Sister Peters in Amsterdam Read online

  `A Happy New Year, Miss Peters.' The band had just started to play again, a Strauss waltz, and before she realised what was happening, they were half way round the room.

  `How very high-handed,' she remarked coldly.

  He reversed neatly into a corner. `Don't you like dancing with me, Miss Peters?'

  She looked up at him, and said with an incurable honestly. `Yes, I do, very much.'

  They went on dancing; she hoped that the band would forget to stop and tried to think of something clever to say. Her mind was blank, but luckily the professor didn't appear to be much of a conversationalist while he danced. She stopped worrying and gave herself up to the pleasure of dancing; the professor danced very well indeed, but she had known he would. The music stopped and someone tapped her on the arm. It was Piet Beekman.

  `We must go, Adelaide. The baby-sitter said one o' clock, and not a moment later. Are you coming?'

  Before she could reply the professor said in his easy way:

  `Why not let Sister stay? I am sure she will have no lack of offers to see her home, and in the unlikelihood of her being on her own, one of us will see her back later.'

  `Thank you, professor, but I should like to go now; I'm on duty in the morning.' She spoke quietly in a stiff little voice and turned away with a brief good night to find the Baroness, who rather surprisingly kissed her and urged her to come and see her again. Adelaide made a vague reply to this, thinking it very unlikely that she would see her hostess again. She intended to concentrate on her Dutch lessons and her own small circle of friends in the hospital. She watched the professor and Margriet going towards the balcony. She wasn't sure what she had expected from this evening-perhaps that if he saw her out of uniform, he would realise that she was a girl as well as a highly trained cog in the hospital machinery. As she went upstairs with Leen to get her coat, she allowed herself to remember that he had kissed her, but then so had a great many other people; she derived little comfort from the thought.

  She said goodbye to Leen and Piet at the door of the Sisters' home, and went upstairs to her room, where, despite the lateness of the hour, she sat on her bed thinking about the evening. One fact emerged very clearly-she was in love with the professor.

  She had a whole day to get over the party. Casualty was slack; there was no clinic. She sat in her office, scowling over her Dutch grammar. After a while she shut her books and wrote a letter home. She gave a colourful and gay account of the party; it was slightly exaggerated, as she wanted her family to know what a good time she was having. She carefully made out a money order to go with the letter. The boys' school fees would be due again soon. They were clever, and deserved the best education that could be managed. Her thoughts played truant again, and she wondered if Professor Van Essen was rich. She had no idea where he lived, but she supposed he had a good practice in Amsterdam. It was natural that she should think about Margriet Keizer too, for she was obviously a close friend of his.

  Adelaide opened her book again; she was behaving like a silly schoolgirl. She reminded herself what she was doing and who she was. She resolved to think no more of the professor, but work for him to the best of her ability and be pleasant and friendly and take no interest at all in his private life. She was well aware that this high-minded resolve, if put to the test, might well prove worthless; in the meantime, she told herself sternly, she would apply herself to her Dutch grammar.

  The day seemed endless-Wilsma took over Casualty duty at two o'clock, and Adelaide went out into the grey cold day and walked until she was tired. The streets were almost empty; she supposed that everyone was within doors, visiting or receiving visits from family. She began to feel lonely, but told herself resolutely not to give way to self-pity, and when she found a small cafe open went in and had a cup of coffee, and walked back to the hospital again. Most of the Sisters were out, and supper was quickly eaten by the few who remained. She went to her room and busied herself washing her hair, until Zuster Zijlastra came in to tell her about her visit to her home. It was late when she finally put out the light, to lie awake in the dark, remembering the professor's kiss and their dance together. Common sense reminded her that nearly everyone in the room had kissed her too-he had only done what was obviously the custom. No amount of wishful thinking on her part could make it otherwise. She went to sleep on the hopeless thought.

  She felt nervous at the idea of seeing the professor again, but she need not have worried. There was no time for talk beyond a hurried good morning. Casualty was full with children who had burnt themselves with fireworks, eaten too much, or, taking advantage of the relaxing of parental discipline over the holidays, had found the matches and got

  burned, or sampled the contents of aspirin bottles. Adelaide stayed in Casualty, while Zuster Wilsma took the clinic, and the professor and Dr Beekman went back and forth as they were needed. By midday Casualty was empty again, and they all sighed with relief. It was fortunate that the morning clinic had been a small one. Refreshed by their one o'clock dinner, the staff assembled once more for the afternoon session, which Adelaide knew would run far over the scheduled time. There was little leisure for private thought, which was perhaps why she was able to work cheerfully with the professor for the rest of the busy day without any feeling of awkwardness or embarrassment. By the end of the afternoon she had slipped back into their usual professional friendliness-casual and matter-of-fact, and quite impersonal. It had been easier than she had expected.

  A few days later the professor mentioned that he had some beds at another hospital in Amsterdam. `Only four,' he explained, `to take the overflow if we get a run on the beds here. I'll arrange for you to be taken there one day, so that you can look around.'

  Adelaide was packing dressing drums with a practised hand.

  `I should like that, sir, thank you. If you could give me two or three days' notice so that I can arrange the duty rota.'

  She snapped a lid shut, opened the perforated strip around the drum, and put it on to the loaded trolley.

  The professor scrawled his signature, put away his pen, and got up to go.

  `Very well, Sister. I'll let you know. Good night.' He walked to the door, but stopped halfway and said over his shoulder: `Are you quite happy here, Sister Peters?'

  Adelaide folded a dressing towel, flattened it with a thump, and laid it with its fellows.

  `Yes, sir, I am, very.'

  He gave a non-committal grunt and went out, leaving her standing staring at the closed door, wondering wistfully if he minded in the least if she was happy or not.

  The promised visit to the hospital took place at the end of the week, but not, as she had hoped, in the professor's company. Dr Beekman took her in his Volkswagen. It was a bitterly cold day, with low grey clouds, turning yellow at the corners.

  `Snow,' said Piet Beekman. `A good thing we arranged to come today.'

  Adelaide braced herself against the seat as he raced round a corner, much too fast.

  `Doesn't the professor come to see his patients?'

  Dr Beekman cut a swathe through a bunch of dignified cyclists, miraculously missing them all.

  `Yes, more often than not-but he's going to some reception or other at the Amstel Hotel early this evening, so he wanted to get away in time.'

  He drew up with a squeal of brakes, wrenched the wheel round, and shot up a side street, to stop with devastating suddenness before a large gloomy door.

  `Here we are,' he said cheerfully, and leant over and opened the door for her to get out. Adelaide took stock of her surroundings. The hospitall was on a corner, and looked bleak. Once inside, however, she discovered that the bleakness outside had not been allowed to penetrate its walls. The wards were bright with coloured paint and gay with flowering plants; the children in them looked happy. The place sounded like a parrot house. Half way round, Dr Beekman was called to the phone. She guessed what it was before he told her. He had to go back to the clinic.

  `I don't suppose I shall be long,' he said. `One of
the Sisters will take you round the rest of the wards and I'll come back for you later.'

  `No, don't come back, Dr Beekman, I'm sure I can find my way back. Just tell me the number of the tram I have to catch, and I can't go wrong. And if I do, I'll get a taxi.'

  He was uncertain. `Are you sure?' He thought for a moment. 'You'll need a twenty four tram.'

  Adelaide nodded. `I'm off duty at five o'clock, anyway. I'll go straight to the Home.'

  He looked relieved. `All right, then. See you in the morning. Tot ziens.'

  Another hour sped by. Theatre Sister, who had taken Piet Beekman's place, insisted on Adelaide having a cup of tea before she left. They sat sipping the weak, milkless beverage, carrying on a halting but entirely satisfactory conversation. It was nearly six o'clock when she got up to go. Assuring her kind hostess that she could get back to her own hospital quite easily, she went down to the entrance hall. There was no one about, so she opened the heavy door and stepped out into the street. It clanged shut behind her, a second before she made an instinctive movement to push it open again. She was standing in a blizzard; she had never been in one before, but this blinding curtain of snow couldn't be anything else.

  Adelaide stood hesitating, glad that she had worn a raincoat and boots. She looked around as well as she was able; there was no one to be seen, and no traffic either, but she guessed it would start again as soon as the snow stopped. She decided against going back into the hospital. She would walk in the direction of the trams, and wait until they started again, or even take a taxi. She began to walk along the street, taking the right-hand fork as Dr Beekman had said. The snow was already thick under her feet, but by keeping to the wall by the side of the street, she made quite good progress. The bridge was a surprise-she didn't remember it-it looked a temporary affair, and she walked carefully over it and followed the wall curving to the right. Through the snow she caught the glint of water, and stood still, trying to remember where she was. It didn't take long for her to realise that she was, for the moment at least, lost.

  Luckily she hadn't come far; she decided to retrace her steps to the hospital and shelter there until the weather cleared or someone could take her back. Halfway over the bridge, she glimpsed a large brick building looming ahead; it looked like a brewery or factory of some sort. It had been on her left as she approached the first time. At least, she thought so. She realised, suddenly, that she didn't know any more. She stopped, clutching the flimsy handrail, swallowing panic, and forcing herself to look carefully in all directions. The snow, beating into her face, half blinded her, nevertheless, she decided, with a sudden lifting of her spirits, that there were lights on her left, and not too far away. Where there were lights, there would probably be people. She walked slowly towards them, terrified that she would lose them. She picked her way through the snow, the lights becoming blessedly stronger with each step. They came from a large building, streaming from glass doors at the top of a flight of steps.

  Adelaide climbed, aware of the icy wetness of her feet in her sodden boots. There was a uniformed man at the door, who opened it for her, and she stood on the doormat in front of him, oblivious of his startled look, brushing the snow from her face so that she could see where she was. She was in a large, luxurious

  foyer, lights from half a dozen chandeliers shone on gleaming tables and mirrors and massed flowers. A group of men, immaculate in white ties and tails, were talking some yards from her. Adelaide had time to recognise the professor before he looked round and saw her, and walked across the thick-piled carpet towards her. He looked distinguished and elegant and very angry.

  `What in thunder are you doing here, Miss Peters?' His habitual calm seemed to have deserted him completely.

  If she hadn't been so cold, she would have burst into tears; as it was, she said as clearly as her chattering teeth would allow:

  `I'm lost. I came in to ask the way.' She frowned as fiercely as her snow-stiffened eyebrows would allow. `I had no idea you were here,' she added with a monumental dignity rendered pathetic by her grotesque appearance. `Please don't let me keep you from your friends. The doorman will explain how I can get back.'

  The professor, with a resigned air, said nothing, but unbuttoned her raincoat and took it off. He said something briefly to the doorman, who disappeared and returned within the minute with a pair of slippers, which he substituted for Adelaide's useless boots.

  `Won't you take off your hood, Miss Peters?' The professor spoke with excessive politeness. She obeyed wordlessly, and watched her clothes borne away out of sight.

  `They'll be dried,' he explained briefly. `There's a writing room here, you can wait there. It will be empty at this time of day.'

  She scuffled after him in the too large slippers. As they passed his friends he murmured something, and they smiled at her and nodded with kindly faces, so that she smiled shyly back at them. The writing room was small and cosy, with a small fire burning cheerfully. The professor indicated a chair which he had drawn up to its warmth. 'I'll get someone to bring you some coffee.' He gave her a nod and disappeared.

  The coffee was hot, and tasted rather peculiar but nice. Adelaide drank one cup quickly, and poured a second cup from the elegant pot. There was a small plate of tiny sandwiches on the tray; she tried one. She hadn't tasted anything like it before and she didn't know what it was, but found it delicious. She drank the rest of her coffee and felt a pleasant warm glow spreading over her; she supposed it was the warmth of the little room which made her feel so sleepy. She ate another sandwich, then closed her eyes. When she opened them again, the professor, looking remote, was sitting in a chair opposite hers. She sat up at once, and said in her matter-offact voice:

  `I went to sleep, it was so warm in here. If my coat's dry, I'd like to go, please. I expect the snow has stopped by now.' She got up, very conscious of her untidy hair and crumpled skirt. The professor got up too.

  `I'll ask them for your things and arrange for you to go back.' He walked to the door, but before he could open it, it was flung wide, and Margriet Keizer came in. She looked magnificent, in a low-cut gown that showed off her figure to perfection. She ignored Adelaide and spoke rapidly and angrily in Dutch to the professor. He chose to ignore her ill-humour, and answered placidly in English.

  'Ah, Margriet, you had my message. Miss Peters got lost in the snow on her way back to hospital. Fortunately she came here for help. I'm just going to arrange for her to go back. Perhaps you'll keep her company while I'm gone.'

  He left them together, standing in hostile silence. Margriet rustled to a chair.

  `How stupid of you to go out in such a bad snow-storm, Miss Peters. I suppose it was chance that brought you here?'

  Adelaide looked surprised. `Yes, of course it was chance, Juffrouw Keizer. I had no reason to come here otherwise.'

  `Well, it was an unfortunate chance for us. Do you realise that we are guests at a reception here and that I have been left alone without an escort while Coen-Professor Van Essen wastes what should have been a pleasant evening?'

  Adelaide flushed hotly. `If your evening has been spoiled, I'm sorry.' She paused and looked at her watch, surprised to see that it was after seven. `It is stilll early, and you have the evening before you.' She spoke quietly, genuinely sorry for the other girl's disappointment. But her sympathy was wasted.

  `It's not much use being sorry, is it, now that the harm's done. You don't seem a very sensible young woman. It seems to me that you can't be very suitable for your job.'

  Margriet broke off as the professor came back into the room with Adelaide's things. She thanked him for them in a tight little voice and put them on quickly, evading his helping hand. She said good night to Margriet, who made no reply, and went across the foyer, not noticing the people in it. The professor caught her up at the door.

  `Not so fast, Miss Peters. I need my coat.'

  Adelaide was pulling on her gloves, her nice warm gloves St Nicolaas had given her.

  `I am perfectly able to
go home, sir. Thank you for your help, and I'm sorry if I've spoilt your evening.'

  The words came out in a rush, rather louder than she had intended. He looked at her reprovingly.

  `I shall take you back to the hospital, Miss Peters. You are one of my staff and I am responsible for you. Kindly say no more.'

  He shrugged himself into his coat and took his gloves from the doorman. They went outside together, the snow had stopped falling-it had already been swept away from the hotel steps. The Volvo crunched with gentle disdain for the soft, treacherous stuff through the quiet streets. There wasn't much traffic about, but the tramlines were already being cleared. The professor turned the car and headed it towards the centre of the city.

  `Forgive my curiosity, but why did you allow yourself to get caught in the bad weather? It must have been snowing... ?'

  She explained. It sounded rather silly.

  `I should have gone back inside and waited. It was foolish of me. I've given you a great deal of trouble...'