A Little Moonlight. Бетти Нилс

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