while she brooded on Uncle Valentijn; a man of resource and a bit high-handed too—supposing, just supposing she hadn’t wanted to go? She had said that she did, though, and Mevrouw van Eysink must have voiced her doubts to him. Probably he considered that she was incapable of arranging her own affairs. Which, she considered fairly, was perfectly true.
She drank her sherry, got a dainty supper for her mother while that lady reiterated her high opinion of Uncle Valentijn and presently took her departure. It was still fairly early and although she had had a cup of coffee with her mother she hadn’t had her own supper, and although she was a sensible girl and independent she wasn’t all that keen on going into one of the small cafés near the hospital. She could, of course, see what there was on the ward when she went to see Mevrouw van Eysink. She sat in the almost empty bus thinking about clothes and should she wear uniform, and what about off duty and who was going to pay her, and had to be roused by a friendly conductor when the bus stopped by the hospital. She was still pondering these as she went up to the Prem. Unit, where she found her friend in the office, reading the report for the second time.
She looked up as Hannah went in. ‘Hullo. Mevrouw van Eysink’s waiting for you—says she won’t go to sleep until you’ve seen her. You lucky devil, Hannah, going to Holland—I expect they’ve got pots of money and you’ll live off the fat of the land. Why can’t these things happen to me?’
‘Well, you don’t need them,’ observed Hannah. ‘You’re getting married in six months and then you’ll be able to do your own housekeeping and live off the fat of the land yourself.’
Her companion laughed. ‘On a house surgeon’s salary? You must be joking!’ Hannah smiled because she knew she didn’t mean a word of it. ‘Can I pop along?’
‘Yes, do—I’ve fed baby Paul and she’s only waiting to see you before we tuck her down for the night.’
But it wasn’t only Mevrouw van Eysink who was waiting, Uncle Valentijn was there too, the epitome of understated elegance. Hannah, seeing him, hesitated at the door. ‘Oh, I’ll come back later,’ she said, and withdrew her head, to have the door opened and find herself taken by the arm and drawn into the room. ‘We’re waiting for you,’ observed the doctor. ‘Corinna refused to sleep, so perhaps you will tell her at once if you are going with her to Holland.’
‘Yes—oh, yes, I am.’ Hannah smiled widely at her patient and was quite unprepared for the sudden gush of tears from Mevrouw van Eysink. ‘My goodness, have you changed your mind?’ she asked. ‘I can easily…’
‘Tears of joy’, declared Uncle Valentijn. ‘She has been on tenterhooks.’
‘Oh, well, it’s all fixed,’ Hannah gave him a considering look. ‘Thank you, Doctor van Bertes, for—for persuading my mother, it was kind of you.’
His blue eyes, cool and amused, stared back at her. ‘High-handed, I suspect, is the word you would prefer to use, but baby Paul must be our first concern. I hope that your mother is content with the arrangements which I suggested.’
‘Oh, very—and the sherry.’
His mouth twitched. ‘I’m glad, and I know that Corinna, once she has finished weeping, will tell you that she is quite content with matters as they stand.’
His niece blew her delicate nose and smiled mistily. ‘Dear Uncle Valentijn, what would we do without you? Paul will be so pleased that everything is settled, and so easily too.’
Hannah caught the doctor’s eye and said quickly, ‘Well, I’ll say goodnight. It’s time you were asleep, and I’m not really supposed to be here.’
‘Nor am I.’ He bent to kiss his niece, looked briefly at the sleeping Paul and went to the door where Hannah was still standing. She hadn’t expected him to come with her and she stood awkwardly before muttering again: ‘Well, I’ll be off—see you in the morning, Mevrouw van Eysink.’ She added very quickly, ‘Goodnight, Doctor van Bertes.’
He didn’t answer for the simple reason that he went with her, striding down the corridor while she fumed, wondering how she could slip away into the kitchen and see if there was a slice of bread and butter to be had. She was still mulling over one or two quite unsuitable plans when he came to a halt outside Sister’s office. ‘Have you had supper?’ he asked.
‘Supper? Why, no, but—but I’m going to have it now.’
‘Good, I’ll join you—I’m famished.’
How to tell him that he would be expected to creep into the kitchen and hack a chunk off the loaf and if Night Sister had done her rounds, make tea?
‘Well—’ she began.
‘What I should have said,’ observed her companion smoothly, ‘was will you join me?’ And at her obvious hesitation, even more smoothly: ‘I can perhaps give you some idea of what will be expected of you when you accompany my niece.’
Hannah was too surprised to speak for a moment, but hunger got the better of all her other feelings. ‘That would be nice,’ she said sedately.
‘Good. We’re not too far from the Baron of Beef. I take it that you may stay out until a reasonable hour?’
‘Midnight, but I wouldn’t want to be out as late as that.’
The blue eyes gleamed, but all he said was: ‘Naturally not—you’re on duty in the morning, I presume.’
He swept her through the hospital and out into the street and into a taxi, where she sat very upright in the corner, unaware that in the dark he was grinning with amusement, but once in the restaurant, among the lights and crowded tables, she relaxed a little.
‘I hope you are hungry,’ remarked her host. ‘I am.’
‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am.’ Hannah essayed a small smile, wishing that he wouldn’t look at her with a faint mockery which made her uncomfortable. And as though he read her thoughts the mockery wasn’t there any more, only a kind smile. ‘Good. Would you like a drink while we decide?’
She accepted a sherry because she wasn’t sure what else to ask for and bent to the enjoyable task of choosing her supper. She had dined out so seldom that she found this difficult, and when her companion suggested artichoke hearts with vinaigrette dressing for a start, followed by tournedos Rossini with new peas and new potatoes, she agreed happily and with relief. He didn’t consult her about the wine, though; she drank what was poured into her glass and enjoyed it, only asking after the first sip, what it was.
‘A claret,’ she was told, ‘quite harmless and most suitable to drink with a steak.’ He glanced at her. ‘I don’t suppose you have much opportunity to go out, Hannah.’
The sherry had put a different complexion on things, and the claret was improving it with every minute. ‘No, hardly ever. When my father was alive we had people to dinner and we went out to other people’s houses, but not to restaurants.’
‘Ah, yes, your father was a rural dean, your mother was telling me; you must have had a pleasant life.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Hannah just stopped herself in time from pouring out her pleasant memories to him and went red at the thought. The Doctor eyed her over his glass and wondered what he had said to make her face flame. He hadn’t met anyone quite so shy and stiff for years; certainly
