Sister Peters in Amsterdam. Бетти Нилс

together, and Piet smiled at her and patted her on the shoulder.

      ‘It must be that hair of yours, Adelaide!’

      While they were drinking their coffee, she remembered her letters; there was no time to read them all, but she glanced at the two from England, then opened the Dutch one. The envelope was large and of very thick paper. There was an invitation inside from the professor’s aunt, for Old Year’s Night. She couldn’t understand quite all of it, and took it over to the professor.

      ‘My aunt,’ he said. ‘She has a party every year, and always invites my clinic Sister.’ He frowned at Piet’s astonished face, and not giving him the chance to speak, said, ‘You and Leen are going, aren’t you, Piet? You could take Sister along with you, couldn’t you?’

      ‘Yes, of course.’ He turned to Adelaide. ‘You’ll love it, it’s like Christmas and St Nicolaas rolled into one.’

      That evening, he told Leen about it. ‘There’s never been a clinic Sister invited to his aunt’s house before.’

      His wife laughed. ‘But, Piet, remember that Adelaide is a stranger here—I expect Coenraad thinks she deserves some fun while she’s in Holland.’

      Adelaide was ready and waiting when the Beekmans called for her. She had taken great care with her hair, the chestnut brown bow she wore in it exactly matched her velvet dress. It was last year’s, but it suited her anyway. She hadn’t been able to afford a new one. It was a bitter cold night, and they were thankful for the fragrant warmth which enveloped them as Bundle, the butler, ushered them into the hall of the Baroness’s house. A maid took the girls upstairs while Bundle took Piet’s coat and went in search of the professor, who followed him back into the hall.

      ‘Piet, before we begin the festivities, that case we admitted today…’ the two men became absorbed. Adelaide, coming downstairs with Leen, had ample opportunity of studying the professor in the hall below. She hadn’t seen him in a dinner jacket before; he looked very handsome. Her heart began to beat faster; he had never seen her out of uniform. The two men turned round, and the professor’s eyes swept over her and on to Leen. She doubted if he had even noticed that she wasn’t wearing her cap and apron. She said good evening in a small voice, and they all went into the salon where his aunt was standing. She greeted Adelaide pleasantly, and beckoned to Mijnheer de Wit, who was standing nearby, and asked him to take her round and introduce her to everyone. Adelaide went with him from group to group, murmuring her name as she had been taught, and trying to remember the names murmured back to her. Her hand was shaken so many times her arm began to ache. The old gentleman drew her on one side.

      ‘Now you know everyone, Miss Peters.’

      Adelaide shook her head. ‘I can’t remember a single face or name.’

      He laughed, and patted her arm. ‘Never mind, here’s someone you know anyway.’ He nodded towards the professor, who was crossing the room. Margriet Keizer was with him; she had an arm in his, and was chattering gaily. She looked charming, her green dress making Adelaide very aware of her own slightly out-of-date model. The head-to-heels glance Margriet gave her as they shook hands did nothing to improve Adelaide’s feelings, and she suddenly wished with all her heart that she had never come. She glanced around her; she just didn’t belong, these people were so obviously well-to-do and leisured and beautifully gowned. The thought that they might be pitying her, as Margriet was, pinkened her cheeks. She hated the professor’s aunt for inviting her; she hated him too, just because he was there, carelessly friendly and not in the least interested in her.

      They stood together in a small group, while she matched Margriet’s gaiety with a wholly false vivacity of her own. This put a strain on her usually retiring nature, and when a young man in a brocade waistcoat joined the group and asked her to dance, she accepted with pleasure. She didn’t much care for the owner of the waistcoat, who was, she suspected, younger than herself, but at least he wanted to dance with her. The professor had had ample opportunity to do the same if he had wished. She sensibly decided to enjoy herself. Her partner danced well, their steps suited, they circled the large room, and she took care to turn a smiling face in the professor’s direction. It was a pity that he wasn’t looking. He was dancing with Margriet.

      During the next hour or so she had frequent glimpses of him; she noted that he danced with a great number of the women guests, and several times with Margriet. She was agreeably surprised to find that she did not lack for partners, and danced every dance, telling herself sensibly that she might as well forget the professor. Having come to this conclusion, she went off to the supper room with Jan Hein, the youthful owner of the brocade waistcoat, and lingered over the delicacies provided until almost midnight. When they went back to the salon everyone was standing, glasses in hands, waiting for the clock to strike. Its silvery chimes were drowned by the outburst of sirens and hooters and fireworks from all over the city. Glasses were raised and a round of hand-shaking and kissing began.

      Adelaide, unused to the tonic effects of champagne, was enjoying herself; she had even forgotten the professor, standing talking to his aunt, just behind her. She watched Jan pushing his way towards her through the crowd, and realised that he was rather drunk. She decided to evade him, and stepped backwards into the professor’s arms. She felt herself turned neatly round to face him, to be kissed squarely on her mouth.

      ‘A Happy New Year, Miss Peters.’ The band had just started to play again, a Strauss waltz, and before she realised what was happening, they were half way round the room.

      ‘How very high-handed,’ she remarked coldly.

      He reversed neatly into a corner. ‘Don’t you like dancing with me, Miss Peters?’

      She looked up at him, and said with an incurable honestly. ‘Yes, I do, very much.’

      They went on dancing; she hoped that the band would forget to stop and tried to think of something clever to say. Her mind was blank, but luckily the professor didn’t appear to be much of a conversationalist while he danced. She stopped worrying and gave herself up to the pleasure of dancing; the professor danced very well indeed, but she had known he would. The music stopped and someone tapped her on the arm. It was Piet Beekman.

      ‘We must go, Adelaide. The baby-sitter said one o’clock, and not a moment later. Are you coming?’

      Before she could reply the professor said in his easy way:

      ‘Why not let Sister stay? I am sure she will have no lack of offers to see her home, and in the unlikelihood of her being on her own, one of us will see her back later.’

      ‘Thank you, professor, but I should like to go now; I’m on duty in the morning.’ She spoke quietly in a stiff little voice and turned away with a brief good night to find the Baroness, who rather surprisingly kissed her and urged her to come and see her again. Adelaide made a vague reply to this, thinking it very unlikely that she would see her hostess again. She intended to concentrate on her Dutch lessons and her own small circle of friends in the hospital. She watched the professor and Margriet going towards the balcony. She wasn’t sure what she had expected from this evening—perhaps that if he saw her out of uniform, he would realise that she was a girl as well as a highly trained cog in the hospital machinery. As she went upstairs with Leen to get her coat, she allowed herself to remember that he had kissed her, but then so had a great many other people; she derived little comfort from the thought.

      She said goodbye to Leen and Piet at the door of the Sisters’ home, and went upstairs to her room, where, despite the lateness of the hour, she sat on her bed thinking about the evening. One fact emerged very clearly—she was in love with the professor.

      She had a whole day to get over the party. Casualty was slack; there was no clinic. She sat in her office, scowling over her Dutch grammar. After a while she shut her books and wrote a letter home. She gave a colourful and gay account of the party; it was slightly exaggerated, as she wanted her family to know what a good time she was having. She carefully made out a money order to go with the letter. The boys’ school fees would be due again soon. They were clever, and deserved the best education that could be managed. Her thoughts played truant again, and she wondered if