A Gem of a Girl

‘Phil’s as old as that…the twins are thirteen and George is ten. Mandy’s twenty.’

‘And you are twenty-five,’ he finished for her. ‘Doctor Gibbons told me.’

‘Oh, did he? Would you like some more coffee?’

‘Thanks. I’ll hang this lot up while you get it, shall I?’

‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Gemma doubtfully. ‘You’re a professor and all that; I dare say you don’t hang out the washing at home so I don’t see why you should here.’

His blue eyes twinkled. ‘No, I can’t say I make a habit of it, but then I’m working for most of my day when I’m home.’

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him about his home and if he was married, but moving very fast for such a sleepy-eyed person, he was already going down the garden path.

She didn’t see him for the rest of that day and she left the house at half past seven the next morning, cycling through the quiet country lanes to get to the hospital a couple of miles away.

Mandy and Phil had got back from their weekend late the previous evening; Gemma had called them before she left the house and they would get the boys down for breakfast and off to school and then get themselves away; Phil to her coaching classes before school started—she was in her last term and working for her A levels—and Mandy to the library in Salisbury where she was training to become a librarian. Gemma, pedalling down the road at great speed, was aware that it was a glorious May morning—a morning to be free in which to do exactly what one wished; she cast the thought aside and bent her mind to the more mundane subject of what to cook for supper that evening, the chances of getting the ironing done, whether the twins could go another week before she need buy the new shoes they wore out with terrifying frequency, and behind all these thoughts even though she kept nudging it aside, the wish to see more of the professor. He had been kind and easy to talk to, and Gemma, the plain one of the family and always conscious of that fact, had been aware that he hadn’t looked at her with the faintly amused surprise with which those who had already met the rest of the family—all of them possessing good looks—were wont to show.

She rounded the entrance to the hospital and slowed down to go up the neglected, grass-grown drive, casting, as she always did, an admiring glance at the building coming into view as she did so.

The hospital wasn’t really a hospital at all; many years ago it had been a rather grand country house with a fine Tudor front, which had been added to by succeeding generations, so that there was a Queen Anne wing to the left, a charming Regency wing to the right, and round the back, out of sight, and a good thing too, was a mid-Victorian extension, red brick, elaborate and very inconvenient. But with the death of the heir during World War Two and crippling death duties, the house had been sold to the local council and had been used as a geriatric hospital ever since. It was, of course, most unsuitable; the rooms were either too lofty and huge and full of draughts, or so small and awkwardly shaped that the getting of elderly ladies in and out of them, not to mention the making of their beds, was a constant nightmare for the nurses.

Gemma propped her bike against a convenient wall and went in through an open side door, into a narrow, dark passage and up a back staircase. There were two Day Sisters looking after the fifty-six patients; herself with twenty-eight old ladies in her care, and Sister Bell, who was housed with the remainder of them in the opposite wing.

Gemma went up the stairs two at a time, changed into uniform in five minutes flat, standing in a cupboard-like room on the landing, and then, very neat and tidy in her blue uniform and starched apron, an equally well-starched cap perched on her bun of brown hair, walked sedately across the landing into another cupboardlike apartment, which Authority allowed her to use as an office. Both the day and night nurses were there waiting for her to take the report, and she greeted them in her quiet voice, bidding them to sit down as she squeezed herself behind the table which served her as desk. The report hardly varied from day to day; Mrs Pegg and Miss Crisp fell out of their beds with monotonous regularity despite the nurses’ efforts to keep them safely in—they had both done so again during the night; there weren’t enough nurses for a start and old ladies could be very determined. Lovable too.

When Gemma had given up her post as Medical Ward Sister in a big London teaching hospital, she had done so with many private misgivings; it had been expediency, not choice, which had caused her to apply for the post at Millbury House. Cousin Maud, who had looked after all of them for some years by then, was beginning to show signs of wear and tear—and who wouldn’t? Gemma had spent all her holidays and days off at home so that she might help her, but it hadn’t been enough; once Mandy and Phil were off their hands, things would be easier, but until then, it had become a matter of urgency that someone should help. That was six months ago and although she missed the rush and bustle of the big hospital, Gemma had to admit that she didn’t dislike her work; besides, it had made it possible for Cousin Maud to go to New Zealand for the long-dreamed-of holiday with her brother. Gemma, heartily sick of doing two jobs at once, couldn’t wait for her to get back.

The night nurse safely on her way, Gemma and Sally Black, the day staff nurse, separated to start their day’s work. The main ward was a long room with windows down its length, overlooking the gardens at the side of the house; at one time it must have been a drawing room, for its fireplace, now no longer in use, was ornate, gilded and of marble, and the ceiling was picked out with gilt too. Gemma trod from one bed to the next, having a word with each of her patients in turn, handing out a woefully sparse post, listening to the old ladies’ small complaints, and occasionally, cheerful chatter. Almost all of them were being got up for the day; a ritual which they, for the most part, objected to most strongly, so that the two nursing aides who came in to help part-time were constantly hindered. Gemma finished her round, quite worn out with her efforts to persuade her patients that to get up and trundle along to the day room across the passage was quite the nicest way of spending their day, but she really had no time to feel tired. She took off her cuffs, rolled up her sleeves and sallied forth once more to tackle Mrs Pegg and Miss Crisp, who now that they might legitimately leave their beds were refusing, with a good deal of noise, to do so.

The day went quickly enough. Nothing dramatic happened; the old ladies were dressed, given their meals, their medicines, bathed, chatted to whenever there was time to spare, and then prepared for bed once more. It was visiting time after dinner, but only a handful of people came. After the eager rush of visitors who had invaded the ward Gemma had had in London, she felt sad, even after six months, that the very people who needed visitors seldom had them. True, some of the old ladies had no family at all, but there were plenty who had who could surely have come more often than they did. Millbury House was some miles from Salisbury, but there was a bus service of sorts, and anyway, most people had cars these days.

She made a point of walking round the wards while the visitors were there so that anyone who wanted to inquire about Granny or Auntie could do so, but they seldom did. When the last of them had gone she went to her office and started the Kardex so that Sally would only have the last few details to fill in later on, and it was while she was doing this that she was interrupted by the house doctor, a young man called Charlie Briggs. They discussed the patients one by one over a cup of tea, and because he didn’t like her overmuch, he disagreed with everything she had to say; he almost always did. When she had first arrived at the hospital he had heralded her appearance with delight. ‘Thank God,’ he had said, ‘someone under forty at last—now perhaps life will be fun!’ He had eyed her at such length that she had coloured faintly and then disliked him forever when he exclaimed: ‘Oh, lord—I do believe you’re good as well as plain.’

They had to meet, of course, but only during the course of their work. She had often thought wryly that it was just her luck to work with a man who didn’t like her at all—a young man, not married, he might have fallen for her, who knew? they might have married… She had laughed at herself for having the absurd notion, but the laughter had been wistful.

She was tired by the time she was ready to cycle home just before six o’clock. Phil would be home, so would the boys, but Mandy wouldn’t leave the library for another half an hour. She wheeled her bike round to the shed at the back of the house, called a hullo to the boys as she passed the sitting room where they were doing their homework, and went to the kitchen. Phil would be upstairs in her room, deep in her school books, but she had left a tray of tea ready on the kitchen table for Gemma. She drank it slowly, sitting in the Windsor chair with Giddy, the family cat purring on her lap, before starting on the supper. The boys had peeled the potatoes and seen to the vegetables and she had made a steak and kidney pie the evening before; she went and got it from the fridge now and put it into the oven before going to the cupboard to see what she could serve for a pudding. She had the off duty to puzzle out, too, she remembered; she had brought it home with her and could have a shot at it while the supper cooked. She fished the book out of her cardigan pocket and sat down at the table, conscious that she didn’t want to do it at all; she wanted to sit in a chair and do nothing—well, perhaps not quite nothing. It would be nice to have time to sit and think; she didn’t admit to herself that what she wanted to think about was the professor next door.

She wasn’t on duty until eleven o’clock the next morning; she saw everyone out of the house, raced through the housework and then pedalled through the bright sunshine to Millbury House, wishing with all her heart that she could stay out of doors. By the time she got off duty that evening it would be eight o’clock—dusk and chilly.

Her day was long and filled with little troubles. At the end of it she wheeled her bike through the open gate, stowed it for the night and went into the house through the kitchen door. There was a cold supper laid out for her on the kitchen table and coffee bubbling gently on the stove. She sniffed appreciatively and went on through the kitchen and down the passage to the sitting room where she found the boys bent so zealously over their books that she instantly suspected them of watching the TV until they had heard her come in. She grinned at them, said: ‘Don’t you dare until you’ve finished your lessons,’ and went across to the drawing room. Phil would be upstairs, working, but Mandy would be there. She was, looking cool and incredibly pretty, and lounging opposite her was Professor Dieperink van Berhuys.

They both turned to look at her as she went in, and the thought crossed her mind that they were a perfectly matched couple, Mandy with her gay little face and curly hair and he with his placid good looks.

Mandy came dancing to her, bubbling over with high spirits, full of the news that the professor had happened to be outside the library when she had left it and had driven her home. She cast him a laughing glance as she spoke, and he, standing with his magnificent head almost touching the ceiling, smiled back at her, murmuring that it had been a pleasure and that now he really should go, for Doctor Gibbons would be wondering what had become of him.

Gemma said all the right things and watched him walk out of the room with Mandy. They didn’t shut the door and she heard them talking in the hall and then go into the sitting room where there was an instant babble of talk and laughter. It made her feel suddenly lonely, which was absurd; how could she possibly be lonely with five brothers and sisters, besides the twenty-eight old ladies with whom she passed her days? Perhaps lonely wasn’t the right word. She went back to the kitchen and sat down to eat her solitary supper, and presently she was joined by everyone else, crowding round the table to tell her about their particular day, eating a packet of biscuits between them while they did so. She wasn’t all that much older, she thought, looking round at them all, but sometimes she felt just as though she was the mother of the family.

They went to bed one by one, leaving her and Mandy to wash the mugs and sweep up the crumbs and lay the breakfast for the morning, and all the while they were doing it, Mandy talked about the professor.

‘He’s almost forty,’ she told Gemma, ‘but he doesn’t look it, does he? He’s not married either, but his sister is—he’s got two, the youngest one is as old as Phil, then there’s a brother in his late twenties and another one who’s in medical school, he’s twenty-one.’ She added thoughtfully: ‘You’d think he’d be married, wouldn’t you?’

Gemma wiped out the sink and put the cloth tidily away. ‘Well,’ she said slowly, ‘with so many brothers and sisters, perhaps he can’t afford to.’

‘His mother and father are still alive.’ Mandy perched on a corner of the table. ‘He’s got a simply super car…’

‘Perhaps he hired it.’

‘No, it’s his, it’s got a Dutch number plate.’ She smiled suddenly and brilliantly. ‘He said I was a very pretty girl.’

Gemma pushed back her hair with a weary little gesture. ‘And so you are, darling,’ she agreed. ‘We’re a smashing lot of good-lookers except for me.’

‘We all think you’re lovely,’ said her sister fervently, ‘and depend on it, someone will come along and think the same.’

Gemma ate a biscuit. ‘Then he’d better look sharp about it,’ she observed cheerfully. ‘All this waiting around doesn’t do my nerves any good.’

They giggled together as they went up to bed, but presently, in her own room, Gemma sat down on the old stool in front of her dressing table and took a long look at her reflection. It didn’t reassure her in the least.

She was persuading old Mrs Thomas to toddle across to the day room when she heard Doctor Gibbons arrive for his round the next day. He came regularly, for several of the patients had been his for years and he still came to see them. Gemma rotated her companion carefully and sat her down in a convenient chair and looked down the ward. Doctor Gibbons always had a chat with Mrs Thomas; she had no family left now and to her confused old mind he had taken the place of a long-dead son.

The doctor wasn’t alone, his Dutch guest was with him, strolling along between the beds, saying good morning as he passed the elderlies while at the same time listening politely to Matron, sailing along a pace or two behind Doctor Gibbons doing the honours. Matron was a nice old thing, with mild blue eyes, a ready chuckle and a cosy figure. Gemma could see that the professor had her eating out of his hand.

The party reached her, exchanged greetings and settled down to the confused questions and answers which took the place of conversation with Mrs Thomas, leaving Gemma free to do something else. She went reluctantly, wishing that someone in the party—the professor, perhaps—would ask her to remain. But he didn’t, only smiled his gentle smile and turned his attention to Matron, who was explaining about staff shortages, too many patients, the lack of amenities, the lack of visitors, the lack of transport…Gemma, at the other end of the ward, assembling her medicine trolley, could hear the murmur of their voices.

Presently they came down the ward again and Matron went away and Doctor Gibbons started his ward round. They were the high spot of any day and this one was even better than usual, for Professor Dieperink van Berhuys came with them, asking intelligent questions, murmuring in agreement with his colleagues’ more profound remarks, and now and again asking her, soft-voiced, her opinion of this or that. It gave her a real uplift when Charlie Briggs came importantly into the ward, to stop short at the sight of her in animated conversation with a man who put him, in every way, quite in the shade. He wasn’t near enough to hear that they were discussing the use of water beds for the aged and infirm. She greeted him with dignity and was glad to see that, for once, he was less than his usual cocksure self. Perhaps that was due to the professor’s impassive manner and Doctor Gibbons’ brisk way of talking to him. Indeed, she began to feel sorry for him after a while, for he was showing off far too much and she strongly suspected that the professor was secretly amused; besides, there was the strong possibility that Doctor Gibbons would lose his patience with him and tear him off a strip. She was casting round in her mind how to deal with the situation when it was saved by the reappearance of Matron with an urgent message for Doctor Gibbons, and she was able to show the whole party to the door. She had closed it behind them and was making for Mrs Thomas once more when the professor came back.

‘Er—may I offer you a lift home this evening? I take it you’re off at five o’clock?’

She stood looking up at him. He was being polite, of course, afraid that she had minded him giving Mandy a lift. He was really rather nice.

‘How kind,’ she said pleasantly, ‘but I’ve got my bike here and I shall need it in the morning—thanks all the same.’

She smiled at him warmly and his answering smile was ready enough. ‘Another time, perhaps?’ His voice was casual, he made no effort to change her mind for her. With feminine illogicality she was annoyed. Her ‘Goodbye, Professor,’ as he opened the door was decidedly cool.

CHAPTER TWO

COUSIN MAUD came home two days later, looking tanned and at least ten years younger—not that she was all that old; a woman in her forties was no age at all; Gemma had often heard Doctor Gibbons telling her cousin that, and had thought it to be a friendly platitude, but now, watching him greet her cousin, she wasn’t so sure. She busied herself with welcoming sherry and speculated about that. Doctor Gibbons wasn’t all that old himself—in his mid-fifties and as fit as a fiddle as far as she knew. True, he was a little thin on top and he wore glasses, but he must have been good-looking when he was younger—not, of course, as good-looking as his friend the professor. She nudged the errant thought on one side and concentrated on Cousin Maud and Doctor Gibbons. But even if they wanted to marry there were difficulties. He could hardly be expected to house the six of them as well as Maud. Somehow or other, mused Gemma as she passed the glasses around, they would have to manage on their own—after all, if it could be done for six weeks, it could be done for a lifetime. She shuddered strongly at the very idea and then consoled herself with the certainty that it wouldn’t be a lifetime. Mandy would surely marry, so, in a few years, would Phil. James and John were clever boys, they would get their A levels and go on to university, and that left little George. Quite carried away, she began to weigh the chances of taking paying guests—with only George at home there would be three or four bedrooms empty, or perhaps Doctor Gibbons would offer George a home and she could sell the house, find a job and live at the hospital. The prospect was even worse than the first one. She frowned heavily and the professor said in her ear, very softly: ‘What is it that worries you?’

She hadn’t noticed him cross the room. He loomed beside her, smiling his gentle smile, his pale brows slightly lifted.

‘Nothing,’ she said hastily. His vague ‘Ah’, left her with the impression that he didn’t believe her and she went on quickly before he persisted: ‘Doesn’t Cousin Maud look marvellous?’

He glanced across the room. ‘Indeed, yes. And now presumably you will take a holiday yourself—you have been doing two jobs for the last six weeks, have you not?’

‘Well—the others were marvellous, you know, and it wasn’t easy for them; Mandy’s away all day and so is Phil, and the boys did their bit.’

‘Does Mandy not have holidays?’

She turned a surprised face towards him. ‘Of course she does—four weeks each year, but no one could have expected her to stay home…’