this, but I am your mother and I want the best for you. Take care you don’t become a prig—sometimes you’re too good to be true.’
She gave a tinkling laugh. ‘There, don’t I sound horrid? But I say it for your own good. You don’t want to spend all your life in a dull office, do you?’ She patted her carefully arranged curls. ‘Besides, I might marry again.’
Serena, the memory of whose father was still a well-hidden sorrow, poured coffee and handed her mother a cup. ‘Anyone I know?’ she asked.
‘Well, no, dear, but I flatter myself that I’m still fairly youthful as well as being good company, and who knows, I might meet someone I like in Holland.’
Perhaps she had done the wrong thing in agreeing to take on the new job, thought Serena worriedly, and when, some days later, she met Dr ter Feulen at the hospital, she begged a moment of his time, and when he paused impatiently with a politely curt, ‘Well, what can I do for you?’ she wasted no time in coming to the point.
‘I don’t think it will help Mother at all to go to Holland,’ she said, not mincing matters. ‘She leads such a quiet life, and she’s delicate …’
‘Since you were worried about your mother’s health, Miss Proudfoot, I made a point of visiting her. And as we are speaking plainly, I must tell you that I formed the opinion that there is nothing the matter with your mother. Her health would improve immediately if she were to take up some occupation—housework, cooking, voluntary work of some kind. If that sounds to you harsh I do not mean it to be so. I have no doubt that during the weeks she will be in Amsterdam she will find friends and perhaps involve herself in some activity or other.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Forgive me, I’m due in theatre.’
Not a very satisfactory conversation, reflected Serena.
She was kept busy at home as well as at work. She had been unable to discover for how long they would be away, but all the same all the particulars appertaining to the closing of the house had to be attended to, arrangements had to be made at the bank so that her mother’s pension could be transferred and passports renewed, which didn’t leave much time over for her own shopping.
It was October now and, although the pleasant autumn weather still held, there was a nip in the air and yet it might not be cold enough for a winter coat. She dug into her savings and got herself a short wool coat in a pleasing shade of aubergine and found a pleated skirt in a matching check. An outsize cream sweater and a couple of blouses completed the outfit and would, she considered, stand her in good stead for the duration of her stay in Holland. A dark green jersey dress, by no means new but a useful addition to her wardrobe, and a brown velveteen dress, very plain but nicely cut, a raincoat, a pair of court shoes and a sensible pair of walking shoes would, she considered, be sufficient for her needs, although at the last minute she added a thick tweed skirt and a rather elderly anorak as well as woolly gloves and a woolly cap. Mrs Dunn had told her that Miss Payne, on a previous visit to Holland, had suffered badly from nipped fingers and cold ears.
Her mother’s wardrobe was much more varied and very large and certainly there was enough to cover the entire winter, but Serena forbore from remarking on this after a first attempt which had ended in her mother saying pettishly that it was obvious that she wasn’t wanted and she might as well stay at home alone as she always was. ‘After all I’ve done for you,’ she ended, and Serena, soothing her back to a good humour, sighed to herself. A good and loving daughter, nevertheless sometimes she longed to have her freedom; to lead her own life and make friends of her own age. She had friends, of course, but nowadays they were either married and living miles away or living on their own with splendid jobs entailing a good deal of travelling and meeting important people. From time to time they had suggested to her that she might share a flat and find a job, but her mother had made that impossible; not by standing in her way but by becoming pale and silent and pathetically cheerful about the future. She would, of course, manage, she told Serena. She would sell their home, of course, for she could never manage to run it alone, and she would find one of those flats where there was a warden to look after one if one became ill and didn’t wish to worry one’s family. There wouldn’t be much money, of course, without Serena’s contribution, but she had no doubt that she would contrive. And all this said with a brave smile and a wistful droop that wrung Serena’s heart and squashed any hopes of a life of her own.
It was several days after her conversation with Dr ter Feulen that she found a letter on her desk when she arrived at work—a typed letter setting out the day on which she and her mother were to travel and from where. They were to fly, and she would receive their tickets in due course. They would be met at Schiphol airport and taken to the boarding-house where rooms had been reserved for them. She was to report for work on the following morning at eight o’clock. Her timetable would be at the boarding-house. He had signed it M. Dijkstra ter Feulen.
When Serena got home she showed her mother the letter. Mrs Proudfoot was put out. ‘I can’t see why we couldn’t go over to Holland in his car! He must be going at about the same time. With my poor health all this business of getting to Heathrow and flying to Amsterdam is bound to upset my nerves.’
Serena held her tongue. The doctor had made it plain that he considered that her mother was as fit as the next woman, but he had spoken in confidence. Perhaps when the time was right, he would suggest that she should change her lifestyle. ‘Possibly he’ll travel at an awkward time,’ she suggested tactfully.
It was two days before they were due to leave that she heard quite by accident that he had already left the hospital. ‘Left late last night,’ Mrs Dunn told her, ‘and he’s not expected back for several weeks, so Theatre Sister tells me, although there are several cases lined up for him before Christmas.’ She eyed Serena curiously. ‘Don’t you know how long you’ll be gone?’
‘Not exactly. It depends on his work in Holland.’
‘Oh, well, you’re a lucky girl, stepping into Miss Payne’s shoes and getting a chance to travel a bit. Mind you, he expects a lot from his secretary. Miss Payne was with him for quite a time, it’ll be hard to live up to her standards …’
Not a very cheering prospect, but one Serena was prepared to ignore. However hard she would have to work she would be in a foreign country and she intended to make the most of it. Moreover, from the moment she stepped on to Dutch soil, she would be earning considerably more money. If they were back home for Christmas, and she was sure that they would be, they would be able to go to a theatre or two, and buy all the extras which made all the difference at the festive season, perhaps have a day shopping at her mother’s favourite stores … ‘I’ll do my best,’ she assured Mrs Dunn cheerfully.
Mrs Proudfoot had insisted on a taxi to Heathrow, an expense which Serena could well have done without, and, once there, her mother complained about having time to wait for their flight, the coffee, the lack of comfortable seats and how exhausted she was. Serena, occupied with luggage, tickets and passports, bit back impatient words, assured her mother that once they were on the plane everything would be fine, and so it was. The flight was brief, the coffee and biscuits they were offered passed the time very nicely and in no time at all they were at Schiphol.
There was a tricky delay while Serena fetched their bags from the carousel and a few anxious moments wondering if they would be met, quickly forgotten when an elderly man approached them. ‘Mrs Proudfoot and Miss Proudfoot? Dr Dijkstra ter Feulen wished me to meet you. My name is Cor, if you will please follow me.’
He was a sturdily built man and made light of their suitcases, walking ahead of them out of the airport entrance and leading them to a dark blue Jaguar. He opened the car door and ushered them in, put their bags in the boot and got into the driver’s seat.
‘A
