Not Once But Twice. Betty Neels
Briefly, she wondered what she would do with all the extra time. Perhaps it would be better if she could find a bedsitter or a tiny flat, but there would be lonely meals to eat and no one to talk to. She wasn’t going to feel sorry for herself but facts would have to be faced.
‘Well, of course I can—the Sisters’ rooms are pretty good, you know, and I can take up tennis again and I’ve always wanted to join the Social Club.’ She uttered the thumping lie without blinking and saw George Henry relax. ‘When are you thinking of getting married?’ she asked.
‘Well, actually, in a month’s time. We’ve already been about the licence. It’s to be a quiet affair—just a few friends and Hilary’s parents. You’ll come, of course, Chrissy.’
‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world! I’ll go and see someone about getting a room. Hilary will want to make some changes here, I expect, and it’ll be much easier if I’m not here.’
‘We don’t want to turn you out.’
‘You’re not, my dear, and I’m delighted for you both—when you see Hilary tell her that, won’t you? I wouldn’t like her to be worried on my account.’ Christina got up and went to look out of the window into the dull street beyond, suddenly filled with the crazy desire to leave it all; go somewhere far away, start again in another job, perhaps meet someone who would want to marry her—someone like Adam ter Brandt.
She went the next day to ask about living in. There was a room free, she was told, and she went to look at it. It was nicely furnished in an impersonal way with a view over the streets around the hospital, but the idea of living there, probably for years, appalled her. It was sheer good luck that at dinner time Linda Soames, one of the Accident Room Sisters, announced that she was leaving in a month’s time and did anyone want to take over her bedsitter. ‘It’s five minutes’ quick walk from here,’ she observed, ‘and on the top floor. The street’s fairly quiet and there’s a kind of kitchen in a cupboard and you share the bathroom.’
When Christina said that she was interested, the entire table turned to stare at her.
‘But you live with your brother,’ exclaimed Beryl. ‘Has he sold the practice, then?’
‘No, he’s getting married.’
‘But, Chrissy…’ someone started, and then stopped as she went on:
‘I’m so glad, I was beginning to think that he was a confirmed bachelor.’
There was a little silence until someone else said: ‘Who’s the lucky girl?’
‘Hilary Woods—she’s a social worker.’ She added: ‘Ideal for a doctor’s wife.’
She told herself that several times during the next day or two. Hilary came to dinner and Christina didn’t allow herself to be annoyed at any of the remarks that young lady made. It was obvious that George Henry was very much in love and if he was happy that was more important than anything else. She listened with composure while Hilary made suggestions about her future, giving advice where none was sought, and to give her her due, unaware that she was being unspeakably bossy. Christina replied suitably to all the sensible suggestions put to her and offered no information, nor did she show her annoyance when Hilary criticised the way in which the beef had been cooked, the arrangement of the furniture in the sitting-room and the cheerful clutter of ornaments scattered round it. The latter Christina intended to remove when she left; most of them were hers, anyway, treasures from a happy childhood and bits and pieces which had belonged to her mother. As to the tables and chairs, Hilary was welcome to do what she liked with them, and that went for the beef too. She endured another half an hour of patronage while they washed up and then went thankfully to her room, on the plea that she had a long day before her.
Carole had gone off sick the evening before and the only way to get round that was to do an eight-till-eight herself; there was no one available to take over from her if she went off duty, and she didn’t really mind. All the same, she was tired when she got home just before nine o’clock to find a note from George Henry saying that he had taken Hilary out to dinner. Christina went into the kitchen and looked in the fridge. She couldn’t face the beef, not after Hilary’s expert criticism. An egg, she supposed, and some toast. The front door bell rang as she was getting out the bread and she went to answer it—if it was a patient they would have to telephone Dr Howes who shared emergency calls with George Henry, after eight o’clock.
Adam ter Brandt was on the doorstep. In one smooth movement he had kissed her surprised face, come inside and shut the door behind him.
‘Hullo,’ he said with a devastating charm which left her speechless. ‘Is George Henry in?’ And when she shook her head, ‘Good—pleased to see me? Where is he? On a case?’
She found her voice and she hoped it sounded as cool and matter-of-fact as usual. ‘He’s gone out to dinner with his fiancée.’
He pulled a face which made him look more devastating than ever.
‘Going to marry? What about you?’ He grinned at her. ‘You’ll never stay here as an uneasy third, will you?’
‘Certainly not. I shall go into the Nurses’ Home at the hospital or find a bedsitter.’
His blue eyes smiled into hers. ‘But you don’t want to, do you? Tell you what—let’s go and have dinner somewhere and you shall tell me all about it?’
‘I was just going to…’ she began feebly, aware that she was ready to fly out of the door at that very moment.
‘Never mind that. Get a jacket and powder your nose—we’ll go now.’
He drove a rather showy Mercedes Benz 450SL, and he drove fast, but Christina didn’t mind. She was blissfully happy; Adam had turned up again, quite miraculously, and for the moment the future didn’t matter a row of pins.
But in the little Greek restaurant, over kebab and a bottle of wine, she found herself telling him everything, something which astonished her, for she hadn’t confided in anyone, not even her closest friends, for years. She ended abruptly saying in a shamed voice: ‘I’m sorry, Adam, I’ve been boring on, why on earth didn’t you stop me?’
‘I didn’t want to. Besides, I’ve just had a perfectly splendid idea. How about coming to Holland and working for six months or a year?’
‘Me? But I can’t speak a word of Dutch!’
‘That won’t matter—you will be given a crash course. Do you speak any languages at all?’
‘Not fluently. I did French and German for A levels…’
He switched to French. ‘Do you have a liking for languages? Are you a quick student?’
She answered him in rather hesitant but correct French. ‘Yes, I think so, but how would I manage while I was learning?’
‘Everyone speaks English, especially in the hospitals, and almost all the medical terms are the same, only pronounced differently. You would get help.’
‘I think I might like it very much.’
He was speaking German now. ‘And I think you would do very well, Chrissy. Will you do it? I would like you to come very much.’ His blue eyes sparkled and she smiled back at him.
‘I’ll think about it,’ she told him in German.
‘And not too long.’ They were speaking English now. ‘It will be necessary for my partner—he’s my brother, and the senior and Directeur of the hospital—to agree.’
‘Oh, is he likely to object?’
Adam laughed. ‘Not at all likely. He objects almost never—he is a calm man, so calm that sometimes one does not know what he is really thinking about, but I have no doubt that he will be glad to have you on the hospital staff. I shall be going to den Haag this weekend, I’ll talk to him about it and let you know when I get back.’