Uncertain Summer. Betty Neels
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Serena, tapping on the door of number twenty-one, wondered if the whole hospital knew about her friendship with the Dutch doctor and dismissed the idea with a shrug. He was in bed, although he told her immediately in something like triumph that he was to have a walking iron fixed the following morning and that his concussion had cleared completely. ‘Come here, my little gipsy,’ he cajoled her. ‘I’ve been so bored all day, I thought you were never coming.’
‘I told Joan…’ she began.
‘Yes, I know—surely you could have left one of your nurses in charge for just a moment or two? I was furious with Gijs getting back so late—if he’d moved a bit you would have had time to come and see me before you went on duty.’
‘He did move,’ said Serena soothingly. ‘I’ve never seen anyone get so much out of a middle-aged Mini in all my life. He was very kind, too…’
‘Oh, Gijs is always kind.’ Laurens sounded a little sulky and she gave him a startled look which made him change the sulkiness for a smile of great charm. ‘Sorry I’m so foul-tempered—it’s a bit dull, you know. Come a little nearer, I shan’t bite.’
She went and stood close to the bed and he reached up and pulled her down and kissed her swiftly. ‘There,’ he said with satisfaction, ‘now everything’s fine—no, don’t go away.’
She smiled a little shyly and left her hand in his, studying his good looks—he really was remarkably handsome. It was strange that all unbidden, the face of his cousin should float before her eyes—he was handsome too, but with a difference which she didn’t bother to discover just then, although it reminded her to ask: ‘Your cousin—I hope he wasn’t too tired?’
‘Gijs? Tired? Lord no, he’s never tired. He went back to Holland this evening.’
Serena felt a faint prick of disappointment; she hadn’t thanked him properly and now she might never have the opportunity. She said so worriedly and Laurens laughed. ‘Don’t give it a thought, he wouldn’t expect it. And now let’s stop talking about Gijs and talk about us.’
‘Us?’
He nodded. ‘I’ll be fit to get around in a couple of days—I shan’t be able to drive or dance, but there’s no reason why we shouldn’t have dinner together, is there, Serena? When are you free in the evening?’
She told him and he went on. ‘Good—I should get away from here by Thursday or Friday. We’ll dine and make plans.’
Serena, conscious that her conversation, such as it was, had become repetitive, asked ‘Plans?’
‘Of course, my beauty—there’s our glorious future to discuss.’
Serena forced herself to remain calm. All the same, he was going a bit fast for her; perhaps she should change the conversation. She asked sedately: ‘When will you go back to Holland?’ wisely not commenting upon the future.
He smiled a little as though he knew what she was thinking. ‘We’ll talk about that later. Quite soon, I expect—my mother is worrying about me. She’s a splendid worrier, though Gijs will be home by the morning and can soothe her down—he’s good at that. If ever you want a good cry, Serena, try his shoulder. He’s splendid in the part—doesn’t seem to mind a girl crying, though I can’t say the same for myself. I’ve not much patience for women who burst into tears for no good reason.’
He grinned at her and she smiled back, thinking how absurd it was for anyone to want to cry about anything at all. ‘I’m going,’ she said softly. ‘Night Sister will hate me if I stay a moment longer.’ She withdrew her hand.
‘Come tomorrow,’ he urged her as she reached the door. She turned to look at him and even at that distance, in the light of the bedside lamp, she could see how blue his eyes were. ‘Of course.’
On the way over to the home she found herself wondering what colour Gijs’s eyes were. It was ridiculous, but she didn’t know; blue too, she supposed, and now she came to think about it, he had a habit of drooping the lids which was probably why she didn’t know. In any case, it was quite unimportant.
Laurens went on Thursday, but not before he had arranged to see Serena on Friday evening. ‘I’ll be at the Stafford, in St James’ Place,’ he had told her. ‘I’ll send a taxi for you—seven o’clock, if that’s OK.’
She had agreed, enchanted that she was to see him again so soon. She had visited him every day and they had laughed a lot together, and he had been gay and charming and had made no secret of the fact that he was more than a little in love with her, and even though she still felt a little uncertain as to his true feelings she had allowed herself to dwell on a future which excited her.
For once, and to her great relief, she was off duty punctually so that she had time to bath and dress with care in a dress the colour of corn. It was very plain and she covered it with a matching wool coat; the only ornament she wore was an old-fashioned keeper ring her father had given her on her twenty-first birthday which had belonged to her great-grandmother.
The hotel was small as London hotels went, but entering its foyer, she suspected that it catered for people who enjoyed the comforts of life and were prepared to pay for them. She hadn’t thought much about Laurens’s state as regards money. He had an E-type Jaguar, certainly, but a great many young men had those, affording them at the expense of something else, but it seemed that he could afford his Jag and a good life too. She inquired for him with pleasant composure and was relieved of her coat and ushered into the hotel lounge. He was waiting for her, looking very correct in his black tie, although she found his shirt over-fussy. Even as she smiled in greeting her eyes swept down to his leg and he laughed. ‘Serena, forget your wretched plasters for an hour or two—it’s quite safe inside my trouser. I got one of the fellows to cut the seam and pin it together again.’
She laughed then. ‘How frightfully wasteful! Are you all right here—comfortable?’
A silly remark, she chided herself, but she hadn’t been able to think of anything else to say in her delight at seeing him.
‘Very comfortable,’ he told her, ‘and now you’re here, perfectly all right.’ He smiled at her. ‘Will a Dubonnet suit you, or would you rather have a gin and lime?’
‘Dubonnet, thank you. When are you going home?’
‘On Saturday—Gijs will come over for me. I’ll be back in a few weeks, though, to collect the new car.’ His hand covered hers briefly where it lay on the table. ‘Serena, will you come over to Holland—oh, not now—in a few weeks. I want you to meet my mother.’
She blinked her long lashes, her eyes enormous with surprise. ‘But why—I haven’t any holiday due.’
‘Who spoke of holidays? You can resign or whatever it is you do, can’t you?’
‘But I shall want to go back…’
‘Now that’s something we’re