Fate Takes A Hand. Betty Neels
watched him walk away. He had spoilt everything with that last remark. She had been beginning to like him a little but she had been mistaken; he was a bad-tempered man and rude with it. All the same, she hoped he would do something for Peter. Quite unexpectedly, two tears escaped and ran down her pale cheeks. She brushed them aside impatiently, and just in time as he came back.
‘Mild concussion, and he has a fractured arm just above the wrist. We will give him a local anaesthetic, align the bones and put on a plaster. We’ll keep him overnight for observation…’ And at her questioning look he added, ‘No, no, nothing to worry about. Routine only. You can fetch him in the morning, but telephone first. Keep him in bed for a couple of days and no school for a week.’
‘He’s all right?’
He said impatiently, ‘Have I not said so? Come and see him before we put the plaster on.’
He turned on his heel and walked away, and she followed him through a door and into a small room where Peter lay on a table. He grinned when he saw her. ‘He said I was brave,’ he told her. ‘I’m going to stay here tonight. You will fetch me, won’t you?’
‘Of course, dear.’ She glanced around. There was no sign of any doctor, only a male nurse and a student nurse busy with bowls of water and plaster bandages.
‘Like to stay?’ asked the nurse, and gave her a friendly look.
‘May I?’
‘No problem.’ He turned away and lifted Peter’s good arm out of the blanket. ‘Here’s Mr van Linssen. He’ll have you as good as new in no time at all.’
So that was his name. She watched as he slid a needle into Peter’s broken arm. He did it unhurriedly and very gently, talking all the time to the boy. ‘You’re a lot braver than many of the grown-ups,’ he told him. ‘In a minute or two we’re going to straighten your arm—you won’t have any pain, but you’ll feel us pulling a little. Keep still, won’t you?’
Peter nodded. His lip quivered a little but he wasn’t going to cry. It was Eulalia who felt like crying. She was sure that Peter couldn’t feel any pain but she closed her eyes as Mr van Linssen began to pull steadily while the nurse held the arm firmly.
‘You can look now,’ he said in a hatefully bland voice, so she did. He was holding the arm while the nurse began to slide on a stockinette sleeve and then start to apply the plaster. It didn’t take long and Peter hadn’t made a sound.
Mr van Linssen was smoothing the plaster tidily when Sister put her head round the curtains. ‘Why, Mr van Linssen, I thought you had left ages ago. You’ll be late for that luncheon party.’ Her eyes fell on Peter. ‘Had a tumble?’
‘Knocked down by a motorbike. I’d like him in for the night, Sister. Get a bed, will you? And we’ll make him comfortable. He’s been a model patient.’
She went away and the nurse started to clear up. Mr van Linssen took off his white coat and the student nurse took it from him gingerly. Rather as though he might bite, thought Eulalia. She got up. ‘‘Thank you very much for your help—’ she began.
She was cut short. ‘No need, all in the day’s work, Miss—er?’
He raised his eyebrows, standing there looking at her.
‘Warburton,’ she snapped.
He nodded. ‘Your son’s a nice little chap,’ he said, and walked away.
She turned to the nurse. ‘I’m Peter’s cousin,’ she told him. ‘I did tell the receptionist—he’s an orphan.’
‘Makes no odds,’ said the nurse, and smiled at her; she was very pretty and she had cheered up his day a bit. ‘You were in luck. Mr van Linssen wasn’t even on duty—came in to see the relations of a patient who died—had a hip op here and got knocked down late last night. He may be a consultant and a bit high and mighty but I know who I’d like to deal with my bones if I broke them.’
Sister came back then and Peter was borne off to the children’s ward, sleepy now but rather proud of his plastered arm. Eulalia saw him into his bed and was told by the ward sister that there was no need to come back with pyjamas and toothbrush. ‘He’s only here for the night,’ she said in a comfortable voice. ‘Mind you phone first and we’ll have him ready for you.’
Eulalia thanked her, kissed Peter and went out of the Casualty entrance. At the top of the ramp there was a dark grey Bentley and Mr van Linssen was sitting in it. He opened the door as she reached the car.
‘Get in. I’ll drive you home.’
‘No, thank you. There’s a bus—’
‘Get in, Miss Warburton, and don’t pretend that you aren’t upset. All mothers are when their small children get hurt. Where do you live?’
She got in without another word after she had told him, and they drove in silence until he stopped before the flat. As she got out she said, ‘Thank you, you’re very kind. And I’m not Peter’s mother, only his cousin.’
MR VAN LINSSEN had expressed no surprise, only grunted, nodded and driven away, leaving her wondering why on earth she had told him. Luckily she wouldn’t have to see him again; she would feel such a fool…
She went indoors and was relieved to see that Trottie wasn’t back yet. It would give her time to change her torn dress and tidy herself up and compose herself before telling her old friend what had happened. She made a pot of tea and sat down to drink it, reflecting what a good thing it was that she didn’t go to work on Mondays; Mrs Pearce was a kind employer but she expected value for her money. She wasn’t over-generous with her wages but she was fair. She was also a businesswoman who would have no compunction in giving Eulalia the sack if business fell off, and if Eulalia were to take too many days off she might look around for someone else. Once Peter was home Trottie would look after him, she thought worriedly. Dear Trottie, always willing and goodtempered, and hating the flat as much as she did.
She got up and began to get tea. The sandwiches were still in her bag—they had better have those…
Trottie came in presently, took one look at Eulalia’s face and asked, ‘What’s happened? Where’s Peter? You look like a ghost.’
When she had been told she said, ‘Poor little fellow. But don’t you worry, Miss Lally, he’ll be as right as rain in no time. What luck that you’re at home tomorrow, and he’ll be no trouble—remember how good he was when he had the measles?’ She gave Eulalia a sharp glance. ‘Did you have any lunch?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought not. We’ll have a nice tea and you can tell me about that doctor. Fancy meeting him like that, and him a medical man. Like it was meant…’
Before she went to bed that night Eulalia phoned the hospital to be told that Peter was asleep after eating a light supper with gusto. Everything was fine, and would she ring after tomorrow’s round at noon? He would have been seen by then and an X-ray taken to make sure that the bones were in the right position.
She couldn’t imagine Mr van Linssen making any mistakes about bones—after all, it was his work. A tiresome man, not worth sparing a thought for. All the same, it was difficult not to think about him, since he was all part and parcel of their disastrous day.
She fetched Peter home the next afternoon, and since he was to go straight to bed for another two days she took him in a taxi, a rare treat which delighted him. He was full of his stay in hospital; he had enjoyed it, he told her, the nurses had been fun, and the doctor who had seen him in Casualty had come to see him before he went to sleep, and in the morning the big man who had told him that he was brave had come to see him too. ‘He wasn’t alone,’ explained Peter. ‘There was Sister with him and two nurses and another doctor and someone who wrote in a book when