A Little Moonlight Read online

  ‘You warned me,’ she reminded him, ‘and it was all very interesting. I wish I understood more about your work, but I dare say I’ll pick up the basic facts in time.’

  He had turned into a narrow tree-lined street and parked the car beside what appeared to be a country inn—a sight to reassure Serena, still doubtful about the green jersey. Inside, she felt even better, for it was in truth an inn, decked out with little tables with coloured tablecloths, candlelit, and with a heavily beamed low ceiling. There was a bar at one end and a fair number of people, some of them dressed as simply as she was. She heaved a sigh of relief, not unnoticed by her companion, and surrendered her jacket before being led to the bar.

  They drank their sherry and studied the menu. It might be a country inn, Serena reflected, but a very expensive one, judging by the prices, which even when changed into pounds were sky-high. With an eye on the doctor’s pocket she selected the lowest-priced food she could find, only to have her choice quietly contradicted. ‘Take my advice,’ he begged her, ‘the garlic mushrooms are delicious and they do a splendid lobster here. May I alter your mind for you?’

  He didn’t wait for her answer but spoke to the waiter, ordered wine without looking at the wine list and settled back in his chair. ‘What do you think of the hospital?’ he wanted to know. His quiet, friendly manner invited confidence, and Serena, long starved of a sympathetic listener, for her mother had no interest in hospitals or indeed anything that smacked of illness, gave her opinions full rein.

  The doctor listened gravely, putting in an encouraging word here and there, and if he was amused at some of her remarks nothing, save a gleam in his half-shut eyes, showed of it.

  They dined presently at a table set discreetly in a window where they could observe without being observed. Serena looked around her with pleasure, happily unaware that he had asked for a table where the plainness of her dress would go largely unobserved. His discerning eye had seen quickly enough that while at first sight the women there appeared to be simply dressed, the simplicity was expensive, and for some reason he hadn’t bothered to probe he didn’t want Serena to feel unhappy about that.

  He was a practised host and a pleasant companion when he chose to be. She ate the mushrooms and the lobster and on his advice followed them by a mountainous confection of ice-cream, chocolate and whipped cream topped off thickly with nuts and candied fruit. She drank the wine he poured for her, but refused a second glass, nor would she have brandy with her coffee. ‘I’m not very used to it,’ she told him matter-of-factly. ‘I don’t go out a great deal.’

  Hardly ever, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

  She had refilled his coffee-cup when he said, ‘I should like you to go on with the manuscript tomorrow. You will most likely not get my letters until the late afternoon. I should like them ready to sign by half-past six at the latest; I’ve an evening engagement...’ He went on to detail the rest of the week: clinics, a session with private patients which she would attend, two more theatre sessions the notes of which would have to be typed up, and more clinics. ‘You will be free on Saturday and Sunday. Be ready to return to Amsterdam with me on Monday morning. I’ll give you the time later on in the week.’

  Serena observed that their pleasant evening was over, a matter for regret on her part but perhaps not on his. It had been delightful; she told him in her sensible way that she would like to return to the hospital, ‘For I’ve plenty of work waiting for me in the morning, and you will have too. Thank you very much for my delicious dinner, and in such a delightful place...’ She looked round her once more and this time took note of the women’s clothes. ‘I’m not dressed for it, you know—you don’t mind?’

  She spoke with the unconscious candour of a child and without self-pity, and the doctor said kindly, ‘You look very nice, Serena, and I wouldn’t have minded if you were wearing a potato sack.’ Which wasn’t quite true, but with four sisters to practise on he had perfected the art of saying the right thing and at the right time.

  He was rewarded by the pleased smile on her face. ‘Oh, good.’

  At the hospital he got out, opened the car door and was at her side to show her in to the entrance hall. He wished her a pleasant but brief goodnight and went along one of the downstairs corridors. From his purposeful walk Serena concluded that he had already forgotten her. Why should he remember me? she reflected, making her way over to the nurses’ home and her room.

  * * *

  SHE DIDN’T SEE him the next day. She typed his manuscript, wished she could understand even a small part of it, and soon after four o’clock a porter brought her a pile of letters as well as notes from the doctor’s day in theatre. She abandoned the manuscript with relief, dealt with the letters and started on the notes. It was almost half-past six by then, and when the same porter came back she gave him the letters, tidied her desk and went over to the nurses’ home. Supper and an hour watching the TV in the company of some of the other nurses in the nicely furnished sitting-room filled the rest of the evening, and she went to bed armed with a Dutch-English dictionary one of the nurses had lent her. It had some useful phrases tucked away on the back page. She tried out those under the heading ‘Restaurants and dining’; it was most unlikely that the doctor would ever ask her out again, but one never knew... She had got as far as ‘Toast, buttered or dry’ when she fell asleep.

  The rest of the week went by in a punishing round of constant work. By Friday evening Serena was heartily sick of her little office, and had she had the strength she would gladly have hurled the typewriter through the window, but she had coped with everything, obeying the doctor’s terse instructions to the letter, never looking at the clock, mindful of Miss Payne’s perfections. To her surprise he had put his head round the door as she was tidying everything away for the last time and thanked her for her hard work. ‘I’ll take those if they’re ready,’ he said, and scooped up the papers and letters she had just finished. ‘Be outside by eight o’clock on Monday morning. We will go straight to the hospital from here, but after the morning clinic I shan’t need you until the following morning, so you will be able to go to Mevrouw Blom’s and see your mother.’

  She thanked him and watched him walk away down the corridor before switching off the lights and closing the doors, vexed that she had forgotten to thank him for the envelope she had found on her desk that morning. There were Dutch banknotes in it and his scrawled message that she might like some of her salary so that she could shop if she wished.

  It was delightful to have a whole day to herself. She had telephoned her mother on the previous evening, but she had been out and Mevrouw Blom had told her that she and Mr Harding were planning to go to Arnhem at the weekend and should she give her a message. Serena had told her not to bother. ‘Just say that I’ll be back some time on Monday, please, Mevrouw Blom, and give her my love.’

  She had rung off feeling let down; there had been the vague idea that her mother might have come to den Haag for the day and they could have gone shopping together, but probably Arnhem would be much more interesting.

  She went out soon after breakfast with a map and a guidebook and spent the morning inspecting the Ridderzaal, then she took herself through the Binnenhof to the Mauritshuis, a lovely Dutch Renaissance house, its rooms filled with the finest seventeenth-century paintings. She could have stayed there for a very long time, but she had a lot to see still, so she went along Korte Vijverberg and Lange Vijverberg so that she could admire the façades of the old houses there. By then she was hungry and went in search of a coffee house, where she ate a kaas broodje and drank several cups of coffee before setting off once more. The shops, she decided, as she had Sunday in which to explore the churches and the parks, so the afternoon was spent with her small nose pressed to boutique windows, showcases of jewellery and small shops filled with expensive leather goods. She turned away from them finally and went into the Bijenkorf, which had the fa
miliarity of a small Selfridges, had an elegant tea on the balcony high above the busy counters below and then went in search of a present for her mother and something for Mevrouw Blom; silver filigree earrings for her mother and a silk headscarf for Mevrouw Blom, who never seemed to leave the house without one. She browsed round the delightful cosmetic counters too, and after a good deal of deliberation bought a new lipstick and a cream guaranteed to erase lines and wrinkles. That she had neither was a small matter; she was fulfilling an urge to improve her looks.

  She spent Sunday exploring den Haag once again, the churches this time; Sint Jacobs Kerk, and close by the Holy Ghost Almshouses, hardly changed in three hundred years. From there she walked to the Kloosterkerk and presently found a coffee shop for her snack lunch, and since it was a cold day she had a bowl of erwtensoep, almost solid with peas and tiny pieces of ham and sausage.

  Madurodam was something she had promised herself she would see. Armed with the number of the tram she must take in order to reach it, she paid her modest bill and went back into the street.

  It was as wonderful as the nurses in the hospital had told her—a miniature city; streets, already lighted since the afternoon was dimming to dusk, canals, trains, trams and buses, houses of every description, churches, theatres and shops. There was even an airport and an amusement park. She spent a long time there, until the chilly evening reminded her that she needed some tea. She took a tram back to the centre of den Haag, had tea in an elegant and wickedly expensive café, then went back to the hospital. A lovely weekend, she decided, as she went to her room. She felt vaguely guilty about it, for of course the doctor would have been hard at work.

  Nothing of the sort. He had spent a delightful weekend in Friesland.

  Serena was punctual on Monday morning, but he was already waiting in the car. He got out, put her case in the boot and opened the door for her.

  ‘I’m not late—’ she began.

  ‘Good morning, Serena. No, I am early, so smooth your ruffled feathers and tell me what you did with your weekend.’

  He was at his most amiable, and she responded happily, but was careful to keep her remarks brief in case he got bored. They were approaching Amsterdam in a welter of early morning traffic when he observed, ‘I have to spend a few days in Leeuwarden in Friesland—a couple of lectures and some consultations. From there we shall return to England. You will go with me—it will be a good opportunity to get on with the manuscript.’

  She said quietly, ‘Yes, Doctor,’ and then, ‘My mother?’

  ‘I imagine she will be agreeable to remaining in Amsterdam for another few days? We can pick her up on our way back.’ He gave her a brief glance. ‘You can discuss it with her this afternoon.’

  ‘Yes. When do you wish to go to Friesland?’

  ‘Let me see, today is Monday. I have a list there on Friday morning, so we should drive up there on Thursday evening. They will put you up in the nurses’ home there. If there are no hindrances, we should leave there on the following Monday. You will be back home some time that day. I’m sorry I can’t be more explicit at the moment.’

  They were silent then until he stopped the car before the hospital entrance, got out to open the door for her, fetched her case and carried it as far as the lift.

  ‘I’ll see you in about twenty minutes,’ he told her, ‘in the outpatients’ clinic.’

  There were a great many patients. Serena filled her notebook and hoped that the doctor wouldn’t want everything typed by five o’clock. It seemed that he didn’t. The clinic over at last, he told her, ‘Go to Mevrouw Blom’s after your lunch. There is no need for you to come back until nine o’clock tomorrow—type what you can. I shall be operating tomorrow, so you will have the morning in which to finish them. There will be letters in the afternoon.’ At the door he turned to say, ‘Take a taxi and add it to your expenses.’

  Serena went back to her office, put everything ready to start work later on, hurried down to the canteen for a quick meal and, dressed and with her nightcase in her hand, got a taxi and was ringing Mevrouw Blom’s doorbell in nice time for the afternoon cup of tea.

  Mevrouw Blom prided herself on adapting her ways to her guests. The English liked their tea at four o’clock, so that was when it was served. She was coming into the hall with her empty tea-tray when Serena rang the bell, and she opened the door at once. Her welcome was warm.

  ‘Serena, just as I take in the teapot! Take off your jacket and go at once to the drawing-room. Your case can stay in the hall.’ She beamed in her kindly fashion. ‘You tell me all soon, eh?’

  Serena said that yes, of course she would, and went into the drawing-room. They were all there, and there were cries of, ‘Well, well, Serena, how nice!’ and, ‘Just in time for tea,’ and, ‘Are you staying?’

  She smiled and murmured replies, then went to her mother to kiss her. ‘Darling!’ cried Mrs Proudfoot. ‘How simply lovely to see you!’ She studied her daughter’s face. ‘You look very tired, you should do something about your hair—have it tinted. Have you had a lovely time? Met lots of new friends and gone on the town?’ She patted the chair beside her. ‘Come and sit down beside me.’ Someone handed Serena a cup of tea and her mother went on, ‘I’ve had such a splendid week! We—that is, Mr Harding and I—have been to so many places I’ve lost count.’ She gave a pretty little laugh. ‘Silly little me, but it was all so interesting.’

  There was a general babble of talk, with Mijnheer van Til airing his English at some length and Mijnheer Lagerveld, not to be outdone, enthusing about the delights of den Haag, their wives nodding and smiling as though they understood every word. Mr Harding had very little to say, though.

  Tea over, Mrs Proudfoot excused herself charmingly. ‘I must go upstairs with Serena,’ she apologised smilingly, ‘and help her unpack!’

  Something she had never done in her life before. Serena supposed it was an excuse to have a chat, and she was glad of the chance to tell her mother that she was off to Friesland in a few days. She didn’t think her mother would mind; she seemed very happy at Mevrouw Blom’s.

  In her room she opened her case and started to take out her things, while her mother strolled over to the window and stared out into the street below.

  ‘Mother,’ began Serena carefully, ‘I quite thought we would be going back to London this week, but the doctor has to go to Leeuwarden and I’m to go with him. Would you mind staying here for just a few more days?’

  Her mother turned round, laughing. ‘But my dear girl, nothing could be better! Mr Harding is returning to England on Wednesday and has offered me a lift, and I’ve accepted. You know how I hate flying. We shall go in his car and I shan’t have to bother about anything.’ She saw the look on Serena’s face and added, ‘Besides, it really is time I went back to the house and made sure that everything is all right. It has been lovely here, darling, but this is too good a chance to miss, travelling from door to door in comfort.’

  Serena said, ‘Yes, of course, Mother. You’ll be all right on your own at the house?’ She folded a blouse slowly. ‘I shall be back in a week, I suppose—Dr ter Feulen didn’t say exactly when.’

  ‘I shall be perfectly OK,’ said her mother sharply. ‘I’m not an old woman, you know, Serena!’ She glanced in the looking-glass and patted her hair. ‘Of course you must stay, since you work for the doctor. You must be having a lovely time.’

  ‘Yes, Mother. I’d better tell Dr ter Feulen, hadn’t I?’

  Mrs Proudfoot frowned. ‘Why bother? It must be all the same to him whether I go or stay. Tell him on Wednesday—better still, I’ll write him a little note and you can give it to him.’

  ‘Very well. I’m sorry we haven’t had the chance to go anywhere together. It would have been fun to have done some shopping.’

  ‘Oh, darling, that reminds me—I bought the prettiest dress in Arnhem. There are some lovely s
hops there. Very pale grey crêpe with the most elegant cut—you must see it.’ With that Mrs Proudfoot went to the door. ‘I’ll leave you to get tidy, darling—see you at dinner.’ She paused at the door to ask, ‘You’re staying here?’

  ‘Only for this afternoon, Mother. I’m going back to work tomorrow on an early morning bus. Dr ter Feulen thought I’d like to see how you were.’

  Her mother made a little face. ‘Then I’d better write that note and let you have it this evening and we can say goodbye then, my pet. You know how awful I feel if I don’t get my sleep, and I’ll be out tomorrow night.’

  When she had gone Serena sat down on her bed. She would have liked a good cry, but there was neither the time nor the place. Besides, she should be feeling delighted that her mother was so happy after her years of ill health. However, she wasn’t delighted. She was hurt and lonely and forlorn, and unless she snapped out of it she would be wallowing in self-pity. She finished her unpacking; after their evening meal she would have to do some washing. The doctor hadn’t said if they were to go to Friesland from the hospital or whether she would have an hour or two at Mevrouw Blom’s. She would have to ask.

  She did her face and her hair, changed into another blouse and went downstairs again.

  She would have to be up early the next morning, but since Mevrouw Blom was an early riser that was no problem. She said goodbye to her mother, took the letter for the doctor and, after due thought, repacked her case. For all she knew he would want to go straight to Friesland from the hospital on Thursday. She wondered idly as she did so who saw to his spotless linen and his beautifully pressed suits; he never looked anything but immaculate.

  * * *

  SHE WAS AT her desk by nine o’clock, eyeing the little pile of letters and notes already on it. The manuscript was there too. She set to work and typed steadily until her lunch break. When she got back there was another pile, notes of the work he had been doing in theatre all the morning. She had them ready by half-past five and had embarked on the manuscript once more when he walked in.