Making Sure of Sarah. Betty Neels
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 started back to the entrance. Neither parent had asked where she had slept or how she felt.
Getting lost on the way out, she had time to think about her future. She supposed that some time during the day someone at the hospital would tell her how long her mother and stepfather would have to remain there. Mr ter Breukel had told her that someone would arrange their return to England, so it seemed best for her to go back as quickly as possible and look after the house until they returned.
She preferred not to think further ahead than that; life hadn’t been easy living at home, her sense of duty outweighing her longing to have a life of her own. But her mother, each time Sarah suggested that she might train for something and be independent, had made life unbearable, with her reproaches and sly reminders that her father had told Sarah to look after her mother. Then, of course, he had had no idea that his wife would remarry—and to a man who was in a position to give her a comfortable life. And who had taken a dislike to his stepdaughter the moment they had met.
She found the main entrance at last, but halfway to it she was stopped.
A porter addressed her in surprisingly good English. She was to wait—he indicated an open doorway beyond which people were sitting.
Perhaps she was to be told what arrangements had been made for her parents. She sat down obediently; there was no point in getting fussed. She had hoped to return to England that day, but probably she would have to spend another night in Arnhem. Which should hold no terrors for her; she would have some money once she had been to the police station, and all she had to do was wait for someone to tell her what to do next.
There were a great many posters on the walls, and she was making futile guesses as to what they were about when the porter tapped her on the shoulder.
She followed him back to the entrance hall and saw Mr ter Breukel standing by the doors. Her smile at the sight of him—filled with relief and delight—shook him badly, but all he said was ‘I’ll take you to the police station,’ with detached courtesy.
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