A Secret Infatuation
The temptation to find out about him from Tom Riley was very great but she had no reason to phone that gentleman. He and her father were acquaintances but that was all; besides, it seemed a bit sneaky to go behind Dr Rijnma ter Salis’s back …
There was a message for her when she got back home. Could she go and see the Reverend Mr Watts about the Mothers’ Union and the pram service and could she at the same time bring him some more aspirin?
‘He seems rather poorly,’ observed her mother. ‘You might take him some of the soup I made—there’s more than enough for us.’ She looked at her daughter’s faraway expression. ‘Have your tea first, darling.’
The Reverend Mr Watts opened the door to her. He looked woebegone and said peevishly, ‘Mrs Pollard hasn’t come near me. Just left the milk and papers and called through the letterbox that she wouldn’t be coming until I was better. She’s afraid of catching my cold.’
‘You can hardly blame her,’ said Eugenie bracingly. ‘She’s got five small children.’ She went past him into the kitchen to put down the soup. ‘You can look after yourself for a day or two, can’t you? Would you like the doctor to come? Dr Shaw at Holne is very good. Perhaps you need an antibiotic.’
‘No, no, there’s no need of that.’ He gave her an arch glance. ‘Of course, if I had a wife to look after me …’
She ignored the glance. ‘Mother has sent you some soup. Now if you will tell me what you want me to do about the pram service and the Mothers’ Union. Choir practice as usual, I suppose, on Thursday evening? Will you be well enough to take the Sunday service?’
‘I shall do my best. How is Mr Spencer?’
‘The doctors are very pleased with him—another month and he will be able to take over at least some of the parish work.’
The Reverend Mr Watts sneezed, blew his nose, and said, ‘How splendid. Then my services will no longer be required.’ He paused. ‘Unless, of course, I might be allowed to hope—Eugenie, would you consider marrying me? We could remain here—in a better house, of course, and I could take over from your father. I must say, with some truth, that I would prefer a living in one of the cities but I can see a good many improvements which need to be made. Living here, in the back of beyond, I suppose one doesn’t move with the times as one would in more modern surroundings.’
She was a kind-hearted girl; she also had a fine temper when roused. She allowed her kind heart to damp down the temper and answered him mildly.
‘Thank you for your proposal, but I’m sure that I could not make you happy, and I think that you will be much happier if and when you return to a city parish where your enthusiasm will be appreciated. You see, here life is rather different—more basic, if you see what I mean. We live close to nature and nature doesn’t change, does it?’
She held out a hand. ‘You’ve been such a help during these last few weeks. We are so very grateful. It must have been hard for you …’
The Reverend Mr Watts blew his nose again and looked pleased with himself despite his cold. ‘I believe that I have given your father’s parishioners an insight into various aspects of the church.’
‘Oh, indeed you have.’ She forbore to tell him what they had thought of them. He had, after all, done his best—would still do it once he had got rid of his cold.
She said briskly. ‘Well, I must go—there’s supper to get and odd jobs around the place.’
He went to the door with her. ‘You are happy here?’
‘Yes. This is my home …’
‘You had no difficulty in getting back yesterday? That awful fog.’
‘No difficulty at all …’
‘I thought I heard a car just after you left.’
‘Sound carries in the mist,’ she told him. ‘Let us know if you need any help.’
When she got home her mother asked, ‘What kept you, love? You’ve been ages?’
‘I have had a proposal of marriage which I refused, and the Reverend Mr Watts told me something of his views about updating us.’
‘You were polite, I hope, dear. Oh, I’m sure you were but you do have a hot temper when you are taken unawares. The poor man.’
‘He’ll go back to his big city and marry someone who’ll put his feet in a mustard bath and agree with everything he says.’
She caught her mother’s eye. ‘I don’t mean to be unkind, Mother, he’s a very good man, I’m sure, but somehow I can’t take him seriously.’ She added, ‘I don’t think he minded too much—me refusing him—I dare say he thought it would be a chance for him to take over from Father later on. even though his heart isn’t in rural living.’
‘Well, your father is doing so well that he should be able to return to wherever it is he wants to go before very long.’ Mrs Spencer began to slice bread. ‘I wonder if that nice man found his way safely to Tom Riley’s place?’
It seemed that he had, for the next morning the postman delivered a large box addressed to Mrs Spencer. There were roses inside, not just a handful but a couple of dozen, with a note signed A.R. ter S. The note itself was written in such a scrawl that Mrs Spencer wondered if he had written it in Dutch by mistake. Eugenie, invited to decipher it, being used to the handwriting of the medical profession, said, ‘No, it’s English, Mother. “With grateful thanks for your kind hospitality”.’
‘How clever you are, love. How very beautiful they are, and so many …’
The fine weather held although there was a chill in the air. Eugenie wrote to offer a tentative return date to go back to the hospital and began to make plans for her future. Regrettably, she was told, her post as ward sister had been filled; she would spend her outstanding month in the operating theatres since the second sister there would be going on holiday. She would be given an excellent reference and without a doubt she would find a similar position to suit her.
She put the letter in her pocket and didn’t tell her parents of its contents, only that she would be going back to theatre work instead of her ward.
‘That will make a nice change, dear,’ observed her mother, whose ideas of hospitals were vague, ‘as long as it isn’t like that nasty Casualty we see on television.’
Eugenie left home during the first week of May, on a cloudless morning when the moor had never looked more beautiful, driving her own little car and hating to leave. She took the Buckfastleigh road since she wanted to stop in Holne to say goodbye to a friend of hers who helped out in the little coffee shop there during the summer months, and although it was still early in the morning the two of them spent half an hour pleasantly enough over coffee. Eugenie got up reluctantly presently. ‘I’d better go. I don’t want to get caught up in the early evening traffic in London.’
She promised to let her friend know if she got another job, and went back to the car. There was no one much about. The caretaker was still in the little school getting ready for the morning’s classes, and the pub on the corner showed no sign of life. In another month, she thought, it would be bustling with tourists, for it was on the very fringe of the moor.
She drove past the reservoir, going slowly because of the sheep, resisting an urge to get out and take one last look around her from one of the tors on either side of the road. Instead she drove on steadily through the narrow streets of Buckfastleigh and on to the A38 which would take her to Exeter and the road to London.
London looked its best in the afternoon sunshine but nothing could disguise the overbearing gloom of the hospital. She parked her car behind the building and presented herself at the porter’s lodge to be much cheered by the pleasure of Mullins, the head porter, at seeing her again.
‘Nice to see you back, Sister. You are to report at five o’clock.’ He glanced at the clock behind him. ‘Time enough for you to go to the nurses’ home and get the key to your room.’
The warden was new and looked grumpy, and the room to which she led Eugenie was at the back of the building overlooking chimney-pots and brick walls.
‘I understand you are leaving at the end of the month and your old room is occupied.’
She went away, and Eugenie reflected that the last warden would have offered her a cup of tea and stayed for a gossip. There was time to make a cup of tea for herself, though, so she went along to the pantry and found two of her friends there. They at least were pleased to see her and, much cheered by their gossip and several cups of tea, she made her way to the office.
She was welcomed with as much warmth by the principal nursing officer as that lady was capable of showing. An austere woman, handsome and cold in manner, in her presence Eugenie always felt too large and too full of life.
She was to start in Theatre in the morning. The sister she would replace would work with her for two days until she felt confident. ‘That should present no difficulty, Sister Spencer; you were Staff Nurse in Theatre and Acting Sister before you had your recent post, and you have from time to time returned there for holiday duties, have you not?’
Eugenie agreed politely. She regretted giving up her ward but she liked Theatre.
She spent the evening unpacking and catching up on the hospital news, telephoning her mother and then going to drink tea with those of her friends who were there, and finally going to her bed to sleep soundly until morning. She thought briefly and lovingly of Aderik Rijnma ter Salis before she slept, and her first thoughts were of him when she woke. He was the first person she saw as she went through the theatre block’s swing doors.
CHAPTER TWO
EUGENIE’S beautiful face glowed with delight. She looked up into his calm face. ‘I knew we would—meet again, you know. Didn’t you?’
He had shown no surprise at the sight of her, and now he said, ‘Yes, I knew.’ He stared down at her from his great height. ‘You are to work here as one of the theatre sisters?’
She nodded. ‘For a month. I thought you were a doctor …’
‘A surgeon.’
She nodded again. ‘Of course—Tom Riley had a pace-maker fitted—you were going to see him …’
‘Yes.’
She beamed at him, ‘I expect I shall see you again.’
He stood aside to let her pass. ‘Oh, undoubtedly.’ She thought that she had seen pleasure on his face when they had met, now he was coolly aloof—almost austere. Feeling deflated, she went along to Sister’s office and reported for duty.
That lady greeted her with relief. ‘Well, at least I’m to have some help,’ she grumbled, ‘and you do know your way around, don’t you? There have been several changes since you were last here—last year, wasn’t it? While Sister Thorpe was off sick. I haven’t changed, of course.’
Nothing would change Sister Cross. Elderly, bony and hawk-nosed, with small black eyes which missed nothing, she was a by-word among the student nurses who poked fun at her behind her back but were frankly in awe of her when they were sent to work in Theatre. She was remorseless in her insistence on high standards and ruled the three theatres with a firm hand. Even some of the housemen thought twice before displeasing her. But the surgeons loved her for she was utterly dependable.
Eugenie liked her too; they had always got on well once they had each other’s measure and she found that Eugenie wasn’t in the least scared of her sharp tongue and, when called upon, could work almost as well.
She was bidden to sit down while Sister Cross gave her a brief resumé of the week’s work ahead. ‘We have a visiting consultant—Mr Rijnma ter Salis—Dutch—a first-class surgeon, specialises in cardiac cases. Over here at Mr Pepper’s invitation to demonstrate a new technique with valve replacements. Here for a couple of weeks then goes to Edinburgh and Birmingham. Very civil and easy to work for.’
Eugenie debated to herself whether she should tell Sister Cross that she had already met him, and decided that she had better do so.
Sister Cross heard her out, said, ‘Hm,’ and told her to go and check the second theatre where a staff nurse would be getting ready for a succession of minor ops.
There was a heavy list, starting with a heart valve bypass ‘And you might as well scrub,’ said Sister Cross. ‘The quicker you get back into the routine the better.’
So Eugenie scrubbed and took the case for Mr Rijnma ter Salis, who treated her with an aloof politeness which she found deflating to her feelings. She hadn’t expected him to be overwhelmingly friendly, but on the other hand he had no need to hold her at arm’s length with that icy courtesy …
She need not have worried about being thrown in at the deep end. He was unhurried and unworried as he worked, his massive person bent over the small boy on the operating table, patiently cutting and stitching, so calm that Eugenie, who had been doubtful as to her capabilities, settled down without a single pang of doubt about them. In fact, after the first few minutes, she began to enjoy herself—she had always liked theatre work and it was reassuring to find that she hadn’t forgotten any of her old skills.
The operation wasn’t straightforward, taking more time than expected, so that the list, scheduled to finish sometime after midday, was running late. Mr Rijnma ter Salis finished at last, thanked Eugenie politely, stripped off his gloves, stood while the nurse stretched up to untie the strings of his gown, and went away, then Mr Pepper took over for pacemakers and a cardiac catheterisation. She went away to a very late dinner and the afternoon was taken up by an appendicectomy and a strangulated hernia. By six o’clock she was more than ready to go off duty, hardly cheered by the reminder from Sister Cross that she would be on call for the night. ‘Shortage of staff and holidays,’ said that lady. ‘The night staff nurse for Theatre is capable of taking any routine case; you will only be called for something she might not be able to manage.’
Eugenie spent the evening writing home, gossiping with her friends, and wondering where Mr Rijnma ter Salis had gone. She went to bed presently feeling vaguely ill done by, although when she thought about it she had no reason to be.
At two o’clock in the morning she was shaken awake by an urgent hand. ‘There’s a gunshot wound, Sister, pellets in the heart. Can you be in Theatre in ten minutes? Staffs getting ready.’
The student nurse had switched on the bedside light and put a mug of tea beside it. ‘You’re wide awake?’
Eugenie got out of bed. ‘I will be by the time I get to Theatre. Thanks for the tea, Nurse.’
She dressed within minutes, bundling her abundant hair into an untidy and ruthlessly pinned knot and cramming her cap on top of it. She swallowed the tea, turned out the light and went quietly through the nurses’ home and into the hospital. It was very quiet, the time of night when most of the patients were sleeping. Only the faint metallic sounds of bedpans being fetched, cups and saucers being arranged in the kitchens and the tread of quiet feet could be identified. She reached the theatre wing and went through the swing doors to be met by the night staff nurse, looking relieved. ‘He’s here already,’ she said. ‘I’ve put everything I could think of out, Sister.’
‘Good. The patient isn’t up yet?’
‘No. Will you scrub now, Sister?’
‘Yes. Have IC been warned?’
‘Yes, Sister. Will you be able to manage, just the two of us? Night Sister says she is short-handed …’
‘Then we’ll manage.’ She smiled reassuringly and went down the corridor to scrub. As she passed Sister’s office she was halted.
‘Sister Spencer, a moment please.’
Mr Rijnma ter Salis was sitting at the desk, already in his theatre smock and trousers. He looked up as she went in. ‘Sorry to get you out of bed. A lad in a street fight, took the full blast from a shotgun in the chest. There are pellets in his heart—a wonder he’s still alive—I’ll do a median sternotomy. There are a couple of pellets embedded in the pericardium and at least one in the right ventricle. Mr Symes, the senior registrar, will be here in a moment and a couple of the housemen. I understand your technician has been sent for. Do you need more nurses?’
‘Night Sister left a message for me to say she’s short-handed. Staff Nurse is very competent. If the anaesthetist needs a nurse I’ll ask for one.’
For answer he drew the phone towards him. ‘Run along,’ he told her, ‘and get scrubbed.’
He appeared not to see the indignant look she cast at him. She ran along all the same. There was no time to speak her mind to him, but later … Run along, indeed! She emptied her head of resentment and went to scrub.
In Theatre presently, sorting out her instruments, making sure that the elaborate equipment was ready with Keith, the technician, she discovered that there was a nurse for the anaesthetist and a senior student to help the staff nurse.
Mr Rijnma ter Salis must have been turning on the charm. Even at two o’clock in the morning she had to admit that he had any amount of that; besides, she was in love with him. She stopped thinking about him then and got on with the business in hand.
Time ceased to matter; she concentrated wholly on her work, aware that Mr Rijnma ter Salis was operating with complete confidence, deftly removing shot from the man’s heart and chest wall without any appearance of urgency. It was six o’clock by the time he was completely satisfied that the last foreign body had been removed and began his meticulous stitching up.
That the man was still alive was a miracle, but he was young and had a strong body. It would be touch and go for a few days but his chances of recovery were good. He was borne away to IC, followed by the surgeons and the anaesthetist, and Eugenie and her crew began the task of clearing up. The day staff were coming on duty by the time they were finished.
‘You had better go to bed as soon as you’ve had your breakfast,’ said Sister Cross. ‘Come on duty at five o’clock and stay until Night Staff Nurse comes on duty.’
Eugenie went off to the canteen, ate her breakfast, although she wasn’t awake enough to know what she was eating, and took herself off to a hot bath and bed. Tired though she was, she spared a thought for Mr Rijnma ter Salis. She hadn’t seen him once he had left the theatre with a polite word of thanks to her. It was unlikely that she would see him when she went on duty later. She hoped that he wasn’t too tired.
One of her off-duty friends called her with a cup of tea just after four o’clock. She turned over in bed and closed her eyes again. ‘I’m too tired to go on duty,’ she muttered, and buried her head in her pillow.
‘No, you’re not. There’s nothing in, and nothing to do in Theatre but sit in the office and drink tea and catch up on the day’s news.’
So at five o’clock, whey-faced from tiredness still but none the less as beautiful as ever, she presented herself at Sister’s desk.
‘Had a good sleep?’ asked that lady. ‘Everything’s seen to here. There’s nothing in Cas for the moment. Nurse Timms will be back from tea in five minutes. She can turn out the dental cabinet. I’ve left the off-duty for you to sort out, and you can fill in the day book and see to the laundry.’ Sister Cross handed over the keys. ‘You had better go to bed early.’
Eugenie, who would have gone to bed at that very moment given the chance, said, ‘Yes, Sister,’ in a deceptively meek voice.
Nurse Timms was a small, meek girl with a prim expression, good at her work but not liked overmuch by her colleagues. She made tea for Eugenie when she got back and then went away to start on the dental cabinet. Eugenie was sure she would do a perfect job on it.
She drank her tea and turned her attention to the off-duty book. There were a number of slips of paper inside it with requests from the theatre staff for particular days off duty. No wonder Sister Cross had left it to her, thought Eugenie crossly. If all the requests were to be granted it would be chaos. Sister Cross had pencilled in a few observations of her own, putting herself down for a weekend and Eugenie for two days in the middle of the week.
‘I shall go home,’ said Eugenie in a satisfied voice.
‘A splendid idea,’ said Mr Rijnma ter Salis, coming into the office. He leaned over the desk, reading the off-duty book upside down. ‘Wednesday and Thursday—what could be better? I’m going down to Exeter, I’ll give you a lift.’
Eugenie had gone pink, and she didn’t speak for a moment for she seemed to have lost her voice. Besides, her heart had jumped into her throat and was getting terribly in the way, but since he was waiting for her to reply she took a deep breath. ‘That’s very kind of you to offer, sir, but I’ll drive myself. I have to come back.’
‘So do I. Late Thursday evening suit you? You don’t have to be locked up at ten o’clock, do you? Presumably only the young are considered in need of a watchful eye?’
Eugenie choked. She said peevishly, ‘We older women are trusted to behave ourselves.’ She glared at him. Bad temper, did she but know it, gave her good looks an added sparkle.
‘No need to get cross. You’re tired, of course. But it was worth it; he’s doing very well, holding his own. I’ve just been in to have a look at him.’
‘I’m so glad. I do hope all goes well with him.’
Mr Rijnma ter Salis smiled at her and her heart lurched against her ribs.
‘You are good at your job,’ he observed. ‘Your talents are varied—finding your way through thick mist, looking after parsons with heavy colds, and handing instruments at exactly the right time. I’ll be outside at seven o’clock on Tuesday evening—can’t make it earlier. With luck you’ll be home around midnight.’
‘I haven’t said …’ began Eugenie. His eyes, very bright blue, were fixed on her face. ‘Thank you, that would be nice.’
He nodded then, wished her good evening and went away as quietly as he had come.
There was nothing to hinder her thinking about him; she polished off the off-duty list in between bouts of daydreaming. Was he married, she wondered, or engaged? In love with some girl in Holland? For her own peace of mind she would have to find out. Perhaps she would be able to discover that on their way to her home.
Tuesday evening took a long time in coming. With Sister Cross away at the weekend, Eugenie was in charge of the theatre and although she was kept fairly busy she was by no means overworked; the junior theatre sister dealt with minor cases in the second theatre and there were several part-time staff nurses, and although there was a list on Monday Mr Pepper took it. It was annoying to say the least of it to go off duty when Sister Cross arrived back at midday, and to find on her return that Mr Rijnma ter Salis had operated on a bypass that afternoon.
There was no sign of him on Tuesday; she went off duty at five o’clock uncertain if he had remembered that he was driving her home—and supposing a serious cardiac case needed operating upon?
She changed, picked up her overnight bag and at seven went down to the forecourt, convinced that he wouldn’t be there.
He was leaning up against the porter’s lodge, very large and elegant and apparently deep in thought. Long before she had reached him he came towards her.
‘Hello—’ his smile was friendly ‘—how delightfully punctual you are.’
He took her bag and opened the door and they went outside together. It would be nice, thought Eugenie, if she could think of something to say—light-hearted or witty; instead she remarked upon the weather.
‘It looks as though it might rain.’
His mouth twitched. ‘I think it very likely,’ he agreed gravely as he stowed her into the car and put her bag on the back seat, got in beside her and drove off. No time was to be lost in casual small talk, she supposed, over her initial shyness. She sat quietly as he drove through the city and its suburbs, but once free of the traffic she took the bit between her teeth.
‘Are you married?’ she wanted to know.
If he were surprised at her question he concealed it very well. ‘No.’
‘But I expect you’re engaged?’ she persisted. She hadn’t really expected him to say, ‘Yes I am,’ in a voice which dared her to ask any more questions.