Uncertain Summer
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‘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.
CHAPTER THREE
THE days were incredibly dull; it wasn’t so bad while she was on duty, for the Accident Room, whatever else it was, could hardly be called dull. But off duty was another matter, and for the first three days she heard nothing from Laurens either. It was on the fourth morning that she had a letter from him, a brief, cheerful missive which told her nothing of the things she wanted to know. She waited two days before answering it and then wrote a stilted page or so in reply, and the following day was sorry she had done so, for a reed basket full to the brim with roses arrived for her with a card inside saying: ‘To my gipsy from Laurens.’ She felt better after that and better still when he telephoned that evening. He sounded in tearing spirits and her own spirits soared, to erupt skyhigh when he asked:
‘Will you give in your notice tomorrow, Serena?—I’ll be coming over in a month’s time to collect the car, and I want to bring you back with me.’
She gasped a little, then: ‘You mean that, Laurens? You truly mean that?’
‘My darling creature, don’t be so timid. Will you do it? I don’t approve of working wives, you know.’
It wasn’t quite a proposal, but it was probably all she would ever get. She agreed breathlessly and was rewarded by his: ‘Good girl, I’ll tell you the date and so on next time I ring up. ‘Bye for now.’
She replaced the receiver because he hadn’t waited for her to wish him goodbye—perhaps, she thought, he felt as excited as she was. She went up to her room, and while her common sense lay buried under a mass of excited thoughts, she wrote out her resignation.
She hadn’t realized that Matron was going to be so surprised and so openly critical. She had accepted the resignation, of course; there was nothing else she could do, but she had questioned Serena’s wisdom while she did so.
‘You’re a sensible young woman,’ she told a surprised Serena, ‘and certainly old enough to know what you’re doing. But do you think you have given the matter enough thought?’ And when Serena had nodded emphatically, went on: ‘At least I will say this, if things should not turn out as you expect them to, you may rest assured that there will always be some kind of a job for you here—perhaps not in this hospital, but in one of the annexes.’
Serena had thanked her nicely, knowing that Miss Shepherd had her welfare at heart, knowing too, that nothing would persuade her to work in one of the annexes—Geriatrics, Convalescent, the dental department, Rehabilitation; she could think of nothing she disliked more, and in any case there was no need for her to think about them at all, for the likelihood of her returning to hospital was a laughable impossibility. She even smiled kindly at Miss Shepherd because the poor dear was all of forty-five and there was no wonderful young man waiting for her to be his bride, then thanked her politely and went back to her department and in due course, to the dining-room for her dinner, where her appearance, hugely enhanced by excitement and happiness, drew so many comments from her friends that she felt compelled to tell them her news, so happy in the telling that she didn’t notice the worried little frown on Betsy’s face nor the look she and Joan exchanged.
It was Joan who spoke after the first babble of congratulations had died down. ‘Serena,’ she began, ‘are you sure? I mean, you don’t know anything about his home or his family and you might hate Holland.’
‘Well, I’ve thought about that, and I don’t see how I’m to know unless I go there and see for myself.’ She pinkened faintly. ‘I mean, we—I can always change my mind.’
Joan agreed with her a little too hastily and Betsy said: ‘Your parents, I bet they’re surprised.’
‘I haven’t told them yet. I told them about Laurens coming in and—and how nice he was, and of course they met his cousin.’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot. Though they’re not a bit alike, are they?’
Serena spooned sugar into her post-prandial cup of tea. ‘Heavens, no,’ she agreed, and just for a brief moment remembered the gentle touch of Gijs van Amstel’s hands on the battered baby. She had never seen Laurens working, of course, but he would be just as kind—and he was a good deal more entertaining. She smiled and someone said: ‘Oh, lord, we’ll have to give you a wedding present.’
Serena put down her cup. ‘No, oh no, you mustn’t—I don’t know when—there’s nothing settled.’
‘Time to save up,’ said someone else. ‘Give us plenty of warning, Serena.’
They all laughed and presently dispersed to their various duties, and Serena, caught up in the usual afternoon rush, had no time to think about herself. She got off duty late too, so that the half-formed idea that she would write home and tell her parents came to nothing. Time enough, she argued as she got ready for bed, when she went home the following weekend.
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