she would need to know…
It wasn’t difficult to find, so she went inside and found that the girls behind the counter spoke English. She could fly, they told her, an easy train ride to the airport at Schiphol, or she could get a ferry from the Hoek van Holland or from Scheveningen to Harwich. They could arrange it for her.
Sarah thanked them, then asked if they knew of a small, inexpensive hotel. They went to a lot of trouble, and she left presently with a short list from which to choose. Now it was just a question of going back to St Bravo’s, finding out about her stepfather, seeing her mother, collecting her case from the porter and moving into whichever hotel had a room vacant.
She went into another café and had a cup of tea and some biscuits, and then found her way back to the hospital. She went first to see her stepfather, who was nicely recovered from the anaesthetic but whose temper was uncertain. He was propped up on his pillows, a leg in plaster under a cradle. In reply to her civil and sympathetic enquiry as to how he felt, he said angrily, ‘That infernal surgeon says that I must remain here for at least two weeks…’
‘I thought that once the plaster was dry you could walk with a crutch…’
‘Don’t be a fool. A broken rib has pierced my lung; it has to heal before I’m fit to be moved.’
‘Oh—oh, I’m sorry. I’ll tell Mother. I’m going to see her now.’
‘And don’t bother to come and see me. The less I see of you the better—if it hadn’t been for you…’
No doubt he had told anyone who would listen that it had been her fault. She bade him goodbye and went along to see her mother.
That lady was sitting up in bed, pecking at her supper.
‘It’s so early,’ she complained, as soon as she set eyes on Sarah. ‘How can I possibly eat at half past six in the evening?’
Sarah sat down by the bed and listened with outward patience to her parent’s grumbles. When there was a pause, she told her about her stepfather.
‘How tiresome. What is to happen to me, I should like to know? I’ve no intention of staying here a day longer than I must. You will have to take me home, Sarah. Your father—’ she caught Sarah’s eye ‘—stepfather can return when he’s recovered. I can’t be expected to look after him. Of course you will be at home, but I suppose you will need some help.’
She didn’t ask Sarah how she had spent her day—Sarah hadn’t expected her to—but told her to come the next morning.
‘You must get me that special night-cream—and a paler lipstick, oh, and a bed jacket. Pink, something pretty. I don’t see why I should look dowdy just because I am in this horrible place.’
‘Mother,’ said Sarah, ‘this is a splendid hospital, and if you hadn’t been brought here you might be feeling a lot worse.’
Mrs Holt squeezed out a tear. ‘How hard-hearted you are, Sarah. Go away and enjoy yourself—and don’t be late here in the morning. I want that bed jacket before the doctors do their rounds.’
Sarah stifled a wish to burst into tears; she was tired and hungry by now, and the future loomed ahead in a most unsatisfactory manner. She bade her mother goodnight and went in search of Sister.
Her mother was doing well, she was told; rather excitable and unco-operative, but that was to be expected with concussion. Sarah could rest assured that hospital was the best place for her mother for the moment, and that as soon as possible she and Mr Holt would be transferred back home.
‘So you need have no more worries,’ said Sister kindly.
Sarah began the lengthy walk back to the entrance. She must get her case and then go to one of the hotels. She had spent rather longer that she had meant to with her mother, and somewhere a clock chimed seven. She hadn’t been looking where she was going and had got lost again. She stood in the long corridor, wondering if she should go to the left or the right…
A hand on her arm swept her straight ahead. ‘Lost?’ asked Mr ter Breukel cheerfully. ‘We’ll collect your case and go home. Suzanne will be wondering where we are.’
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