it was providential that there was the English Mr Harding for her to talk to. He would probably have the leisure to spend some time with her; at least he would be there to talk to her at meals. Serena burrowed her mousy head into the large square pillow and went to sleep.
When she went downstairs soon after seven o’clock the next morning she found Mevrouw Blom waiting for her. The rooms were spotless, the tables laid for breakfast, the stove already lighted.
‘You sleep well?’ asked Mevrouw Blom. ‘I bring coffee and rolls if you will sit.’
Serena wasn’t very hungry, she was too excited for that, but she managed to eat the boiled egg and a roll and cheese and drink the contents of the coffee-pot. No one had mentioned arrangements for her midday meal. Perhaps she was expected to go into the town for it, or return to Mevrouw Blom, but at the moment her lunch was the least important of her thoughts; she was more concerned in getting to the hospital and being where Dr ter Feulen expected her to be by eight o’clock.
The hospital was very close by, indeed she could see it looming over the housetops as she went out of the front door, and once there, with ten minutes to spare, she went to the porter’s lodge and gave her name.
The porter was elderly with a craggy face and a neat fringe of hair around his bald head. He answered her good morning with a remark in his own tongue and picked up the telephone. Since the conversation meant nothing to her, Serena took a look around her. The hospital entrance was imposing, with a paved floor and a wide sweeping staircase opposite the doors. They led to a landing lined with lifts as far as she could see, and then branched on either side to the floor above.
‘Wait, if you please,’ said the porter in very bad English, and turned back to sorting the letters.
So she waited, one eye on the enormous clock above the stairs; it was five minutes to eight and she didn’t care to arrive late on her first morning. The minute hand had moved to four minutes before a stout woman with iron-grey hair and a severe expression came from somewhere at the back of the hall.
‘Miss Proudfoot—good morning. You are to come with me.’ She looked Serena over. ‘You are a good deal younger than Miss Payne …’ She held out a hand. ‘Juffrouw Staal.’
‘Serena Proudfoot,’ said Serena, and smiled hopefully. But all Juffrouw Staal did was to nod her head briskly and lead the way to the back of the hall and through a door. There was a stone staircase beyond it and she started up it, saying over her shoulder,
‘You will come this way each day, you will not need to speak to the porter.’
They climbed to the third floor and went through a swing-door into a wide passage with rooms opening from it on either side. Almost at the end of it Juffrouw Staal stopped. ‘Dr ter Feulen comes to this room to dictate his letters and give you his instructions. You will also be required to go to the wards and clinics if he wishes to record some of his cases.’
She indicated the desk and chair set under the window. ‘You will go for your coffee at ten o’clock. The canteen is on the ground floor—someone will show you. You will also lunch there at fifteen minutes past twelve. You may have ten minutes for tea, and that is at half-past three. The cloakrooms are at the end of this corridor.’
Serena thanked her. ‘You speak English awfully well,’ she said.
Miss Staal unbent very slightly. ‘I have lived in your country for a year or so. You will be here only a short time, but I advise you to learn a few basic phrases as soon as possible.’
She nodded and went away, leaving Serena to take the cover off her typewriter, look into the drawers and cupboards and make sure that her pencils were sharpened, and, that done, she went to the window to look out over the neighbouring streets. It was a grey morning and there was a mean wind, but the city looked interesting from where she stood, looking down on to its roofs.
‘I suppose I stay here until someone comes, and let’s hope that’s soon—he might turn nasty if I’m late.’ She had spoken out loud, as she so often did when she was alone, and a slight sound made her turn round in a hurry.
Dr ter Feulen had come into the room. He gave her an unsmiling good morning and added, ‘Since you’re not late I can see no reason to turn nasty. You have a poor opinion of me, Miss Proudfoot.’
She had gone pink, but she didn’t avoid his eye. ‘No, not really, it’s just that I’m a bit nervous of doing the wrong thing, and to be late would be such a very bad start.’
He nodded carelessly. ‘You are comfortable at Mevrouw Blom’s house?’
‘Oh, very, thank you, and Mother is so pleased. There are other people there who speak English and an English gentleman …’ She stopped because he was looking impatient. She asked quickly, ‘What do you wish me to do first, sir?’
He stood looking at her and she wondered if there was something wrong with her. She had left the house as neat as a new pin, but the hurried climb up the stairs might have loosened her tidy head of hair, or was her blouse rumpled? She surveyed her person with an anxious eye, relieved at last to hear him say, ‘No, there’s nothing wrong, Miss Proudfoot. And must I call you that? You won’t object to being called Serena?’
‘Not in the least, sir.’
‘Then let us make a tour of the hospital so that when you are sent for you don’t take all day to get there.’
She said crossly, quite forgetting to whom she was speaking, ‘You do have a most unfortunate way of making me feel inadequate! I’m sure I’m quite capable of finding my way around without anyone’s help.’
‘Oh, undoubtedly. But all the same, perhaps you will be good enough to come with me now.’
She went out of the room with something of a flounce, not seeing his smile, and after ten minutes of traipsing up and down stairs and along corridors which all looked alike, she was forced to admit that without him she would have been hopelessly lost. She took care to look where she went; the theatre block was on the top floor and Outpatients was on the ground floor at the back of the hospital. She was introduced to the ward sisters, and it wasn’t until they were back in the office where she was to work that she realised how difficult it would have been to find her way around the vast place without a guide. She said apologetically, ‘I’m sorry I was so rude. It was kind of you to show me round—I would have got hopelessly lost.’
The doctor nodded, unsmiling. ‘Indeed you would, and I might have turned nasty!’ He saw the look on her face and said hastily, ‘No—it is I who am sorry. I had no reason to say that. I think we shall get on very well together. Let us begin as we mean to go on. I have a clinic in ten minutes’ time. Bring your notebook and pencil—there’s a long morning’s work ahead of us.’ He nodded again, but this time he smiled.
He was really rather nice, she decided, watching his broad back disappear along the corridor.
That evening, reviewing her day, Serena decided that she hadn’t done so badly. It had been very like working at the Royal, and although the doctor had spoken Dutch to his patients he had detailed his notes in English, and he and his registrar had spoken together in that language with as much ease as if they were speaking their own tongue. Serena had been nervous at first, but by the end of the morning she had found her feet and had gone down to the canteen for her lunch with two of the other hospital clerks and had quite enjoyed herself. She had spent the afternoon typing up the notes, typed up the details of an operation the doctor had performed that afternoon, this time
