shoulder and say: ‘I’ve met the man I want to marry, my dears.’
Her father lifted his eyes from the seed catalogue he was studying and gave her a searching look and her mother cast down her knitting and said encouragingly: ‘Yes, dear? Do we know him?’
‘No.’
‘He’s asked you to marry him?’
‘No.’ Britannia sounded matter-of-fact. ‘Nor is he likely to. He’s a professor of surgery, one of the best—very good-looking, ill-tempered, arrogant and rich. He didn’t like me overmuch. We—we don’t come from the same background.’
Her father, longing to get back to his seeds, said vaguely: ‘Not at all suitable, I gather.’
It was her mother who asked: ‘How old is he, darling? And is he short or tall, fat or thin?’
‘It doesn’t matter what he looks like if he’s unsuitable,’ her father pointed out sensibly.
‘Quite unsuitable,’ agreed Britannia. ‘He’s in his late thirties, I understand, and he’s very large indeed. He’s Dutch and he went back to Holland a few days ago.’
‘Do we know anyone in Holland?’ queried her mother.
Britannia threw her parent a grateful look for taking her seriously. ‘No—at least, one of the staff nurses—Joan Stevens, remember her, you met her at the prize-giving—she has a Dutch godmother and she’s going over there to stay with her for a couple of weeks very soon. It’s a small country,’ she added thoughtfully.
‘Very. Joan’s a good friend of yours?’ Her father had left his catalogue to join in the conversation again.
‘Oh, yes, Father. We were in the same set, you know, we’ve known each other for years. She did suggest that I might like to go with her this time.’
‘And of course you said yes.’
Britannia nodded and laid the poker down. ‘Am I being silly? You see, it was like a sign, if you see what I mean…’
Her parents nodded in complete understanding. ‘You’ve always known what you have wanted,’ observed her father, and, ‘Have you plenty of pretty clothes?’ asked her mother.
She said that yes, she had, and added earnestly: ‘I had to do something about it. I’m not sure what, but Joan asking me to go with her seemed like a sign…’
‘He’ll be a lucky man,’ remarked her father, ‘if he gets you—though I should have put that the other way round, shouldn’t I?’ He added: ‘It’s a pity he’s rich—it tends to spoil people.’
His daughter considered this. ‘Not him, I think— I fancy he takes it for granted.’
‘How did you meet?’ her mother wanted to know.
‘I sent him packing out of the sluice on Men’s Surgical. I didn’t know who he was, but he shouldn’t have been there, anyway.’
‘Hardly a romantic background.’ Mr Smith’s voice was dry.
‘No—well…’ Britannia sounded uncertain, for only a moment. ‘Don’t say a word to Ted or Nick, will you?’
‘Of course not, dear,’ promised her mother comfortably. ‘Anyway, they’re neither of them coming home for weeks. Such dear boys,’ she continued, ‘and good brothers to you, too, even though they tease.’ She picked up her knitting again. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Professor Luitingh van Thien. He’s not married, but I daresay he’s engaged or got a girlfriend.’
‘Quite suitable,’ commented her mother, and shot her husband a smug look. ‘And one doesn’t know, probably he’s a misogynist.’
Her husband and daughter surveyed her with deep affection. ‘In that case,’ declared Mr Smith, ‘he won’t be suitable at all.’
The first thing Britannia did when she got back to St Jude’s was to go in search of her friend. She found her in the pantry, making tea after her day’s work, and said without preamble: ‘Joan, you asked me if I’d like to go to Holland with you—well, I would, very much.’
Joan warmed the pot carefully. ‘Super! The Veskes are dears but a trifle elderly, if you know what I mean. I’m a bit active for them, that’s why they suggested that I should bring someone with me. Could you manage two weeks?’
Britannia nodded. ‘Mack will be furious, but I haven’t had leave for ages—she asked me to change with her, so she owes me a favour. When do you plan to go?’
‘Ten days.’ They had gone back to Joan’s room and were sipping their tea. ‘Can you manage that?’ And when Britannia nodded again: ‘Can you ride?’
‘Yes—nothing too mettlesome, though.’
‘And cycle? Good. I daresay the weather will be foul, but who cares? We can borrow the car if we want, too. Hoenderloo is fairly central and we could travel round a bit.’
Holland was small, thought Britannia, they would be able to visit a great many places, there was always the chance that she might meet the professor… ‘Won’t your godmother mind? I mean if we go off all day?’
‘Not a bit of it, as long as we’re home for dinner in the evening—they like to play cards in the evening—besides, we can always take her with us. She’s pretty hot on a bike too.’
‘Thick clothes?’ asked Britannia.
‘And a mac. Not much chance of dressing up, ducky, though I always pop in something pretty just in case Prince Charming should rear his handsome head.’ Joan poured more tea. ‘And talking of him, what happened to that splendid type who came to operate on that liver case of yours? I saw him in theatre for a minute or two and he quite turned me on.’
‘He went back to Holland.’ Britannia made her voice nicely vague. ‘He made a good job of that liver, too.’
Her friend gave her a considered look. ‘Britannia, are you up to something?’
‘Me? What could I be up to?’
‘Well, you haven’t been out with Ross lately, and you were seen wining and dining in Ned’s Café.’
‘Cheese on toast and a pot of tea,’ said Britannia in a very ordinary voice. ‘Neither of us had had any food for ages and we happened to meet—he was very rude,’ she added.
‘So much for Prince Charming,’ declared Joan comfortably. ‘Oh, well, let’s hope he turns up for both of us before we’re too long in the tooth.’
It wasn’t easy to persuade Sister Mack that she could manage very nicely without her staff nurse for a fortnight, but Britannia’s mind had been made up; she was going to Holland, childishly certain that she would meet the professor again. What she would say to him when she did, she had no idea—that could be thought about later. Once having wrung her superior’s reluctant consent, she clinched the matter at the office, telephoned her parents and began on the important task of overhauling her wardrobe.
