Sister Peters in Amsterdam. Betty Neels

worked her hard, with a merciless criticism which made her blush and stammer, but at the end of the allotted time she had mastered the medical terms well enough to be understood. As she collected her books together, she thanked him, and added:

      ‘I hope you will have a very pleasant evening, sir,’ to which he made no reply, merely holding the door politely for her to pass through. When she reached her room she got out her dictionary once more and looked up ‘Freule’. It said ‘an unmarried female member of the nobility.’ She would be tall and blonde, Adelaide decided, and very beautiful. Her clothes would be exquisite. Adelaide hated her. Doubtless the professor admired blondes. She tugged at her own red mane as she tidied herself for supper, and jabbed the pins in with a complete disregard for the pain she was giving herself.

      She longed to ask some questions at supper, but conversation, although friendly, was of necessity limited. She sat, listened to the unintelligible chatter around her, and wondered what the professor was doing. He was still in his office, having been delayed by a phone call from Tweedle reminding him that he still hadn’t had his dinner. He lighted his pipe and reached for his coat, and went in search of his car. It had been a long day; he yawned, and hoped that Margriet wasn’t going to be too maddeningly boring about Bach.

      Adelaide loved Amsterdam. On her second evening at the hospital, Zuster Zijlstra had walked with her to the Spui, where Mijnheer de Wit lived. They went through the Kalverstraat, and had found time to take a quick look at the shops, gay with pretty clothes and jewellery and silverware. Zuster Zijlstra rang the bell of the small gabled house and, when the door opened, waved Adelaide a cheerful goodbye. Adelaide, left to herself, pushed the door wider and heard a voice telling her to come upstairs. She climbed several steep flights before she saw who had spoken to her. An elderly white-haired man was standing on the tiny landing. He introduced himself and led her into his flat. Here, he wasted no time, but took her hat and coat, sat her down at the table, and plunged into her first lesson. Rather to her dismay, he spoke Dutch, only using English when he saw that she was completely befogged. At the end of an hour he wished her a polite good night, and sent her back with a great deal of homework. He seemed pleased with her, but Adelaide thought that she would have to work very hard indeed to keep him so.

      Zuster Zijlstra and Zuster Boot, from Men’s Surgical, both spoke a little English. They took Adelaide shopping as often as possible during the next few days; the feast of St Nicolaas was only a few weeks away. They explained that she should give small gifts to the doctors and nurses she was working with, and also explained the enormous numbers of chocolate letters displayed in the confectioners’ and banketbakker. It seemed that it was customary to exchange them with friends and relations. Zuster Boot, a practical young woman, volunteered to supply the christian names of the clinic nurses so that Adelaide could buy the appropriate letters for them; she already knew that she must get a C for the professor, and a P for Piet Beekman. They roamed from shop to shop in their off-duty, choosing scarves and stockings and fancy soap, and admiring the lovely things on display. When they were off duty in the afternoons they went to Formosa in the Kalverstraat, where Adelaide sampled thé complet; she was enchanted with the tray of savoury tit-bits and cream cakes and chocolates, with its accompanying pot of tea.

      Just before St Nicolaas, she and Staff Nurse Wilsma spent an hour choosing presents for the two doctors. Dr Beekman was easy; he never had a pen of his own. They chose a vivid green one he couldn’t possibly mislay. The professor was rather more difficult; he seemed to have everything. In the end they settled for a leather wallet. Wilsma was sure that he had several already, but observed that he could always put it away and use it later.

      There was no clinic on the morning of St Nicolaas. Instead the nurses and porters set about transforming the Out-Patients’ waiting hall. Paper chains and flags hung around the walls, and tables were set up, covered with gay cloths and loaded with glasses and plates and great baskets of oranges. The annual party for the hospital’s small patients was to be held that afternoon. St Nicolaas and Black Pete would be coming to distribute the presents. Adelaide, opening tins of biscuits, asked, ‘Who gives this party, Zuster Wilsma?’

      Her staff nurse, scooping sweets into countless little bags, stopped her work to reply. ‘Professor Van Essen. He pays for it all too. He’ll be coming, and his aunt and sisters—he’s got two, and his nephews and nieces—and his close friends’—she looked at Adelaide, and added, ‘and Dr Beekman and his wife and baby.’

      Adelaide hadn’t understood half of what Zuster Wilsma had said, but there wasn’t time for explanations, anyway. They still had to fill several sacks with presents.

      At two o’clock the first guests arrived; most of them had mothers or big sisters with them. Adelaide sat the children in rows on the floor; the grown-ups lined the walls. Presently Zuster Zijlstra arrived, opened the piano, and started to play the first of the traditional tunes, and everyone began to sing. Adelaide didn’t understand a word, but when St Nicolaas appeared with his black slave, she laughed and clapped with everyone else, and carried the smallest toddlers up to receive their presents. She was enjoying herself enormously. At length the Saint made his stately exit, sent on his way by enthusiastic and rather shrill singing. Adelaide dumped the baby she was holding into the nearest nurse’s lap and went over to the tables to pour lemonade and hand out biscuits.

      There was no lack of helpers; she piled the oranges in baskets ready for the nurses to take round, talking all the while to Zuster Zijlstra in her mixture of Dutch and English. It was at this moment that the professor, with his aunt and sisters, chose to join them. They all seemed to know Zuster Zijlstra, and greeted her like an old friend. Adelaide, started to move quietly away, but the professor, who had been expecting her to do just that, put out a detaining hand and turned her smartly round, and performed his introductions in English.

      She found herself the centre of an animated group. His two sisters were very like him, with dark hair and blue eyes; they wore their elegant clothes with a careless grace. His aunt was small and slim and just as elegant as her nieces. She eyed Adelaide with bright black eyes and talked to her in a gentle voice. They were all charming to her and chattered and laughed until they were presently joined by several children, who addressed the professor as Uncle, and smiled shyly at Adelaide as he introduced them. When, after a little while, they all bade her goodbye. Adelaide watched them go with regret; it seemed unlikely that she would meet them again.

      The professor made no attempt to go with them. Adelaide hesitated.

      ‘I must go and help the others; I’m not doing my share. It was delightful meeting your family, Professor.’

      She was about to turn away when an attractive young woman put her hand on the professor’s arm. Adelaide looked at her. This must be Margriet. At once, and irrationally, she disliked her. Freule Keizer was extremely good-looking, with blonde hair and blue eyes and a magnificent figure; she was dressed with the simplicity of wealth with a sparkling bandbox finish that caused Adelaide to put an involuntary hand up to tidy away the curly wisps escaping from her cap. She was suddenly aware of the lemonade stains on her apron and its deplorably creased condition.

      Margriet spoke. ‘There you are, Coenraad. I wondered where you had got to.’ She gave Adelaide a cursory glance. ‘Are you coming?’

      The professor had apparently not heard her.

      ‘Sister Peters, I should like you to meet Freule Keizer.’ He turned to the girl beside him. ‘Margriet, Sister works with me in the clinic.’

      The young women shook hands and smiled politely. Margriet’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

      ‘How awful for you, having to work.’ She made it sound like an insult.

      ‘But I enjoy it, you know,’ Adelaide protested. She was struggling to overcome her dislike of Margriet, who looked astonished and turned to the professor.

      ‘You don’t know how lucky you are. You’ve at last got a nurse who is wedded to her work.’ Her tone made it clear that work was all that Adelaide could hope to wed. Her glance rested on Adelaide’s hair and she allowed her beautiful eyebrows to arch slightly. She smiled. ‘Such unusual hair! You must find it a great drawback.’ The professor, listening idly, heard Margriet’s