Heaven is Gentle. Бетти Нилс
you want. If I’m not here, young Grimshaw will help you.’
He nodded towards a pleasant-faced young man crammed in a corner, checking stock, and he and Eliza exchanged a smile and a ‘Hi’, before she was led away to what must, at one time, have been the drawing room of the house. It had several tables and desks in it now and a small switchboard. ‘Harry,’ said Professor Wyllie, waving a friendly hand, ‘sees to the telephone—house and outside line. Bert here does the typing and reports and so on and sees to the post.’ He crossed the room and opened another door. ‘And this is Doctor Berrevoets, our Path Lab man—does the microscopic work, works out trial injections and all that. He’s Dutch, of course.’
Unmistakably so, with a face like a Rembrandt painting, all crags and lines, with pale blue eyes and fringe of grey hair encircling a large head. He made some friendly remark to Eliza, and his English, although fluent, was decidedly foreign. She thought him rather nice, but they didn’t stay long with him, but went back the way they had come while Professor Wyllie explained that they all slept in the house and that should she ever need help of any kind, any one of them would be only too glad to assist her. He flung open another door as he spoke. ‘The kitchen,’ he was vague again; obviously it was a department which had no interest for him at all. Hub was there, pressing a pair of trousers on the corner of the kitchen table, and another man with a cheerful face was standing at the sink, peeling potatoes. Eliza smiled at Hub, whom she already regarded as an old friend, and walked over to the sink.
‘Did you cook lunch?’ she wanted to know.
He had a rich Norfolk accent as well as a cheerful face. ‘I did, miss—was it to your liking?’
‘Super. Are you a Cordon Bleu or something like that?’
He grinned. ‘No such luck, miss, but I’m glad you liked it.’
Outside in the dusty hall again, Professor van Duyl said blandly: ‘Well, now that you have the staff eating out of your hand, Sister, we might settle to work.’
She didn’t even bother to answer this unkind observation. ‘Who does the housework?’ she enquired, and was pleased to see the uncertainty on their learned faces. ‘Who washes up and makes the beds and dusts and runs the place?’
They looked at each other and Professor van Duyl said seriously: ‘You see that size has nothing to do with it, after all. Motherly, we said, did we not?’
His elderly colleague reminded him wickedly, ‘No looks, and not young.’
Eliza listened composedly. ‘So I’m not what you expected? But excepting for my size, I am, you know. I can be motherly when necessary and I—I’m not young.’ She swallowed bravely. ‘You are both quite well aware that I am getting on for twenty-nine.’
Professor Wyllie took her hand and patted it. ‘My dear child, we are two rude, middle-aged men who should know better. You will suit us admirably, of that I am quite sure.’
He trotted away down the hall, taking her with him. ‘Now, as a concession to you, we will have a cup of tea before visiting the patients.’
Hub must have known about the tea, for he appeared a moment later with a tray of tea things. ‘Only biscuits this afternoon,’ he apologised in his quaint but fluent English, ‘but Fred will make scones for you tomorrow, miss.’
Eliza thanked him and poured the tea, and looking up, caught Professor van Duyl’s eyes staring blackly at her; they gleamed with inimical amusement and for some reason she felt a twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t added his own apologies to those of his elder colleague.
The Nissen hut was quite close to the house, hidden behind a thick, overgrown hedge of laurel. It looked dreary enough from the outside, but once through its door she saw how mistaken she had been, for it had been divided into ten cubicles, with a common sitting room at the end, and near the door, shower rooms, and opposite those a small office, which it appeared was for her use. She would be there, explained Professor van Duyl, from eight in the morning until one o’clock, take her free time until half past four and then return on duty until eight in the evening.
‘The hours will be elastic, of course,’ he told her smoothly, ‘it may not be necessary for you to remain for such long periods as these and we hope that there will be no need for you to be called at night.’
She looked away from him. What had she taken on, in heaven’s name? And not a word about days off—she would want to know about that, but now hardly seemed to be the time to ask.
She met the patients next; they were sitting round in the common room reading and playing cards and talking, and although they all wore the rather anxious expression anyone with asthma develops over the years, they were remarkably cheerful. She was introduced to them one by one, filing their names away in her sharp, well-trained mind while she glanced around her, taking in the undoubted comfort of the room. Warm curtains here, too and a log fire in the hearth, TV in one corner and well stocked bookshelves and comfortable chairs arranged on the wooden floor with its scattering of bright rugs.
‘Any improvements you can suggest?’ asked Professor Wyllie in a perfunctory tone, obviously not expecting an answer.
‘Yes,’ she said instantly. ‘Someone—there must be a local woman—to come and clean each day. I could write my name in the dust on the stairs,’ she added severely. ‘The Nissen hut’s all right, I suppose the patients do the simple chores so that you can exclude any allergies.’
Both gentlemen were looking at her with attention tinged with respect.
‘Quite right,’ it was the Dutchman who answered her. ‘They aren’t to come into the house. For a certain period each day they will take exercise out of doors, under supervision, and naturally they will be subjected to normal house conditions.’ He smiled with a charm which made her blink. ‘I am afraid that we have been so engrossed in getting our scheme under way for our ten cases that we rather overlooked other things. I’ll see if Hub can find someone to come up and clean as you suggest.’ He added politely: ‘Do you wish for domestic help in the cottage?’
Eliza gave him a scornful look. ‘Heavens, no—it won’t take me more than half an hour each day.’
As they went back to the study she reflected that it might be rather fun after all, but she was allowed no leisure for her own thoughts, but plunged into the details of the carefully drawn up timetable.
As the time slid by, Eliza saw that she was going to be busier than she had first supposed. Only ten patients, it was true, and those all up and able to look after themselves, but if one or more of them had an attack, he would need nursing; besides that, each one of them had to be checked meticulously, TPR taken twice a day, observed, charted, exercised and fed the correct diet. There would be exercises too, and a walk each day. She asked intelligent questions of Professor van Duyl and quite forgot that she didn’t like him in the deepening interest she felt for the scheme. It was later, when the last case had been assessed, discussed and tidily put away in its folder, that Professor Wyllie said:
‘There’s me, you know. They did tell you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. I’m not much use if I start an attack, I can tell you—you’ll have to act sharpish if it gets too bad. Got a nasty left ventricular failure that doesn’t stand up too well…’
She answered him with quiet confidence. ‘Don’t worry, Professor, I’ll keep a sharp eye on you. Do you carry anything around with you or do I have to fetch it from Doctor Peters?’
‘Got it with me, Eliza—waistcoat pocket; usually manage to get at it myself before it gets too bad.’
‘You’re not part of the experiment?’ she asked.
‘Lord, no. Couldn’t be bothered—besides, I’m a bit past such things.’ He laughed quite cheerfully although his blue eyes were wistful.
‘Come, come,’ she said in the half-wheedling, half-bracing tones she might have used towards