Fate Takes A Hand. Бетти Нилс
as they sat down to their supper.
* * *
Sunday came with blue skies and bright sunshine, and the three of them went to church before Trottie went to catch her bus. ‘There’s everything ready for your dinner,’ she told them. ‘Be sure and have it early so’s not to keep Mr van Linssen waiting. I’ll be back around seven o’clock, same as usual.’
It was a nice dinner but Peter was too excited to eat much. He was ready and waiting for a long time before two o’clock. ‘Perhaps he won’t come,’ he said, for the tenth time.
‘He said two o’clock, dear, so don’t worry—there’s still ten minutes left.’
He came five minutes later and she went to open the door to him.
Her, ‘Good afternoon, Mr van Linssen,’ was coolly polite. ‘This is very kind of you.’
He stood looking at her. ‘A pleasure. It has struck me that it might be sensible if you were to come too.’ At her frown, he added, ‘There is always the small chance that I might be called away urgently and Peter cannot be left alone. Do you dislike the idea very much?’
Upon reflection, she didn’t dislike the idea at all. ‘I don’t want to spoil Peter’s afternoon.’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll leave you somewhere in safe hands.’
A remark which ruffled her feelings. She was on the point of making a suitably telling reply when Peter joined them. ‘Are we ready? What a pity you can’t come with us, Aunt Lally.’
‘She is coming,’ said Mr van Linssen, and shut the door.
‘Do go and fetch whatever you need to fetch. Peter and I will plan our route round the hospital—you can have five minutes.’
Her eyes sparkled with temper. ‘I don’t ‘ she began with dignity. She caught his eye then. It was very compelling. She mumbled, ‘All right, I won’t be long.’
Thank heaven she hadn’t changed out of the dress she had worn to church; she had intended to get into an old cotton dress and turn out a few cupboards. She brushed her hair, powdered her nose, added some more lipstick, found her bag and went back to the living-room. The pair of them were crouched over a large sheet of paper spread out on the table. A plan of the hospital, she supposed.
‘Won’t anyone mind?’ she asked, as she got into the back of the car. ‘Us walking round?’
‘Not if you are with me,’ he told her gravely.
They went to Casualty first, for once almost empty, and then to the outpatients’ hall, before taking the lift to the first floor to inspect each ward in turn, and in each one he introduced them to the ward sister. ‘Friends of mine,’ he explained, which she found rather high-handed of him. She hardly knew him, and what conversation they had engaged in had hardly been of a friendly nature.
When they reached the theatre block she was left with Theatre Sister in her office and given a cup of tea while Peter, speechless with excitement, was taken to see one of the operating theatres. They were gone a long time, and when they got back Mr van Linssen had a cup of tea too, and Peter a glass of lemonade. Somehow Eulalia hadn’t thought of the operating theatre allied to cups of tea. Sister’s office was quite cosy, too, and she was young and pretty and obviously Mr van Linssen’s slave.
She was one of the junior sisters, she had confided to Eulalia. The theatre superintendent, an awesome lady who ruled the theatres with a rod of iron, only scrubbed for major surgery and always for Mr van Linssen. ‘There are two other sisters, but we aren’t allowed to scrub for him, more’s the pity. He’s quite a dish, isn’t he? Going to get married soon—he never talks about it, though.’
They went unhurriedly back through the hospital and into Casualty once more, where Mr van Linssen explained with patience exactly what happened to a patient when he arrived, answering Peter’s endless questions with apparent tirelessness.
They got back into the car presently and he said casually, ‘I hope you will both come and have tea with me. I’m sure Peter hasn’t finished with his questions…?’
‘Tea?’ asked Peter. ‘Oh, please.’ He turned to look at Eulalia. ‘Aunt Lally, can we go?’
It was impossible to refuse without being rude and spoiling the day for Peter. ‘That would be nice,’ she said pleasantly, and caught him looking at her in his side mirror.
She had supposed that they would go to one of the cafés in any of the parks, but instead he kept to the streets, their surroundings becoming more elegant with every minute. When he stopped before his house and got out and opened her door, she got out too, and stood looking at his house.
‘You live here?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Very convenient for my work.’ He went off to help Peter out, locked the doors and ushered them across the pavement and in through the door being held open by Dodge.
‘I’ve brought some friends for tea, Dodge, if you would let us have it shortly.’
Peter held out his hand. ‘How do you do, Mr Dodge? I’m Peter.’
Dodge shook his hand carefully. ‘How do you do, Peter? I see you’ve been in the wars.’
‘Miss Warburton and her cousin Peter, Dodge.’ And Mr van Linssen smiled a little as Eulalia shook hands too.
EULALIA gave a small sigh as she went into the drawing-room. It was a long room, taking up the whole of one side of the little house, with a bay window at its front and doors opening on to the little garden at the back. It was furnished very much to her taste, with comfortable chairs, an enormous sofa before the hearth, splendid rugs on the polished wood floor, and mulberry silk curtains blending nicely with the chair-covers. There were little lamp-tables too, arranged just where they were needed, and a handsome bureau cabinet in marquetry. She knew a little about good furniture; this she thought was probably a William and Mary piece. It went very well with the cabinet of walnut with floral marquetry on the other side of the hearth, which was of the same period. She might not see eye to eye with her host, but she had to admit that he had excellent taste in furniture.
The doors to the garden were open and Peter had gone at once to look at it. ‘Have a look round, Peter,’ invited Mr van Linssen, and to Eulalia, ‘Please sit down—tea will be here in a few moments. I hope we haven’t spoilt your afternoon.’
She sat. ‘No, I enjoyed it. It was very kind of you to give Peter a treat.’
‘You have his sole charge?’ he asked idly. ‘Guardian to a small boy is no easy matter.’
‘There wasn’t anyone else,’ she said simply. ‘At least, the solicitor couldn’t trace anyone from his father’s family, and my cousin was an only child whose parents had died. I didn’t even know her. Peter’s a dear little boy. Trottie and I often wonder how we lived without him.’
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