Promise of Happiness
‘I have no clothes…’
‘Easily remedied. A couple of hours’ shopping.’
‘What happens when I leave?’ She suddenly caught Pooch close so that he let out a raucous protest. ‘And what about Pooch and Bertie?’ she frowned. ‘How can I possibly…’
‘You will return to Holland with my mother where it should be easy enough for you to get a job in one of the hospitals. I shall, of course, give you any help you may need. As to the animals, may I suggest that I take them with me to Holland where they will be well cared for at my home until you return there; after that it should be a simple matter to get a small flat for yourself where they can live.’
‘Quarantine?’
‘There is none—only injections, which I will undertake to see about.’
It all sounded so easy; she perceived that if you were important and rich enough, most things were easy. All the same she hesitated. ‘I’m not sure if they’ll like it…’
He smiled quite kindly then. ‘I promise you that they will have the best of treatment and be cared for.’
‘Yes, I know, but supposing…’
‘What is the alternative, Becky?’ He wasn’t smiling now and he sounded impatient again.
The alternative didn’t bear thinking about. She couldn’t be sure of getting a job, in the first place, and just supposing she should meet Basil or her stepmother before she had found somewhere to live. He was watching her narrowly. ‘Not very attractive, is it?’ he asked, ‘and you have only enough money for a meal—thirty pounds and—er—sixty pence wouldn’t buy you a bed for more than three nights, you know.’
His mother looked at Becky. ‘My dear child, is that all the money you have? And why is that? And why did you leave your home?’
‘With your permission, Mama; you will have time enough to discuss the whole situation. If Becky could decide—now—there are several matters which I must attend to…’
She was annoying him now, she could see that, but what seemed so simple from his point of view was an entirely different matter for her. But she would have to agree; the idea of parting with her pets was unpleasant enough, but at least they would be safe and cared for and after a week or so she would be able to collect them and start a new life for herself. To clinch the matter she suddenly remembered the quarantine laws; she would never have enough money to pay the fees—besides, there was no one and nothing to keep her in England. ‘Thank you, I’ll take the job,’ she said in a resolute voice.
‘Good, then let us waste no more time. My mother will explain the details later. What fee were you to pay the nurse you dismissed, Mama?’
Son and parent exchanged a speaking glance. ‘Sixty pounds a week with—how do you say?— board and lodging.’
‘But that’s too much!’ protested Becky.
‘You will forgive me if I remind you that you have been living in, how shall we say? retirement for the past two years. That is the normal pay for a trained nurse working privately. Over and above that you will receive travelling expenses, and a uniform allowance.’ He took some notes from a pocket and peeled off several. ‘Perhaps you will go now and buy what you think necessary. Your uniform allowance is here, and an advance on your week’s pay.’
Becky took the money, longing to count it, but that might look greedy. ‘I haven’t any clothes,’ she pointed out, ‘so I’d better buy uniform dresses, hadn’t I?’
‘Yes, do that, my dear,’ interpolated the Baroness. ‘You can go shopping in Trondheim and buy the clothes you need.’
Becky found herself in a taxi, the Baron’s cool apologies in her ear. He intended leaving at any moment; she was to take a taxi back to the hotel when she had done her shopping. ‘And don’t be too long about it,’ he begged her forthrightly, ‘although you don’t look to me to be the kind of girl who fusses over her clothes.’ A remark which she had to allow was completely justified but hardly flattering. She had bidden Bertie and Pooch goodbye and hated doing it, but they had looked content enough, sitting quietly by the Baroness. At the last moment she poked her head out of the taxi window.
‘You will look after them, won’t you? They’ll be so lonely…’
‘I give you my word, Becky, and remember that in a few weeks’ time you will be able to make a home for them.’
She nodded, quite unable to speak for the lump in her throat.
She felt better presently. The Baron didn’t like her particularly, she was sure, and yet she felt that she could trust him and upon reflection, she had saved him a lot of time and bother finding another nurse for his mother. She counted the money he had given her and felt quite faint at the amount and then being a practical girl, made a mental list of the things she would need.
It took her just two hours in which to do her shopping; some neat dark blue uniform dresses, because she could wear those each and every day, a blue cardigan and a navy blue raincoat, shoes and stockings and an unassuming handbag and then the more interesting part; undies and a thin dressing gown she could pack easily, and things for her face and her hair. All the same, there was quite a lot of money over. She found a suitcase to house her modest purchases and, obedient to the Baron’s wish, took a taxi back to the hotel.
She found her patient lying on a chaise-longue drawn up to the window, a tray of coffee on the table at her elbow. ‘I hope I haven’t been too long,’ began Becky, trying not to look at the corner where Bertie and Pooch had been sitting.
‘No, my dear. Tiele went about an hour ago, and your animals went quite happily with him. I must tell you that he has a great liking for animals and they like him.’ Her eyes fell upon the case Becky was carrying. ‘You bought all that you require?’ She nodded to herself without waiting for Becky to reply. ‘Then come and have coffee with me and we will get to know each other. Tiele has arranged for us to be taken to the ship in good time; we will have lunch presently—here, I think, as I do dislike being pushed around in that chair—then we shall have time for a rest before we go. I’m sure you must be wondering just where we are going and why,’ she added. ‘Give me another cup of coffee, child, and I will tell you. I have been staying with an old friend at Blanchland, but unfortunately within two days of arriving I fell down some steps and injured my legs. Tiele came over at once, of course, and saw to everything, and I remained at my friend’s house until I was fit to travel again. I could have remained there, but I have a sister living in Trondheim and as I had arranged to visit her before their summer is over, I prevailed upon Tiele to arrange things so that I might go. I get tired in a car and I suffer badly from air-sickness, so he decided that the best plan was for me to go by ship and since there is time enough, to go in comfort and leisure. We shall be sailing to Tilbury first and then to Hamburg and from there to Trondheim, where I intend to stay for three weeks. By then, with your help and that of the local doctor, I should be able to hobble and be out of this wheelchair. I have no idea how we shall return to Holland—Tiele will decide that when the time comes.’
Becky said: ‘Yes, of course,’ in a rather faint voice. After two years or more of isolation and hard work, events were crowding in on her so that she felt quite bewildered. ‘Where do you live in Holland?’ she asked.
‘Our home is in Friesland, north of Leeuwarden. I don’t live with Tiele, of course, now that I am alone I have moved to a house in Leeuwarden only a few miles from Huis Raukema. I have a daughter, Tialda, who is married and lives in Haarlem. Leeuwarden is a pleasant city, not too large, but you should find work there easily enough—besides, Tiele can help you there.’
‘He has a practice in Leeuwarden?’
‘Yes, although he doesn’t live there.’ She put down her cup and saucer. ‘I have talked a great deal, but it is pleasant to chat with someone as restful as you are, Becky. I think we shall get on very well together. Tiele says that we must arrange our days in a businesslike fashion, so will you tell me what you think is best?’ She opened her bag. ‘I almost forgot, he left this for you—instructions, I believe.’
Very precise ones, written in a frightful scrawl, telling her just what he wanted done for his mother, reminding her that she was to take the usual off duty, that she might possibly have to get up at night if the Baroness wasn’t sleeping, that she was to report to the ship’s doctor immediately she went on board that afternoon and that she was to persevere with active movements however much his mother objected to them. At Trondheim there would be a doctor, already in possession of all the details of his mother’s injuries, and he would call very shortly after they arrived there.
He hadn’t forgotten anything; organising, she considered, must be his strong point.
‘That’s all very clear,’ she told her patient. ‘Shall we go over it together and get some sort of a routine thought out?’
It took them until a waiter came with the lunch menu. The Baroness had made one or two suggestions which Becky secretly decided were really commands and to which she acceded readily enough, since none of them were important, but she thought that they were going to get on very well. The Baroness was accustomed to having her own way but she was nice about it. To Becky, who had lived without affection save for her animal friends, her patient seemed kindness itself. They decided on their lunch and she got her settled nicely in a chair with a small table conveniently placed between them and then went away to change her clothes.
She felt a different girl after she had bathed and done her hair up into a neat bun and donned the uniform dress. She had bought some caps too, and she put one on now and went to join the Baroness, who studied her carefully, remarking: ‘You’re far too thin, Becky, but I like you in uniform. Have you bought clothes as well?’
‘Well, no. You see, I should need such a lot….’
Her companion nodded. ‘Yes, of course, but there are some nice shops in Trondheim, you can enjoy yourself buying all you want there. There’s sherry on the table, child, pour us each a glass and we will wish ourselves luck.’
Becky hadn’t had sherry in ages. It went straight to her head and made her feel as though life was fun after all and in a sincere effort not to be thin any longer, she ate her lunch with a splendid appetite. It was later, over coffee, that her patient said: ‘We have a couple of hours still. Supposing you tell me about yourself, Becky?’
CHAPTER TWO
AFTERWARDS, thinking about it, Becky came to the conclusion that she had had far too much to say about herself, but somehow the Baroness had seemed so sympathetic—not that she had said very much, but Becky, who hadn’t had anyone to talk to like that for a long time, sensed that the interest was real, as real as the sympathy. She hadn’t meant to say much; only that she had trained at Hull because she had always wanted to be a nurse, and besides, her father was a country GP, and that her mother had died five years earlier and her father three years after her. But when she had paused there her companion had urged: ‘But my dear, your stepmother— I wish to hear about her and this so unpleasant son of hers with the funny name…’
‘Basil,’ said Becky, and shivered a little. ‘He’s very good-looking and he smiles a lot and he never quite looks at you. He’s cruel; he’ll beat a dog and smile while he’s doing it. He held my finger in a gas flame once because I’d forgotten to iron a shirt he wanted, and he smiled all the time.’
‘The brute! But why were they so unkind to you? How did they treat your father?’
‘Oh, they were very nice to him, and of course while he was alive I was at the hospital so I only went home for holidays, and then they persuaded my father to alter his will; my stepmother said that there was no need to leave me anything because she would take care of me and share whatever he left with me. That was a lie, of course. I knew it would be, but I couldn’t do much about it, could I?’ She sighed. ‘And I had already decided that I would get a job abroad. But then Father died and my stepmother told me that I had nothing and that she wasn’t going to give me anything and that I wasn’t welcome at home any more, but I went all the same because Bertie and Pooch had belonged to my father and I wanted to make sure that they were looked after. We still had the housekeeper Father had before he married again and she took care of them as best she could. And then my stepmother had jaundice. She didn’t really need a nurse, but she wrote to the hospital and made it look as though it was vital that I should go home— and then Basil came and told me that they had sacked the housekeeper and that if I didn’t go home they’d let Bertie and Pooch starve. So I went home. The house was on the edge of the village and Stoney Chase is a bit isolated anyway. They made it quite clear that I was to take the housekeeper’s place, only they didn’t pay me any wages to speak of and I couldn’t go anywhere, you see, because I had no money after a little while—once I’d used up what I had on things like soap and tights from the village shop…’
‘You told no one?’
‘No. You see, Basil said that if I did he’d kill Pooch and Bertie, so then I knew I’d have to get away somehow, so each week I kept a bit from the shopping—I had aimed at fifty pounds, but then yesterday Basil and my stepmother were talking and I was in the garden and heard them. He said he was going to drown them both while I was in the village shopping the next day, so then I knew I’d have to leave sooner. We left about three o’clock this morning…’ She had smiled then. ‘The doctor stopped and gave us a lift, it was kind of him, especially as he was in such a hurry and we were all so wet and he didn’t even know if I was making up the whole thing.’ She had added uncomfortably: ‘I must have bored you; I hate people who are sorry for themselves.’
‘I should hardly say that you were sorry for yourself. A most unpleasant experience, my dear, and one which we must try and erase from your mind. I see no reason why you shouldn’t make a pleasant future for yourself when we get to Holland. Nurses are always needed, and with Tiele’s help you should be able to find something to suit you and somewhere to live.’
Becky had felt happy for the first time in a long while.
Their removal to the ship took place with an effortless ease which Becky attributed to the doctor’s forethought. People materialised to take the luggage, push the wheelchair and get them into a taxi, and at the docks a businesslike man in a bowler hat saw them through Customs and into the hands of a steward on board. Becky, who had visualised a good deal of delay and bother on account of her having no passport, even though the Baroness had assured her that her son had arranged that too, was quite taken aback when the man in the bowler hat handed her a visitor’s passport which he assured her would see her safely on her way. She remembered that the doctor had asked her some swift questions about her age and where she was born, but she hadn’t taken, much notice at the time. It was evident that he was a man who got things done.
The Baroness had a suite on the promenade deck, a large stateroom, a sitting room with a dear little balcony leading from it, overlooking the deck below a splendidly appointed bathroom and a second stateroom which was to be Becky’s. It was only a little smaller than her patient’s and she circled round it, her eyes round with excitement, taking in the fluffy white towels in the bathroom, the telephone, the radio, the basket of fruit on the table. None of it seemed quite real, and she said so to the Baroness while she made her comfortable and started the unpacking; there was a formidable amount of it; the Baroness liked clothes, she told Becky blandly, and she had a great many. Becky, lovingly folding silk undies which must have cost a fortune and hanging dresses with couture labels, hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for years. Perhaps in other circumstances she might have felt envy, but she had a wardrobe of her own to gloat over; Marks & Spencer’s undies in place of pure silk, but they were pretty and new. Even her uniform dresses gave her pleasure, and if Bertie and Pooch had been with her she would have been quite happy. She finished the unpacking and went, at her patient’s request, to find the purser’s office, the shop, the doctor’s surgery and the restaurant. ‘For you may need to visit all of them at some time or other,’ remarked the Baroness, ‘and it’s so much easier if you know your way around.’
It was a beautiful ship and not overcrowded. Becky, while she was at it, explored all its decks, peeped into the vast ballroom and the various bars and lounges, walked briskly round the promenade deck, skipped to the lowest deck of all to discover the swimming pool and hurried back to her patient, her too thin face glowing with excitement. ‘It’s super!’ she told her. ‘You know, I’m sure I could manage the wheelchair if you want to go on deck—I’m very strong.’
The Baroness gave her a faintly smiling look. ‘Yes, Becky, I’m sure you are—but what about your sea legs?’
Becky hadn’t given that a thought. The sea was calm at the moment, but of course they weren’t really at sea yet; they had been passing Tynemouth when she had been on deck, but in another half hour or so they would be really on their way.
‘Now let us have some room service,’ observed the Baroness. ‘Becky, telephone for the stewardess, will you?’
The dark-haired, brown-eyed young creature who presented herself a few minutes later was Norwegian, ready to be helpful and friendly. ‘I shall have my breakfast here,’ decreed the Baroness, ‘and you, Becky, will go to the restaurant for yours.’ She made her arrangements smoothly but with great politeness and then asked for the hotel manager, disregarding the stewardess’s statement that he wouldn’t be available at that time. Becky picked up the telephone once again and passed on the Baroness’s request, and was surprised when he actually presented himself within a few minutes.
‘A table for my nurse, if you please,’ explained the Baroness, and broke off to ask Becky if she wanted to share with other people or sit by herself.
‘Oh, alone, please,’ declared Becky, and listened while that was arranged to her patient’s satisfaction. ‘We’ll lunch here,’ went on Baroness Raukema van den Eck, ‘and dine here too.’ And when the manager had gone, ‘You must have some time to yourself each day—I like a little rest after lunch, so if you settle me down I shall be quite all right until four o’clock or so. I’m sure there’ll be plenty for you to do, and I expect you’ll make friends.’
Becky doubted that; she had got out of the habit of meeting people and she didn’t think anyone would bother much with a rather uninteresting nurse. But she agreed placidly and assured her companion that that would be very nice. ‘I’ve found a library, too,’ she said. ‘Would you like a book?’
‘A good idea—I should. Go and find something for me, my dear, and then we’ll have a glass of sherry before dinner. Don’t hurry,’ she added kindly, ‘have a walk on deck as you go.’
It didn’t seem like a job, thought Becky, nipping happily from one deck to the other, and it was delightful to be able to talk to someone again. She wondered briefly what the Baron was doing at that moment, then turned her attention to the bookcases.
They dined in the greatest possible comfort with a steward to serve them, and Becky, reading the menu with something like ecstasy, could hardly stop her mouth watering. Her stepmother kept to a strict slimming diet and Basil had liked nothing much but steaks and chops and huge shoulders of lamb; too expensive for more than one, her stepmother had decreed, so that Becky, willy-nilly, had lived on a slimming diet as well, with little chance of adding to her meagre meals because she had to account for the contents of the larder and fridge each morning. Now she ate her way through mushrooms in sauce ré-moulade, iced celery soup, cold chicken with tangerines and apple salad, and topped these with peach royale before pouring coffee for them both. She said like a happy little girl: ‘That was the best meal I’ve ever had. I used to think about food a lot, you know, when you’re always a bit hungry, you do, but I never imagined anything as delicious as this.’ She added awkwardly: ‘I don’t think you should pay me as much as you said you would, Baroness, because I’m not earning it and I’m getting all this as well…it doesn’t seem quite honest…’
‘You will be worth every penny to me, Becky,’ her patient assured her, ‘and how you managed to bear with that dreadful life you were forced to lead is more than I can understand. Besides, I am a demanding and spoilt woman, you won’t get a great deal of time to yourself.’
Which was true enough. Becky found her day well filled. True, she breakfasted alone in the restaurant, but only after she had spent half an hour with the Baroness preparing that lady for her own breakfast in bed. And then there was the business of helping her patient to dress, getting her into her wheelchair and taking her to whichever part of the ship she preferred. Here they stayed for an hour or so, taking their coffee, chatting a little and enjoying the sun. Becky read aloud too, because the Baroness said it tried her eyes to read for herself, until half an hour or so before lunch when Becky was sent off to walk round the decks or potter round the shop and buy postcards at the purser’s office for the Baroness. They were to dock at Tilbury in the morning and as the ship wouldn’t sail for Hamburg until the late afternoon the Baroness had suggested that Becky could go up to London and do some shopping and rejoin the ship after lunch. But this Becky declined to do; so far, she considered, she hadn’t earned half her salary. She had been hired to look after her patient and that she intended to do. Instead, the two of them spent a peaceful day in the Baroness’s stateroom playing bezique, and taking a slow wander round the deck on the quiet ship. But by tea time the passengers were coming aboard and the pair of them retired once more to the little balcony leading from the suite, from where they watched the bustle and to-ing and fro-ing going on below them.
They sailed soon afterwards and Becky, leaving her patient with a considerable pile of mail to read, went on deck to watch the ship leave. She hung over the rails, determined not to miss a thing, and it was half an hour before she tore herself away from watching the busy river scene and returned to the stateroom. The Baroness was telephoning, but she broke off what she was saying to tell Becky: ‘It is Tiele—making sure that we are quite all right.’ And at Becky’s look of surprise: ‘He’s back in Friesland, and I’m to tell you that Pooch and Bertie have settled down very well.’ She nodded dismissal and Becky slipped away to her own cabin.
She had collected all the literature about the voyage that she could lay hands on, and now she sat down and studied it; Hamburg next and then Trondheim. There was a whole day at sea first, though, and more than a day between Hamburg and Trondheim. She began to read the leaflet she had been given and only put it down when her patient called to her through the slightly open door.
At Hamburg the Baroness declared her intention of going ashore. The purser, summoned to the cabin, assured her that a taxi should be arranged without difficulty, that help would be at hand to wheel the chair down the gangway and that the Baroness need have no worry herself further. To Becky, accustomed to doing everything for herself, it seemed the height of comfort. And indeed, when the ship docked there was nothing for her to do beyond readying her patient for the outing and then walking beside the chair while a steward wheeled it carefully on to the quay. There were several busloads of passengers going on shore excursions and they had been advised by the purser to get back before these returned or the new passengers began to embark. ‘Plenty of time,’ said the Baroness easily. ‘We will drive round the city, take a look at the Binnenalster and the Aussenalster and the driver can take us to a confectioner’s so that you can buy me some of the chocolates Tiele always brings me when he comes here.’