’ and then: ‘Do you like dancing?’

  She remembered the evenings she had gone dancing with Nick. Her ‘Yes, I do’ was so hesitant that he went on smoothly:

  ‘We must try it one evening, but in the meantime would you come to a theatre with me? Satur
day evening, perhaps—there’s a play I rather wanted to see, I think you might enjoy it too.’

  She didn’t say anything for a few minutes and then she asked a question. ‘Why are you being so very kind? I mean, asking me out to dinner—twice within days and then pretending that we were spending the evening together…’

  ‘Well, we are, aren’t we? Spending the evening together.’ His voice was bland. ‘And I’m not being kind, Alethea, rather should I say that I like to see fair play, and it seems to me that young Penrose isn’t playing fair.’ He looked at her thoughtfully, frowning a little. ‘If you want him back you must put on a bold front.’

  ‘I don’t want him back,’ she uttered the lie so hotly that it was quite apparent that there wasn’t a word of truth in it, ‘and what’s more, I can’t see that it’s any business of yours, Mr van Diederijk.’

  ‘You are of course quite right. I apologise.’ He added coolly: ‘I expect you would like to go.’ He lifted a finger and took the bill and signed it, and Alethea cried sharply: ‘Oh, I quite forgot—I still owe you for the other night…’

  She was stopped by the look of distaste on her companion’s face. ‘Allow me to settle that with Penrose,’ he said blandly. There was nothing for her to do but get up and go. She did it with outward calm, smarting from his polite snub, and engaged him in a trivial conversation all the way back to Theobald’s, where she thanked him with the nice manners of a small girl who had been well drilled in the social niceties.

  Mr van Diederijk listened to her, his head a little on one side. When she had finished, all he said was: ‘Not a successful evening, but there will be others.’

  This remark sent her crossly to her bed; there would be no more evenings, she decided, and then remembered that she had said that she would go to the theatre with him. Oh well, she conceded, just that once more, and then never again.