Three for a Wedding Read online

  She inched to the door. Of course she could be replaced, she knew of half a dozen nurses of her acquaintance who would jump at the chance of her job. She opened her mouth to say something, she wasn’t sure what, but it didn’t matter because he spoke first.

  ‘Tomorrow you have a day off. I think that you should see the hospital at Leyden—the research department where I do most of my work. I have arranged with Zuster Witsma to bring you there in the afternoon.’ He looked suddenly vague. ‘Thank you, Nurse.’

  She got herself out of the room, hardly knowing whether to be annoyed or laugh. Here he was, arranging her day off for her without a by-your-leave. Presumably she was supposed to be so mad keen on her work that she would welcome its spilling over into her free time. Upon thinking about it she was quite glad to have her day arranged for her; she had hardly had the time to plan any expeditions herself, and to tell the truth she was diffident about going around on her own until she had found out about buses and trains and the easiest way to get about.

  Later that day, when she was off duty, she found her way to the VVV, a kind of tourist information centre which supplied leaflets and maps in a great many languages. Here she collected as many as possible about Leyden and went to bed early to study them in peace and quiet, and in the morning, making a leisurely dressing gown breakfast while her uniformed companions gobbled and swallowed against time, she contrived to add to what she had learned by asking a few questions about the hospital at Leyden. She sauntered back upstairs, sorting the facts from some of the more frivolous answers she had been given—the Medical School sounded interesting. She began to look forward to her afternoon, but in the meantime the morning stretched before her in delightful idleness. She dressed and wandered out into the bright morning, intent on finding somewhere pleasant for coffee while she decided how to spend the time before midday dinner.

  She went, finally, to Reyndorp’s Prinsenhof, where the prices rather took her breath away although the surroundings were worth every penny, and then went to look at Tetar van Elven Museum and afterwards, by way of light relief, window-shopped, a delightful pastime which culminated in the buying of a French silk scarf which she didn’t really need but which was just too lovely to pass by.

  They were to leave for Leyden directly after lunch, so that Phoebe spent half an hour before then changing her dress and attending to her face and hair. She chose the sugar pink cotton again because it seemed rather an occasion and crowned her bright head with a natural straw hat with a small upturned brim, and got out her nicest sandals and handbag. She was glad that she had done this when she saw Zuster Witsma waiting for her in her Daf. She had dressed for the occasion too—in blue and white; they made rather a nice pair, Phoebe considered as she got in beside her. The drive to Leyden was a short one of only a few miles, but Mies Witsma was a shocking driver so that the distance seemed twice that length. Phoebe made conversation in a voice which only shook slightly when they missed a bus by a hairsbreadth and again when Mies, seeing a dog about to cross the road, shot across into the path of the oncoming cars, causing a good deal of horn-blowing and squeaking of brakes. It was a decided relief when they entered Leyden and slowed down, and when they entered the Rapenburg, its quiet waters reflecting the great buildings on either side of it, Phoebe forgot about her companion’s erratic driving and looked about her, trying to identify them as Zuster Witsma pointed them out—something which did her driving no good at all.

  They had gone through the gates of the Medical School and were about to enter its door when Phoebe said: ‘You do look nice I hope you don’t mind me saying so …’

  The girl beside her turned a beaming face tinged with shy embarrassment. ‘You think? I wish to be chic today—I hope he will think as you do …’

  Phoebe was conscious of a peculiar sensation of doubt deep inside her—who was this he? Surely not Doctor van Someren? At the idea the feeling, now tinged with a slight peevishness, became stronger. She longed to ask and would have done so, but they were in the entrance hall by now and a young man was bearing down upon them.

  He shook hands with Zuster Witsma, uttered a few words, presumably of welcome, and then turned to Phoebe, shook her hand too and said: ‘Van Loon,’ and she, wishing to be civil, told him: ‘I’m Phoebe Brook,’ then remembered that she was Sybil, or didn’t that matter any more?

  They walked the length of the hall while the young man, in quite beautiful English, explained that he was one of Doctor van Someren’s team and had been sent to meet them, and when they fetched up before a massive mahogany door he tapped importantly and threw it open.

  Phoebe hadn’t known what she expected to see, certainly not Doctor van Someren stretched out in a comfortable chair by one of the long windows, fast asleep. The young man, not in the least put out, stepped forward, tapped him briskly on the shoulder and murmured deferentially, whereupon he opened his eyes and got to his feet and advanced to greet them, his manner imperturbable. Mies Witsma shook hands first, talking animatedly and at some length, and Phoebe watched narrowly, deciding that the doctor was certainly not the he her companion had mentioned. This filled her with such pleasure that it showed on her face and her host remarked: ‘You look as though you had just made a delightful discovery—nothing to do with me taking a nap, I hope?’

  She laughed. ‘No, of course not—it seems an awful shame to wake you up, though. I’m sorry.’

  He shrugged his great shoulders. ‘It is a pleasure to wake and find you—and Zuster Witsma—here.’ He looked over his shoulder to where the young man was deep in conversation with her. ‘Van Loon,’ he said easily, ‘be a good chap and let Doctor Lagemaat know that we are ready, will you? And I will see you tomorrow as usual.’

  Van Loon said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and then, ‘Good-day, ladies, it has been a pleasure,’ and cast a lingering look at Phoebe as he hurried away, to be replaced in no time at all by a very tall, very thin man, soberly dressed in dark grey and a rather dreary tie, but his face was pleasant and good-looking too in a blunt-featured way, and Phoebe, watching with quickening interest, saw at once that this was the one who was to be dazzled by the blue and white outfit. Zuster Witsma went pink as he came in and greeted him with the extreme casualness of manner which, to Phoebe at least, was all the proof she needed. He had smiled nicely at her as he crossed the room; he smiled nicely at her too as Doctor van Someren introduced him, but he went back immediately to the Dutch girl.

  ‘We will go,’ said Doctor van Someren, breaking into her speculations. ‘Arie, you will accompany Mies, will you not? and I will go with Miss Brook so that she misses nothing of what is to be seen.’

  There was a great deal to be seen, and all very interesting too. Phoebe had never been keen on research, but she had to admit that it was a fascinating subject. The path lab engaged her attention too; she spent some considerable time peering down a microscope while the doctor patiently explained what she was looking at. When she finally got to her feet there was no sign of the others—they were alone at one end of the vast place and there was no one within earshot.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Phoebe, ‘I’ve held everything up, haven’t I? I’m sorry—I’ve kept everyone waiting.’

  The doctor’s voice sounded amused. ‘My dear good girl, do you really suppose the other two have any idea as to what we are doing, or where we are? I credited you with an eye sharp enough to see that.’

  She smiled at him and a dimple showed itself briefly. ‘Oh, yes, I did, but I thought perhaps it was just me. Isn’t that nice? She’s such a dear and he looks rather a sweetie, only I don’t like his tie.’

  He let out a great shout of laughter. ‘Do your suitors stand or fall by virtue of the ties they choose?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘I haven’t got any s …’ She stopped, remembering Jack.

  ‘What’s his name?’ enquired her companion with an intentness quite at variance with his usual placid manner, and she found herself answering obediently: ‘Jack—only he’s not my—my suitor, not really, j
ust persistent.’

  They walked out of the path lab and started down a long wide corridor.

  ‘Will he be at the wedding?’ her companion wanted to know, and his voice was very soft.

  ‘No—yes, I don’t know.’ She gave him a bewildered look and encountered his eyes; the gleam in them left her even more bewildered and strangely excited. She turned her head away and said, a little breathless. ‘Where are we going now?’

  ‘The small museum attached to the school—some fascinating things there—and we have just time …’

  Phoebe peeped at him. He resembled himself again, not the exciting man who had stared at her so strangely a moment ago. She said primly: ‘I hope we haven’t taken up too much of your time.’

  He flung open a door and started down a steep flight of steps beside her. ‘No.’ He opened the door at the bottom and ushered her into the museum. Mies Witsma and his colleague Arie were there, staring at an old engraving of some medieval gentleman having his leg amputated and, from the look on his face, taking grave exception to it. Phoebe doubted if either of them saw that, though; they looked up with the slightly bewildered air of people who have been interrupted unnecessarily but are too polite to say so, and her companion must have seen that too, for he made no attempt to join them, merely saying: ‘We’ll see you both in five minutes in the front hall,’ and led her away in the opposite direction.

  ‘I can’t possibly see all this in five minutes,’ began Phoebe.

  ‘No—but I want my tea. I’ll show you the most important exhibits, you shall come again and see the rest.’

  She was hurried from one case to the next and whisked through the door again with her impressions nicely muddled and feeling hurt because he seemed in such a hurry to finish their tour. There was a great deal she hadn’t seen, she felt sure what about the wards and theatres and …

  ‘Tea!’ boomed Doctor van Someren from somewhere above her, and hurried her along more passages until they emerged in the front hall once more. The other two were there already. ‘Coming with us?’ he asked them. ‘Arie, you take the Daf, I’ll take Phoebe with me.’ He started down the steps, his hand firmly on her arm.

  ‘I haven’t said goodbye,’ she protested.

  ‘Quite useless,’ he told her cheerfully, ‘and unnecessary. You will see them very shortly. Come along.’

  ‘Where to?’

  He stopped short. ‘Did I not invite you? No, I see that I didn’t. You are all coming to tea at my house.’

  ‘At your house?’ She was aware that her conversation lacked sparkle, but he was going a little fast for her.

  ‘Yes, of course why not?’

  He was crossing the courtyard to where the Jaguar waited sleekly, and she found herself forced to trot in order to keep up with him.

  ‘I’m not sure that I should,’ she essayed. ‘It’s such a great waste of your time, and whatever will your wife think if you bring hordes of people back for tea?’

  ‘Not hordes,’ he corrected her, ‘three, and I have no wife.’

  She got into the car because he had opened its door and obviously expected her to, pity and sympathy swelling inside her—poor man, so he was a widower, or divorced—although she couldn’t think how any woman in her right senses would want to let a man like him go once she had him … What a life it must be for him, bringing up a small boy. Someone had told her that children didn’t go to boarding school in Holland—perhaps there was a governess. She stifled a pang of disquiet at the thought; someone young and pretty, who might catch her companion unawares and marry him. Her reflections were interrupted by his quiet voice: ‘Who told you that I was married?’

  ‘Someone in England—at least, they didn’t say that you were married, but that you had a son.’ She turned to smile at him and encountered a faintly mocking smile.

  ‘Hardly the same thing,’ he murmured, and before she could recover: ‘Did you enjoy this afternoon?’

  She flushed, sensing his gentle snub. ‘Very much,’ she told him politely, and went on to enlarge upon the things she had seen until they were back in Delft where Doctor van Someren stopped the car in one of the narrow streets bordering a tree-lined canal, sending her heart into her mouth as they came to a halt, the car’s elegant nose poised over the dark water.

  ‘How often do cars get driven into the canals?’ Her voice was tart to cover her fright.

  He shrugged. ‘Daily—we have an excellent rescue service, though.’

  Which made her laugh as she got out to inspect the houses crowding on either side of the canal. She had wandered down that very street only that morning; it pleased her mightily that he was leading the way to one of them—a narrow house, five stories high, with a semi-basement and a double step leading to its front door. Inside the hall was cool and quiet and dim but not gloomy, for above their heads she could see a circular window set in the roof, towards which the narrow staircase wound, its carved balustrade forming a narrow spiral at each ascending gallery. The room they entered was cool too, the furniture old and simple and very beautiful, highlighted by the silver in a display cabinet against one wall and the paintings on its white walls. Phoebe halted in the middle of the room and said in a pleased voice:

  ‘That’s a Quaker chest, isn’t it?’ and then bit her lip because she had sounded rude, but her companion looked pleased.

  ‘Yes—isn’t it delightful? And how nice that you know it for what it is. You like old things?’

  ‘Very much. I came past these houses this morning and longed to see inside them, and now I am—I can’t believe my good luck.’ She smiled, her sapphire eyes sparkling, and he said quickly: ‘In that case …’

  He got no further, for the door opened and Zuster Witsma and Doctor Lagemaat came in, followed almost immediately by a pleasant-faced woman whom Phoebe took to be the housekeeper, bearing a tray of tea things. She had hardly closed the door behind her when it was opened again and a small boy came in—the boy who had put his tongue out at her. He shot her a look of horrified surprise and ran across the room to Doctor van Someren, who had apparently not seen the look and said easily in English: ‘Hullo, Paul—you must speak English for a little while, for we have a guest for tea from England. Come and be introduced.’

  Phoebe offered a hand and smiled. Little boys were, after all, little boys and what was a rude gesture between friends, but although he shook her hand and said how do you do with perfect good manners, the look he shot at her for the second time was far from friendly, rather was it suspicious and wary. She made a few random remarks to cover what she felt to be an awkward pause and was thankful when Paul went to talk to Mies Witsma and Doctor Lagemaat, with whom, she noted, he appeared to be on the best of terms. They had tea then, and everyone talked a great deal save for her host, who spoke so little she wondered if he were in danger of falling asleep again; apparently not, for the moment the meal was finished he sent Paul away to get on with his homework and offered to show her the house.

  The next hour was a delight, for her host’s idea of showing her round was to let her roam at will, merely opening and shutting doors as required, supplying the history of anything she enquired about, and putting into her hands some of his more delicate treasures for her to admire more closely. The size of the house surprised her, for it had great depth, with three rooms, one behind the other on the ground floor and some enchanting passages running haphazardly from the galleries above. There was a walled garden too, sloping down to another, smaller canal at the back of the house; it had a small jetty and a rowing boat, and at Phoebe’s questioning look, the doctor said: ‘Paul’s—it’s a safer way of getting around than the streets.’

  She nodded, wondering about him and Paul. The boy was devoted to him, she had seen that at once, and the doctor seemed equally fond of Paul, but surely they didn’t see much of each other? The doctor was engrossed in his work—ward rounds, teaching rounds, lectures, research work—there was no end to it; there couldn’t be much time in which to be with the boy. ‘He must h
ave a lot of friends,’ she ventured.

  They were standing side by side, looking down into the dark water, highlighted here and there by the late afternoon sun. Her companion didn’t answer this remark, instead he flung an arm around her shoulders. ‘I hope you will be happy here,’ he observed thoughtfully, and then to shock her into a gasp: ‘You had met before, I gather.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Don’t prevaricate, you’re too sensible for that. You and Paul.’ And when she didn’t reply: ‘Of course, this …’ He took his arm away and lifted her hand to look at the still colourful bruise. ‘A school satchel—that was what you intended to say, was it not? Very nice of you not to—how do you say—split? Although of course you had no idea who he was.’

  ‘None,’ she said faintly.

  ‘But you could have said something just now.’

  Phoebe snatched her hand away. ‘Who do you take me for?’ she asked crossly. ‘I’m not in the habit of telling tales, you can’t have a very good opinion of me.’

  ‘As to that, it is a subject which, for the moment, I am not prepared to discuss.’

  She looked at him then. ‘What do you mean? Is it because I pretended to be Sybil?’

  He looked amused. ‘What an enquiring mind you have! I hope you are satisfied with the arrangements made for your visit to your home?’

  A snub which she ignored because she was suddenly stricken. ‘Oh, I forgot to thank you—I’m so grateful, it’s exactly right, and Zuster Witsma says it won’t upset anything at all.’ She added a little shyly: ‘You must find it very silly of me to wish to go home so soon after I’ve arrived here, but they wanted to get married before Nick took up this new job …’

  ‘Naturally,’ he agreed lazily, ‘I think …’

  She wasn’t to know what he thought; the housekeeper came down the garden and began to speak to him in an urgent voice. He listened without speaking, nodded, said to Phoebe: ‘I’m sorry, I have to return to the hospital immediately,’ and started to walk back to the house.