A Match for Sister Maggy (13 page)

Maggy didn't answer. She would have to go back with him, anyway; it would be quicker. She handed the bucket to Monsieur Riveau with a request for more water; she might as well finish the floor.

She was ready and waiting when she heard the ambulance arrive and stop at the top of the alley. She had scrubbed her hands and arms clean and dried them on the hem of her slip and had tidied her hair; the dress would have to wait until she got back. Paul came in with the ambulance men and she just had time to shake her patient's hand before she was carried away on the stretcher.

Paul stood at the door while she was being stowed away, talking to the Riveau men, and presently they too got into the ambulance. Neither of them had spoken to Maggy; she
hadn't expected them to, anyway, and turned away to tidy the bed and lock the back door and turn off the gas. Paul followed her into the little kitchen, and stood watching her hang the apron on the door.

‘What about the front door key?' she asked.

‘I have it—it goes under a stone in the guttering. Are you ready?' She turned, to find him staring at her. ‘That's a pretty dress,' he said equably.

Maggy took a long shuddering breath. ‘Are you being beastly?' she asked in a hollow voice. ‘It's new and this is the first time I've worn it, and now it's filthy and not pretty at all.'

She turned her back. She thought that she would probably burst into tears at any moment; the desire to do so was overwhelming. So she clamped her nice white teeth together and swallowed down the sobs crowding into her throat. She was succeeding very nicely when he said mildly,

‘I'm not being—what was it?—beastly. You must surely know that a potato sack would look—nice—on you.'

Maggy gave a noisy gulp; his voice had sounded gentle and kind.

‘Now you've made me cry!' she wailed, and burst into tears after all. Paul turned her round to face him and she made no effort to resist him. ‘In that case, have my shoulder to cry on,' he said soothingly. His arm clamped her close while she sniffed and sobbed. She could feel his hand stroking the awful bird's nest of her hair, and presently it calmed her.

‘Why were you so angry?' she asked in a watery voice, muffled by the cloth of his jacket.

Paul caught her by the shoulders, so that he could look intently into her damp, blotchy face.

‘Is that why you are crying?'

Something in his voice made her heart beat faster. She blinked her puffy lids and stared steadily back at him.

‘I'm sorry I was silly—it was because my dress was spoilt.' It was, after all, partly true.

He went on looking at her, and she fidgeted uneasily until he said, ‘Of course,' in a dry voice, and went on, ‘Here, take my handkerchief.'

He took a hand from her shoulder to search for one, and then stood, still holding her firmly while she dried her tears.

‘We were all rather worried when you didn't arrive home—you see, you are always so punctual—and anything might have happened to you. I came into Amsterdam in case you…' he paused, ‘no matter. I remembered that you had said that you might see Madame Riveau again, and I felt sure, from what you had said, that you had met her in the Nieuwendijk, so I left the car near the station and walked down on the chance of seeing you. I found Monsieur Riveau instead—I imagine that he shared my doubtful pleasure in renewing our acquaintance.'

Maggy was folding the handkerchief into a neat, sodden square. She said in a small resolute voice, ‘I'm sorry if I've caused a bother; I didn't mean to, you know.' She gave the handkerchief a final pat and looked gravely at Paul. ‘But I should do the same again…'

He took the handkerchief from her and stowed it in a pocket.

‘Yes, I know you would; and you would be quite right, Maggy.' He bent his head and kissed her on the mouth, then stood back and said with a little smile, ‘You'd better do something to that hair before we go, or people will think I've been ill-treating you!'

Maggy was glad of something to do. The kiss hadn't meant anything—not for Paul; but it had to her. She turned away and got a comb from her bag, then went into the little front room and did the best she could with her hair. It
annoyed her that her hands were shaking so that the pins kept falling out again. She powdered her nose and lip-sticked her mouth and felt better. She didn't look too bad in the miserable light of the gas jet. She turned it out and went back to the kitchen and said in a matter-of-fact voice,

‘I'm ready, Dr Doelsma.'

It was quite chilly outside, she shivered as she waited for Paul to put the key in its hiding place. He caught her by the arm and started to walk briskly through the dark little cul-de-sac and across the small square to the alley leading to the Nieuwendijk. It was still full of people, most of them walking with the air of those on pleasure bent. Paul took the crown of the narrow street, Maggy's arm still firmly tucked in his. They had only gone a little way when he stopped and pulled her round to face him, ignoring the frustrated, good-natured cyclists weaving around them.

‘You're shivering.'

‘It's my own fault,' said Maggy soberly. ‘It wasn't really warm enough to wear this dress, but I—I wanted to…' Her voice died away uncertainly; she had remembered why she had wanted to wear the dress in the first place. Well, Paul had seen her in it, and a fine sight she had looked!

Paul had let go of her and was taking off his jacket. The comforting warmth of it was already around her shoulders when she started to protest.

‘Paul, no! You can't walk through Amsterdam in shirt-sleeves and a waistcoat!'

‘You called me Paul,' he said quietly.

Maggy felt her face getting hot, and was glad of the dark. ‘I wasna' thinking—I didna' guard my tongue…will you take your jacket back?'

He caught her by the arm again, and started to walk her along at a great rate.

‘Don't be silly,' was all he said.

Maggy was glad of her long legs to keep up with his. She peeped sideways at him and saw that he was frowning fiercely.

‘I'm sorry if I've been tiresome.'

‘I've already told you not to be silly.'

There seemed no point in continuing even so meagre a conversation as theirs was. Maggy held her tongue, and continued to do so, sitting quietly in the car beside Paul and saying, ‘Yes, Dr Doelsma. No, Dr Doelsma' in appropriate context to the few remarks he made on their homeward journey. When they reached his house, she jumped out quickly, thankful to find the door open. Anny was hovering in the hall. She gave her Paul's jacket, and started up the stairs. She was out of sight by the time he appeared in the doorway.

Mevrouw Doelsma was in her room, lying comfortably on a chaise-longue. She put down her book when she saw Maggy and said in a relieved voice,

‘Maggy, there you are! We have all been so worried about you. Fortunately Paul came home early and went at once to Amsterdam. Sit down and tell me all about it; dinner can wait.'

It was during that meal, half an hour later, that it was decided that they should return the following day to Oudehof. Maggy sat listening to the discussion. She wouldn't see much more of Paul—she would be returning to England very soon now; probably before he paid another visit to his mother. She sighed at the sadness of her thoughts, and Paul said,

‘Will you be sorry to leave Leiden, Maggy?'

She assumed a determinedly cheerful face. ‘Yes, Doctor, but Oudehof is lovely too.'

He nodded. ‘A pity you won't be here for the skating.'

It was a nice safe topic, and lasted them until the meal was finished and she was able to slip upstairs and leave Mevrouw Doelsma and Paul to their nightly game. When she went down later to suggest that her patient went to bed, he gave her a cursory glance, wished her goodnight and remarked in casual tones that he would see her in the morning. She waited until she had shepherded Mevrouw Doelsma to the door before replying in a colourless voice,

‘Very well, Dr Doelsma—and thank you for bringing me back this evening, and for being so…so…'

He stood looking at her, his mouth faintly curved in a smile.

‘Magnanimous?' he suggested.

There were sparks in Maggy's eyes; she drew a deep breath.

‘Whatever you say, Doctor,' she said. It was amusing to him, she supposed, to tease her. She started to shut the door.

‘You haven't said goodnight, Maggy.'

She paused and looked over her shoulder. ‘Goodnight, Doctor.'

‘Paul,' he interrupted. He was smiling, and her heart gave a lurch.

‘Goodnight, Paul,' she said obediently, and shut the door.

 

There was no sign of Paul when she went down to breakfast the following morning—Anny offered the information that the doctor had gone out early and would be back later. Maggy ate without appetite and went upstairs to get Mevrouw Doelsma ready for her journey. It was ten o'clock before they were ready and made their way down to the hall. Dr Doelsma was sitting on one of the carved chairs ranged against the wall, reading a newspaper. He
looked up unhurriedly as they approached and got up, bidding them a cheerful good morning. His mother turned to make her farewells to Anny, and Maggy found herself a little apart, under a leisurely scrutiny from Paul. She drew her brows together and looked haughtily away, the hateful colour, creeping up her cheeks. She had dressed with care in a blue-green tweed suit, its velvet collar exactly matching the beret which went with it. Her shoes and handbag weren't new, but they were good and beautifully polished. With female logic she had wanted to look her best for this, their probable last meeting. Even if he saw her again, she would most likely be in uniform.

It was a pity that her gaze had settled on a portrait of a Doelsma ancestor—it might have been Paul gazing down at her from the canvas, with the same dark eyebrows and smile.

Paul said softly in her ear, ‘Poor Maggy, we're all round you, aren't we?'

She had lost her breath and made do with a dignified nod, only to be plunged into further confusion by his remarking,

‘You look delightful. Without retracting anything I may have said about potato sacks, I must admit that your obvious charms are greatly enhanced. Why have I not seen it before? It seems to me that whenever we have met you have been entrenched behind your uniform—you look delightful in that too, but intimidating.'

Maggy raised astonished eyes to his. She asked uncertainly, ‘Me? Intimidating?'

‘Oh, yes. I was quite terrified of you at St Ethelburga's when we went round your ward.' He went on gravely, his eyes twinkling, ‘As stiff as a poker—I longed to pinch you to see if you were real. I kissed you instead, if you remember.' Maggy blushed, and he stood and watched her. ‘It was a great relief to find that you were.'

Maggy cast around for an answer to this and failed to find one; it was fortunate that Mevrouw Doelsma was on the point of rejoining them, she would get her goodbyes said quickly. She raised her lovely eyes to Paul and opened her mouth and was on the point of uttering when he said, reading her thoughts, ‘My dear good girl, don't say goodbye. I'm driving you back to Oudehof.' He grinned and took his mother's arm, leaving her to take her leave of Anny. When she got outside, Mevrouw Doelsma was already sitting in the back of the car, and Paul was waiting by the open door. ‘Get in front,' he said, in a voice which brooked no argument.

Maggy got in without a word and sat passive while he fastened her seat-belt. Her thanks, uttered in a meek voice, caused him to look at her with suspicion.

‘You're remarkably humble,' he remarked. She ignored both the tone and the look, and instead looked over her shoulder to where his mother was sitting in the back of the car.

‘Mevrouw Doelsma, would you not prefer me to sit with you?'

Her patient barely glanced up from the pile of letters in her lap.

‘No, dear. You see I have all these letters to read, and a shopping list to make out for Mrs Pratt—such a good idea of Paul's that I should save myself the trouble of doing it once we get back to Oudehof.' She opened an envelope, smiled vaguely in Maggy's direction, and became at once immersed in its contents.

Paul started the car. ‘Never mind,' he said in a maddeningly sympathetic voice, ‘It's only for a couple of hours.'

Maggy caught his smile and found herself smiling back and decided, with her usual good sense, to enjoy the
present. The future, bleak though it was going to be, could take care of itself, so she sat back composedly, giving no sign of her thumping heart, and was glad when Paul did not appear to notice her pink cheeks and breathless voice.

Once out of Leyden and on to the broad motorway, he started a gentle flow of inconsequential talk which put her so much at her ease that she forgot to be shy, and was soon chattering away with an enjoyment which she refrained from reminding herself would be but short-lived. After fifteen minutes or so, Paul turned off the Amsterdam road. ‘We'll go through Haarlem,' he said, ‘and Alkmaar. You might as well see as much of Holland as you can before you go back.'

Maggy turned her head to look out of the window; she hadn't wanted to be reminded. She said in a carefully cheerful voice. ‘How kind of you. I shall have such a lot to remember…'

She watched the green meadows bordering the road—each with its complement of cows, neatly coated against the chill of autumn. ‘I mustn't remember,' she thought. ‘I must forget as quickly as possible—perhaps if I'm very busy.' She became aware that he had spoken. ‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘I was thinking.'

He smiled slowly; she couldn't see his eyes beneath their drooping lids.

‘Madame Riveau asked me to thank you for your help yesterday.' He gentled the Rolls to a smooth standstill, while the road ahead of them lifted itself on a giant hinge to allow a barge of incredible length to ooze its way beneath it on the canal bisecting the road.