A Little Moonlight

Betty Neels

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CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS mid-September and the day had been grey so that dusk had come early. Almost every window in the Royal Hospital was lighted, making a cheerful splash of colour amid the dingy streets of small houses and corner shops over which it towered. Only on the top floor of the hospital, where the windows were much smaller, were they in darkness—all save one, a corner room, furnished in a businesslike way with filing cabinets, shelves of reference books, a large desk on which was an electric typewriter, a computer and a word-processor, a small hard chair against one wall and another more comfortable one behind the desk.

There was a girl sitting in it, a smallish person with a tidy head of mousy hair pinned severely into a bun, and an ordinary face whose small beaky nose and wide mouth were enlivened by large hazel eyes, fringed with a long set of curling lashes. She was typing with the ease of long practice, frowning over the sheet of handwriting beside her, but presently she stopped. The writing was by no means easy to read and she was used to that, but she had come to a halt. After a minute’s frustrated study she spoke her mind to the empty room.

‘Well, now what? Is it endometrioma or endometriosis? Why must he use such long words, and why wasn’t he taught to write properly?’ She sounded vexed, and for a good reason; it was long after five o’clock, the top floor, used by typists and clerks and administration staff, had become empty and quiet and she was lonely, hungry and getting rapidly more annoyed. ‘It’s all very well for him,’ she went on, talking out loud to keep her spirits up, ‘he’ll be home, with his feet up, while his wife gets his supper …’

‘Actually,’ said a deep slow voice from behind her, ‘he’s here, although the picture you paint of domestic bliss is tempting.’

The girl shot round in her chair, but before she could speak the man standing in the doorway went on, ‘I feel that I should apologise for my writing—it is, I’m afraid, too late to do much about that, and as for the long words, they are inevitable in our profession.’ He advanced into the room and stood looking down at her. ‘Why have I not seen you before now, and where is Miss Payne?’

She looked up at him with a touch of impatience, untroubled by the awe he engendered in the regular hospital staff. ‘Miss Payne is off sick—influenza.’ She cast an eye over the small pile of work still to be done. ‘And probably overwork, from the look of these.’

‘Your name?’ he asked with cold courtesy.

‘Serena Proudfoot.’ Her arched silky eyebrows asked the question she didn’t utter.

‘Dr ter Feulen.’

‘Oh, I’ve heard about you, you’re a Dutch baron as well …’ She smiled at him with the air of one ready to forgive him for that.

He was a handsome man, with grizzled hair and pale blue eyes as cold as a winter sea; moreover, he was a splendid height and broad-shouldered. Serena had only half believed the other girls who worked in administration and dealt with the medical correspondence when they had enthused about Dr ter Feulen, but she could see that they had been right. All the same, he appeared to be both arrogant and sarcastic. He ignored the remark and she stopped smiling.

‘You are from an agency?’ he queried.

‘Yes, just as a temporary until Miss Payne is well again. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get on …’

He didn’t move. ‘Why are you working late?’

A silly question, but she answered it patiently. ‘Because there was a backlog of your letters to be done and I was warned that you would expect them ready for your signature before you left the hospital.’

‘And are they ready?’

‘No, but if I can be left in peace to type them you can have them in half an hour.’

He laughed suddenly. ‘Have you been working long as a typist?’

‘Several years.’

‘But never in a hospital, that is obvious.’ He strolled back to the door. ‘Be good enough to bring them to the consultants’ room when you are ready, please. Perhaps no one told you that we don’t watch the clock in hospital. It is to be hoped that Miss Payne is soon back at her desk.’

He had gone before Serena could utter her heartfelt agreement.

She put a fresh sheet of paper into her machine. ‘And why did he have to come here in the first place?’ she demanded of the empty room.

‘Why, to see what had happened to my letters,’ observed Dr ter Feulen. He had returned and was standing in the doorway again. ‘I have come back to warn you that I have an outpatients’ clinic in the morning and you will have a good deal of work to do in consequence. So let us have no more grumbling about late hours; Miss Payne never uttered a word.’

‘More fool her,’ said Serena with spirit. She answered his goodnight with cold asperity.

It was almost an hour later when she covered her machine and turned out the lights. The consultants’ room was on the ground floor. She tapped on the door and, since no one answered, opened it and went in. There was only one small table light on and the large, gloomy room was dim. She laid the papers she had been typing on the ponderous centre table and turned to go again. A faint sound stopped her; Dr ter Feulen, his vast person stretched at ease in a leather armchair, his large feet, shod in the finest shoe leather, resting on a nearby coffee-table, was asleep and, without any loss of dignity, snoring gently. She stood and looked at him. He really was extremely good-looking, although now that she was able to study his face at her leisure, she could see that he was very tired.

She was tired too. She made her way from the room and out of the hospital and joined the queue at the nearest bus-stop.

She got off the bus at East Sheen and walked down a side street leading to a road lined with a terrace of red brick Edwardian villas, all very well kept. Halfway down she took out a key and let herself into the house through its pristine black-painted door, hung her coat in the narrow hall and went into the sitting-room. Her mother was there, sitting before a gas fire reading. She looked up as Serena went in.

‘You’re late.’ She glanced reproachfully at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘I just didn’t feel like getting the supper.’ She smiled charmingly at her daughter. ‘Aren’t I a lazy old mother? It’s cottage pie and you make such a good one, and if the oven’s on I thought you might make one of your fruit tarts.’

Serena crossed the rather shabby room and kissed her mother. ‘I’ll go and start the pie,’ was all she said. ‘I’m sorry if you’ve had a bad day.’

‘My nerves,’ said Mrs Proudfoot, ‘and all the worry of managing on the pension … If only your father had known …’

‘We manage quite well,’ replied Serena matter-of-factly. ‘The pension isn’t so bad, Mother, and there’s my money.’

‘Oh, I do know, darling, but you have no idea how unhappy I am when I think of all the things you’re missing … dances and theatres and trips abroad. You might have been married by now—you’re twenty-five …’

Mrs Proudfoot eyed her daughter with a look of resignation; how she had come to have this serious, rather plain girl who made no push to get herself a husband was something she couldn’t understand. She had been considered quite pretty as a girl, and even now in her fifties she was still that, or so she told herself. That a good deal of the pension went on cosmetics and hairdressers and pretty clothes was something she never dwelt on. Serena had an allowance from her salary—not a big one, it was true, but then at her age she didn’t need expensive creams and lotions, and since she worked in some dreary office for five days out of the seven, she didn’t need many clothes. Mrs Proudfoot, a good-natured woman as long as she had her own way, said kindly, ‘I saw such a pretty blouse today, just right for you, darling, it would cheer up your skirts.’ She picked up her book. ‘I won’t keep you gossiping, or we’ll never get supper.’

Serena went into the kitchen, peeled potatoes for the cottage pie, minced yesterday’s joint and, while the potatoes cooked, made pastry for the tart. She was tired, too tired to summon the energy to point out to her mother that she had had a long and exhausting day and a slow bus ride home, standing all the way. Besides, she loved her mother and quite understood that after years of being spoilt by her husband, she was quite unable to alter her way of life.

She made her pastry and thought about Dr ter Feulen. A very ill-tempered man, she reflected, possibly overworked, but there had been no need for him to have been quite so rude. He had looked very tired, sleeping in his chair. She wondered what his home life was like. With no wife he probably lived in a service flat and cooked lonely meals for himself, and that was why he had been so terse. She put the tart in the oven with the pie and went across the hall to set the table for their supper. It made a lot of extra work, fetching the cloth and napkins and cutlery and the crystal glasses her mother insisted on using, but as she had pointed out many times, standards had to be kept up at all costs. Serena, who ate a hasty breakfast in the small kitchen before she left for work, would have been quite happy to have eaten her supper there too.

They ate their supper presently while Mrs Proudfoot reminisced gently about earlier days. ‘We had old Sadie then,’ she reminded Serena. ‘Such a pity she decided to retire, she kept the house so well—if only my health were better!’ She sighed, and Serena asked sympathetically,

‘Have you had a bad day, Mother?’

‘My dear child, I seldom have a good one. Just the effort to go shopping and get myself a morsel to eat during the day exhausts me.’ Mrs Proudfoot contrived to look as though she were bravely combating ill health without complaint. ‘I’ll have a morsel more of that pie, darling, I’ve eaten almost nothing all day.’

It was hard to believe. She was plump and still pretty in her fifties, dressed with taste and at some expense and not lacking the attention of the hairdresser and the beauty salon, both of which took up a good deal of her empty days. While her husband had been alive there had been a nanny for Serena and someone to run the house, and as she was good-naturedly indolent by nature, it had never entered her head to alter her way of living. From time to time she deplored the fact that Serena had inherited none of her good looks, but it hadn’t entered her head to do anything about it. Serena had uncomplainingly taken a course of shorthand and typing and found herself a job so that there was enough money for her mother to continue to live more or less as she had always done. If, now and again, she wished for something more from life than she was getting, she stifled the thought.

‘I shall be late home tomorrow too,’ she told her mother. ‘This doctor whose work I’m doing warned me this evening.’

Mrs Proudfoot dismissed him with a wave of the hand. ‘How perfectly horrid of him! You should have told him that you’re needed at home in the evenings—that you have a mother in poor health.’

‘Yes—well, if I did, Mother, he would probably tell someone to get another typist until his usual one gets back from sick leave. The next job might be even more awkward …’

Mrs Proudfoot sighed. ‘Ah, well, I suppose I must manage. Perhaps I’ll go to that little restaurant in Albert Street and have a light meal.’ She added hastily, ‘You could make yourself an omelette when you get in?’

Serena said, without rancour, ‘Yes, Mother,’ and went to fetch the coffee.

The following morning passed very much as usual—letters and reports and accounts. Judging by the number of the latter, Serena guessed that Dr ter Feulen had a large practice. While she typed she mused; a doctor’s life would never be dull; anti-social hours, short nights perhaps, interrupted meals and tiresome patients. Very hard on their wives … She paused to think about that, but they wouldn’t be dull either, because no two days would be the same, unlike her own days which were, to say the least, monotonous.

She went to the canteen for her coffee with two of the other medical typists and then, mindful of Dr ter Feulen’s warning, went back to her desk. There were still a few odds and ends to clear up and she wanted to be ready for the mass of work he had predicted.

She had been sitting for perhaps five minutes, her desk tidied, her hands poised over the first short report, when the phone at the other end of the room rang.

Mrs Dunn, the senior and the least hard-working of the typists, picked it up, listened and put it down again. ‘Miss Proudfoot, you’re to go to OPD, and take your notebook with you. And look sharp, Dr ter Feulen doesn’t like to be kept waiting.’

Serena finished the report, laid it neatly on her desk, took her time getting notebook and pencil and got up without haste.

‘Do hurry, Miss Proudfoot!’ hissed Mrs Dunn. ‘Dr ter Feulen mustn’t be kept waiting; I’ve told you that already.’

‘Yes, Mrs Dunn.’ Serena, still without haste, began the tortuous journey through the hospital to the Outpatient Department. Dr ter Feulen had had ample time to warn her that she would be wanted in OPD, and if he thought she would come running the moment he wanted her, he must think again!

He was in his consulting-room, looking at X-rays with his registrar, and Serena paused inside the door to ask, ‘You sent for me, sir?’

He looked over his shoulder. ‘Ah, Miss Proudfoot, you will be good enough to take notes of the patients, together with their names and case sheet numbers, get them typed out and let me have them this evening.’

‘If I can get them finished by then,’ observed Serena matter-of-factly. ‘It depends on how many patients there are, doesn’t it?’

‘In that case it will be necessary for you to remain until you have finished, will it not?’ He raised thick eyebrows. ‘I believe I warned you that you might have to work late today.’

‘So you did,’ said Serena cheerfully. ‘Is this where I’m to work?’

The eyebrows stayed up, and judging by the look on the registrar’s face she wasn’t behaving as Miss Payne would have done. ‘Yes, this is the place. Be good enough to sit on that chair over there. If you are uncertain about anything you are to say so at once. I doubt if you have the same high standards of medical knowledge as Miss Payne has.’

‘Well, no, I don’t suppose I have, but then she’s been at it for twenty years, hasn’t she?’ She gave him a friendly smile. ‘I dare say I’ll be as good in twenty years’ time.’

Outpatients Sister came in then and Serena settled on to her hard chair, pencil poised, looking efficient, while her thoughts wandered. It seemed to her that Dr ter Feulen was a crusty bachelor, much in need of a wife and children to bring out the softer side of his nature; he must have one buried away somewhere under that bitingly cold manner.

Surprisingly it came to light during the morning’s session. It was a different man sitting at the desk now, listening patiently to his patients, women of all ages, reassuring them that they hadn’t got cancer, examining them at length and laying before them the treatments they needed.

Serena’s pencil flew over the pages, occasionally faltering at some long-winded word which escaped her knowledge. All the same, when Dr ter Feulen asked her between patients, ‘You are getting all this down, Miss Proudfoot?’ she said composedly,

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

When the clinic was over she would ask the registrar about the words she hadn’t managed to get down.

It was almost two o’clock when the last patient went away and Sister and one of the nurses started clearing up. Dr ter Feulen and his registrar got to their feet and started for the door. Serena stayed where she was, praying silently that they would part company, so that she could get the registrar on his own, but instead of that Dr ter Feulen paused in the doorway, then walked back to her.

‘Well, what didn’t you get down?’

It annoyed her that he took it for granted that she hadn’t been able to cope. She reeled off several words she had been unable to spell and added with some spirit, ‘I’ve done my best, sir, but please remember that I’m not Miss Payne.’

She saw the registrar’s face out of the corner of her eye. Shocked horror were the only words to describe it, and then she heard Sister’s hissed breath. It struck her that she wasn’t at all suitable to work for a leading consultant in a famous teaching hospital. She didn’t stand in suitable awe of him, so it was perhaps a good thing that Miss Payne would be back shortly and she could return to her typing agency and be given a job in a warehouse or a factory, typing invoices against a background of uninhibited voices.

‘The words?’ asked Dr ter Feulen. ‘Kindly repeat them.’

She did, and with a brief nod he went away, leaving her to gather up her notebook and pencil and go to the canteen. Midday dinner was long over. She had some soup and a roll and a pot of tea, and then hurried back to her desk. She had enough work to keep her busy until the evening.

She hadn’t finished when the other typists went home at half-past five. A nearby church clock had struck six when the phone rang. ‘Bring your work down to the consultants’ room when it is finished, Miss Proudfoot.’

He hung up before she could so much as breathe a ‘yes, sir’.

Half an hour later, dressed in her outdoor things, she knocked on the door and was bidden to enter. He was sitting at the table, writing, but rather to her surprise he got up as she went in.

‘Ah, thank you, Miss Proudfoot.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I trust your evening has not been spoiled.’

Serena assured him that it hadn’t. ‘I hardly ever go out in the evening,’ she told him chattily, disposed to be friendly since he was still working himself. Speaking her thought out loud, she added, ‘Well, you’re not as tired as you were last night—you were asleep, you know, and snoring just a little. Had you had a busy day?’

He regarded her with some surprise. ‘Yes, I had. Tell me, Miss Proudfoot, do you take an interest in everyone you meet?’

‘Well, yes, most people.’ She saw him frown. ‘You think I’m being nosy and I suppose I ought to treat you with respect—you are a senior consultant. I must try and remember that while I’m here.’

‘It might be as well! Goodnight, Miss Proudfoot, and thank you.’

‘Goodnight, sir. I should go home and have an early night if you can—you look tired, almost as tired as you did yesterday.’

She closed the door quietly as she went out and forgot him while she racked her brains for a suitable meal to cook when she got home; something quick, but it would have to be tempting because of her mother’s poor appetite …

Dr ter Feulen resumed his seat but made no attempt to continue his writing. He sat looking at nothing in particular, and presently he smiled.

Mrs Proudfoot was out of sorts when Serena got home. ‘Really, darling,’ she began as soon as Serena put her head round the sitting-room door, ‘this is too bad; I’ve been alone all day!’

Serena kissed her mother’s cheek. ‘You went out for a meal?’

‘Well, yes, but that’s not the point. I’m really not well enough to be left alone for hours on end.’ Her mother’s pretty face puckered like a child’s and Serena made haste to say,

‘Well, as far as I know, I’ll be home on time tomorrow, and the day after is Saturday.’

Her mother brightened. ‘Ah, yes, I’ve asked one or two people in for the evening, so we might have a rubber or two of bridge. If you’d make some of those dear little savoury biscuits we could have coffee …’

‘Yes, of course, and now how about an omelette? And could we eat it in the kitchen? It’s a bit late and I’ve had quite a busy day.’

Mrs Proudfoot sighed. ‘Well, just this once, although I do deplore this slovenly way of eating in the kitchen.’

Saturday morning was always set aside for shopping. Mrs Proudfoot liked to go into Richmond and have coffee at one or other of the smart cafés, and then after a leisurely stroll around the boutiques and dress shops she would visit an art gallery or have more coffee with acquaintances while Serena did the household shopping.

Serena, a laden basket on one arm, examining cauliflowers at the greengrocer’s, failed to see Dr ter Feulen, driving his Bentley Turbo RLWB down the busy street. But he saw her, and although he didn’t slacken speed he had ample time to note the shopping basket.

Three people came in that evening to play bridge, Mrs Pratt from the residential hotel near the river, Mr Twill who owned an antique shop in Richmond and Mr King, a retired civil servant who had spent a good deal of his life in foreign parts and never tired of talking of them. The four of them settled down to play, and Serena busied herself with drinks and presently went away to make coffee and arrange the savoury biscuits and some sandwiches on plates. It had never been suggested that she should play, and, since she was hopeless at the game, she accepted this as reasonable, and if sometimes she wished that her Saturday evenings were a little more entertaining she never voiced the thought.

Presently she settled down in a chair by the window, ready with a polite reply if any of the players spoke to her while she knitted a mohair cardigan for her mother; the fine wool made her sneeze and covered everything in fairylike threads. While she knitted she allowed her thoughts to stray. Since her teens she had known that she had no looks to speak of, and that had made her shy with people of her own age. Moreover, she had never mastered the airy, amusing chatter which her friends seemed to have acquired without any effort. She had friends, but somehow the pleasant social life they enjoyed had passed her by, largely because her mother had so often hindered her from taking part in it—never with obvious intention, but the sight of her mother with a woebegone face, pleading with her not to take any notice of the migraine which she was suffering, but to go out and enjoy herself; or a sad face bravely smiling at the prospect of a lonely evening, had had their effect over the years. Serena stayed at home or, if her mother went to a cinema or theatre, went with her. That couldn’t stop her dreaming—impossible dreams, she was the first to admit, in which some handsome man would meet her and fall instantly in love and marry her. He would have a charming home and money enough so that if she wanted new clothes—fashionable ones, not the sober, hard-wearing ones she bought now—she could walk into a boutique and indulge her choice, and there would be children, nice cuddly babies, and someone to help in the house.

She was aroused from these pleasant thoughts by her mother’s voice. ‘Darling, we would all love some more coffee and some more of those dear little sandwiches you make so nicely.’

The evening ended, Serena tidied up, saw her mother to bed and went to her own room. It was a lovely night. Ready for bed, swathed in her dressing-gown, she opened her window wide and looked up at the sky. It was bright with stars and the light of the enormous moon creeping slowly above the housetops.

She addressed the moon softly. ‘It’s funny to think that you’re shining down on all kinds of people. It would be nice to know who else is looking at you this very minute.’

Dr ter Feulen was one of them, pausing to look up as he strode across the hospital courtyard to his car after the emergency operation he had just performed and which had made havoc of his evening. He was tired, and for no reason at all he remembered the neat, plain girl with the lovely eyes who had bidden him have an early night. She would be in bed long ago, he reflected; it was easy to imagine the staid well-ordered life she led. A little moonlight might do her a great deal of good. He laughed at the thought, got into the car and drove himself home.

It was towards the end of the following week that Serena, once more working late, had another visit from Dr ter Feulen. He came without warning, and she stopped typing and sat, her hands in her lap, waiting for what she felt sure was coming. The excellent Miss Payne would be returning and she would no longer be needed. She was surprised how the thought depressed her, for she hadn’t found the work easy at the hospital. Dr ter Feulen was hardly the easiest of taskmasters; in fact he was impatient, frequently ill-tempered and a perfectionist who expected everyone else to be perfect. She watched him cross the room towards her and wondered why he should be the one to tell her and not Mrs Dunn. After all, he had nothing to do with engaging the administrative staff, permanent or otherwise.

Dr ter Feulen drew up a chair and sat down opposite to her, wishing her an austere good evening as he did so.

‘Good evening, sir,’ said Serena, and added in a businesslike voice, ‘I haven’t finished your letters. Do you want me to take them anywhere for you to sign?’ She glanced at the clock and added tartly, ‘I’ll be another fifteen minutes, provided I’m not interrupted.’

‘I am interrupting you, but for a good reason, Miss Proudfoot. I have been to see Miss Payne. She has decided to retire and I have come to offer you her job.’

Serena stared at him, her eyes round with amazement. ‘Me? Do Miss Payne’s work? I couldn’t possibly! She never uttered a word, you said, and I grumble—besides, you don’t …’ She paused and went a rather pretty pink.

‘Like you?’ He studied her face, alight with surprise and near-panic, and reflected that a few similar shocks would do much to improve her looks. ‘Liking has very little to do with it. Let me tell you something, Miss Proudfoot. Miss Payne, as you so succinctly put it, never uttered a word at her awkward hours, but she wasn’t afraid of me. You aren’t afraid of me either, are you?’

She thought about it. ‘No, I don’t think I am.’

‘Good. Then that’s settled. You don’t need to see anyone about it, I’ll attend to the details. You will be better paid, of course.’ He got up from his chair. ‘Oh, and I shall be returning to Holland in two weeks’ time. I have a series of lectures to give and as I’m a consultant at several hospitals there I shall be operating for several weeks. I am also writing a book. I shall want you with me, of course.’

Serena was speechless, while a variety of feelings engulfed her. To travel; see a little of the world, even if it was only a few hundred miles across the North Sea, meet people—she would need new clothes. She said in a bemused voice, ‘Aren’t you coming back here?’

‘Of course. Most of my work is here.’

‘Surely you can’t write a book and operate and lecture, not all at once?’

‘Yes, I can, and I shall expect you to type notes, letters and whatever, answer the phone, check my appointments and type my book. Miss Payne could and did; I see no reason why you shouldn’t do it too—you’re a good deal younger, for a start.’

Serena frowned. Miss Payne was obviously nearing retirement age, so to be told that she was a good deal younger wasn’t much of a compliment. Dr ter Faulen read the frown unerringly. ‘You are twenty-five, half a lifetime younger than Muriel …’

‘Muriel? Oh, Miss Payne. Well, may I think about it? I mean, I’d have to …’ She stopped suddenly and a look of dismay on her face caused him to go back to his chair and sit down again. His ‘Well?’ was uttered with just the right amount of interest and sympathy.

‘I can’t. Truly, I can’t. You see, there’s Mother …’

‘Widowed?’ and when she nodded, ‘She is ill?’

‘No, just—well, just—delicate.’

‘Why is that? She has a heart condition? A chest condition? Diabetes? Arthritis?’ He fired the words at her and she blinked.

‘No, no, nothing like that. She suffers from nerves, she finds it difficult to do things …’

‘Housework, shopping and so forth?’

‘Yes.’

He sighed gently. Selfish widows with loving daughters were still only too common, and this small, neat girl with the beautiful eyes deserved something more in life. He said slowly, ‘In that case we might kill two birds with one stone. Miss Payne, when she accompanied me, had lodgings close to the hospital and came to work just as she did here. There is no reason why your mother should not accompany you and stay at these same lodgings. I shall be in Amsterdam for most of the time, and there is plenty to see and do there.’

‘She doesn’t understand Dutch—nor do I.’

‘My dear girl, almost everyone in Holland speaks English.’

He watched excited hope chase away the dismay. ‘Oh, do you really mean that?’

‘I always say what I mean. Go home and talk it over with your mother and let me know tomorrow morning.’

He got up for a second time and this time, with a nod and a casual goodnight, went away.

She finished her work, tidied her desk and wondered what she should do with the sheaf of letters waiting to be signed. She was hesitating whether to phone the consultants’ room when the head porter rang up. She was to leave everything with him and Dr ter Feulen would collect his letters later.

She handed in her work and hurried to catch her bus, rehearsing what she would say to her mother. Her spirits sank as she neared home—her mother would never consent to the upheaval in her well-ordered life. She let herself into her home, resigned to disappointment but all the same determined to do her best to persuade her parent that a change of scene would do her a great deal of good.

She cast off her outdoor things in the hall and went into the sitting-room.

Her mother was sitting at her writing desk, pen poised. ‘There you are, darling. What splendid news—I’ve had such a long chat on the telephone with Dr ter Feulen. He sounds a delightful man—apologised for keeping you so late and told me how much he depends upon your assistance. And this marvellous job you’re to take over, and going to Holland too! I can hardly wait. He is of the opinion that a change of scene is just what is needed for someone as delicate as I am.’

Her mother paused for breath and Serena said in a voice she strove to keep calm, ‘He rang up? So you know all about it? And you’d like to go? It won’t be too much for you, Mother?’

‘Certainly not! It will probably take a few days for me to get over the journey, but I will willingly tire myself out for you, darling. I’m making a list of the clothes I shall need … Have you had supper? I’ve been so busy … Could you get us something now? I must keep up what strength I have.’ She looked at Serena. ‘You look a bit white, dear. You need a meal too, I dare say.’

‘Mother, I haven’t said I’d take the job yet.’

Her mother gave her an outraged look. ‘Darling, why ever not? What a funny little thing you are! Why ever not?’

‘I wasn’t sure if you would like the idea.’

Her mother laughed. ‘Darling, I love the idea! Tell me, how old is this Dr ter Feulen?’

‘I don’t know—about thirty-five or -six, I should think.’

‘Married?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ A fib, and she wasn’t sure why she had said it.

‘Well, we’re bound to get to know a lot of people in Amsterdam. Pour me a glass of sherry, will you, Serena? I need the stimulant.’

There was little opportunity to think her own thoughts that evening. Mrs Proudfoot made plans, discussed clothes and speculated as to the pleasures in store.

‘Mother, it won’t be quite like a holiday,’ Serena warned carefully. ‘I shall be working very hard every day, so you’ll be on your own for a great deal of the time.’

‘I’m on my own every day now, darling, and deadly boring it is too. If only I had your health and strength.’

They got to bed at last, and Serena lay awake for a long time wondering if she had done the right thing, or rather if the right thing had been done for her, for she had had little say in the matter.

She wasn’t sure if she was pleased at the doctor’s intervention either. He had forced her hand and there was no going back now, for her mother was determined to go. All the same, when she saw him in the morning she would tell him that he had no right to interfere. On this firm resolution she at last slept.

CHAPTER TWO

SERENA was still firmly resolved to speak her mind to the doctor when she went to work in the morning. It was unfortunate that it wasn’t until the end of the day that she had the opportunity to do so.

She was on the way to the side entrance she normally used when she came face to face with him. She slid to a halt and said briskly, ‘Oh, good, I wanted to see you, Dr ter Feulen.’

He stood in front of her, blocking the way. ‘Ah, Miss Proudfoot, should I be greatly flattered at your eagerness to see me again?’ He paused and looked at her earnest, rather cross face. ‘No, that is too much to expect. I have annoyed you?’

She suspected that he was laughing at her. ‘I think it was most—most unfair of you to telephone my mother before I’d had a chance to talk to her. I haven’t said I’ll take the job, have I? So what right have you to—to—to …!’

‘Interfere?’ he suggested helpfully. ‘Meddle in your affairs? No right at all. My intentions were purely selfish. After some years of Muriel’s calm acceptance of my ill humour, impatience and bad handwriting, I have been terrified of engaging her successor. Who knows what foibles she might have? A desire to finish her work at the correct time, an inability to ignore my bad temper, a desire to answer back pertly as well as a failure to spell correctly.’ He smiled at her and she found herself smiling back. ‘You are the nearest thing to Miss Payne that I have met.’

A kind of compliment, Serena decided, and warmed just a little towards him. But only for a moment. ‘You are unobtrusive,’ he went on. ‘There is nothing about you to distract my attention from my work—’

‘Just like Miss Payne,’ said Serena through her teeth.

‘Exactly so, and I must remind you that a change of scene may be a help to your mother and aid her to overcome her ill health. She seemed delighted at the idea.’

Serena, hanging on to politeness by the skin of her teeth, agreed that that was so.

He smiled again, looking faintly smug, and she longed to refuse the job out of hand, but the thought of her mother stopped her. She said reluctantly, ‘Very well, I’ll work for you, Dr ter Feulen.’

‘Splendid.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘And since I have kept you talking I will drive you home and make the acquaintance of your mother.’

She opened her mouth to protest, and closed it again. Getting the better of him was like getting the better of a feather mattress with a solid core of steel.

Her annoyance was very slightly mitigated by the pleasure of riding in a Bentley, but not sufficient for her to do more than answer his casual talk with monosyllables. She opened her front door and said with false politeness, ‘Do come in, Dr ter Feulen,’ and flattened herself against the wall to allow his considerable bulk to get past her.

Her mother’s voice sounded thinly from the sitting-room. ‘Serena? You’re late again, darling—I hope you’ve thought of something nice for my supper, I’m far too exhausted to do anything about it. Perhaps a glass of sherry …?’

The doctor glanced at Serena’s face, which was a little pale and weary after a day’s work. He had been right in his surmise about her mother; a selfish woman, not unkind but quite uncaring of anyone but herself. He put a large hand on her shoulder and smiled a little, and she stifled an urge to fling herself on to his big chest and have a good cry.

‘Come and meet Mother,’ she invited in a small controlled voice.

The doctor had charm. He also had guile and the self-assurance to deal with difficult situations without anyone else realising the fact. Within half an hour, over a glass of sherry, he had arranged matters exactly to his liking, with Mrs Proudfoot agreeing to every word, and although he had included Serena in the conversation she was bound to admit later that she had been given no opportunity to say anything much. The whole matter had been settled by the time he took his leave.

The moment he had gone Mrs Proudfoot went back to her desk. ‘My dear,’ she exclaimed excitedly, ‘this is all so thrilling—and so little time! I shall need several more dresses. Be a darling and start the supper while I go over my list.’

Over supper Mrs Proudfoot discussed the trip. She had for the moment overlooked the fact that it was to be no social round. She was envisaging days packed with outings, theatres and little dinners. In none of these plans did Serena figure.

‘Mother,’ said Serena, matter-of-factly, ‘I don’t suppose it will be quite as exciting as you suppose. We don’t know a soul in Holland—’ she ignored her mother’s quick ‘Dr ter Feulen,’ ‘—I shall be away all day, and I imagine that the lodgings the doctor has in mind will be fairly quiet.’

Her mother made a pouting face. ‘Darling, you are so prosaic! It’s the chance of a lifetime, and you might at least be pleased about it and not spoil my pleasure by boring on about your work.’ She patted Serena’s arm and smiled beguilingly. ‘Serena, don’t mind me saying this, but I am your mother and I want the best for you. Take care you don’t become a prig—sometimes you’re too good to be true.’

She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘There, don’t I sound horrid? But I say it for your own good. You don’t want to spend all your life in a dull office, do you?’ She patted her carefully arranged curls. ‘Besides, I might marry again.’

Serena, the memory of whose father was still a well-hidden sorrow, poured coffee and handed her mother a cup. ‘Anyone I know?’ she asked.

‘Well, no, dear, but I flatter myself that I’m still fairly youthful as well as being good company, and who knows, I might meet someone I like in Holland.’

Perhaps she had done the wrong thing in agreeing to take on the new job, thought Serena worriedly, and when, some days later, she met Dr ter Feulen at the hospital, she begged a moment of his time, and when he paused impatiently with a politely curt, ‘Well, what can I do for you?’ she wasted no time in coming to the point.

‘I don’t think it will help Mother at all to go to Holland,’ she said, not mincing matters. ‘She leads such a quiet life, and she’s delicate …’

‘Since you were worried about your mother’s health, Miss Proudfoot, I made a point of visiting her. And as we are speaking plainly, I must tell you that I formed the opinion that there is nothing the matter with your mother. Her health would improve immediately if she were to take up some occupation—housework, cooking, voluntary work of some kind. If that sounds to you harsh I do not mean it to be so. I have no doubt that during the weeks she will be in Amsterdam she will find friends and perhaps involve herself in some activity or other.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Forgive me, I’m due in theatre.’

Not a very satisfactory conversation, reflected Serena.

She was kept busy at home as well as at work. She had been unable to discover for how long they would be away, but all the same all the particulars appertaining to the closing of the house had to be attended to, arrangements had to be made at the bank so that her mother’s pension could be transferred and passports renewed, which didn’t leave much time over for her own shopping.

It was October now and, although the pleasant autumn weather still held, there was a nip in the air and yet it might not be cold enough for a winter coat. She dug into her savings and got herself a short wool coat in a pleasing shade of aubergine and found a pleated skirt in a matching check. An outsize cream sweater and a couple of blouses completed the outfit and would, she considered, stand her in good stead for the duration of her stay in Holland. A dark green jersey dress, by no means new but a useful addition to her wardrobe, and a brown velveteen dress, very plain but nicely cut, a raincoat, a pair of court shoes and a sensible pair of walking shoes would, she considered, be sufficient for her needs, although at the last minute she added a thick tweed skirt and a rather elderly anorak as well as woolly gloves and a woolly cap. Mrs Dunn had told her that Miss Payne, on a previous visit to Holland, had suffered badly from nipped fingers and cold ears.

Her mother’s wardrobe was much more varied and very large and certainly there was enough to cover the entire winter, but Serena forbore from remarking on this after a first attempt which had ended in her mother saying pettishly that it was obvious that she wasn’t wanted and she might as well stay at home alone as she always was. ‘After all I’ve done for you,’ she ended, and Serena, soothing her back to a good humour, sighed to herself. A good and loving daughter, nevertheless sometimes she longed to have her freedom; to lead her own life and make friends of her own age. She had friends, of course, but nowadays they were either married and living miles away or living on their own with splendid jobs entailing a good deal of travelling and meeting important people. From time to time they had suggested to her that she might share a flat and find a job, but her mother had made that impossible; not by standing in her way but by becoming pale and silent and pathetically cheerful about the future. She would, of course, manage, she told Serena. She would sell their home, of course, for she could never manage to run it alone, and she would find one of those flats where there was a warden to look after one if one became ill and didn’t wish to worry one’s family. There wouldn’t be much money, of course, without Serena’s contribution, but she had no doubt that she would contrive. And all this said with a brave smile and a wistful droop that wrung Serena’s heart and squashed any hopes of a life of her own.

It was several days after her conversation with Dr ter Feulen that she found a letter on her desk when she arrived at work—a typed letter setting out the day on which she and her mother were to travel and from where. They were to fly, and she would receive their tickets in due course. They would be met at Schiphol airport and taken to the boarding-house where rooms had been reserved for them. She was to report for work on the following morning at eight o’clock. Her timetable would be at the boarding-house. He had signed it M. Dijkstra ter Feulen.

When Serena got home she showed her mother the letter. Mrs Proudfoot was put out. ‘I can’t see why we couldn’t go over to Holland in his car! He must be going at about the same time. With my poor health all this business of getting to Heathrow and flying to Amsterdam is bound to upset my nerves.’

Serena held her tongue. The doctor had made it plain that he considered that her mother was as fit as the next woman, but he had spoken in confidence. Perhaps when the time was right, he would suggest that she should change her lifestyle. ‘Possibly he’ll travel at an awkward time,’ she suggested tactfully.

It was two days before they were due to leave that she heard quite by accident that he had already left the hospital. ‘Left late last night,’ Mrs Dunn told her, ‘and he’s not expected back for several weeks, so Theatre Sister tells me, although there are several cases lined up for him before Christmas.’ She eyed Serena curiously. ‘Don’t you know how long you’ll be gone?’

‘Not exactly. It depends on his work in Holland.’

‘Oh, well, you’re a lucky girl, stepping into Miss Payne’s shoes and getting a chance to travel a bit. Mind you, he expects a lot from his secretary. Miss Payne was with him for quite a time, it’ll be hard to live up to her standards …’

Not a very cheering prospect, but one Serena was prepared to ignore. However hard she would have to work she would be in a foreign country and she intended to make the most of it. Moreover, from the moment she stepped on to Dutch soil, she would be earning considerably more money. If they were back home for Christmas, and she was sure that they would be, they would be able to go to a theatre or two, and buy all the extras which made all the difference at the festive season, perhaps have a day shopping at her mother’s favourite stores … ‘I’ll do my best,’ she assured Mrs Dunn cheerfully.

Mrs Proudfoot had insisted on a taxi to Heathrow, an expense which Serena could well have done without, and, once there, her mother complained about having time to wait for their flight, the coffee, the lack of comfortable seats and how exhausted she was. Serena, occupied with luggage, tickets and passports, bit back impatient words, assured her mother that once they were on the plane everything would be fine, and so it was. The flight was brief, the coffee and biscuits they were offered passed the time very nicely and in no time at all they were at Schiphol.

There was a tricky delay while Serena fetched their bags from the carousel and a few anxious moments wondering if they would be met, quickly forgotten when an elderly man approached them. ‘Mrs Proudfoot and Miss Proudfoot? Dr Dijkstra ter Feulen wished me to meet you. My name is Cor, if you will please follow me.’

He was a sturdily built man and made light of their suitcases, walking ahead of them out of the airport entrance and leading them to a dark blue Jaguar. He opened the car door and ushered them in, put their bags in the boot and got into the driver’s seat.

‘A drive of half an hour,’ he told them, and started the car.

Mrs Proudfoot had stopped complaining, for there was nothing to complain about—indeed, she became quite animated as they neared Amsterdam, exclaiming over the churches, old houses and canals once they had gone through the modern encircling suburbs. Cor stopped finally in a narrow street with blocks of flats interspersed with solid houses, built of red brick round the turn of the century. It was to one of these that he led them, rang the bell and waited with them until the door opened. The woman who answered it was middle-aged and stout, with a pleasant face and small beady eyes.

‘The English ladies,’ she greeted them. ‘Welcome. Come in, please.’

Her English was as good as Cor’s but heavily accented. She spoke to him in their own tongue and he went to the car and fetched the luggage and put it in the hall. ‘I wish you a pleasant stay,’ he told them, and Mrs Proudfoot smiled graciously.

Serena shook his hand and thanked him. ‘It was so nice to be met by someone who speaks English; it all seems a bit strange, and we are most grateful.’ She started to open her purse, but he laid a large beefy hand on hers.

‘No, no, miss. That is not necessary—the doctor has arranged all …’

He gave her a beaming smile, said something to their landlady and went away.

‘So, now we will go to your rooms. My name is Mevrouw Blom and I am glad to know you. Come …’

Serena picked up one of their cases and Mevrouw Blom took the other two, while Mrs Proudfoot carried her umbrella. The stairs leading from the narrow hall were steep, covered in serviceable carpeting and led to a narrow landing. Mevrouw Blom opened two of the three doors and waved Serena and her mother into the rooms. They were identical as to furniture: a bed, a table under the narrow window with a small mirror, a small easy chair, a small table by the bed and a large, old-fashioned wardrobe. The floors were wooden, with rugs by the beds and under the windows. There were overhead lights as well as bedside lamps and a radiator against one wall in each room. ‘You will tidy yourselves,’ said Mevrouw Blom cheerfully, ‘and then return to the room below and take coffee.’

‘The bathroom?’ asked Serena.

‘Ah, yes—there is a shower-room.’ The third door was opened to show a tiled shower-room with a washbasin.

Mevrouw Blom went back downstairs and Mrs Proudfoot turned to Serena. ‘I thought it would have been a hotel,’ she complained peevishly. ‘It’s nothing but a cheap boarding-house!’

‘Mother, it’s clean and warm and quite nicely furnished, and you mustn’t forget that the doctor is paying for both of us; he had to pay for me, I know, but he needn’t have done so for you.’ She kissed her mother. ‘Let’s tidy ourselves and go downstairs.’

Mevrouw Blom was waiting for them and ushered them into a large room which opened into a second smaller room at the back of the house. Both rooms were well furnished with comfortable chairs, small tables, and, in the smaller of the rooms, several tables were laid for a meal. Mrs Proudfoot brightened at the sight of the TV in one corner and the closed stove in the larger of the rooms. She sat down in a chair close to it while Mrs Blom poured coffee and handed cups with small sugary biscuits. The coffee was delicious and she sipped it. Perhaps it wasn’t too bad …

‘I have a letter for you, miss,’ said Mevrouw Blom, ‘from Dr Dijkstra ter Feulen. He tells me you go to work at eight o’clock, therefore there is breakfast for you at half-past seven. The hospital is five minutes’ walking—I will show you. You eat your supper here each evening and if you are late that is OK.’ She chuckled. ‘Miss Payne, when she was here, was sometimes late, but that is not important.’

She poured more coffee and Serena, with a murmured excuse, sat down near the window to read her letter.

It was a cold businesslike missive, but she hadn’t expected anything else. She was to present herself at the porter’s lodge at eight o’clock, where she would be taken to the room where she was to work. She was to be prepared to go to the wards, outpatients’ clinic or the theatre block, and she should familiarise herself with the hospital at the earliest opportunity. Here her normal working day would end at five o’clock with an hour for lunch, but these hours might be varied. He was hers, M. Dijkstra ter Feulen. At least she supposed the unreadable scrawl was his.

She folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. He might have expressed the hope that she would like her work, or something equally civil. He was not a man to waste words on polite nothings, however. To her mother’s enquiry as to the contents of the envelope, she replied in her calm way that it only contained instructions as to her work. ‘I shall be away all day, Mother, so for the time being don’t plan anything for the evenings, as Dr ter Feulen mentions that I may need to work late. I shall know more when I’ve been there for a day or two.’

Her mother was prepared to argue, but at that moment several people came into the room and Mevrouw Blom with them.

‘These ladies and gentlemen are also staying here,’ she explained. ‘I make them known to you now.’

There were two middle-aged ladies, stout and well dressed, who smiled broadly, shook hands and murmured.

‘They tell their names,’ said Mevrouw Blom. ‘Mevrouw Lagerveld and Mevrouw van Til, and the gentlemen …’

Mijnheer van Til shook hands and spoke, to Serena’s relief, in English. ‘I am charmed, now I may exercise my English?’ and Mijnheer Lagerveld, shaking hands in his turn, essayed a few words with the excuse that his English was poor.

‘Here we have a surprise,’ chimed in Mevrouw Blom, looking pleased with herself. ‘This is Mr Harding, from England, who stays with me while he studies the old houses of Amsterdam.’

He was a thin man of middle height, nice-looking with grey hair and mild blue eyes. Serena guessed him to be in his early sixties.

‘This is a most pleasant surprise,’ he observed as he shook hands. ‘I hope you’ll be staying for some time.’

Mrs Proudfoot smiled charmingly. ‘Oh, I think so. My daughter is to work at the hospital for some weeks and I’ve come with her—my doctor considered a change of scene might improve my health.’

She looked round her and sighed with pleasure. Perhaps it wasn’t such a cheap boarding-house after all. Here was company, people she could talk to, and Mr Harding looked quite promising …

Serena left them presently and went upstairs to unpack her things, and then, since her mother had done nothing about her own luggage, unpacked for her, too, hung everything tidily away in the wardrobe and went back to her room to read the doctor’s letter again. If she had hoped to read a little warmth into it she failed.

The evening meal was at six o’clock—a substantial one of soup, meatballs, vegetables and potatoes, followed by blancmange. Mrs Proudfoot, who normally pecked at the kind of invalid diet she had devised for herself, ate everything, explaining to Mr Harding that after their tiring journey she needed to keep up her strength. It surprised and pleased Serena to see her mother so animated, and indeed, when she suggested that she must be tired and an early night might be advisable, Mrs Proudfoot said prettily that she was enjoying the company far too much to leave it so early and advised Serena to go to bed herself. ‘For I dare say you’ll have a busy day, darling.’ She put up her cheek for Serena to kiss. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening, you leave far too early in the morning.’ She smiled around the room. ‘I sleep badly and usually doze off just as everyone else is getting up!’

Serena wished everyone goodnight and climbed the steep stairs once more, had a shower, set her alarm clock, and then climbed into bed. It was altogether a relief that her mother seemed happy, and it was providential that there was the English Mr Harding for her to talk to. He would probably have the leisure to spend some time with her; at least he would be there to talk to her at meals. Serena burrowed her mousy head into the large square pillow and went to sleep.

When she went downstairs soon after seven o’clock the next morning she found Mevrouw Blom waiting for her. The rooms were spotless, the tables laid for breakfast, the stove already lighted.

‘You sleep well?’ asked Mevrouw Blom. ‘I bring coffee and rolls if you will sit.’

Serena wasn’t very hungry, she was too excited for that, but she managed to eat the boiled egg and a roll and cheese and drink the contents of the coffee-pot. No one had mentioned arrangements for her midday meal. Perhaps she was expected to go into the town for it, or return to Mevrouw Blom, but at the moment her lunch was the least important of her thoughts; she was more concerned in getting to the hospital and being where Dr ter Feulen expected her to be by eight o’clock.

The hospital was very close by, indeed she could see it looming over the housetops as she went out of the front door, and once there, with ten minutes to spare, she went to the porter’s lodge and gave her name.

The porter was elderly with a craggy face and a neat fringe of hair around his bald head. He answered her good morning with a remark in his own tongue and picked up the telephone. Since the conversation meant nothing to her, Serena took a look around her. The hospital entrance was imposing, with a paved floor and a wide sweeping staircase opposite the doors. They led to a landing lined with lifts as far as she could see, and then branched on either side to the floor above.

‘Wait, if you please,’ said the porter in very bad English, and turned back to sorting the letters.

So she waited, one eye on the enormous clock above the stairs; it was five minutes to eight and she didn’t care to arrive late on her first morning. The minute hand had moved to four minutes before a stout woman with iron-grey hair and a severe expression came from somewhere at the back of the hall.

‘Miss Proudfoot—good morning. You are to come with me.’ She looked Serena over. ‘You are a good deal younger than Miss Payne …’ She held out a hand. ‘Juffrouw Staal.’

‘Serena Proudfoot,’ said Serena, and smiled hopefully. But all Juffrouw Staal did was to nod her head briskly and lead the way to the back of the hall and through a door. There was a stone staircase beyond it and she started up it, saying over her shoulder,

‘You will come this way each day, you will not need to speak to the porter.’

They climbed to the third floor and went through a swing-door into a wide passage with rooms opening from it on either side. Almost at the end of it Juffrouw Staal stopped. ‘Dr ter Feulen comes to this room to dictate his letters and give you his instructions. You will also be required to go to the wards and clinics if he wishes to record some of his cases.’

She indicated the desk and chair set under the window. ‘You will go for your coffee at ten o’clock. The canteen is on the ground floor—someone will show you. You will also lunch there at fifteen minutes past twelve. You may have ten minutes for tea, and that is at half-past three. The cloakrooms are at the end of this corridor.’

Serena thanked her. ‘You speak English awfully well,’ she said.

Miss Staal unbent very slightly. ‘I have lived in your country for a year or so. You will be here only a short time, but I advise you to learn a few basic phrases as soon as possible.’

She nodded and went away, leaving Serena to take the cover off her typewriter, look into the drawers and cupboards and make sure that her pencils were sharpened, and, that done, she went to the window to look out over the neighbouring streets. It was a grey morning and there was a mean wind, but the city looked interesting from where she stood, looking down on to its roofs.

‘I suppose I stay here until someone comes, and let’s hope that’s soon—he might turn nasty if I’m late.’ She had spoken out loud, as she so often did when she was alone, and a slight sound made her turn round in a hurry.

Dr ter Feulen had come into the room. He gave her an unsmiling good morning and added, ‘Since you’re not late I can see no reason to turn nasty. You have a poor opinion of me, Miss Proudfoot.’

She had gone pink, but she didn’t avoid his eye. ‘No, not really, it’s just that I’m a bit nervous of doing the wrong thing, and to be late would be such a very bad start.’

He nodded carelessly. ‘You are comfortable at Mevrouw Blom’s house?’

‘Oh, very, thank you, and Mother is so pleased. There are other people there who speak English and an English gentleman …’ She stopped because he was looking impatient. She asked quickly, ‘What do you wish me to do first, sir?’

He stood looking at her and she wondered if there was something wrong with her. She had left the house as neat as a new pin, but the hurried climb up the stairs might have loosened her tidy head of hair, or was her blouse rumpled? She surveyed her person with an anxious eye, relieved at last to hear him say, ‘No, there’s nothing wrong, Miss Proudfoot. And must I call you that? You won’t object to being called Serena?’

‘Not in the least, sir.’

‘Then let us make a tour of the hospital so that when you are sent for you don’t take all day to get there.’

She said crossly, quite forgetting to whom she was speaking, ‘You do have a most unfortunate way of making me feel inadequate! I’m sure I’m quite capable of finding my way around without anyone’s help.’

‘Oh, undoubtedly. But all the same, perhaps you will be good enough to come with me now.’

She went out of the room with something of a flounce, not seeing his smile, and after ten minutes of traipsing up and down stairs and along corridors which all looked alike, she was forced to admit that without him she would have been hopelessly lost. She took care to look where she went; the theatre block was on the top floor and Outpatients was on the ground floor at the back of the hospital. She was introduced to the ward sisters, and it wasn’t until they were back in the office where she was to work that she realised how difficult it would have been to find her way around the vast place without a guide. She said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry I was so rude. It was kind of you to show me round—I would have got hopelessly lost.’

The doctor nodded, unsmiling. ‘Indeed you would, and I might have turned nasty!’ He saw the look on her face and said hastily, ‘No—it is I who am sorry. I had no reason to say that. I think we shall get on very well together. Let us begin as we mean to go on. I have a clinic in ten minutes’ time. Bring your notebook and pencil—there’s a long morning’s work ahead of us.’ He nodded again, but this time he smiled.

He was really rather nice, she decided, watching his broad back disappear along the corridor.

That evening, reviewing her day, Serena decided that she hadn’t done so badly. It had been very like working at the Royal, and although the doctor had spoken Dutch to his patients he had detailed his notes in English, and he and his registrar had spoken together in that language with as much ease as if they were speaking their own tongue. Serena had been nervous at first, but by the end of the morning she had found her feet and had gone down to the canteen for her lunch with two of the other hospital clerks and had quite enjoyed herself. She had spent the afternoon typing up the notes, typed up the details of an operation the doctor had performed that afternoon, this time from a tape recorder, and handed the whole lot to him when he came to the office just after half-past five. She had asked him if he wanted her for anything else and he had replied that no, he thought not, she had done sufficient for her first day.

‘I shall be operating in the morning,’ he told her, ‘but I’ll send someone up with my letters and a couple of tapes. Have them ready by two o’clock, will you?’

They had wished each other goodnight and she had gone back to Mevrouw Blom’s house to find the evening meal already eaten, although she was given soup, pork chops, zuurkool and delicious floury potatoes by an attentive Mevrouw Blom, followed by ice-cream and coffee, while everyone else sat in the sitting-room. Her mother had been remarkably cheerful, full of her day, and beyond a perfunctory question or two as to what Serena had done, she had little interest in it. But Serena hadn’t minded, it was a relief to find that her mother was actually enjoying herself. There was no trace of boredom and no complaints of headaches or tiredness—indeed, she was the life and soul of everyone there, and barely noticed when Serena after an hour or so slipped away to her bed. It was nice to see her mother so happy, she thought sleepily, and that nice Mr Harding had been very kind, taking her mother into the heart of the city and showing her where all the best shops were. Serena, curled up in her comfortable bed, went to sleep.

By the end of the week she had to admit that she was enjoying herself. It was all work, but interesting, and she hardly noticed that she had very little leisure. Dr ter Feulen was a glutton for work; when he wasn’t operating he was dictating letters, giving lectures or examining students. Serena made copious notes, typed them neatly and left them each evening with Juffrouw Staal. She saw the doctor each day, but beyond wanting to know in a rather impatient manner if she was all right, he had nothing of a personal nature to say to her. She returned to the cheerful haven of Mevrouw Blom’s house each evening, tired and hungry but satisfied that she had done a good day’s work and delighted to find that her mother was enjoying herself. Mr Harding had taken her under his elderly wing and each evening she recounted to Serena the various pleasures of her day. She didn’t want to know about Serena’s; she dismissed it as boring, and beyond a fleeting concern that Serena didn’t seem to have much time to herself, she had no comment to make.

‘Well, I’ll be free on Saturday,’ said Serena.

‘Oh, will you, darling? You’ll love to potter round the shops. Mr Harding is taking me to Utrecht—there are some patrician houses there he wants to see. He says I have a great eye for architecture …’

Serena swallowed disappointment. She had been looking forward to a day sightseeing with her mother, but all she said in her sensible way was, ‘That sounds fun. I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself, Mother, and you look years younger.’

Mrs Proudfoot peered into the small looking-glass. ‘Yes, I do, don’t I?’ she agreed complacently, and added without much interest, ‘You’re not working too hard, are you, darling?’

Serena assured her that she wasn’t.

She was asked that question again on the following morning, but by the doctor. She assured him that she had never felt better, and he gave her a quizzical look. ‘You are free tomorrow and Sunday, so you and your mother will be able to explore.’

‘Well, actually, she’s going out with Mr Harding who’s at Mevrouw Blom’s—they’re going to Utrecht to look at old houses.’

‘And you?’

‘Me? Oh, I’ll look at the shops and wander about.’ She had spoken in a cheerful and matter-of-fact voice, but something in her face made him give her a thoughtful look.

He said, ‘There is quite a lot to see in Amsterdam,’ and Serena said too quickly,

‘Oh, yes, I know, I’m looking forward to it.’

He went away and she started her day’s work, resolutely determined not to feel sorry for herself.

She found herself unwillingly tidying her desk that evening, knowing that she wouldn’t be at it for two days. She felt secure while she was working, and she was beginning to make the acquaintance of other girls who worked along the corridor; they were friendly and kind and they all spoke English of sorts. Serena was last, as usual. She turned off the lights as she went, ran down the stairs and out of the side door and into the street, then hurried along the pavement to Mevrouw Blom’s house, watched by the doctor, sitting in his car, waiting for a gap in the traffic.

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