The Fortunes of Francesca Page 6

  A little seasonal good feeling would have been nice, but, although the house was decorated lavishly with holly and tinsel and a big tree in the hall, Lady Trumper evidently didn’t allow the Christmas spirit to go further than the outward show. She found fault all day with Franny, bemoaned the fact that she was forced to have friends in for drinks that evening and professed angry astonishment at the size of the bills which had come by the morning’s post.

  ‘The amount of money I am forced to spend,’ she told Franny. ‘The bills can be paid after Christmas; let them wait for their money.’ She saw Franny’s look of disgust. ‘I suppose you think that I should pay promptly? Those kind of people spend their money on rubbish and drink, anyway.’

  Franny couldn’t let that pass. ‘Yes, I do think that you should pay your debts to people who have earned the money and need it to live on. People have children and old people to look after, schools to pay for. And I dare say they spend a great deal less on drink than you and your friends, Lady Trumper. There’s a bill for champagne—a dozen bottles at more than twenty pounds a bottle—that would keep a large family in food and drink for two weeks at least.’ She added for good measure, ‘And by drink I mean tea and coffee and the occasional beer.’

  Lady Trumper was having difficulty with her breathing. ‘You insolent girl,’ she managed finally. ‘You can clear your things and go now. I am only sorry that I ever listened to Professor van der Kettener.’

  ‘Well, I thought that would be what you would say,’ said Franny. She had lost her job but for the moment she couldn’t care less; she had only spoken her mind. Everyone in a free world was entitled to have their own opinion. She began to tidy the desk where she was writing place cards for the Christmas dinner party. ‘I’ve worked for two and a half days...’ She did some sums on the back of an envelope. ‘That works out at...’

  Lady Trumper snapped, ‘I shan’t pay you a penny.’

  ‘Then I shall have to take you to court,’ said Franny in a reasonable way.

  Lady Trumper stared at her. She said, ‘Take what is owing you from the desk.’

  Franny thanked her, counted out the notes and showed them to Lady Trumper. ‘I hope you’ll find someone you’ll like,’ she said. ‘And I hope you have a very happy Christmas, Lady Trumper.’

  She left the room quietly, went down to the kitchen to wish everyone there goodbye, and, while they were still exclaiming their surprise, she left the house.

  There was no need to tell Auntie and Finn that she had lost her job—she would have been free for a few days, anyway, over Christmas and once it was over she could break the news and find something else. Night duty, she mused as she was squashed between two men reading newspapers on the bus. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get work—indeed, she had been thinking about it ever since she had known that Auntie would be coming home and would need an eye kept on her.

  ‘One door shuts and another one opens,’ said Franny, speaking her thought out loud so that the two men lowered their newspapers and glared at her.

  She wished the bus conductor a merry Christmas as she got off the bus and made for Fish Street. She would have to go to the supermarket later on, but first they would have tea and hot buttered toast round the fire and then she would make a steak and kidney pudding, warming and filling.

  She went past the fish and chip shop, closed now until six o’clock, and the sight of it reminded her of the professor. He’ll be surrounded by family by now, reflected Franny. There will be a tree, and the women will be dressed up and there will be children—well, if he’s married there will—or perhaps a fiancée—and later they’ll sit down to a magnificent feast...

  * * *

  WHICH WAS EXACTLY what the professor was doing. He had gathered his family around him as he did each year, and now he was sitting at the head of the vast mahogany table, a host to his three sisters and brother, their husbands and wife, and a clutch of children. He sat, listening to the babble of cheerful voices around him, joining in the talk from time to time while he thought about Franny.

  It was, he admitted to himself, neither the time nor the place to think of her, but she had become firmly rooted in his head. He supposed it was because he felt sorry for her; certainly he admired her cheerful outlook on life even though she hadn’t much to be cheerful about. Despite his Christmas hamper, he didn’t suppose that Christmas would be all it should be for her.

  He glanced round the room and wondered what she would think of it. It was a vast apartment, with panelled walls and a high ceiling. There was a fireplace at one end of it and three tall windows hung with dark red velvet curtains along one wall, facing a vast serving table laden with silver. The floor was highly polished wood partly covered by an Aubusson carpet, echoing the red of the curtains.

  The table gleamed with silver and crystal and delft blue china, with a central floral arrangement of holly and Christmas roses, hyacinths, lilac and narcissi. The chandelier above it blazed down on the seventeen people sitting there—the smaller children perched on cushions, the youngest of all in a highchair. This was a traditional meal which the family observed each year.

  Tomorrow, Christmas Day, there would be a family lunch, of course, after church, but the rest of the day would be given over to the children, with presents from the tree and games and later, when the children were in bed, a buffet supper for the grown-ups.

  The youngest of his sisters, Sutske, broke into his thoughts.

  ‘Marc, do you suppose that next Christmas you will have a wife to sit at the foot of the table?’ She spoke half-jokingly. She was his favourite sister and made no bones about poking her nose into his life.

  He said lightly, ‘I have no plans to marry, my dear, but I am told by my registrar at St Giles’ that love comes unasked. And he should know; he has just become engaged and is determined that everyone around him should be in the same state of bliss!’ He laughed then. ‘So probably I shall take you all by surprise.’

  There was a lot of light-hearted banter after that, but presently the talk turned to family affairs, and later, when the children had been put to bed, there were friends who had been invited for the evening.

  The professor, wandering among his guests, didn’t think about Franny at all. Only much later, when everyone else had gone to bed, he sat in his study with Biddy, his golden Labrador, sprawled over his feet, and found himself wondering what Franny was doing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FRANNY WAS LYING in her bed, plotting ways and means. She was by no means downcast—supper, augmented with a few extras from Auntie’s prize, had been a satisfying meal. The supermarket manager had added a box of biscuits to her pay packet that evening and she was free for two days. She was concocting answers to the offer of work she felt sure she would get, and on this hopeful note she went to sleep.

  If she thought of the professor at all during the next two days she didn’t allow her thoughts to linger on him. She listened to Auntie’s warm praise of him because she had no choice in the matter, but she made a point of thinking of him as he was in the hospital—kind and impersonal, a man who probably was just as kind and impersonal to hundreds of other anxious relatives. That there was another side to him, the side which allowed him to buy fish and chips in paper, one which she would like to know more of, was best ignored.

  So Christmas was happy, after all. Going to bed on Boxing night, Franny allowed herself a few minutes in which to think about him. She thought it was unlikely that she would see him again, and if she did it would be at his clinic when she took Auntie for her check-up. There would be no chance to talk to him, and anyway, she reminded herself, there had been various occasions when he had expressed irritation with her chatter. Better if she never saw him again. Perhaps Finn could get time off to take his aunt...

  Christmas over, she set about the urgent task of finding work. A study of the situations vacant columns in th
e various newspapers at the local library was encouraging. Any number of residential homes, rest homes and nursing homes were seeking helpers. But most of them were too far from Fish Street to make it possible to reach them within the hour. Besides, there would be the bus fares... She picked out several possible vacancies just across the river and went home and wrote letters applying for each of them. Only when she had done that did she tell Auntie.

  ‘I’ve been wanting to change jobs,’ she told her airily, ‘and I like night duty. And when Lady Trumper gave me the sack I was delighted, for it saved me having to give her notice...’

  Auntie looked doubtfully at her. ‘Really, love? You aren’t doing this because I’ve come home?’

  ‘Good heavens, no!’ said Franny, and sounded so convincing that she quite believed it herself.

  She had answers from three of the advertisements. They were all from nursing homes for the elderly and the nearest one was in Pimlico, a fairly short and simple bus ride over Lambeth Bridge. The letter was vague as to duties, and didn’t mention a salary, but it said that she would work for five nights each week, eight o’clock in the evening until eight o’clock in the morning. An interview was suggested, if she would telephone and make an appointment.

  At least I can go and see what it’s like, reflected Franny, and went out to the phone box at the end of the street.

  * * *

  SHE WENT TO the home the next morning, carefully timing the bus ride and the walk of several minutes to the nursing home, which was quite large. At one time it must have been a handsome town house, but now it looked a little bleak, with heavy curtains at the windows and a notice by the door bidding callers to ring twice, and tradesmen to go the side door.

  Franny rang twice and was admitted by a young maid in a brown overall suffering from a heavy cold, then ushered into an austere room leading from the hall, and asked to wait. The room was chilly and felt damp. Franny supposed that it was seldom used—certainly there was nothing in it to tempt its occupiers to stay longer than necessary.

  The maid came back in a few minutes and led her across the hall into a room overlooking the street. It was well furnished as an office, cosily warm, with a couple of comfortable chairs, a TV in one corner and a tray of coffee set out invitingly on a side table.

  The woman behind the desk wasn’t what Franny had been expecting; she was young—in her early thirties—smartly dressed and skilfully made-up. Her hair, worn in a fashionable straight cut with a fringe, made Franny, with her wealth of hair in a chignon, feel old-fashioned.

  ‘Miss Bowen?’ A well-kept hand was held out. ‘I am Mrs Kemp; please sit down.’ She turned over several papers before her. ‘You have references?’ When Franny handed them over she quickly read them and said, ‘They seem satisfactory. Are you free to join my staff immediately? As I wrote in my letter, you will work for five nights of the week. There are eighteen patients here and at night there is a registered nurse in charge, with yourself as her aide. I see that you are not qualified, so your wages will be those of an untrained worker.’

  She mentioned a sum which Franny knew was less than it should have been, but even so it was sufficient to keep them provided they were careful—and the job did have the advantage of not being far from home. She said nothing and Mrs Kemp went on, ‘You will have an hour off during the night—three quarters of it for your meal and a quarter of an hour for your tea break. You won’t need uniform; I provide overalls for the staff. If you would like to work here I will ask someone to show you round. You do realise that our patients are elderly and for the most part infirm?’

  She touched the bell on her desk and Franny was led away by a middle-aged woman whose replies to Franny’s cheerful queries and remarks were so taciturn that Franny gave up presently and contented herself with having a good look round, aware that her companion didn’t like her lingering too long in any of the rooms.

  Most of them held four beds, all neatly made. A few rooms were single or with two beds, and there was a day room with easy chairs, all occupied by ladies in various stages of old age. None of them were doing anything, although the television was on and there was a table with books and magazines on it.

  ‘You’d better come and see the kitchen,’ said her companion finally. ‘You’ll be making hot drinks and getting breakfasts there.’

  It was a depressing place, thought Franny—eighteen old ladies sitting silently doing nothing. She hoped that their families came to see them often and that there was a good doctor.

  She went back to Mrs Kemp presently and told her that she would take the job.

  ‘Very well, Miss Bowen. A week’s notice on either side. You pay for breakages, of course, and I expect that you will be punctual.’

  ‘Your patients...’ said Franny. ‘Do they just sit all day? I mean, are none of them able to go out or walk about a bit? And does the doctor visit regularly?’

  Mrs Kemp smiled brilliantly. She hoped this girl wasn’t going to be too good at her job. The nursing home was doing very nicely, and with the minimum of staff she employed there was little chance of doing more for the patients than keeping them clean and fed and getting them in and out of their beds.

  She said now, ‘Indeed, they are free to go wherever they wish. And, of course, their families take them out, and we have a splendid doctor. Of course, you aren’t likely to see the patients other than in bed.’

  She took up some papers from her desk. ‘I shall expect you tomorrow evening, Miss Bowen.’

  The woman who had shown Franny round came then, and went with her to the door. She wished her a rather surly goodbye and closed the door before she could reply.

  Not ideal, thought Franny, waiting for her bus, but there were advantages—regular pay and an easy journey to and from work. She didn’t look further than that; it would be too depressing.

  She enlarged upon the advantages of the job that evening, so that Auntie and Finn felt quite satisfied about it, and the following evening she went off to work.

  She was admitted by the same dour woman, led to a small cloakroom and given her overall. She was given a nurse’s cap too. ‘The patients like to think you’re a proper nurse,’ said the woman seriously. ‘That’ll make you look professional.’

  There was no sign of Mrs Kemp, and when Franny asked if she was to see her before she started work she was told she wasn’t there. ‘Gone to the theatre—she and Mr Kemp enjoy a good play.’

  ‘So who’s in charge?’ asked Franny.

  ‘Sister Payne, she’ll be upstairs.’

  On the first floor there was a small room, presumably for the use of the staff. A middle-aged, rather stout woman was sitting there, drinking a cup of coffee. She looked up as Franny went in and smiled.

  ‘You’re the new nurse? Nice to meet you.’ She held out a hand. ‘I’m Becky Payne. Have a cup of coffee and we’ll have a chat.’

  Franny sat. Mrs Payne looked friendly and she had a pleasant face. The other woman went away without speaking and Mrs Payne said, ‘You don’t need to bother about her. She’s the housekeeper—does the cooking and runs the place. There are two women who come to clean each day...’

  ‘And the nursing staff?’ asked Franny.

  ‘Well, now, they come and go. This isn’t a place to attract young nurses. Mrs Wright—the day sister—she runs the place during the day, and there’s two aides full-time and a part-timer, and then there’s us.’

  ‘But who takes over when we have our two nights off?’

  Mrs Payne looked surprised. ‘Didn’t Mrs Kemp tell you? We relieve each other. It’s a bit of a scramble on your own, but we’ve always managed. It means starting the day early in the morning, but no one’s ill; it’s just a question of keeping them clean and comfy.’

  Franny asked, ‘Supposing someone is taken ill, who must I tell?’

  ‘Dr Trevor. Don’t disturb the
Kemps. They’ve got the flat at the top of the house.’ Mrs Payne said comfortably, ‘Don’t worry, love. It’s an easy job as jobs go. Wouldn’t suit everyone, but I dare say it’s what you were looking for.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Franny. ‘I have to do night duty so that I can be home during the day.’

  Mrs Payne didn’t ask questions. ‘Now, we’ll go over the list of patients and then we’ll go round together and make sure that everyone is comfortable. Mrs Wright has given them their sleeping pills. She’s a registered nurse...’

  ‘We don’t need to give them medicine, then?’

  ‘No. Nothing prescribed, just cough medicine and inhalations and suchlike.’

  They stood up and Franny tugged her overall into a more comfortable fit. It was over-large and bunchy round the waist. ‘Is Mrs Kemp a registered nurse?’

  ‘Yes. Has to be, doesn’t she? But she never sets foot outside her office.’ Mrs Payne smiled and winked. ‘This place is a gold mine; she’s in it for the money. You’d be surprised at the number of people prepared to pay high fees to have Granny or Mother stashed away.’

  She led the way into the first room and the night’s work began.

  They took it in turns to have their meal during the night, which had been left to keep warm, presumably by the housekeeper, and was eaten in the kitchen. They made their own tea in the early hours, drinking it together in the duty room. Franny was surprised at the lack of care needed for the patients. They slept soundly until she went round rousing them at seven o’clock with early-morning tea. It was when she was reading the charts she found in the duty room that she discovered that they were all on sleeping pills.