was nothing to complain about—indeed, she became quite animated as they neared Amsterdam, exclaiming over the churches, old houses and canals once they had gone through the modern encircling suburbs. Cor stopped finally in a narrow street with blocks of flats interspersed with solid houses, built of red brick round the turn of the century. It was to one of these that he led them, rang the bell and waited with them until the door opened. The woman who answered it was middle-aged and stout, with a pleasant face and small beady eyes.
‘The English ladies,’ she greeted them. ‘Welcome. Come in, please.’
Her English was as good as Cor’s but heavily accented. She spoke to him in their own tongue and he went to the car and fetched the luggage and put it in the hall. ‘I wish you a pleasant stay,’ he told them, and Mrs Proudfoot smiled graciously.
Serena shook his hand and thanked him. ‘It was so nice to be met by someone who speaks English; it all seems a bit strange, and we are most grateful.’ She started to open her purse, but he laid a large beefy hand on hers.
‘No, no, miss. That is not necessary—the doctor has arranged all …’
He gave her a beaming smile, said something to their landlady and went away.
‘So, now we will go to your rooms. My name is Mevrouw Blom and I am glad to know you. Come …’
Serena picked up one of their cases and Mevrouw Blom took the other two, while Mrs Proudfoot carried her umbrella. The stairs leading from the narrow hall were steep, covered in serviceable carpeting and led to a narrow landing. Mevrouw Blom opened two of the three doors and waved Serena and her mother into the rooms. They were identical as to furniture: a bed, a table under the narrow window with a small mirror, a small easy chair, a small table by the bed and a large, old-fashioned wardrobe. The floors were wooden, with rugs by the beds and under the windows. There were overhead lights as well as bedside lamps and a radiator against one wall in each room. ‘You will tidy yourselves,’ said Mevrouw Blom cheerfully, ‘and then return to the room below and take coffee.’
‘The bathroom?’ asked Serena.
‘Ah, yes—there is a shower-room.’ The third door was opened to show a tiled shower-room with a washbasin.
Mevrouw Blom went back downstairs and Mrs Proudfoot turned to Serena. ‘I thought it would have been a hotel,’ she complained peevishly. ‘It’s nothing but a cheap boarding-house!’
‘Mother, it’s clean and warm and quite nicely furnished, and you mustn’t forget that the doctor is paying for both of us; he had to pay for me, I know, but he needn’t have done so for you.’ She kissed her mother. ‘Let’s tidy ourselves and go downstairs.’
Mevrouw Blom was waiting for them and ushered them into a large room which opened into a second smaller room at the back of the house. Both rooms were well furnished with comfortable chairs, small tables, and, in the smaller of the rooms, several tables were laid for a meal. Mrs Proudfoot brightened at the sight of the TV in one corner and the closed stove in the larger of the rooms. She sat down in a chair close to it while Mrs Blom poured coffee and handed cups with small sugary biscuits. The coffee was delicious and she sipped it. Perhaps it wasn’t too bad …
‘I have a letter for you, miss,’ said Mevrouw Blom, ‘from Dr Dijkstra ter Feulen. He tells me you go to work at eight o’clock, therefore there is breakfast for you at half-past seven. The hospital is five minutes’ walking—I will show you. You eat your supper here each evening and if you are late that is OK.’ She chuckled. ‘Miss Payne, when she was here, was sometimes late, but that is not important.’
She poured more coffee and Serena, with a murmured excuse, sat down near the window to read her letter.
It was a cold businesslike missive, but she hadn’t expected anything else. She was to present herself at the porter’s lodge at eight o’clock, where she would be taken to the room where she was to work. She was to be prepared to go to the wards, outpatients’ clinic or the theatre block, and she should familiarise herself with the hospital at the earliest opportunity. Here her normal working day would end at five o’clock with an hour for lunch, but these hours might be varied. He was hers, M. Dijkstra ter Feulen. At least she supposed the unreadable scrawl was his.
She folded the letter and put it back in its envelope. He might have expressed the hope that she would like her work, or something equally civil. He was not a man to waste words on polite nothings, however. To her mother’s enquiry as to the contents of the envelope, she replied in her calm way that it only contained instructions as to her work. ‘I shall be away all day, Mother, so for the time being don’t plan anything for the evenings, as Dr ter Feulen mentions that I may need to work late. I shall know more when I’ve been there for a day or two.’
Her mother was prepared to argue, but at that moment several people came into the room and Mevrouw Blom with them.
‘These ladies and gentlemen are also staying here,’ she explained. ‘I make them known to you now.’
There were two middle-aged ladies, stout and well dressed, who smiled broadly, shook hands and murmured.
‘They tell their names,’ said Mevrouw Blom. ‘Mevrouw Lagerveld and Mevrouw van Til, and the gentlemen …’
Mijnheer van Til shook hands and spoke, to Serena’s relief, in English. ‘I am charmed, now I may exercise my English?’ and Mijnheer Lagerveld, shaking hands in his turn, essayed a few words with the excuse that his English was poor.
‘Here we have a surprise,’ chimed in Mevrouw Blom, looking pleased with herself. ‘This is Mr Harding, from England, who stays with me while he studies the old houses of Amsterdam.’
He was a thin man of middle height, nice-looking with grey hair and mild blue eyes. Serena guessed him to be in his early sixties.
‘This is a most pleasant surprise,’ he observed as he shook hands. ‘I hope you’ll be staying for some time.’
Mrs Proudfoot smiled charmingly. ‘Oh, I think so. My daughter is to work at the hospital for some weeks and I’ve come with her—my doctor considered a change of scene might improve my health.’
She looked round her and sighed with pleasure. Perhaps it wasn’t such a cheap boarding-house after all. Here was company, people she could talk to, and Mr Harding looked quite promising …
Serena left them presently and went upstairs to unpack her things, and then, since her mother had done nothing about her own luggage, unpacked for her, too, hung everything tidily away in the wardrobe and went back to her room to read the doctor’s letter again. If she had hoped to read a little warmth into it she failed.
The evening meal was at six o’clock—a substantial one of soup, meatballs, vegetables and potatoes, followed by blancmange. Mrs Proudfoot, who normally pecked at the kind of invalid diet she had devised for herself, ate everything, explaining to Mr Harding that after their tiring journey she needed to keep up her strength. It surprised and pleased Serena to see her mother so animated, and indeed, when she suggested that she must be tired and an early night might be advisable, Mrs Proudfoot said prettily that she was enjoying the company far too much to leave it so early and advised Serena to go to bed herself. ‘For I dare say you’ll have a busy day, darling.’ She put up her cheek for Serena to kiss. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening, you leave far too early in the morning.’ She smiled around the room. ‘I sleep badly and usually doze off just as everyone else is getting up!’
Serena wished everyone
