A Little Moonlight. Бетти Нилс

had gone pink, but she didn’t avoid his eye. ‘No, not really, it’s just that I’m a bit nervous of doing the wrong thing, and to be late would be such a very bad start.’

      He nodded carelessly. ‘You are comfortable at Mevrouw Blom’s house?’

      ‘Oh, very, thank you, and Mother is so pleased. There are other people there who speak English and an English gentleman …’ She stopped because he was looking impatient. She asked quickly, ‘What do you wish me to do first, sir?’

      He stood looking at her and she wondered if there was something wrong with her. She had left the house as neat as a new pin, but the hurried climb up the stairs might have loosened her tidy head of hair, or was her blouse rumpled? She surveyed her person with an anxious eye, relieved at last to hear him say, ‘No, there’s nothing wrong, Miss Proudfoot. And must I call you that? You won’t object to being called Serena?’

      ‘Not in the least, sir.’

      ‘Then let us make a tour of the hospital so that when you are sent for you don’t take all day to get there.’

      She said crossly, quite forgetting to whom she was speaking, ‘You do have a most unfortunate way of making me feel inadequate! I’m sure I’m quite capable of finding my way around without anyone’s help.’

      ‘Oh, undoubtedly. But all the same, perhaps you will be good enough to come with me now.’

      She went out of the room with something of a flounce, not seeing his smile, and after ten minutes of traipsing up and down stairs and along corridors which all looked alike, she was forced to admit that without him she would have been hopelessly lost. She took care to look where she went; the theatre block was on the top floor and Outpatients was on the ground floor at the back of the hospital. She was introduced to the ward sisters, and it wasn’t until they were back in the office where she was to work that she realised how difficult it would have been to find her way around the vast place without a guide. She said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry I was so rude. It was kind of you to show me round—I would have got hopelessly lost.’

      The doctor nodded, unsmiling. ‘Indeed you would, and I might have turned nasty!’ He saw the look on her face and said hastily, ‘No—it is I who am sorry. I had no reason to say that. I think we shall get on very well together. Let us begin as we mean to go on. I have a clinic in ten minutes’ time. Bring your notebook and pencil—there’s a long morning’s work ahead of us.’ He nodded again, but this time he smiled.

      He was really rather nice, she decided, watching his broad back disappear along the corridor.

      That evening, reviewing her day, Serena decided that she hadn’t done so badly. It had been very like working at the Royal, and although the doctor had spoken Dutch to his patients he had detailed his notes in English, and he and his registrar had spoken together in that language with as much ease as if they were speaking their own tongue. Serena had been nervous at first, but by the end of the morning she had found her feet and had gone down to the canteen for her lunch with two of the other hospital clerks and had quite enjoyed herself. She had spent the afternoon typing up the notes, typed up the details of an operation the doctor had performed that afternoon, this time from a tape recorder, and handed the whole lot to him when he came to the office just after half-past five. She had asked him if he wanted her for anything else and he had replied that no, he thought not, she had done sufficient for her first day.

      ‘I shall be operating in the morning,’ he told her, ‘but I’ll send someone up with my letters and a couple of tapes. Have them ready by two o’clock, will you?’

      They had wished each other goodnight and she had gone back to Mevrouw Blom’s house to find the evening meal already eaten, although she was given soup, pork chops, zuurkool and delicious floury potatoes by an attentive Mevrouw Blom, followed by ice-cream and coffee, while everyone else sat in the sitting-room. Her mother had been remarkably cheerful, full of her day, and beyond a perfunctory question or two as to what Serena had done, she had little interest in it. But Serena hadn’t minded, it was a relief to find that her mother was actually enjoying herself. There was no trace of boredom and no complaints of headaches or tiredness—indeed, she was the life and soul of everyone there, and barely noticed when Serena after an hour or so slipped away to her bed. It was nice to see her mother so happy, she thought sleepily, and that nice Mr Harding had been very kind, taking her mother into the heart of the city and showing her where all the best shops were. Serena, curled up in her comfortable bed, went to sleep.

      By the end of the week she had to admit that she was enjoying herself. It was all work, but interesting, and she hardly noticed that she had very little leisure. Dr ter Feulen was a glutton for work; when he wasn’t operating he was dictating letters, giving lectures or examining students. Serena made copious notes, typed them neatly and left them each evening with Juffrouw Staal. She saw the doctor each day, but beyond wanting to know in a rather impatient manner if she was all right, he had nothing of a personal nature to say to her. She returned to the cheerful haven of Mevrouw Blom’s house each evening, tired and hungry but satisfied that she had done a good day’s work and delighted to find that her mother was enjoying herself. Mr Harding had taken her under his elderly wing and each evening she recounted to Serena the various pleasures of her day. She didn’t want to know about Serena’s; she dismissed it as boring, and beyond a fleeting concern that Serena didn’t seem to have much time to herself, she had no comment to make.

      ‘Well, I’ll be free on Saturday,’ said Serena.

      ‘Oh, will you, darling? You’ll love to potter round the shops. Mr Harding is taking me to Utrecht—there are some patrician houses there he wants to see. He says I have a great eye for architecture …’

      Serena swallowed disappointment. She had been looking forward to a day sightseeing with her mother, but all she said in her sensible way was, ‘That sounds fun. I’m so glad you’re enjoying yourself, Mother, and you look years younger.’

      Mrs Proudfoot peered into the small looking-glass. ‘Yes, I do, don’t I?’ she agreed complacently, and added without much interest, ‘You’re not working too hard, are you, darling?’

      Serena assured her that she wasn’t.

      She was asked that question again on the following morning, but by the doctor. She assured him that she had never felt better, and he gave her a quizzical look. ‘You are free tomorrow and Sunday, so you and your mother will be able to explore.’

      ‘Well, actually, she’s going out with Mr Harding who’s at Mevrouw Blom’s—they’re going to Utrecht to look at old houses.’

      ‘And you?’

      ‘Me? Oh, I’ll look at the shops and wander about.’ She had spoken in a cheerful and matter-of-fact voice, but something in her face made him give her a thoughtful look.

      He said, ‘There is quite a lot to see in Amsterdam,’ and Serena said too quickly,

      ‘Oh, yes, I know, I’m looking forward to it.’

      He went away and she started her day’s work, resolutely determined not to feel sorry for herself.

      She found herself unwillingly tidying her desk that evening, knowing that she wouldn’t be at it for two days. She felt secure while she was working, and she was beginning to make the acquaintance of other girls who worked along the corridor; they were friendly and kind and they all spoke English of sorts. Serena was last, as usual. She turned off the lights as she went, ran down the stairs and out of the side door and into the street, then hurried along the pavement to Mevrouw Blom’s house, watched by the doctor, sitting in his car, waiting for a gap in the traffic.

      CHAPTER THREE

      SERENA got up early the next morning, had her breakfast with Mevrouw Blom, tidied her room and went to say good morning to her mother.

      ‘Darling, why so early?’ asked Mrs Proudfoot. ‘Are you going somewhere nice?’

      ‘I’m going to explore. Mr Harding is having his breakfast—what time