The Fateful Bargain. Бетти Нилс

sought for a suitable reply and came up with, ‘Oh—really?’

      She heard him sigh and sought for a topic of conversation. Manners mattered, her mother had always told her, and she had always tried to remember that. ‘Are you going to Dover?’ she asked.

      ‘No—I have friends in Biddenden.’

      The silence lasted a little too long. Emily tried again. ‘The country around there is charming, and Biddenden is charming too…’

      They were going down the A20 towards Swanley; the road was moderately free from traffic and Mr van Tecqx was driving fast. ‘Tell me about your father?’ he invited.

      ‘My father?’ repeated Emily stupidly. ‘What do you mean—what do you know about him? I never…’

      ‘My dear girl, I have ways of finding out the things I wish to know. How long has he been waiting for hip replacements?’

      Emily ignored him. ‘What do you know about my father—how dare you snoop…?’

      ‘My dear girl, I never snoop—I have no need to do so. I had occasion to discuss a patient with your father’s doctor and in the course of conversation mentioned that you were a nurse at Pearson’s and that he might know you. He told me of your father’s condition.’

      Emily cast him a quick look. His profile was calm, his voice had been uninterested, there was no reason to doubt his word. She said reluctantly: ‘I’m sorry. He’s been waiting for more than a year and it will be another year before there’s a bed for him.’

      ‘That is the National Health?’ asked Mr van Tecqx gently.

      ‘Yes.’ She hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact, I found out how much it would cost for him to be a private patient—it would save a year of waiting.’

      ‘So he will go privately?’

      ‘Well, yes…’

      ‘As soon as you have saved the money?’ Mr van Tecqx’s voice was so quiet she barely heard it.

      ‘Yes.’

      He nodded. ‘Do you know your doctor’s number?’

      ‘Yes, of course.’

      ‘Then ring him up now on the car phone, will you, and ask him to meet us at your father’s house in—let me see—half an hour’s time.’

      Emily made no move to do as he had asked. ‘Why?’

      ‘Let us not waste time. Your GP can call me in for consultation—I’ll have a look at your father and see what can be done.’

      She said a little wildly, ‘But there are no beds—I asked. Two years, they said, and I haven’t saved enough money.’

      ‘The phone, Emily.’ His voice held a note she didn’t care to argue with. She did as she was bidden and then sat silent until they reached Eynsford.

      ‘You have to go up Sparepenny Lane and past the Tollhouse—it’s the row of cottages a bit further on,’ she told him.

      Dr Mason was already there. Emily kissed her father, was greeted cheerfully by the doctor and introduced Mr vanTecqx, who nodded at the doctor, remarking that they were acquainted, and then shook hands with her father.

      Her father was not in the least surprised to see him. Dr Mason, he explained to Emily, had arranged it all and he for his part was delighted. ‘Although I dare say I shall still have another year or two to wait, but just to be told by you, Mr van Tecqx, that there’s a possibility of success is a great encouragement.’

      Emily, swamped in the unexpectedness of it all and vaguely suspicious at the same time, allowed her parent to suggest that she might go along to the kitchen and make coffee for everyone. ‘And don’t hurry back,’ begged Mr Grenfell. ‘We can manage very nicely.’

      Emily gave Mr van Tecqx a speaking glance and did as she was told. Matters for the moment at least, were out of her hands.

      There was plenty to do in the kitchen. She arranged a tray, ground the coffee and set it in the old percolator on to the gas stove. Mrs Owen had been that morning, for the dishes were washed and stacked neatly, but the sink needed a good scrub and her idea of cleaning the floor wasn’t Emily’s. Emily took off her outdoor things, donned an apron and set to work. She was washing her hands at the now pristine sink when her father called to her to bring in the coffee. She had got a little untidy as she worked, but beyond tucking a stray lock of hair behind an ear, she had no time for more; she bore in the tray which Mr van Tecqx took for her and set on the table under the window.

      It was very vexing that the three men were discussing cricket and showed no sign of changing the conversation. She handed out cups, sugar and biscuits and sat composedly, seething inwardly. It seemed a long time before Dr Mason put down his cup and saucer, declared that he still had the rest of his patients to see and he would leave them all to make the arrangements. He shook Mr Grenfell’s hand, gave Emily a friendly pat on the back with the injunction to be a good girl, then shook hands with Mr van Tecqx. ‘Give me a ring when you’re ready and I’ll fix things this end. I’m greatly obliged to you, Sebastian.’

      Emily, itching to hear what they had all been discussing, was momentarily diverted by the idea of Mr van Tecqx being called Sebastian. She wondered if his friends called him Seb and decided that they wouldn’t dare—he would fix them with a glare from the blue eyes which were almost always half hidden by heavy lids. She studied him from where she sat. He must be around thirty-five, she supposed; his fair hair had a good deal of silver in it…

      He had turned his head to look at her and she went bright pink and looked away, wishing fervently that she didn’t blush so easily.

      ‘I must admire your patience, Emily.’ He came and sat down between her and her father. ‘I think we might operate on your father within the next week or so.’

      She sat up very straight. ‘But I—where will he go? Sister said there wasn’t a bed for months…’ She looked at her father. ‘Father, do explain!’

      ‘Well, dear, I think Mr van Tecqx can do that better than I. I shall leave it to him.’

      ‘Ah, yes—Emily, if you will walk with me to the car we can settle matters easily enough.’

      Out of her father’s hearing she said urgently, ‘I don’t understand, and there you were talking about cricket…it’s all very well stating you’ll operate. Don’t think I’m ungrateful, but you don’t understand—it’ll have to be private, of course, and the thing is I haven’t saved enough money—it will be at least four or five months, and you might not be here then.’

      ‘No, I shan’t. Your father can have a bed in a private hospital where I sometimes send patients, and I will operate there, and he can convalesce in a rest home—there is a good one just outside Richmond.’

      Emily stopped herself just in time from wringing her hands. ‘But you don’t understand!’ They were standing by the car and she stared up anxiously into his face.

      ‘If you would just trust me, Emily. I have to go—I’m already late—but I shall come for you tomorrow evening and I will explain. There will be no question of fees, but I want to strike a bargain with you. More about that later.’ With which infuriatingly unhelpful remark he got into his car and drove off.

      Her father was just as unhelpful, not meaning to be but wanting to discuss every aspect of the operation and what it would mean in the future.

      ‘I must say,’ he observed happily to Emily, ‘it’s extremely good of Mr van Tecqx to make an operation possible. It seems he has beds at his disposal at some private hospital and the opportunity to operate before he returns to Holland. I mentioned fees, but he said he’d come to some arrangement with you, my dear. I dare say you can pull a few strings with the National Health people?’ He gave a chuckle. ‘Nursing must have its perks!’

      Emily agreed cheerfully.