Making Sure of Sarah. Бетти Нилс
‘I’ve put some things on the bed. Something is bound to fit, more or less. Dinner in ten minutes.’
Sarah, wrapped in a vast white towel, went to have a look. There was a heap of coloured sweaters, a couple of pairs of trousers, gossamer undies, slippers…
Dressed, her hair still damp and tied back in an untidy plait for lack of ribbons or pins, the trousers on the large side and the pink sweater she had chosen shrouding her person, she took a final look at her reflection. She looked as plain as always, she decided, but at least she was clean and smelling sweet.
She went downstairs and found Jaap in the hall, waiting for her. He led her with a fatherly air back into the drawing room and Mr ter Breukel got up out of his chair and crossed the room with just the right air of a polite host ready to put an unexpected guest at ease.
Suzanne, watching him, hid a smile. Litrik, impervious to the charms of various young ladies that his family, anxious for him to marry, had produced, was showing interest in this nice little creature with the plain face and the lovely eyes. And the pink sweater suited her very well…
Sarah, accepting a chair and a glass of sherry, happily unaware of Suzanne’s thoughts, made polite conversation with her host and hostess, and, encouraged by Mr ter Breukel’s artless questioning, said that no, she had never been to Arnhem before, had never been in Holland—only her stepfather had wanted to return to England by the night ferry to Harwich.
‘Ah, yes—you live somewhere along the east coast? By far the easiest way to return.’
‘He has a house near Clapham Common—that’s London,’ said Sarah flatly. And, since his raised eyebrows invited more than that, added, ‘We—that is, Mother and Father, before he died, and me…’ She paused. Perhaps it was ‘I’. ‘We used to live in a small village in Berkshire.’
‘Delightful country,’ murmured Mr ter Breukel, inviting further confidences.
‘Yes, quite different from Clapham Common.’
‘You live at home?’
‘Yes. Mother isn’t very strong…’
Suzanne asked, ‘You’re not getting married or anything like that?’
‘No, we—I don’t go out much.’
Mr ter Breukel said easily, ‘One never knows what awaits one round the corner.’ He knew, of course, but patience was something of which he had plenty. Having found her, he wasn’t going to lose her by being hasty.
Jaap came to tell them that dinner was served; Suzanne took his arm and they crossed the hall to the dining room, with its panelled walls and oval table, the George the First Oak dresser along one wall, the oak Chippendale chairs. A pair of crystal candelabra stood on the dresser, and a silver and cut-glass epergne was at the centre of the table, which was set with lace mats and silverware—very plain, with a crest worn by time.
Sarah gave a quick glance around her and sighed with pleasure. Everything in the room was old and perfect and used—not taken for granted, but neither was it hidden away behind cabinet doors or packed in green baize, to be used only on very special occasions.
The food was good too, simple and beautifully cooked, enhanced by the plates upon which it was served; Delft, she recognised, and old, for they were patterned in pale lavender, not the blue one expected. Washing up would be a hazardous undertaking…
She drank the wine she was offered and Mr ter Breukel watched with satisfaction as the colour came back into her pale face. She hadn’t been injured but she had been shocked, although she had done her best to hide that. A good night’s sleep, he reflected, and tomorrow he would find the time to consider the future.
Suzanne escorted Sarah to her bed, after a cheerful goodnight from her host.
Sarah got into the silk and lacy nightie Suzanne had found for her and slid into bed, determined to make sensible plans for the morning; once she had retrieved their luggage and money and passports from the police, she reflected, she could decide what was best to be done. She would have to find out just how long her mother and stepfather would have to stay in hospital… That was as far as she got before falling into a refreshing sleep.
She woke to find Anneke standing by the bed with a little tray of tea and holding her clothes, clean and pressed, over one arm. Anneke beamed at her, nodding in response to her good morning, and handed her a note. The writing was a scrawl; it could have been written by a spider dipped in ink. With difficulty Sarah made out that breakfast was at eight o’clock and she would be taken to the hospital directly after the meal. So she smiled and nodded to Anneke, who smiled and nodded in return, before Sarah drank her tea and got out of bed. There wasn’t much time; she showered, dressed, did the best she could with her face and hair, and went downstairs.
Mr ter Breukel and Suzanne were already at the table, but he got up to pull out her chair and expressed the hope that she had slept well.
‘Very well,’ said Sarah. ‘Such a pretty room, and the sort of bed you sink into.’
‘Good. You had my note?’
She buttered a roll. ‘Yes. What shocking handwriting you have. But I suppose all medical men write badly so that no one can understand, if you see what I mean?’
Suzanne turned a laugh into a cough, and Mr ter Breukel said gravely, ‘I think that is very likely.’ He gave her a glance just long enough to take in the delightful sight of her in her cleaned and pressed clothes, no make-up and shining mousy hair. Sarah, not seeing the glance, drank her coffee and remarked that he would be wishing to leave for the hospital and she was quite ready when he wished to go.
‘Although I’m sure I should be quite all right to walk to the police station. Unless perhaps I should go to the hospital first?’
‘Yes, that would be best. Everything depends on the condition of your mother and stepfather.’ He got up from the table. ‘You’ll excuse me? I must telephone. Could you be ready to leave in ten minutes?’
She got into the car beside him presently; she had bidden Suzanne goodbye and thanked her for her kindness, and Suzanne had kissed her cheek, rather to Sarah’s surprise, and said it had been fun. Sarah, thinking about it, supposed that for Suzanne it had been just that, and she had liked her… She liked the man sitting beside her too.
At the hospital he nodded a casual goodbye, said that he would see her later, and handed her over to a nurse who took her to her mother.
Mrs Holt was awake and complaining.
‘There you are. I hope you’ll arrange for us to go back home as quickly as possible. I shall never recover in this place. Tea with no milk, and nothing but thin bread and butter and a boiled egg.’
Sarah bent to kiss her. ‘Did you sleep? Do you feel better this morning?’
‘Of course I didn’t close my eyes all night, and I feel very poorly. Have you got our things yet? I want my own nightgowns; someone must do my hair…’
‘I’m going to collect them this morning; I’ll bring whatever you need here, Mother.’
‘Have you seen your father?’
‘Stepfather,’ said Sarah. ‘No, Nurse tells me that he is to have his leg seen to this morning.’
‘How tiresome.’ Mrs Holt turned her head away. ‘Go and get my things; when you get back I’ll tell you if I want anything else.’
Sarah went through the hospital once more and, because she was a kind girl, asked if she could see her stepfather.
He was in a small ward with three other men, and she saw at a glance that he was in no mood to answer her ‘good morning’. She stood listening to his diatribe in reply to her enquiry as to how he felt, and, when he had run out of breath, said that she would come and see him after he had had his operation. Only to be told that he couldn’t care less if he never saw her again! So she bade him goodbye and