The Moon for Lavinia. Бетти Нилс
collected the offending piece of tissue which was the cause of the doubt, cast a lightning look at Lavinia, standing behind her trolleys, and went away again.
So he was back. She counted a fresh batch of swabs, feeling the tide of pleasure the sight of him had engendered inside her. The day had suddenly become splendid and full of exciting possibilities. She only just stopped herself in time from bursting into song.
CHAPTER THREE
BUT THE DAY wasn’t splendid at all; she was in theatre for hours as it turned out, with an emergency; some poor soul who had fallen from a fourth floor balcony. The surgeons laboured over her for patient hours and no one thought of going to dinner, although two or three of the nurses managed to get a cup of coffee. But Lavinia, being scrubbed and taking the morning’s list, went stoically on until at length, about three o’clock in the afternoon, she had a few minutes in which to bolt a sandwich and drink some coffee, and because the morning’s list had been held up it ended hours late; in consequence the afternoon list was late too, and even though she didn’t have to scrub, she was still on duty. When she finally got off duty it was well past seven o’clock. There was no reason why she should look for the professor on her way to supper; he was unlikely to be lurking on the stairs or round a corner of any of the maze of passages, so her disappointment at not meeting him was quite absurd. She ate her supper, pleaded tiredness after her long day, and retired to the fastness of her room.
A good night’s sleep worked wonders. She felt quite light-hearted as she dressed the next morning; she would be off at four o’clock and the lists weren’t heavy; perhaps she would see Professor ter Bavinck and he would suggest another quick snack… She bounced down to breakfast, not stopping to examine her happiness, only knowing that it was another day and there was the chance of something super happening.
Nothing happened at all. Work, of course—there was always plenty of that; it was a busy hospital and the surgeons who worked there were known for their skill. The morning wore on into the afternoon until it was time for her to go off duty. Neeltje was off too—they were going out with some of the other nurses; a trip round the city’s canals was a must for every visitor to Amsterdam and they would take her that very evening. She got ready for the outing, determined to enjoy herself. She had been silly and made too much of the professor’s kindness—it was because she went out so seldom with a man that she had attached so much importance to seeing him again. Heaven forbid that she should appear over-eager, indeed, if he were to ask her out again she would take care to have an excuse ready, she told herself stoutly. She stared at her reflection in the looking glass—he wasn’t likely to ask her again, anyway. He was in the hospital each day, she had heard someone say so, and there had been plenty of opportunities…
She left her room and took the short cut to the hospital entrance where she was to meet the others. The last few yards of it gave her an excellent view of the forecourt so that she couldn’t fail to see the professor standing in it, talking earnestly to a young woman. It was too far off to see if she was pretty, but even at that distance Lavinia could see that she was beautifully dressed. She slowed her steps the better to look and then stopped altogether as he took the girl’s arm and walked away with her, across the tarmac to where his motorcar was standing. She didn’t move until they had both got into it and it had disappeared through the gates, and when she did she walked very briskly, with her determined little chin rather higher than usual and two bright spots of colour on her cheeks.
When they all got back a couple of hours later, the professor was standing in the entrance, talking to two of the consultants, and all three men wished the girls Goeden avond. Lavinia, joining in the polite chorus of replies, took care not to look at him.
She wakened the next morning to remember that it was her day off. The fine weather still held and she had a formidable list of museums to visit. She was up and out soon after nine o’clock, clad in a cool cotton dress and sandals on her bare feet and just enough money in her handbag to pay for her lunch.
She went first to the Bijenkorf, however, that mecca of the Amsterdam shopper, and spent an hour browsing round its departments, wishing she had the money to buy the pretty things on display, cheering herself with the thought that before very long, she might be able to do so. But it was already ten o’clock and the museums had been open half an hour already, she started to walk across the Dam Square, with its palace on one side and the stark war memorial facing it on the other, down Kalverstraat, not stopping to look in the tempting shop windows, and into Leidsestraat. It was here that she noticed that the blue sky had dimmed to grey, it was going to rain—but the museum was only a few minutes’ brisk walk away now, she could actually see the imposing frontage of her goal. The first few drops began to fall seconds later, however, and then without warning, turned into a downpour. Lavinia began to run, feeling the rain soaking her thin dress.
The Bentley pulled into the curb a little ahead of her, so that by the time she was level with it the professor was on the pavement, standing in the rain too. He didn’t speak at all, merely plucked her neatly from the pavement, bustled her round the elegant bonnet of the car, and popped her into the front seat. When he got in beside her, all he said was: ‘You’re very wet,’ as he drove on.
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