as long as possible while they discussed the day’s work. It was as they lingered over the last dregs of their tea that Shirley Thompson from Women’s Surgical declared herself to be completely fed up with that ward, its Sister, the patients, and indeed the whole hospital. ‘I’m sick of Jerrold’s,’ she declared. ‘I’m going to look for another job. I’ve got the Nursing Mirror in my room, let’s go and make a pot of tea and find me a new job.’
No one quite believed her; for one thing, she was going steady with one of the house surgeons; and for another, she made this same announcement every few months, but it was too soon for bed and there wasn’t much else to do; they trooped from the canteen and across to the Nurses’ Home, where they crowded into the Sisters’ lift, strictly forbidden, but no one was likely to see them on a Sunday evening, anyway, and besides, everyone did it and hoped not to be caught, and once on the top floor they disposed themselves around Shirley’s room, ready to drink more tea and give her their not very serious advice.
They were debating, in a lighthearted manner, the advantages of nursing an octogenarian recovering from a fractured femur in Belgravia, as opposed to a post as school nurse in a boarding establishment in Cumberland, when the Nursing Mirror came into Lavinia’s hands. She glanced through it idly and turning a page had her eye instantly caught by a large advertisement headed simply ‘Amsterdam’. She read it carelessly, and then, struck by a blindingly super idea, very carefully.
Registered nurses wanted, said the advertisement, with theatre experience and at a salary which was quite fabulous. Knowledge of Dutch was unnecessary; lessons could be arranged, and provided the applicant proved suitable and wished to remain for a period of not less than six months, outside accommodation would be found for her. Lavinia, never very good at her sums, got out her pen and did some basic arithmetic on the underside of her uniform skirt. Supposing, just supposing that the job was all it said it was, if she could get somewhere to live, Peta could live with her, for they could manage on that salary if they were careful. Of course, the plan was completely crazy; Peta’s education would come to a halt, but then, Lavinia feared, it would do that if Peta stayed at Cuckfield; her sister’s vehemence was clear enough in her letter, it would be awful if she were to run away… Lavinia shuddered just thinking about it—and wouldn’t it be better to have her sister under her eye and once she had settled down, devise some plan whereby she might finish her education? She calculated quickly; Peta was only a week or two under sixteen when she could leave school quite legitimately, so there would be no trouble there, and although she knew nothing about education in Holland there would surely be some way of completing her studies.
When the gathering broke up, she begged the journal from Shirley and before she went to bed that night, applied for the job.
She went down to Cuckfield two days later and found Peta alone in the house, waiting for her, and when she saw her sister’s face any doubts which she had been secretly harbouring about a plan which common sense told her was a little short of hare-brained were put at rest. Peta was dreadfully unhappy and Lavinia, ten years her senior, felt a motherly urge to set things right as quickly as possible.
Aunt Gwyneth was out and would be back for lunch, and, the housekeeper told Lavinia, Mrs Turner was looking forward to a nice chat before her niece went back that evening.
Lavinia sighed. The nice chats were really nothing but questions and answers—her aunt asked the questions; rather rude ones usually, and she answered them with a polite vagueness which invariably annoyed her elderly relation, for her aunt, while professing a fondness for Peta, had never liked her. Even as a small girl she had refused to be browbeaten by her father’s elder sister and her hectoring manner had left her quite unimpressed; it had never worried her father either, who had brushed it aside like a troublesome swarm of flies, but her mother, a gentle creature like Peta, had often wilted under her sister-in-law’s tongue. Lavinia, made of sterner stuff, had refused to be intimidated, and Aunt Gwyneth, annoyed at this, took her petty revenge by never inviting her to stay at her home, either for her holidays or her free days. She was too clever to do this openly, of course, but somehow, when holidays came round, the bedrooms were being decorated, or her aunt was going away herself or felt too poorly to have visitors, and as for her days off, invariably at teatime Lavinia would be asked which train she intended to catch and some reference would be made as to her eagerness to get back to Jerrold’s, in order, presumably, to plunge into a hectic round of gaiety with every doctor in the place.
This veiled assumption of her popularity with the men was something which amused Lavinia very much; her aunt knew well enough that she had no men friends; she got on very well with the doctors and students she worked with, but none of them had shown her any decided preference and she doubted if they ever would; she had no looks to speak of and a quiet manner which, while encouraging young men to confide in her, did nothing to catch their fancy.
They were sitting together in the sitting room having their morning coffee when Peta burst out: ‘Lavinia, I can’t stay here—I simply can’t! Aunt Gwyneth keeps telling me how good she’s been to me—and you, though I can’t think how—she makes me feel like a—a pauper. I know we haven’t any money, but she is our aunt and our only relation, and do you know what she said? That in a year or two, when I’ve finished school and am earning my living, you’ll have to leave your job in hospital and be her companion, because she’ll need someone by then and it’s only natural that you should be the one because she’s given me a home.’ She added unhappily: ‘Lavinia, what are we going to do?’
Lavinia refilled their coffee cups. ‘I’ll tell you, darling.’
She outlined her plan simply, making light of its obvious drawbacks, glad that Peta hadn’t spotted them in her excitement. ‘So you see, Peta, everything will be super, only you must promise to stay here and take your O levels and say nothing about our plan to anyone. I haven’t heard from these people yet, but I think I’ve got a good chance of getting a job. I’ll have to give a month’s notice at Jerrold’s—give me a couple of weeks to find my way about, and I’ll come for you. Could you stick it for just a little longer?’
Peta nodded. ‘Darling Lavinia, of course I can. You’re sure we can live on what you’ll earn in Amsterdam? I could get a job…’
‘Yes, love, I know, but I think we’ll be able to manage. I’d rather you went on with your studies—perhaps if you could learn Dutch, enough to help you get a job later on? UNO and all that,’ she added vaguely, and looked at the clock. ‘Aunt Gwyneth will be here very soon, let’s talk about something else so that we’re just as usual when she comes. Tell me about school.’
Their aunt found them poring over school books, arguing cheerfully about applied physics although Lavinia knew almost nothing about the subject. She got up to greet her aunt and received a chilly peck on her cheek while the lady studied her. ‘You must be twenty-six,’ she observed. ‘Such a pity you have no looks, Lavinia. How fortunate that you took up nursing as a career, although waiting until you were twenty-two seems to me to have been a needless waste of time—you could have been a ward Sister by now.’
Lavinia thought of several answers to this unfortunate remark, but none of them were very polite; they went in to lunch in a little flurry of polite and meaningless remarks.
Lunch was excellent; Aunt Gwyneth enjoyed her comforts and made sure that she had them, although she pointed out during dessert that her nieces were lucky girls indeed to enjoy the benefits of her generosity. Lavinia, still peevish about her aunt’s remark about her lack of looks, felt an urge to throw her trifle across the table at her. No wonder poor little Peta was fed up; anything would be better than putting up with the succession of snide remarks which tripped off her relation’s tongue. For once she answered with relief when she was asked at what time she was returning to hospital.
‘I daresay you have plans for the evening,’ said Aunt Gwyneth, ‘and I’m not
