“Hullo, Gijs,” Serena began. “I didn’t know—that is, Lauren said that no one…”

He smiled faintly, looking down on her with a benign expression that annoyed her. “Oh, but I don’t count—I’m family, you see. I believe my aunt thought that four at dinner would be better than three.” He moved away from the hearth and came to stand in front of her. “Enjoying yourself, I hope?”

He sounded no more than politely casual, but when she looked at him it was to encounter gray eyes that bored into her with such intentness that she blinked under their stare. “Very much, thank you, though I haven’t seen much yet.”

He said without smiling, “You have seen nothing yet.”

Which was a perfectly ordinary remark, but for some reason she found herself searching for its real meaning….

About the Author

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of BETTY NEELS in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

Uncertain Summer

Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE April sun was bright and warm even at the early hour of half past seven in the morning; it shone through the window of Serena Potts’ bedroom in the Nurses’ Home, on to her bright head of dark hair which she was crowning somewhat impatiently with her cap. The cap was a pretty trifle, spotted muslin and frilled and worn with strings, but she had tied these in a hurry, so that the bow beneath her pretty chin was a trifle rakish. She gave it an angry tweak, anchored the cap more firmly and raced from the room, along the long bare corridor and down two flights of stairs, into the covered way leading to the hospital, to arrive a minute or so later, out of breath, at the breakfast table.

Her arrival was greeted by cries of surprise by the young women already seated there, but she took no notice of these until she had poured her tea, shaken cornflakes into a bowl and sat herself down.

‘No need to carry on so, just because I’m early,’ she pointed out equably. ‘Staff’s away and there’s only the first-year students and Harris on, and you know what Hippy’s like if anything comes in a second after seven-thirty.’ She raised her dark, thickly lashed eyes piously and intoned primly:

‘You are aware, are you not, Sister Potts, that I will accept no responsibility for any cases brought into the Accident Room after half past seven precisely?’

She began to bolt down the cornflakes. ‘I bet the floors will be strewn with diabetic comas and overdoses by the time I get there, and Harris will be arguing with everyone within sight.’

She buttered toast rapidly, weighed it down with marmalade and bit into it, and everyone at the table murmured sympathetically—at one time or another they had all had Nurse Harris to work for them—a scholarly girl, with no sense of humour and a tendency to stand and argue over a patient when what was really needed was urgent resuscitation. Serena found it difficult to bear with her, just as she found Sister Hipkins difficult. Hippy was getting on for fifty and one of the team of Night Sisters at Queen’s, and while she was adequate enough on the medical side, she was hopeless in Casualty and the Accident Room; besides, accidents had a nasty habit of arriving just as she was about to go off duty, and she was a great one for going off punctually.

Serena wolfed the rest of her toast, swallowed tea in great unladylike gulps, said ‘bye-bye’ a little indistinctly and went off briskly to the Accident Room.

It, and Casualty, occupied the whole of the ground floor of one wing of the hospital. Each had its own Sister in charge, but as the two young ladies in question took their days off on alternate weekends, it meant that today being Monday, Serena would be in charge of both departments until Betsy Woods, who had Cas, returned at one o’clock. She swung into the waiting-room now, casting a practised but kindly eye over the few people already seated on the benches. She recognized several of them; workers from one of the nearby factories, apparently accident-prone, with cuts and grazes clutching their tetanus cards in their hands as proof positive that they were up-to-date with their anti-tetanus injections and thus free from what they invariably referred to as the needle.

Serena wished them a cheerful good morning, stopped with no sign of impatience when she was begged to stop by an old woman who wished her to look at an injured eye, and having done this, offered sympathy and the mendacious information that the doctor would be along in a few minutes, and sped on her way again. Bill Travers, the Casualty Officer, had been up most of the night, Staff Nurse Watts had whispered to her as she met her at the door, and the chance of him appearing much before nine o’clock was so unlikely as to be laughable, but the old woman had needed comfort. She crossed the vast waiting-room to the Accident Room entrance and met Sister Hipkins coming out of it.

‘And high time too, Sister Potts,’ said Hippy nastily. ‘No staff nurse and an RTA in! I’m sure I don’t know what you young women are coming to—in my young days I wouldn’t have dared to be late.’

‘I’m not late,’ said Serena with resigned calm. ‘It’s not quite ten to eight, I’m due on at eight o’clock, and you are off duty at the same time—I don’t know where you get the idea that you’re off duty at half past seven, Sister Hipkins.’

She didn’t wait for an answer, but went on past Hippy, oblivious of her furious look, intent on getting to the case before Nurse Harris had a chance to do her worst.

The Accident Room was semi-circular, with screened-off bays and a vast central area to allow for the rapid manoeuvrings of trolleys and stretchers and the easy passage of the doctors and nurses. The curtains had been drawn across the furthest bay and she started towards it, her eyes searching the department as she went, to make sure that everything was in its proper place.

Nurse Harris was standing by the patient, looking important, and while doing nothing herself, issuing orders to the other two more junior nurses with her. Serena promised herself ten minutes with Nurse Harris later on, said calmly, ‘Good morning, everybody,’ and went to look at the patient—a man, young, and unconscious, presumably from the head wound visible through his blond hair. Serena took his pulse and pupil reaction and told the more senior of the two nurses to start cleaning the wound.

‘His leg,’ breathed Harris importantly, ‘it’s broken.’

Serena drew back the blanket covering the young man and saw the splints the ambulance men had put on. As she did so she asked:

‘Did Sister Hipkins tell you to ring anyone?’

‘No, Sister.’

‘Then ring Mr Thompson’—he was the RSO—‘ask him to come down here, please, and tell him it’s an RTA. Head wound, probable fracture of left leg—badly shocked, unconscious.’ And when Harris didn’t move, she added with a patience she didn’t feel, ‘Will you hurry, Nurse, and then come back to me here.’

She was cutting the outside seam of the torn trousers covering the injured leg by the time Harris got back. She was doing it very carefully because if it was properly done, the trousers could be repaired. Experience had taught her that not everyone had the money to buy new trousers, although this man looked prosperous enough; she had noted the gold wrist watch and cuff links, the silk shirt and the fine tweed of his suit, and his shoes were expensive.

‘Make out an X-ray form, Nurse,’ she told Harris, ‘and one for the Path Lab too—I daresay they’ll want to do a crossmatch. What about relatives?’

Harris looked blank, and Serena, holding back impatience, asked:

‘His address—you’ve got that? Was he conscious when they got to him?’

‘Yes, Sister. But Sister Hipkins said we weren’t to disturb him when he was brought in, and the ambulance men didn’t know, because he was only conscious for a few minutes when they reached him.’

Serena counted silently to ten, because when she was a little girl, her father had taught her to do that, so that her temper, which was, and still was, hot at times, could cool. It was a silly childish trick, but it worked. She said with no trace of ill-humour: ‘Go and make sure the trolleys are ready, Nurse, will you? Then bring in the stitch trolley.’

Later, she promised herself, she would go and see the Number Seven, Miss Stokes, and see if something could be done to get Harris off the department. Her eyes flickered to the clock. Two part-time staff nurses would be on at nine o’clock, and thank heaven for them, she thought fervently. She had the splint off now with the most junior of the nurses helping her, and turned to wish Mr Thompson a friendly good morning as he came in.

He was a thin young man with a permanently worried expression on his pleasant face, but he was good at his job. ‘I thought you might want to take a look at this head before the orthopaedic man gets here,’ explained Serena. ‘Sorry to get you down so early, Tom.’

He smiled nicely at her and set to work to examine the patient. ‘Nice-looking bloke,’ he commented as he explored the scalp wound. ‘Do we know who he is?’

‘Not yet…’

‘Unconscious when they found him?’

‘No—not all the time, and he was conscious for a very short time when he got here.’

He gave her an understanding look. ‘Hippy on last night?’

Serena nodded. ‘I’ll go through his pockets as soon as you’ve been over him.’

‘Um,’ agreed Mr Thompson. ‘Where’s this leg?’

She whisked back the blanket and pointed with a deceptively useless-looking little hand. There was a discoloured bump just above the ankle and a sizeable bruise. ‘Pott’s,’ she said succinctly. ‘Now you’re here I’ll get this shoe off.’

Mr Thompson obligingly held the leg steady while she eased it off and after he had taken a closer look said: ‘You’re right— X-ray, and we’d better see to that head too. I’ll do it now, shall I? It only needs a couple of stitches, so if everything’s ready I’ll get down to it, then Orthopaedics can take over when he’s been X-rayed.’

Serena waved a hand at the small trolley Harris had wheeled in. ‘Help yourself. Do you want a local? He might come to.’

She looked down at the man on the examination table and encountered bright blue eyes staring at her. He smiled as he spoke, but she was unable to understand a word. She smiled back at him and said to no one in particular: ‘Foreign—I wonder what he said?’

Her query was answered by the patient. ‘I will translate. I said: “What a beautiful little gipsy girl.’” His English was almost without accent. He smiled again and watched admiringly while Serena’s dark beauty became even more striking by reason of the colour which crept slowly over her cheeks. It was Mr Thompson’s chuckle, turned too late into a cough, which prompted her to say coolly, despite her discomfiture: ‘We should like your name and address, please, so that we can let your family know. Could you manage to tell us?’

He closed his eyes and for a moment she thought he had drifted off into unconsciousness again, but he opened them again.

‘Van Amstel, Zierikzee, Holland,’ he said. ‘Anyone will know…’ He turned his eyes on Mr Thompson. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘I’m a doctor, so presumably I may be told.’

Mr Thompson told him. ‘I’m going to stitch that scalp wound,’ he went on, ‘then you’ll have an X-ray. We’ll have to see about the leg too.’

‘I must stay here?’

‘I’m afraid so—for the moment at least.’

The young man looked at Serena again. ‘I find nothing to be afraid of myself,’ he said. ‘On the contrary.’ He stared at Serena, who returned his look with a bright professional smile which successfully hid her interest; he really was remarkably good-looking, and although she was a kind-hearted girl, and felt genuine sympathy for the patients who passed through her capable hands on their way to hospital beds, just for once she found herself feeling pleased that Doctor van Amstel should be forced to stay in hospital. She reflected with satisfaction that she was on excellent terms with the Surgical Floor Sister; she would be able to find out more about him. Her hands, as busy as her thoughts, passed Mr Thompson the local anaesthetic, all ready drawn up as she told one of the nurses to get the porters. ‘X-ray, Nurse, and please go with the patient. He’ll be coming back here to see the Orthopaedic side afterwards.’

She was spraying the wound with nebecutane when the patient spoke again. ‘Sister, will you telephone my cousin? Ask for Zierikzee—the exchange will know—it’s a small place, there’ll be no difficulty.’

‘Has your cousin the same name?’

‘Yes, he’s a doctor too.’

Serena nodded. ‘Very well, I’ll do it while you’re in X-ray. Am I to say anything special?’

He frowned a little. ‘No—just tell him.’ He closed his eyes again and as he was wheeled away Mr Thompson said: ‘Nasty crack on the head. Was it his fault?’

Serena led the way to her office and found the note the ambulance men had thoughtfully left for her. She found a policeman too, who wanted to see the patient and take a statement. She left Mr Thompson to talk to him while she got the exchange. She was connected with Zierikzee very quickly, and it was only when someone said Hullo that she realized that she didn’t know if the cousin understood English. Obedient to her patient’s instructions, however, she asked for Doctor van Amstel’s house, adding that it was urgent. Apparently the operator understood her, for after a few moments a deep voice said in her ear: ‘Doctor van Amstel.’

‘Oh,’ said Serena foolishly, because she hadn’t expected it to be as easy as all that. ‘I’m telephoning from London.’ She added in a little rush, ‘You understand English?’

‘I get by,’ the voice assured her.

‘Well, we have a Doctor van Amstel in our hospital— Queen’s. He’s had an accident…’

‘An RTA?’ inquired the voice surprisingly.

‘Yes.’ She hadn’t known that Road Traffic Accident was a term used in other countries. ‘His car hit a bus.’

‘His fault?’

Heartless man, thought Serena, worrying about a mere car when his cousin was injured. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said coldly, and was taken aback when he chuckled.

‘All right, Nurse—or is it Sister? Let me know the worst.’

She told him a little tartly and he said: ‘Tut-tut, the same leg as last time, but at least it’s not an arm this time.’

She asked faintly and against her will: ‘Does—does he do this often?’

‘Yes. I’ll keep in touch, and thank you, Sister—er—?’

‘Potts.’

‘Incredible…goodbye.’

She put down the receiver slowly, wondering why he had said ‘incredible’ like that. Perhaps his knowledge of English wasn’t as good as he would have her believe. A nice voice, though, although he had sounded as though he had been laughing. She dismissed him from her thoughts and turned to the work awaiting her.

There was no skull fracture, said the radiologist, just a nasty crack on the head and a clean break of the tib and fib, but the orthopaedic registrar, pursing his lips over the discoloured swelling, decided to call in Sir William Sandhurst, his consultant, not because he didn’t feel more than capable of reducing the fracture and applying the plaster himself, but because the patient was a doctor and rated private patient treatment. For the same reason, Serena was asked to arrange for him to have one of the private rooms on the surgical floor, and thither, after the necessary treatment, the Dutch doctor was borne. Serena was busy by then, dealing with the wide variety of accidents which poured in non-stop during the day, but he had still contrived to ask her if she would go and see him later in the day and she had agreed. Moreover, when she had a moment to herself she had to admit to herself too that she was looking forward to seeing him again.

The morning slipped into the afternoon with the shortest of pauses for dinner because a bad scald came in and she didn’t want to leave it; she went with the pathetic, mercifully unconscious child to the Children’s Ward and returned to find a policeman bringing in two youths who had been fighting, using broken bottles. Teatime came and went before they were fit to be handed over to the ward. She heaved a sigh of relief as they were wheeled away and the junior nurse, just back from tea, said:

‘I’ll clear up, Sister. Agnes—’ Agnes was the department maid who, between bouts of swabbing floors and washing paint, mothered them all ‘—has made you some tea, she’s taken it into the office.’

Bill Travers had been doing the stitching; he caught Serena by the arm remarking: ‘I hope I’m included in the tea party,’ and when she declared that of course he was, walked her briskly to the office where the admirable Agnes had not only produced an enormous pot of tea but a plate of buttered toast as well.

As Serena poured out, Bill asked, ‘Off at five? Are you going out?’

Serena was annoyed to feel her cheeks getting warm. ‘Not just…that is, perhaps—later on.’

Her companion eyed her narrowly. ‘What’s this I hear from Thompson about the handsome young Dutchman brought in this morning? Called you a beautiful little gipsy, didn’t he?’

She looked suitably reproving. ‘You are a lot!’ she declared wrathfully. ‘Nothing but gossip from morning to night!’ she snorted delicately. ‘He didn’t know what he was saying.’

‘Come off it, Serena, don’t tell me you don’t know by now that you are a beautiful little gipsy—at least you look like one. He must have been instantly smitten.’

Serena tossed her rather untidy head. ‘Nonsense!’ She caught her companion’s eye and giggled engagingly. ‘As a matter of fact, he was rather interesting.’

‘And you’re going to see him on your way off duty, I suppose? just to make sure Joan Walters isn’t pulling a fast one on you? He’s on Surgical, I take it.’

‘Don’t be beastly! Joan’s my best friend. I’m only going to see if there’s anything I can do—after all, he is a foreigner.’

‘That’s not going to stop the police asking awkward questions—it was his fault, driving an E-type Jag up a one-way street.’

Serena refilled their cups. ‘No? Did he really? Lucky it wasn’t a lot worse for him.’

‘And that the bus he collided with was a bus and not some defenceless Mini.’

Serena got up. ‘Look,’ she said reasonably, ‘you drive a Mini, and anything less defenceless I’ve yet to meet—it’s nothing but a battering ram once you’re in the driver’s seat.’ She smiled. ‘I must get back, Staff White’s on in ten minutes and I want to be cleared up before she gets here. There’s nothing worse than other people’s leftovers when you come on duty.’

She nodded airily and hurried back to make sure that the department was clear once more. She had had a busy day, but she didn’t look in the least tired, only untidy, but she was such a pretty girl that a shining nose and a few stray curling ends did nothing to detract from her appearance. She was a slim small girl and this, combined with her outstanding good looks, made it hard for people who didn’t know what work she did to believe that she was a nurse. She rolled up her sleeves now as she went, looked at the clock, said: ‘Off you go,’ to the student nurse who was due off duty, and took the laundry bag from her as she spoke, so that the other nurse could finish filling it with the used linen. They were still hard at it when Staff Nurse White reported for duty.

Serena went off herself ten minutes later, and quite unmindful of her untidy pile of hair and shining nose, went straight to the surgical floor. It was on the other side of the hospital, three stories up, and as she had to cross the main entrance hall to reach it, she took the opportunity of posting some letters in the box by the big glass doors. This done, she paused to look outside; the day was still fine and the busy city street was thronged with traffic and people hurrying home from work. As she watched, a dilapidated Mini drew up, was wedged expertly into the space between two other cars and its driver got out and mounted the few shallow steps before the door without haste. He paused within a foot of her, and she was conscious of his eyes resting upon her for the briefest of moments before he walked, still without haste, across to the porter’s lodge. She was left with the impression of size and height and unhurried calm, but by the time she turned round to take another discreet look, there was no sign of him.

She was half-way up the stone staircase to the first floor when she met Miss Stokes coming down. Miss Stokes, who by virtue of the Salmon Scheme had turned from Office Sister Stokes to a Number Seven in the hierarchy of the nursing profession, smiled and stopped. She had been at Queen’s for a very long time, long before Serena had arrived there to do her training, six years earlier. She was a pleasant, good-natured body, in whom young nurses willingly confided and with whom the older, more experienced ones conferred.

‘Busy day, Sister Potts?’ she wanted to know, and sounded as though she were really interested.

‘Very, Miss Stokes, and if you can spare a second, when is it convenient to have a word with you?’

‘Now,’ said Miss Stokes, who was an opportunist by nature.

‘Nurse Harris—’ began Serena, and her superior nodded understandingly. ‘Could she be moved, do you think? She’s quite unsuited to Cas work, she—she isn’t quite quick enough.’

‘I know—I don’t know where to put that girl. She’s theoretically brilliant and she hasn’t even mastered the art of making a patient comfortable. I had hoped that in the Accident Room she would be able to apply her knowledge.’

‘She does,’ said Serena, ‘but the patients can’t always wait while she does.’

Miss Stokes allowed herself a smile. ‘I can well imagine she’s somewhat of a responsibility. I’ll move her, Sister, don’t worry.’

‘Thank you, Miss Stokes.’ The two ladies smiled a farewell to each other and went their separate ways; Miss Stokes to half an hour’s peace and quiet in her office, Serena to run up another flight of stairs and go through the swing doors at the top to the surgical floor. Half-way down the corridor she met one of the staff nurses and asked her if Sister was around, and was told that she was, with one of the consultants.

‘I’ve come to see the patient we sent up this morning, Staff— Doctor van Amstel. Is it OK if I go in?’

Staff thought so. ‘He’s in number twenty-one, Sister,’ she advised her, and darted off with the faintly harassed air of someone who had a lot to do and not enough time in which to do it.

Number twenty-one’s door was closed, Serena tapped and went in and came to an abrupt halt just inside the door because the doctor had a visitor; the large man who had got out of the dilapidated Mini—he had draped his length into the only easy chair in the room and unfolded it now at the sight of her, to stand silent and faintly smiling. It was the patient who spoke first.

‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ he remarked cheerfully, ‘to brighten up an otherwise very dull day.’

‘Dull?’ Serena was astonished; people who had car accidents and broke legs and what have you didn’t usually refer to such happenings as dull.

‘Oh, yes, only not any more—it’s turned out to be a red letter day, I shouldn’t have met you otherwise, should I?’

She went faintly pink because although she was used to admiration, it wasn’t usually quite so direct. She said repressively: ‘I hope you’re feeling more comfortable, Doctor,’ put a hand behind her and started to turn the door handle. ‘I’ll come back later—or tomorrow…’

‘Don’t go on my account,’ said the large man with lazy good humour, and his voice was the voice of the man who had spoken to her on the telephone. ‘When Laurens remembers I daresay he’ll introduce us, although I believe there to be no need—Miss Potts, is it not? I’m the patient’s cousin, Gijs van Amstel.’

He smiled gently and engulfed her hand in his large one.

‘How do you do?’ Serena wanted to know politely, and remembering, added: ‘Why did you say incredible?’

‘Ah, yes—so I did. You see, your voice isn’t the kind of voice I would associate with someone called Miss Potts.’

‘He’s right,’ said his cousin. ‘What is your name? And you had better tell me or I shall call you my beautiful gipsy and cause gossip.’

Serena choked; very much on her dignity, she said: ‘Potts is a good old English name,’ and before any one could take her up on it, went on rapidly: ‘I only came…I didn’t know you had a visitor…I must be going.’

‘All right, Gipsy Potts,’ the young man in the bed was laughing at her, but very nicely, ‘but I haven’t got a visitor, only Gijs, and he doesn’t count—he’s come over to bail me out and get a solicitor and see about the car.’

For someone who didn’t count it seemed quite a tall order; perhaps he was a poor relation or a junior partner. She took a lightning look at the man standing on the other side of the bed. He was good-looking, she admitted rather grudgingly, if one should fancy a high-bridged nose and a determined chin, and although his tweed suit was superbly cut and of good cloth, it was decidedly shabby. He looked—she wasn’t sure of the right word, for lazy wasn’t quite right, perhaps placid was the better word, although she had once or twice detected hidden amusement behind the placidity. She wasn’t sure if she liked him—besides, he had been beastly about his poor injured cousin.

The poor injured cousin continued: ‘I shan’t be in bed long, you know. As soon as I can get a good stout stick in my hand, the stitches out of my head and this damned headache gone, we’ll go out and live it up.’ He looked beseechingly at her. ‘You will, won’t you? And don’t look like that—do say you will.’

She found herself smiling at him because she wanted to see him again quite badly; besides, he had the kind of smile to charm any woman. She answered carefully. ‘Well, we’ll see how you go on, shall we, Doctor van Amstel?’ and looked away to encounter the surprisingly sharp stare of his cousin. His placid expression hadn’t altered at all; all the same, she had the strong impression that he had been waiting to hear what she would say.

‘Call me Laurens,’ commanded the younger Doctor van Amstel.

Serena looked down at his still pale face on the pillow. ‘I’m going now,’ she stated in her pleasant voice. ‘I hope you have a good night.’

She went round the bed and shook the hand the older man was offering.

‘I hope you don’t have too much trouble getting things sorted out,’ she remarked, and thanked him politely as he went to the door and opened it for her.

She met Joan outside in the corridor. Joan was tall and slim and blonde and they were firm friends. She grinned engagingly when she saw Serena and said with a chuckle: ‘Stealing a march on me, ducky? I know you saw him first…’

‘I only came up to see how he was—I didn’t know he’d got someone with him—some cousin or other…’

‘Yes, rather nice, I thought, though I’ve only said hullo so far. A bit sleepy, I thought.’

Serena nodded. ‘Yes, I thought so too. He’s come over to see to everything—I suppose he’s a partner or something. I saw him downstairs, he’s got the most awful old Mini,’ she paused, feeling a little sorry for anyone forced to drive around in anything so battered. ‘Perhaps he’s not very successful.’

‘Can’t say the same for the patient,’ said Joan. ‘I hear it’s an E-type Jag he was driving and it’s a write-off.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t suppose he’ll be here long, though. It’s a simple fracture, once he’s got his walking iron on and his head’s cleared, he’ll be up and away.’ She gave Serena a shrewd glance. ‘You like him, Serena?’

‘I don’t know—I don’t know him, do I? But he’s so alive, isn’t he?’ she appealed to her friend, who nodded understandingly; they had both dealt with so many patients who were just the reverse.

Serena went over to the Nurses’ Home and washed her smalls and then her hair, went to supper and so, presently, to bed, feeling that the evening had somehow been wasted. It would have been nice to have gone out with someone—someone like Doctor van Amstel, who would probably have been ridiculously and untruthfully flattering and made her feel like a million dollars. She went over to her mirror and stared into it; she was almost twenty-five, an old maid, she told herself, although she had probably had more proposals than any other girl in the hospital. But she had accepted none of them, for none of them had come from a man she could love. She sighed at the pretty face in the mirror and thought, a little forlornly, that perhaps she would never fall in love—really in love, especially as she wasn’t quite sure what sort of a man she wanted to fall in love with. She amended that though; he might possibly look a little like the owner of the E-type Jag.

She wasn’t on duty until one o’clock the next day; she got up early, made tea and toast in the little kitchen at the end of the corridor, and went out, to take a bus to Marks and Spencers in Oxford Street and browse around looking for a birthday present for her mother, who, even though she was fifty, liked pretty things. Serena settled on a pink quilted dressing gown and then loitered round the store until she barely had the time to get back to Queen’s. She went on duty with seconds to spare and found the department, for once, empty, but not for long; within half an hour there was a multiple crash in, as well as an old lady who had had a coronary in the street and a small boy who had fallen off a wall on to his head. It was almost five o’clock before she could stop for a quick cup of tea in the office and it was while she was gulping it down that Joan telephoned.

‘When are you off duty?’ she asked. ‘I’ve got this mad Dutchman wanting to know when you can come and see him.’

‘I’m up to my eyes,’ said Serena, crossly, ‘and likely to be for hours yet. I’m not off until nine o’clock anyway and I doubt if I get to supper at the rate we’re going.’

‘Come on up when you’re off, then—he needs cheering up. That cousin’s been in and I don’t know what he said, but Laurens is a bit down in the mouth.’

‘Laurens already!’ thought Serena as she said: ‘Surely he wouldn’t be so mean as to upset him after the accident…’

‘Well, Laurens did tell me that he’s done this sort of thing several times, and I suppose it’s a bit of a nuisance for his cousin having to leave the practice and sort things out.’

‘Probably,’ commented Serena, not much caring. ‘I’ll come if I can get away in time.’ She rang off, aware that whether she was on time or not, she would go.

He was lying in bed doing nothing when she got to his room at last. He looked pale and there was a discontented droop to his mouth which she put down to the after-effects of his accident; probably he still had a bad headache. But he brightened when he saw her and began to talk in a most amusing way about himself and his day. Of his cousin he said not a word and Serena didn’t ask, content to be amused at his talk.

She saw him again the next morning during her dinner time, for she went, as she sometimes did, to Joan’s office for the cup of tea they had before the start of the afternoon’s work. It was, of necessity, a brief visit and as she left his room she passed Doctor Gijs van Amstel in the corridor. She wished him a good day and gave him the briefest of glances, because she had the feeling that if she did more than that he might be disposed to stop and talk to her, and for some reason—too vague to put into words—she didn’t want to do that.

The next few days began to form a pattern drawn around her visits to the surgical floor. She still went out in her off duty, for she had a great number of friends. She shopped too and went to the cinema with Bill Travers, but the only real moment of the days was when she tapped on the door of number twenty-one and heard Laurens’s welcoming: ‘Come in, Serena.’

She had seen no more of his cousin, and when she mentioned it to Joan it was to discover that he had returned to Holland and would be back again shortly. And Laurens never spoke of him, although he talked about everything else under the sun. Serena listened, hardly speaking herself, wrapped in a kind of enchantment because here, at last, was the man she had been waiting for and who, she was beginning to hope, had been waiting for her.

It surprised her that Joan, although she admitted to liking Laurens very much, could find anything wrong with him. ‘He’s a charmer all right,’ she agreed, ‘but ducky, be your age—can’t you see that if he can chat you up so expertly, he’s probably had a lot of practice and doesn’t intend to stop at you?’

Which remark made Serena so indignant that she could hardly find the words to answer such heresy. ‘He’s not,’ she insisted. ‘He’s cheerful and nice to everyone, and why shouldn’t we be friends while he’s here?’

Joan smiled. ‘I daresay you’re right, Serena, only don’t get that heart of yours broken, will you, before you’re sure it’s worth risking it.’

She went home that evening, to spend her two days off at the large, old-fashioned rectory where her father and mother had lived for most of their married life.

She caught a later train than usual that evening, because she had gone to see Laurens first and it was quite dark by the time she got out at Dorchester to find her father waiting for her in the old-fashioned Rover he had had for such a long time. She kissed him with affection and got in beside him, suddenly glad at the prospect of the peace and quiet of home. They didn’t talk much as they went through the town and out on to the road to Maiden Newton because she didn’t want to distract her parent’s attention. He was an unworldly man in many ways; he had never quite realized that traffic had increased since he had first taken to motoring; in consequence he drove with a carefree disregard for other cars which could be alarming unless, like his family, his companions knew him well.

Serena, who had iron nerves and was a passable driver herself, suffered the journey calmly enough; there wasn’t a great deal of traffic on the road and once through Frampton they turned off into a winding lane which although narrow, held no terrors for either of them for they knew every yard of it.

The village, when they reached it at the bottom of a steep hill, was already in darkness; only the Rectory’s old-fashioned wide windows sent splashes of brightness into the lane as they turned in the always open gate. They had barely stopped before the door was flung open, and Serena jumped out to meet her family.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE were quite a lot of people in the doorway—her mother, as small as Serena herself and almost as slim, Susan, who was seventeen and constantly in the throes of some affair of the heart, so that everyone else had the utmost difficulty in remembering the name of the current boyfriend, Margery, twenty, and married only a few months earlier to her father’s curate, a situation which afforded great pleasure to the family and her mother, especially because she was the plain one of the children, and Serena’s two young brothers, home from boarding school for the Easter holidays—Dan was twelve and George, the youngest, was ten. Their father hoped that they would follow in his footsteps and go into the Church, and probably they would, but in the meantime they got up to all the tricks boys of their age usually indulged in.

It was lovely to be home again; she was swept inside on a cheerful tide of greetings and family news, all of which would have to be repeated later on, but in the meantime the cheerful babble of talk was very pleasant. ‘Where’s John?’ Serena tossed her hat on to the nearest chair and addressed Margery.

‘He’ll be here. He had to go and see old Mrs Spike, you know—down by Buller’s Meadow, she’s hurt her leg and can’t get about.’

Serena took off her coat and sent it to join her hat. ‘Being married suits you, Margery—you’re all glowing.’

Her sister smiled. ‘Well, that’s how it makes you feel. How’s the hospital?’

‘Oh, up and down, you know…it’s nice to get away.’

They smiled at each other as Serena flung an arm around her mother’s shoulders and asked her how she was. The rest of the evening passed in a pleasurable exchange of news and the consuming of the supper Mrs Potts had prepared. They all sat around the too large mahogany table, talking and eating and laughing a great deal. The dining-room was faintly mid-Victorian and gloomy with it, but they were all so familiar with it that no one noticed its drawbacks. Presently, when there was no more to be eaten and they had talked themselves to a standstill, they washed up and went back to the sitting-room, to talk again until midnight and later, when they parted for the night and Serena went to her old room at the back of the house, to lie in her narrow bed and wonder what Laurens van Amstel was doing.

Breakfast was half over the next morning when the telephone rang; no one took any notice of it—no one, that was, but Susan, for the family had come to learn during the last few months that almost all the telephone calls were for her, and rather than waste time identifying the young man at the other end of the line, finding Susan and then returning to whatever it was they had been interrupted in doing, it was far better for all concerned if she answered all the calls herself. She tore away now, saying over her shoulder: ‘That’ll be Bert,’ and Serena looked up from her plate to exclaim: ‘But it was Gavin last time I was home—what happened to him?’

Her mother looked up from her letters. ‘Gavin?’ She looked vague. ‘I believe he went to…’

She was interrupted by Susan. ‘It’s for you,’ she told Serena. ‘A man.’

Serena rose without haste, avoiding the eyes focused upon her. ‘Some query at the hospital,’ she suggested airily as she walked, not too fast, out of the room, aware that if that was all it was, she was going to be disappointed. There was no reason why Laurens should telephone—he didn’t even know where she was; all the same she hoped that it was he.

She went into her father’s study and picked up the receiver. Her voice didn’t betray her excitement as she said: ‘Hullo?’

It was Laurens; his voice came gaily over the wire. ‘Serena!’

‘How did you know where I was?’ She sounded, despite her efforts, breathless.

He laughed softly. ‘Your friend Joan—such a nice girl—after all, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t know where you live, is there? What are you doing?’

‘Having breakfast. I’m not sure that I…’

‘You’re not sure about anything, are you, my dear gipsy? I miss you. When are you coming back?’

‘On Monday. I come up on an early morning train.’

‘Not this time—I’ll send Gijs down to pick you up, he’ll drive you.’

She shook her head, although he wasn’t there to see her vehement refusal.

‘No, thank you, I prefer to go by train—it’s very kind…’

‘Rubbish! Gijs won’t mind, he does anything anyone asks of him—more fool he.’ He spoke jokingly and she laughed with him.

‘All the same, I’d rather come up by train.’

He sounded very persuasive. ‘Not to please me? I hate to think of you travelling in a crowded train, and at least Gijs can give you lunch.’

She said in a panicky little voice: ‘But that’s impossible. I’m on duty at one o’clock.’

‘My beautiful gipsy, how difficult you make everything! Gijs will pick you up about nine o’clock on Monday morning. What are you going to do today?’

‘Nothing very interesting, just—just be at home.’ How could she tell him that she was going to make the beds for her mother and probably get the lunch ready as well and spend the afternoon visiting the sexton’s wife who had just had another baby, and the organist’s wife, who’d just lost hers? She felt relief when he commented casually: ‘It sounds nice. Come and see me on Monday, Serena.’

‘Yes—at least, I will if I can get away. You know how it is.’

‘Indeed I do—the quicker you leave it the better.’

‘Leave it?’ she repeated his words faintly.

‘Of course—had you not thought of marrying me?’

Serena was bereft of words. ‘I—I—’ she began, and then: ‘I must go,’ she managed at last. ‘Goodbye.’

‘Goodbye, gipsy girl, I shall see you on Monday.’

She nodded foolishly without speaking and replaced the receiver gently. She hadn’t heard aright, of course, and even if she had, he must have been joking—he joked a lot. She sat down in her father’s chair behind his desk, quite forgetful of breakfast, trying to sort out her feelings. They slid silkily in and out of her head, evading her efforts to pin them down—the only thought which remained clearly and firmly in her mind was the one concerning Gijs van Amstel; she didn’t want to go back to London with him. The idea of being in his company for several hours disquieted her, although she didn’t know why; he had done nothing to offend or annoy her, indeed, he had exerted himself to be civil, and she had no interest in him, only the fact that he was Laurens’s cousin was the common denominator of their acquaintance, so, she told herself vigorously, she was merely being foolish.

She went back to her interrupted breakfast then, and although no one asked her any questions at all she felt compelled to explain into the eloquent silence. When she had finished, omitting a great deal, her mother remarked: ‘He sounds nice, dear, such a change from your usual patients—is his English good?’

Serena, grateful for her parent’s tactful help, told her that yes, it was, very good.

‘And this cousin—he’s coming to fetch you on Monday morning?’

Serena drank her cold tea. ‘Yes.’

‘Where will he sleep?’ her mother, a practical woman, wanted to know.

Serena’s lovely eyes opened wide. She hadn’t given a thought to the man who was coming to fetch her, and now, upon thinking about it, she really didn’t care where he slept. Perhaps he would leave early in the morning. She suggested this lightheartedly and her mother mused: ‘He must be a very nice man then, to spoil a night’s sleep to come and collect someone he doesn’t even know well.’

‘Oh,’ said Serena, her head full of Laurens, ‘he seems to do exactly what Laurens tells him—I suppose he’s a poor relation or a junior partner or something of that sort. He’s got the most awful old car.’

‘Oh?’ it was her father this time. ‘Is he a very young man, then?’

Serena dragged her thoughts away from Laurens and considered. ‘Oh, no—he must be years older—he looks about thirty-five, I suppose. I haven’t really noticed.’

Her mother gave her a swift, penetrating glance and said with deceptive casualness: ‘Well, we can find out on Monday, can’t we?’ she smiled at her eldest child. ‘And how old is this Laurence?’

‘Laurens,’ Serena corrected her gently. ‘About twenty-six.’

‘Good-looking?’ asked Susan, who had been sitting silent all this time, not saying a word.

‘Yes, very. Fair and tall.’

‘What a rotten description,’ Susan sounded faintly bored. ‘If you’ve finished, shall we get washed up? There’s such a lot to do and there’s never time.’

Serena rose obediently from the table, understanding very well that what her younger sister meant was not enough time to do her hair a dozen ways before settling on the day’s style, nor time enough to see to her nails, or try out a variety of lipsticks. She sighed unconsciously, remembering how nice it was to be seventeen and fall painlessly in and out of love and pore for hours over magazines—she felt suddenly rather old.

In the end she did the washing up herself because Susan had her telephone call and the two boys disappeared with the completeness and silence which only boys achieve. She stood at the old-fashioned kitchen sink and as she worked she thought about Laurens, trying to make herself think sensibly. No one in their right minds fell in love like this, to the exclusion of everything and everyone else. She was, she reminded herself over and over again, a sensible girl, no longer young and silly like little Susan; she saw also that, there was a lot more to marriage than falling in love. Besides, Laurens, even though he had told her so delightfully and surprisingly that she was going to marry him—for surely that was what he had meant—might be in the habit of falling in love with any girl who chanced to take his fancy. She began to dry the dishes, resolving that, whatever her feelings, she would not allow herself to be hurried into any situation, however wonderful it might seem. She had put the china and silver away and was on her way upstairs to make the beds when she remembered the strange intent look Gijs van Amstel had given her when Laurens had suggested she should go out with him. There had been no reason for it and it puzzled her that the small episode should stick so firmly in her memory. She shook it free from her thoughts and joined her mother, already busy in the boys’ room.

The day passed pleasantly so that she forgot her impatience for Monday’s arrival. When she had finished her chores she duly visited the sexton’s wife, admired the baby—the sixth and surely the last?—presented the proud mother with a small gift for the tiny creature, and turned her attention to the sexton’s other five children, who had arrived with an almost monotonous regularity every eighteen months or so. They all bore a marked resemblance to each other and, Serena had to admit, they all looked remarkably healthy. She asked tentatively: ‘Do you find it a bit much—six, Mrs Snow?’

Her hostess smiled broadly. ‘Lor’ no, Miss Serena, they’m good as gold and proper little loves, we wouldn’t be without ’em. You’ll see, when you’m wed and ’as little ’uns to rear.’

Serena tried to imagine herself with six small children, and somehow the picture was blurred because deep in her bones something told her that Laurens wouldn’t want to be bothered with a houseful of children to absorb her time—and his. He would want her for himself… The thought sent a small doubt niggling at the back of her mind, for she loved children; provided she had help she was quite sure she could cope with half a dozen, but only if their father did his share too, and Laurens, she was sure, even though she knew very little about him, wasn’t that kind of man. Disconcertingly, a picture of his cousin, lolling against the bed in his well-worn tweeds, crossed her thoughts; she had no doubt that he would make an excellent father, even though he did strike her as being a thought too languid in his manner. And probably he was already a parent. He was, after all, older than Laurens and must have settled down by now. She dismissed him from her mind, bade the happy mother and her offspring goodbye, and departed to make her second visit—a more difficult one—the organist’s wife had lost a small baby since Serena had been home last, it had been a puny little creature with a heart condition which everyone knew was never going to improve, but that hadn’t made it any easier for the mother. Serena spent longer there than she had meant to do, trying to comfort the poor woman while she reflected how unfair life could be.

It was surprising how quickly the weekend flew by, and yet, looking back on it as she dressed on the Monday morning, Serena saw that it had been a tranquil, slow-moving period, with time to do everything at leisure. As she made up her pretty face she found herself wishing that she wasn’t going back to Queen’s, to the eternal bustle and rush of the Accident Room, the hurried meals and the off duty, when one was either too tired to do anything but fall into one’s bed, or possessed of the feverish urge to rush out and enjoy oneself. But if she didn’t go back she wouldn’t see Laurens. She tucked back a stray wisp of hair and stood back to inspect her person; she was wearing a short-sleeved silk blouse which exactly matched the deep clotted cream of her pleated skirt, whose matching jacket she left on the bed with her gloves and handbag, for she still had the breakfast to get. She put on the kettle, skipped into the dining-room and tuned the radio in to the music programme and went back to the stove, trying out a few dance steps to the too-loud music as she cracked eggs into a bowl. She dropped the last one on to the floor when a voice behind her said almost apologetically: ‘I must take the blame for that, but the front door was open and although I rang the bell the music—er—drowned it, I fancy.’

She had whirled round and trodden in the egg as she did so. She said:

‘Damn!’ and then: ‘Good morning, Doctor van Amstel, you’re early,’ giving him the briefest of smiles.

If he was put out by his cool reception he allowed nothing of it to show but said mildly: ‘Yes, I’m sorry for that, too, but Laurens was so anxious that I should be on time.’ His unhurried gaze took in the apron she had tied untidily round her slim waist and moved on to take in the singing kettle and the bacon sizzling in the pan. ‘I’ll come back in half an hour, shall I?’ He gave her a lazy grin and sauntered towards the door just as Mrs Potts trotted in. Showing no surprise at the sight of a very large strange man in her kitchen, she said briskly: ‘Good morning. You’ll be the cousin, I’m sure. How very early you must have got up this morning, you poor boy. You’ll have breakfast with us, of course, it’ll be ready in a minute.’

Serena dished up bacon and put another few slices in. She felt all at once exasperated; she had been rude and inhospitable and the poor man had presumably had no breakfast; after all, he was driving her back. She said contritely: ‘I’m so sorry—I was surprised—I think I must have lost my wits. This is Doctor Gijs van Amstel, Mother—my mother, Doctor, and this is my father,’ she added as her parent joined them. She left them to talk while she got on with the toast, peeping once or twice at the doctor. He dwarfed her father both in height and breadth, his massive head with its pale hair towering over them all. He appeared to be getting on very well with her mother and father and something about his manner made her wonder if her first impression of him had been wrong—perhaps he wasn’t a junior partner at all. Her arched brows drew together in a frown as she pondered this; there was so much she didn’t know about Laurens and this man standing beside her.

They left directly after breakfast, with the entire family waving goodbye from the door and an odd housewife or so from the nearby cottages waving too for good measure. The car bumped a little going up the lane and the doctor said easily: ‘Sorry about the car—I really must do something about it.’ He slowed a little as they turned into the wider road. ‘But I must get Laurens settled first. His car’s a write-off, I’m afraid.’

‘Was it his fault?’

He didn’t look at her. ‘Yes, but I believe his solicitor may be able to prove mitigating circumstances.’ Something in his voice caused Serena to keep silent, but when he went on: ‘Laurens has already ordered a new car,’ she exclaimed: ‘Another E-type Jag?’

‘Yes—a car with great pulling power, I have discovered—especially where girls are concerned.’

Serena’s lovely face was washed with a rich pink. ‘What an offensive remark!’ she uttered in an arctic voice. ‘Just because you’ve got an old Mini…’ she stopped, aware that she was being even more offensive.

‘With no pulling power at all?’ he was laughing at her. ‘Too true, Miss Potts,’ and then to surprise her, ‘I wonder why you dislike me?’

‘Disl…’ Serena, not usually flustered, was. ‘I don’t—that is, I don’t know you—how could I possibly… I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘No? Have you read Samuel Butler?’

‘No—not to remember. A poet, wasn’t he—seventeenth century. Why?’

“‘Quoth Hudibras, I smell a rat; Ralpho, thou dost prevaricate.’”

The pink, which had subsided nicely, returned. ‘I’m not prevaricating—well, perhaps, a little.’

‘That’s better. I always feel that one can’t be friends with anyone until one has achieved honesty.’

She asked, bewildered: ‘Are we to be friends?’

‘We’re bound to see quite a lot of each other, are we not? I think we might make the effort—I’m quite harmless, you know.’

She wondered if he was; his manner was casual and he talked with an air of not minding very much about anything—on the other hand, he read an early English poet well enough to quote him. She inquired: ‘Where did you learn to speak such good English?’

They were going slowly through Dorchester, caught up in the early morning traffic. He shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know—school, and visits here, and university.’

‘A Dutch university?’

‘Yes.’ And that was all he said, much to her annoyance; for all his casual air he was hardly forthcoming. Never one to give up, she tried again. ‘Do you know this part of England well?’

‘Moderately well. I came here when I was a boy.’ His lips twitched with amusement, he added: ‘Visiting, you know.’

She didn’t know, which was so annoying, but she gave up after that and sat in silence while he urged the little car along the road to Puddletown and beyond to Wimborne. They were approaching that small town when he observed; ‘You’re very quiet.’

There were a number of tart replies she would have liked to make to that, but instead she said meekly: ‘I thought perhaps you liked to drive without talking—some people do.’

‘My dear good girl, did I give you that impression? You must forgive me—let us by all means talk.’ Which he proceeded to do, very entertainingly, as he sent the Mini belting along towards the Winchester bypass. Going through Farnham he said: ‘I haven’t stopped for coffee—I thought that a little nearer London would serve our purpose better. You’re on duty at one o’clock, I gather.’

She admitted that she was. ‘It was kind of you to come,’ she began. ‘It’s taken up a great deal of your day.’

‘Well, I can’t think of a better way of spending it,’ he replied pleasantly. ‘I don’t much care for London—a day or so is all right, but it’s hardly my cup of tea.’

‘Oh? What’s your cup of tea, Doctor?’

‘A small town, I suppose, where I know everyone and everyone knows me, a good day’s work and a shelf full of good books and German to keep me company.’

She was aware of an odd sensation which she didn’t stop to pursue. ‘Your wife?’

His bellow of laughter rocked the car. ‘My dog—a dachshund and a bossy little beast. He goes everywhere with me.’

‘He must miss you.’

‘Yes, but Jaap and his wife, who live with me, take good care of him.’

She tried to envisage his home. Did he live in digs? It sounded like it, but surely he had a surgery—or did he share Laurens’s? She longed to ask but decided against it. Instead she started to talk about the hospital, a topic which seemed safe ground and devoid of conversational pitfalls.

It was almost midday when he turned off the A30 and took the road to Hampton where he pulled up outside the Greyhound. ‘Ten minutes?’ he suggested. ‘Just time for something quick—it will have to be sandwiches, I’m afraid, too bad we couldn’t have made it lunch.’

Serena murmured a polite nothing because her mind was so full of seeing Laurens again that even ten minutes’ stop was irksome. She drank the coffee he ordered and nibbled at a selection of sandwiches with concealed impatience.

She had exactly fifteen minutes to change when they reached Queen’s. She thanked her companion hurriedly, said that she supposed that she would see him again, and fled to the Nurses’ Home, to emerge ten minutes later as neat as a new pin and not a hair out of place. She was, in fact, one minute early on duty—and a good thing too, she decided as she made her way through the trolleys, ambulance men, nurses and patients and fetched up by Betsy, who said at once: ‘Oh, good! Thank heaven you’re here. I’m fed up, I can tell you—not a moment’s peace the whole morning. There’s a cardiac arrest in the first cubicle, an overdose in the second and an old lady who slipped on a banana skin—she’s got an impacted fracture of neck of femur—oh, and there’s an RTA on the way in—two so far, both conscious and a third I don’t even know about yet.’

‘Charming,’ declared Serena, ‘and I suppose no one’s been to dinner.’

‘Oh, yes, they have—Harris. Yes, I knew you’d be pleased, ducky, but take heart, you’ve got your two part-timers coming on in half an hour. Harris can’t do much harm in that time.’

‘You must be joking, Betsy. Thanks for holding the fort, anyway. See you later.’ Serena was taking off her cuffs and rolling up her sleeves ready for work. She cast her eyes upwards, adding: ‘If I survive.’

She paused at about four o’clock when the immediate emergencies had been dealt with and the part-time staff nurses, back from their tea, took over. In the office she accepted the tea Agnes had made for her and started to sort out the papers on her desk. It was amazing that so much could accumulate in two days. She was half way through a long-winded direction as to the disposal of plastic syringes and their needles when the telephone rang. It was Joan, wanting to know impatiently why she hadn’t been up to see Laurens.

‘You must be out of your tiny mind,’ said Serena crossly. ‘I haven’t sat down since I got back until this very minute and if I get up there this evening, it’ll be a miracle.’

She slammed down the receiver, feeling mean, and knowing that her ill-humour was partly because she hadn’t been able to get up to Surgical, and saw no chance of doing so until she went off duty that evening. She would apologize to Joan when she saw her. She poured herself another cup of tea and went back to the disposable plastic syringes.

It was gone half past nine when Serena at last went off duty. The night staff nurse and her companion, a male nurse, because sometimes things got a bit rough at night, had come on punctually, but there had been clearing up to do and Serena had elected to send the day duty nurses off and stay to clear up the mess herself. She had missed supper and she thought longingly of a large pot of tea and a piled-high plate of toast as she wended her way through the hospital towards Surgical. One of the Night Sisters was already there because it had been theatre day and there were several post-op. cases needing a watchful eye. She said ‘Hullo,’ to Serena when she saw her and added: ‘He’s still awake, do go in.’

Serena, tapping on the door of number twenty-one, wondered if the whole hospital knew about her friendship with the Dutch doctor and dismissed the idea with a shrug. He was in bed, although he told her immediately in something like triumph that he was to have a walking iron fixed the following morning and that his concussion had cleared completely. ‘Come here, my little gipsy,’ he cajoled her. ‘I’ve been so bored all day, I thought you were never coming.’

‘I told Joan…’ she began.

‘Yes, I know—surely you could have left one of your nurses in charge for just a moment or two? I was furious with Gijs getting back so late—if he’d moved a bit you would have had time to come and see me before you went on duty.’

‘He did move,’ said Serena soothingly. ‘I’ve never seen anyone get so much out of a middle-aged Mini in all my life. He was very kind, too…’

‘Oh, Gijs is always kind.’ Laurens sounded a little sulky and she gave him a startled look which made him change the sulkiness for a smile of great charm. ‘Sorry I’m so foul-tempered—it’s a bit dull, you know. Come a little nearer, I shan’t bite.’

She went and stood close to the bed and he reached up and pulled her down and kissed her swiftly. ‘There,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘now everything’s fine—no, don’t go away.’

She smiled a little shyly and left her hand in his, studying his good looks—he really was remarkably handsome. It was strange that all unbidden, the face of his cousin should float before her eyes—he was handsome too, but with a difference which she didn’t bother to discover just then, although it reminded her to ask: ‘Your cousin—I hope he wasn’t too tired?’

‘Gijs? Tired? Lord no, he’s never tired. He went back to Holland this evening.’

Serena felt a faint prick of disappointment; she hadn’t thanked him properly and now she might never have the opportunity. She said so worriedly and Laurens laughed. ‘Don’t give it a thought, he wouldn’t expect it. And now let’s stop talking about Gijs and talk about us.’

‘Us?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll be fit to get around in a couple of days—I shan’t be able to drive or dance, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t have dinner together, is there, Serena? When are you free in the evening?’

She told him and he went on. ‘Good—I should get away from here by Thursday or Friday. We’ll dine and make plans.’

Serena, conscious that her conversation, such as it was, had become repetitive, asked ‘Plans?’

‘Of course, my beauty—there’s our glorious future to discuss.’

Serena forced herself to remain calm. All the same, he was going a bit fast for her; perhaps she should change the conversation. She asked sedately: ‘When will you go back to Holland?’ wisely not commenting upon the future.

He smiled a little as though he knew what she was thinking. ‘We’ll talk about that later. Quite soon, I expect—my mother is worrying about me. She’s a splendid worrier, though Gijs will be home by the morning and can soothe her down—he’s good at that. If ever you want a good cry, Serena, try his shoulder. He’s splendid in the part—doesn’t seem to mind a girl crying, though I can’t say the same for myself. I’ve not much patience for women who burst into tears for no good reason.’

He grinned at her and she smiled back, thinking how absurd it was for anyone to want to cry about anything at all. ‘I’m going,’ she said softly. ‘Night Sister will hate me if I stay a moment longer.’ She withdrew her hand.

‘Come tomorrow,’ he urged her as she reached the door. She turned to look at him and even at that distance, in the light of the bedside lamp, she could see how blue his eyes were. ‘Of course.’

On the way over to the home she found herself wondering what colour Gijs’s eyes were. It was ridiculous, but she didn’t know; blue too, she supposed, and now she came to think about it, he had a habit of drooping the lids which was probably why she didn’t know. In any case, it was quite unimportant.

Laurens went on Thursday, but not before he had arranged to see Serena on Friday evening. ‘I’ll be at the Stafford, in St James’ Place,’ he had told her. ‘I’ll send a taxi for you—seven o’clock, if that’s OK.’

She had agreed, enchanted that she was to see him again so soon. She had visited him every day and they had laughed a lot together, and he had been gay and charming and had made no secret of the fact that he was more than a little in love with her, and even though she still felt a little uncertain as to his true feelings she had allowed herself to dwell on a future which excited her.

For once, and to her great relief, she was off duty punctually so that she had time to bath and dress with care in a dress the colour of corn. It was very plain and she covered it with a matching wool coat; the only ornament she wore was an old-fashioned keeper ring her father had given her on her twenty-first birthday which had belonged to her great-grandmother.

The hotel was small as London hotels went, but entering its foyer, she suspected that it catered for people who enjoyed the comforts of life and were prepared to pay for them. She hadn’t thought much about Laurens’s state as regards money. He had an E-type Jaguar, certainly, but a great many young men had those, affording them at the expense of something else, but it seemed that he could afford his Jag and a good life too. She inquired for him with pleasant composure and was relieved of her coat and ushered into the hotel lounge. He was waiting for her, looking very correct in his black tie, although she found his shirt over-fussy. Even as she smiled in greeting her eyes swept down to his leg and he laughed. ‘Serena, forget your wretched plasters for an hour or two—it’s quite safe inside my trouser. I got one of the fellows to cut the seam and pin it together again.’

She laughed then. ‘How frightfully wasteful! Are you all right here—comfortable?’

A silly remark, she chided herself, but she hadn’t been able to think of anything else to say in her delight at seeing him.

‘Very comfortable,’ he told her, ‘and now you’re here, perfectly all right.’ He smiled at her. ‘Will a Dubonnet suit you, or would you rather have a gin and lime?’

‘Dubonnet, thank you. When are you going home?’

‘On Saturday—Gijs will come over for me. I’ll be back in a few weeks, though, to collect the new car.’ His hand covered hers briefly where it lay on the table. ‘Serena, will you come over to Holland—oh, not now—in a few weeks. I want you to meet my mother.’

She blinked her long lashes, her eyes enormous with surprise. ‘But why—I haven’t any holiday due.’

‘Who spoke of holidays? You can resign or whatever it is you do, can’t you?’

‘But I shall want to go back…’

‘Now that’s something we’re going to talk about.’ He smiled as he spoke and her own mouth curved in response.

She ate her dinner in a happy daze, saying very little, not quite sure that it was really all happening, until he asked suddenly: ‘Why do you wear that ring? It’s a cheap thing. I’ll give you a ring to suit your beautiful finger—diamonds, I think.’

Serena felt affronted and a little hurt, but all the same she explained without showing it that it was her great-grandmother’s and that she treasured it. ‘And I don’t like diamonds,’ she added quietly.

Her words had the effect of amusing him very much. ‘My sweet gipsy, you can’t mean that—all girls like diamonds.’

Serena took a mouthful of crême brulée and said, smiling a little, because it was impossible to be even faintly annoyed with him: ‘Well, here’s one girl who doesn’t.’

‘And that’s something else we’ll talk about later,’ he said lightly. ‘When are you free tomorrow?’

She told him happily. ‘And Saturday?’ She told him that too. ‘I’m on at ten for the rest of the day.’

‘Good lord, why?’

She explained about weekends and was gratifyingly flattered when he observed: ‘Just my luck—if it had been last weekend, we could have spent it together.’

‘Not very well,’ Serena, being a parson’s daughter, saw no hidden meanings in this remark, ‘for you can’t drive and I haven’t got a car, you know, and the train journey would have tired you out.’

She spoke happily because it had made everything seem more real because he had taken it for granted that he would have spent the weekend at her home. She certainly didn’t notice the hastily suppressed astonishment in his voice when he answered her.

They talked about other things then, and it was only when she was wishing him goodbye, with the promise to lunch with him on the next day, that he said:

‘You’re quite a girl, Serena—full of surprises, too.’ He kissed her lightly on the cheek and added: ‘Tomorrow.’

She went to bed in a haze of dreams, all of them with happy endings, and none of them, she realized when she woke in the morning, capable of standing up to a searching scrutiny. She decided rebelliously that she wasn’t going to be searching anyway. She dressed with care in the white jacket and skirt and decided against a hat.

They had almost finished their early lunch when Laurens said: ‘I shan’t see you tomorrow then, my sweet. I shall miss you—will you miss me?’

Serena had never been encouraged to be anything but honest. ‘Yes, of course,’ she answered readily ‘very much. But you’re coming back—you said…’

He laughed a little. ‘Oh, yes, I’m coming back, and next time when I go you’re coming with me, remember?’

‘Well, yes,’ she stammered a little, ‘but I wasn’t sure if you meant it.’

He put his head on one side. ‘Then you must be sure. I shall ring you up when I get back, then you will give in your notice to your so good Matron and pack your bags and come to my home and learn something of Holland.’

‘Oh,’ said Serena, her heart was pattering along at a great rate, ‘are you—that is, is this…’

‘It seems so. How else am I to get you, my beautiful gipsy?’

They said goodbye soon after that and when he kissed her she returned his kiss with a happy warmth even though she couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him for several weeks.

It was fortunate that when she got on duty there was a dearth of patients; it hadn’t been so quiet for weeks. Serena sat in her office, making out the off duty and requisition forms and holiday lists and all the while her head spun with a delightful dreamlike speed, littered with a host of ideas, all of which she was far too excited to go into. It was like dipping into a box of unexpected treasure, and some of her happiness showed on her face so that her friends, noticing it, exchanged meaningful glances amongst themselves.

She had thought that she wouldn’t sleep that night, but she did, and dreamlessly too, and she was glad to have had a good night’s rest when she went on duty in the morning, for the Accident Room was going at full pressure. About half past eleven there was a lull, however, so she went along to her office and drank her coffee and thought about Laurens; she had forgotten to ask him at what time he was going; perhaps he was already on his way… The wistful thought was interrupted by one of the nurses with the news that there was a flasher coming in.

Only one ambulance man came in, carrying a very small bundle in a blanket. As soon as he saw her he said, ‘Glad you’re on, Sister. I got a battered baby here. Proper knocked about, she is…’

Serena forget all about Laurens then. She whisked into the nearest cubicle, saying: ‘Here, Jones, any idea what happened?’ She was already unwrapping the blanket from the small stiff form and winced when she saw the little bruised body. Without pausing in her task she said: ‘Nurse, telephone Mr Travers, please—he’s on duty, isn’t he? Ask him to come at once—tell him it’s a battered baby.’

She had her scissors out now and was cutting the odds and ends of grubby clothing from the baby’s body. ‘Well, Jones?’

‘Neighbours,’ he began. ‘They heard a bit of a bust-up like, and went to fetch the police—the coppers took the baby’s dad off with them, the mum too. There’ll be a copper round to inquire. Hit her with a belt, they said.’

‘With a buckle on the end of it, Jones. The brute—I’d like to get my hands on him!’ Which, considering she was five foot three and small with it, was an absurd thing to say, although the ambulance man knew what she meant.

‘Me, too,’ he said soberly. ‘Shall I give the particulars to nurse, Sister?’

‘Yes, please.’ She was sponging, with infinite care, the abrasions and cuts, hoping she would be able to complete the cleaning process before the baby became conscious again.

Bill was beside her and as she wiped the last of the superficial dirt away, bent over the baby. ‘Alive, anyway,’ he observed, and spoke to someone behind her—someone she hadn’t known was there and who came round to the other side of the examination table as Bill spoke. Doctor Gijs van Amstel. ‘You don’t mind, Serena,’ Bill was intent on the baby, ‘if Doctor van Amstel has a look? He’s by way of being an authority on this sort of thing and he happened to be here…’

Serena nodded, staring at the calm face of the man opposite her, and then went a bright pink because if he was here, surely Laurens would be with him. She dismissed the idea at once because it was hardly the time to let her thoughts stray. She watched the large, quiet man bend over the baby in his turn. His hands were very gentle despite their size, and although there was no expression on his face she knew that he was angry. He said nothing at all until he had finished his examination. Then: ‘I find the same as you Bill—concussion, suspected ruptured spleen—you felt that? and I wonder what fractures we shall see…this arm, I fancy, and these fourth and fifth ribs, there could possibly be a greenstick fracture of this left leg—you agree?’

Bill Travers nodded and Serena found herself admiring the Dutchman for fielding the diagnosis back to the younger, less experienced man. She gave Bill the X-ray form she had ready and then sent a nurse speeding ahead with it, and when she prepared to take the baby she found that both men were with her. The Dutchman seemed to know the radiologist too—the three men crowded into the dark room to study the still wet films and when they came out it was the radiologist who spoke. ‘A couple of greenstick fractures of the left humerus, a hairline fracture of the left femur, and a crack in the temporal bone—and of course the spleen. Quite shocking…have the police got the man who did it?’

‘Yes,’ said Serena savagely, ‘they have, and I hope they put him in prison for life.’ She signed to the nurse who had come with her and they wheeled the trolley back to the Accident Room and presently the men joined her.

‘I’ve telephoned the boss,’ Bill told her—the boss was Mr Sedgley, tall and thin and stooping and wonderful with children. ‘She’s to go straight to theatre. OK, Serena?’

She was drawing a loose gown over the puny frame. She nodded and arranged a small blanket over the gown, then wrote out the baby’s identity on the plastic bracelet she slipped on its wrist. Which done, she sent for the porters and leaving the nurse in charge, went with the baby straight to theatre.

When she got back Bill was still there, so was Doctor van Amstel. There was a policeman with them too and Serena lifted her eyebrows at one of the student nurses, who disappeared, to appear with commendable speed carrying a tray of tea. ‘You too, Sister?’ she whispered. But Serena shook her head; she couldn’t drink tea until she had got the taste of the battered baby out of her mouth. She left the nurses to do the clearing up and went back to her office; the case would have to be entered in the day book and she still had the list of surgical requirements to tackle. She was half way through this when there was a tap on the door and Doctor van Amstel came in. He wasted no time. ‘You must be wondering why I am here and if Laurens is with me. I called to settle some bills and so forth and convey his thanks—he didn’t feel like coming himself. And I want to thank you for taking such good care of him and for cheering him up while he was here. He hates inaction, you know.’

She sat at her desk, looking at him and wishing he would go away. The baby had upset her—she was used to horrible and unpleasant sights, but this one had been so pointless and so cruel, and now on top of that this man had to come—why couldn’t it have been Laurens?

She said woodenly: ‘That’s quite all right. It must have been very dull for him, but he’ll soon be fit again, won’t he?’

He nodded. ‘A pity,’ he observed slowly, ‘that we shan’t meet again.’ His voice was casual, but his eyes, under their drooping lids, were not.

‘Oh, but I daresay we shall,’ Serena declared. ‘Laurens has asked me over to stay with his mother—I expect we shall see each other then.’ She glanced up at him as she spoke and was surprised to see, for a brief moment, fierce anger in his face; it had gone again so quickly that afterwards she decided that she had imagined it.

‘Indeed?’ his voice was placid. ‘That will be pleasant—when do you plan to come?’

‘I—don’t know. Laurens is going to telephone or write.’

‘Ah, yes, of course.’ He held out a hand. ‘I shall look forward to seeing you again, Miss Potts—or perhaps, since you are to—er—continue your friendship with Laurens, I may call you Serena, and you must learn to call me Gijs.’

He smiled and went to the door and then came back again to say in quite a different voice: ‘I’m sorry about the baby. I’m angry too.’

She nodded wordlessly, knowing that he meant what he said. He closed the door very quietly behind him and she listened to his unhurried footsteps retreating across the vast expanse of the Accident Room and wondered why she felt so lonely.

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