Fate Takes A Hand
At Trottie’s enquiring look Eulalia said, ‘It was the man who bought the roses,’ in a voice which didn’t invite questions.
* * *
A week went by. Eulalia, fashioning bouquets and taking orders for beribboned, Cellophaned flowers to be sent to wives and girlfriends and mothers, longed silently for her old home, with its large untidy gardens and the fields beyond. She hoped that the people who had bought it were taking proper care of it and had left the frogs in the pool at the bottom of the garden in peace. It would have been nice to show them to Peter.
She gave her head a shake. Moaning over what was past and couldn’t be helped would do no good. Rather, she must think of ways and means for Peter and Trottie to have a holiday once school was over. Somewhere not too far from London, and cheap. A farm, perhaps…
The fine weather had come to stay, at least for a time, and they planned a trip to the Serpentine on Sunday. Trottie was going to have her dinner with one of her elderly friends and Eulalia saw her off before she and Peter, carrying their picnic lunch, set out.
They had got off the bus and were waiting to cross the road when a bunch of youths on motorbikes raced past. They were in high spirits and the road was almost empty and they were going too fast. The last one of all went out of control, mounted the pavement and knocked Peter down, narrowly missing Eulalia, and tearing away.
Peter lay awkwardly, his head on the kerb, an arm bent awkwardly under him. She knelt down beside him, panic-stricken but fighting to keep sensible.
‘Peter—Peter, darling? Can you hear me?’ When he didn’t answer she felt for his pulse and was relieved to find his heart beating strongly. She took off her cardigan and slid it under his head but she didn’t move his arm in case it was broken. Then she stood up as a bus came lumbering along on the other side of the road. She waved and shouted to the driver and he stopped his bus, and the conductor came running across the street.
‘He was knocked down,’ said Eulalia in a voice which shook just a little. ‘I must get him to hospital…’
The conductor was a spruce little man and he looked helpful. ‘The bus passes Maude’s ‘ospital. We’ll have him aboard—quicker than waiting for an ambulance or a taxi.’
‘Bless you. He’s concussed and I think that arm’s broken.’
‘Leave it to me, miss. You go ahead of me; ’e can lie on yer lap. We’ll have ’im right as rain in no time.’
Between them they lifted Peter, and Eulalia lifted the arm gently and laid it across Peter’s small chest and then hurried to the bus. There was only a handful of passengers aboard and no one complained at the delay as she got in, received Peter on to her lap and held him close as the bus pulled away. The hospital was indeed only a very short drive and the driver took his bus into the forecourt and down the ramp to Casualty and then got down to help his conductor carry Peter in. Eulalia paused just long enough to apologise to the other passengers for the delay, and ran after them.
They were standing, the two of them, explaining to a nurse as Peter was laid on a trolley. “Ere she is,’ said the conductor. ‘She’ll give yer the details.’
He and the driver shook hands with her, looking bashful at her thanks. ‘Can’t keep the passengers waiting,’ said the driver. “Ope the nipper’ll be OK.’
‘Your names?’ asked Eulalia. ‘Quickly, for I must go to Peter.’
“E’s Dave Brown and I’m John ’Iggins, miss. Glad to ’ave ’elped.’
She kissed them on the cheek in turn and hurried after the trolley.
Peter had his eyes open now and she took his hand in hers. ‘Peter? It’s all right, love. You fell down, you’re in hospital and a doctor will come and see if you’re hurt.’
‘If you’ll give the details to the receptionist,’ said the nurse, ‘we’ll get him comfy and get someone to look at him. An accident, was it?’
Eulalia told her briefly and took herself off to the reception desk, and by the time she got back Peter was on an examination couch. His clothes had been taken off, the sleeve of his injured arm cut to allow the small arm to be exposed. He was trying not to cry and she went and held his good hand, wanting to weep herself.
The young doctor who came in said, ‘Hello,’ in a cheerful voice, then, ‘So what’s happened to this young man?’
He was gently examining Peter’s head as he spoke. He peered into his eyes, then turned his attention to the arm. ‘Can you squeeze my finger, old chap?’ he wanted to know, and at Peter’s whimper of pain, said, ‘I think an X-ray first of all, don’t you? So we can see the damage.’
He smiled at Eulalia. ‘We’ll take care of him. If you’ll wait here?’
She went and sat down on a bench, oblivious of her torn dress and dishevelled person. There were few people around: two or three at the other end of Casualty, talking quietly, and near them were curtains drawn round one of the cubicles. The curtains parted presently and a big woman with an air of authority came out, followed by a man in a long white coat. She would have known him anywhere because of his great size, and she watched him go and speak to the group near by with a feeling that she was never going to be rid of him. Hopefully, he’d go away without seeing her…
But he had. He shook hands with the two women, and with the man with them, and trod without haste towards her.
He looked different, somehow, and he was different. He was someone in authority, ready to help and capable of doing just that. She stood up to meet him, her skirt in tatters around the hem, dust from the street masking its colour. ‘It’s Peter, he was knocked down by a motorbike—we were on the pavement. He hit his head and I think his arm is broken. He’s been taken to X-Ray. I was told to wait here.’
She was pale with worry and her voice shook and so did her hands, so she put them behind her back in case he should see that and think her a silly woman lacking self-control.
‘Where did it happen?’
She told him. ‘And those two men on the bus, they were so quick and kind. I don’t know what I would have done without them.’
‘I suspect that you would have managed. Sit down again. I’ll go to X-Ray and see how things are.’
She put a hand on his sleeve. ‘Do you work here? I mean, you’re a doctor in Casualty?’
‘Not in Casualty, but I work here upon occasion. I am a surgeon.’ He added, ‘Orthopaedics.’
‘Bones,’ said Eulalia. ‘You’ll help Peter?’
‘It seems that since I’m here I might as well.’
She watched him walk away. He had spoilt everything with that last remark. She had been beginning to like him a little but she had been mistaken; he was a bad-tempered man and rude with it. All the same, she hoped he would do something for Peter. Quite unexpectedly, two tears escaped and ran down her pale cheeks. She brushed them aside impatiently, and just in time as he came back.
‘Mild concussion, and he has a fractured arm just above the wrist. We will give him a local anaesthetic, align the bones and put on a plaster. We’ll keep him overnight for observation…’ And at her questioning look he added, ‘No, no, nothing to worry about. Routine only. You can fetch him in the morning, but telephone first. Keep him in bed for a couple of days and no school for a week.’
‘He’s all right?’
He said impatiently, ‘Have I not said so? Come and see him before we put the plaster on.’
He turned on his heel and walked away, and she followed him through a door and into a small room where Peter lay on a table. He grinned when he saw her. ‘He said I was brave,’ he told her. ‘I’m going to stay here tonight. You will fetch me, won’t you?’
‘Of course, dear.’ She glanced around. There was no sign of any doctor, only a male nurse and a student nurse busy with bowls of water and plaster bandages.
‘Like to stay?’ asked the nurse, and gave her a friendly look.
‘May I?’
‘No problem.’ He turned away and lifted Peter’s good arm out of the blanket. ‘Here’s Mr van Linssen. He’ll have you as good as new in no time at all.’
So that was his name. She watched as he slid a needle into Peter’s broken arm. He did it unhurriedly and very gently, talking all the time to the boy. ‘You’re a lot braver than many of the grown-ups,’ he told him. ‘In a minute or two we’re going to straighten your arm—you won’t have any pain, but you’ll feel us pulling a little. Keep still, won’t you?’
Peter nodded. His lip quivered a little but he wasn’t going to cry. It was Eulalia who felt like crying. She was sure that Peter couldn’t feel any pain but she closed her eyes as Mr van Linssen began to pull steadily while the nurse held the arm firmly.
‘You can look now,’ he said in a hatefully bland voice, so she did. He was holding the arm while the nurse began to slide on a stockinette sleeve and then start to apply the plaster. It didn’t take long and Peter hadn’t made a sound.
Mr van Linssen was smoothing the plaster tidily when Sister put her head round the curtains. ‘Why, Mr van Linssen, I thought you had left ages ago. You’ll be late for that luncheon party.’ Her eyes fell on Peter. ‘Had a tumble?’
‘Knocked down by a motorbike. I’d like him in for the night, Sister. Get a bed, will you? And we’ll make him comfortable. He’s been a model patient.’
She went away and the nurse started to clear up. Mr van Linssen took off his white coat and the student nurse took it from him gingerly. Rather as though he might bite, thought Eulalia. She got up. ‘‘Thank you very much for your help—’ she began.
She was cut short. ‘No need, all in the day’s work, Miss—er?’
He raised his eyebrows, standing there looking at her.
‘Warburton,’ she snapped.
He nodded. ‘Your son’s a nice little chap,’ he said, and walked away.
She turned to the nurse. ‘I’m Peter’s cousin,’ she told him. ‘I did tell the receptionist—he’s an orphan.’
‘Makes no odds,’ said the nurse, and smiled at her; she was very pretty and she had cheered up his day a bit. ‘You were in luck. Mr van Linssen wasn’t even on duty—came in to see the relations of a patient who died—had a hip op here and got knocked down late last night. He may be a consultant and a bit high and mighty but I know who I’d like to deal with my bones if I broke them.’
Sister came back then and Peter was borne off to the children’s ward, sleepy now but rather proud of his plastered arm. Eulalia saw him into his bed and was told by the ward sister that there was no need to come back with pyjamas and toothbrush. ‘He’s only here for the night,’ she said in a comfortable voice. ‘Mind you phone first and we’ll have him ready for you.’
Eulalia thanked her, kissed Peter and went out of the Casualty entrance. At the top of the ramp there was a dark grey Bentley and Mr van Linssen was sitting in it. He opened the door as she reached the car.
‘Get in. I’ll drive you home.’
‘No, thank you. There’s a bus—’
‘Get in, Miss Warburton, and don’t pretend that you aren’t upset. All mothers are when their small children get hurt. Where do you live?’
She got in without another word after she had told him, and they drove in silence until he stopped before the flat. As she got out she said, ‘Thank you, you’re very kind. And I’m not Peter’s mother, only his cousin.’
CHAPTER TWO
MR VAN LINSSEN had expressed no surprise, only grunted, nodded and driven away, leaving her wondering why on earth she had told him. Luckily she wouldn’t have to see him again; she would feel such a fool…
She went indoors and was relieved to see that Trottie wasn’t back yet. It would give her time to change her torn dress and tidy herself up and compose herself before telling her old friend what had happened. She made a pot of tea and sat down to drink it, reflecting what a good thing it was that she didn’t go to work on Mondays; Mrs Pearce was a kind employer but she expected value for her money. She wasn’t over-generous with her wages but she was fair. She was also a businesswoman who would have no compunction in giving Eulalia the sack if business fell off, and if Eulalia were to take too many days off she might look around for someone else. Once Peter was home Trottie would look after him, she thought worriedly. Dear Trottie, always willing and goodtempered, and hating the flat as much as she did.
She got up and began to get tea. The sandwiches were still in her bag—they had better have those…
Trottie came in presently, took one look at Eulalia’s face and asked, ‘What’s happened? Where’s Peter? You look like a ghost.’
When she had been told she said, ‘Poor little fellow. But don’t you worry, Miss Lally, he’ll be as right as rain in no time. What luck that you’re at home tomorrow, and he’ll be no trouble—remember how good he was when he had the measles?’ She gave Eulalia a sharp glance. ‘Did you have any lunch?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought not. We’ll have a nice tea and you can tell me about that doctor. Fancy meeting him like that, and him a medical man. Like it was meant…’
Before she went to bed that night Eulalia phoned the hospital to be told that Peter was asleep after eating a light supper with gusto. Everything was fine, and would she ring after tomorrow’s round at noon? He would have been seen by then and an X-ray taken to make sure that the bones were in the right position.
She couldn’t imagine Mr van Linssen making any mistakes about bones—after all, it was his work. A tiresome man, not worth sparing a thought for. All the same, it was difficult not to think about him, since he was all part and parcel of their disastrous day.
She fetched Peter home the next afternoon, and since he was to go straight to bed for another two days she took him in a taxi, a rare treat which delighted him. He was full of his stay in hospital; he had enjoyed it, he told her, the nurses had been fun, and the doctor who had seen him in Casualty had come to see him before he went to sleep, and in the morning the big man who had told him that he was brave had come to see him too. ‘He wasn’t alone,’ explained Peter. ‘There was Sister with him and two nurses and another doctor and someone who wrote in a book when he said something. I liked him, Aunt Lally, he’s not a bit cross really. He carried a silly little girl all round the ward with him because she was crying.’
‘I’m very grateful to him, Peter, and so thankful that you weren’t really badly hurt. Did he explain that you have to stay quietly in bed for a few days? Dr Burns will come and see you then, and tell us when you can go back to school.’ She put an arm round his small shoulders. ‘Here we are, home again, and there’s Trottie waiting for us.’
He didn’t complain at going to bed but sat up happily enough with a jigsaw puzzle. He hadn’t a headache but, all the same, Eulalia wouldn’t let him read but read to him instead, and presently he settled down and slept, leaving her free to catch up on the household chores.
She began on a pile of ironing while Trottie rested her elderly feet. ‘It’s no good,’ said Eulalia, ‘you’ll have to have a holiday. Somewhere that will suit you both. The seaside would be nice, or somewhere in the country—a farm, perhaps…’
‘Give over, Miss Lally, where’s the money to come from?’ said Trottie.
‘I’ll go to the bank and get an overdraft…’
‘And what about you?’
‘Me? Oh, I’m fine, Trottie, and anyway, I can never have a holiday at this time of year. We’re too busy in the shop. I’ll wait until the tourist season is over.’
‘You said that last year and you didn’t go anywhere.’
‘Well, things cropped up, didn’t they?’
‘You mean gas bills and new trousers for Peter and me having to have new spectacles.’
‘Yes, well, we’ll see. Now, what shall we eat tomorrow? I’ll nip out and shop, if you like. Mrs Pearce won’t mind if it’s only for ten minutes.’
‘How about a nice macaroni cheese? That’s light enough for Peter—fish would be the thing, but I don’t trust fish on Mondays. Mashed swede with a bit of butter, and I’ll cream the potatoes. A little egg custard for afters.’
It was a good thing, reflected Eulalia later that evening, that Peter seemed to be quite well again. She had phoned the doctor and he had promised to look in some time tomorrow.
She went back to work in the morning, leaving Trottie to ask questions of their doctor when he came and get his advice. ‘I know it’s nothing much,’ she said, ‘but he had an awful bang on his head.’
Mrs Pearce was sympathetic but she didn’t offer to let Eulalia go home early. She said with casual kindness, ‘Boys will be boys, won’t they?’ Just as though it had been Peter’s fault, and added, ‘Luckily you have Miss Trott to look after him. I’ll want you to stay a bit later today—Lady Bearsted is sending her secretary for the flowers for her dinner party some time after six o’clock.’
Because she was worried about Peter the day went slowly. Mrs Pearce went home at five o’clock, leaving Eulalia to lock up once the flowers had been fetched. Six o’clock took twice as long as usual to come, and even then there was no sign of the secretary. She came finally, half an hour later, apologetic and harassed. ‘These dinner parties,’ she confided to Eulalia, ‘they’re ghastly. I’m supposed to get these flowers back and arranged on the table and round the rooms before everyone arrives about eight o’clock…’
Eulalia took the flowers out to the waiting taxi, watched it drive away and tore back to get her jacket and lock up. At least the rush hour was almost over and it wouldn’t take too long to get home.
All the same, it was well after seven o’clock when she reached the flat, to stop short on the pavement. Drawn up to the kerb was a dark grey Bentley.
A jumble of thoughts chased themselves round her head. Peter had been taken ill and their doctor had rung the hospital and Mr van Linssen had come to examine Peter. One heard of delayed collapse after concussion-Peter might be desperately ill. She flung open the door, almost tumbling down the steps in her hurry.
Trottie was standing at the table, a teapot in her hand. She looked up as Eulalia came in. ‘You are late, love; you must be tired, and famished into the bargain.’
‘Where’s Peter? What’s that man’s car doing outside? Why is he here?’
She had spoken a good deal louder than usual and Peter called from his room.
‘Aunt Lally—Mr van Linssen’s here—we’re playing draughts…’
Eulalia was feeling as anyone would who had believed the worst had happened and found that there was nothing to worry about. She had a wish to burst into tears but she swallowed them and went to Peter’s little room. Most of it seemed to be taken up by Mr van Linssen’s bulk. ‘Why are you here?’ she wanted to know, and then at Peter’s puzzled look she bent to kiss him and smile.
Mr van Linssen stood up, bending his head to avoid cracking it on the ceiling. ‘I happen to know your doctor,’ he told her smoothly. ‘We decided that it would save time if I were to come and check on Peter’s progress, since if he were to come he would still need to inform me of his findings.’
‘Peter’s all right?’
‘My dear Miss Warburton, if he were not, would we be playing draughts?’
She glared at him. What a nasty way he had of making her feel a fool. She was wondering if he would go now that she was home, and hoped that he would, but Trottie’s voice from the living-room begged them to come and have a nice cup of tea. ‘And I’ll give Peter his supper,’ she finished, and appeared a moment later with the tray. ‘Go and pour the tea, Miss Lally, I’m sure you could both do with a cup, and the doctor can tell you about Peter, for I can see you’re all of a fret.’
Eulalia, aware that Mr van Linssen was looking at her with an air of amusement, frowned and led the way, since there was nothing else she could do. Show him the door, of course, but that would be unthinkable. She should be grateful…
There was one of Trottie’s Madeira cakes on the table beside the teapot. She poured the tea, offered the cake and passed him the sugar-bowl.
‘You work long hours,’ he observed, and bit into the cake.
‘I had to wait to deliver some flowers. How is Peter, Mr van Linssen?’
‘He is perfectly fit, but before he returns to school I want him to be X-rayed again…’ At her look of fright he added, ‘No, no, don’t panic. I merely want to satisfy myself that the bones are correctly aligned and that there is no misplacement. Let me see—it is Tuesday today. Let him stay at home for the rest of this week. Bring him to the hospital tomorrow at ten o’clock.’
He saw the look on her face. ‘No—stupid of me, you would be at your shop. I’ll arrange for him to be fetched and brought back here. Trottie could accompany him, perhaps?’
‘You’re very kind.’ She was always telling him that, she thought. ‘I’m glad he’s quite well. He’s such a dear little boy.’
‘Yes.’
He passed his cup and she refilled it and passed him the cake. ‘Are you having a day off?’ she asked politely.
‘Er—no.’ He thought back over his busy day, which had begun with an emergency operation at four o’clock in the morning and was by no means at an end. ‘This is a delicious cake.’
She offered him more. It would spoil his supper or dinner, or whatever he had in the evenings, but he was a large man. He might have missed his tea.
He had missed his lunch too, but he didn’t tell her that.
He went presently to say goodbye to Peter and to tell him that he would be going to the hospital in the morning for an X-ray. ‘And you can go back to school on Monday.’
‘Oh, good. Will you come and see me again?’
‘Ah, yes, we still have to finish our game of draughts— I’ll see if I can find the time.’
Peter was reluctant to let him go. ‘Are you very busy every day?’
‘Yes, old chap, but now and again I have a day off.’
‘I think perhaps I’ll be a surgeon when I grow up.’
‘A splendid idea!’ They shook hands, and Mr van Linssen shook hands with Trottie too, but when Eulalia took him to the door he bent and kissed her, opened the door and went up the stone steps two at a time without a backward glance.
She banged the door shut. ‘He’s outrageous,’ she said furiously.
‘You’re a pretty girl, Miss Lally. Men like pretty girls.’
Eulalia ground her splendid teeth.
Mr van Linssen drove himself home. He had enjoyed kissing Eulalia but he wasn’t sure why he had done so. She was very pretty—indeed, beautiful when she wasn’t looking cross—but he had known and still did know other pretty women and felt no urge to kiss any of them. True, he kissed Ursula from time to time, but always circumspectly, as she was fussy about her make-up being spoiled. Their engagement was a well-conducted affair, with no display of emotion.
He had decided to marry her because she was so suitable to be his wife, and since he was no longer a young man and had decided that there was no ideal woman in the world for him. He had known from the first that Ursula didn’t love him; she liked him, was fond of him, and very content to marry him, for he had wealth and position and a certain amount of fame in his profession. They would get on well enough together, although she had revealed a pettishness and desire to have her own way which she had been careful not to let him see before they had become engaged. She had lost her temper once or twice and then apologised very prettily, but they had come near to quarrelling when he had told her that for part of the year they would live in Holland. ‘My home is there,’ he had pointed out reasonably. ‘I have beds in several hospitals. My home is in the country and I think that you would like it.’
She had screamed at him—at the idea of burying herself alive in some miserable little village with no shops and none of her friends. She would go mad. Of course, she would go there with him just to visit, but certainly not for more than a week or so. Perhaps they could take some of her friends with them…
He had given her a long, thoughtful look and had walked out of her mother’s house, so angry that he couldn’t trust himself to speak, and then later he had sent her the roses…