Making Sure of Sarah

Sarah followed the two stretchers into the hospital and presently found herself in a waiting room with a lot of other anxious people. Someone would come and report on her mother and stepfather, she was told by a busy nurse, taking down particulars and thankfully speaking English.

Sarah settled into one of the plastic chairs arranged around the room. Her feet were numb now, and she smelled horrible. A cup of tea, she thought longingly, and a nice warm bath and then bed. She was hungry, too, and she felt guilty about that with her mother and stepfather injured. People came and went. Slowly the room emptied. Surely someone would come for her soon. She closed her eyes on a daydream of endless pots of tea and plates piled high with hot buttered toast and slept.

Mr ter Breukel, consultant orthopaedic surgeon at the hospital, finished his examination of Mr Holt’s leg and bent his massive person over his patient. He studied the ill-tempered face and listened patiently to the diatribe directed at himself, his staff and everyone in general.

When Mr Holt drew breath, he said quietly, ‘You have a broken leg; it will need to be pinned and plated. You have two broken ribs, a sprained wrist, and superficial cuts and bruises. You will be put to bed presently and in the morning I will set the leg. You will need to stay here until it is considered expedient to return you to England.’

Mr Holt said furiously, ‘I demand to be sent to England immediately. How am I to know that you are competent to deal with my injuries? I am a businessman and have some influential friends.’

Mr ter Breukel ignored the rudeness. ‘I will see you in the morning. Your wife will be warded also. She has concussion but is not seriously hurt.’

He waited for Mr Holt to say something, and when he didn’t added, ‘Was there anyone else with you?’

‘My stepdaughter.’ Mr Holt gave him a look of deep dislike. ‘She’s quite capable of taking care of herself.’

‘In the circumstances,’ said Mr ter Breukel, ‘that is most fortunate.’

The Accident Room was emptying, so he could safely leave the minor cases to the two casualty officers on duty, but first he supposed he should find this stepdaughter. Probably with her mother…

Mrs Holt was fully conscious now, and complaining weakly. She had no wish to stay in hospital; she must have a private room, she wanted her own nightclothes, her own toiletries…

Mr ter Breukel bent over the stretcher, lifted a limp hand and took her pulse. It was steady and quite strong. ‘Your daughter?’ he asked quietly. ‘She was with you in the car?’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Where is she? Why isn’t she here with me? She knows how bad my nerves are. Someone must fetch her. She must find a good hotel where I can stay for a few days until my husband can return to England.’

‘Mr Holt will have to remain here for some time, Mrs Holt, and I cannot allow you to leave this hospital until you have recovered from a slight concussion.’

‘How tiresome.’ Mrs Holt turned her head away and closed her eyes.

Mr ter Breukel nodded to the porters to wheel her away to the ward and went in search of the third member of the party.

The place was quieter now, and the waiting room was empty save for Sarah. He stood looking at her—such an ordinary girl, dirty and dishevelled, a bruise on one cheek and smelling vilely of the mud clinging to her person. A girl without looks, pale, her hair hanging in untidy damp streamers around a face which could easily pass unnoticed in a crowd. A girl completely lacking in glamour.

He sighed deeply; to fall in love at first sight with this malodorous sleeping girl, with, as far as he could see, no pretentious to beauty or even good looks, was something he had not expected. But falling in love, he had always understood, was unpredictable, and, as far as he was concerned, irrevocable. That they hadn’t exchanged a word, nor spoken, made no difference. He, heartwhole until that minute, and with no intention of marrying until it suited him, had lost that same heart.

But he wasn’t a callow youth; he would have to tread softly, otherwise he might lose her. He went close to her chair and said gently, ‘Miss Holt?’

Sarah opened her eyes and allowed them to travel up a vast expanse of superfine clerical grey cloth, past a richly sombre tie and white linen, until they reached his face.

She said clearly, ‘Not Miss Holt; he’s my stepfather. Beckwith—Sarah Beckwith. That’s a nice tie—Italian silk?’

Mr ter Breukel, aware that she wasn’t quite awake yet, agreed gravely that it was Italian silk. Her eyes, he saw with delight, were quite beautiful, a vivid dark blue, veiled by mousy lashes.

Sarah sat up straight and pushed her hair off her face. ‘I’m sorry, I fell asleep.’ She studied his face, a very trustworthy face, she decided, as well as a handsome one, with its high-bridged nose and firm mouth and heavy-lidded eyes. ‘Mother…?’

‘I am Litrik ter Breukel, consultant orthopaedic surgery. I’m sorry there was no one to see you. It has been a busy evening. Your mother is to stay here for a few days. She has been concussed, but should recover quickly. There are one or two cuts and bruises which will heal quickly. Your stepfather has a broken leg, fractured ribs, and he has been cut by glass. He must remain until he is fit to be sent back to England.’

‘Do I have to arrange that?’

‘No, no. We will see to that at the appropriate time.’

‘May I see Mother?’

‘Of course. But first I think you must be checked to make sure that you have no injuries. And you will need a tetanus injection and to be cleaned up.’

‘I’m not hurt, only dirty and a bit scratched. And I smell dreadful…’

She went without demur to the Accident Room, where he handed her over to a stout, middle-aged woman with a kind face and a harassed manner. She spoke English, too. Sarah submitted to being cleaned up, her scratches and bruises dealt with, her injection given, to the accompaniment of her companion’s pleased astonishment that she wasn’t more seriously injured, and then, looking clean and smelling of good soap, she was handed back to Mr ter Breukel, who, eyeing her with all the delight of a man in love, thought she looked like some small girl who had been run through the mangle and left to dry.

He said merely, ‘You feel better now? We will go to your mother.’ And he led the way through the hospital, in and out of lifts, up and down staircases, and eventually into a ward with a dozen beds in it.

Her mother had a corner bed, and was lying back comfortably, but when she saw Sarah she asked peevishly, ‘Where have you been? I feel terrible. I’m sure that I’m a good deal worse than these doctors say. You should have been here with me…’

Sarah said gently, ‘I’m sorry, Mother. I fell asleep…’

‘Asleep? You must have known that I was lying here in pain? And your poor father…’

‘Stepfather,’ said Sarah.

‘Yes, well—it is all very well for you, you don’t appear to have been hurt in the least.’ She added fretfully, ‘I knew this would happen; you always manage to annoy him.’

Sarah said nothing to that, and her mother closed her eyes. ‘Now go away and spare a thought for your poor mother before you go to sleep in a comfortable bed.’

Sarah bent and kissed an averted cheek, and then was led away by Mr ter Breukel, who had been standing just behind her, listening to every word.

He made no mention of their conversation, however, but walked her silently to the entrance, where she stopped and offered her hand. ‘You’ve been very kind. Thank you. I know my mother and stepfather will be all right here. May I come and see them in the morning?’

He had no intention of letting her go, and for once a kindly Fate lent a helping hand; Sarah gave a small choking gasp. ‘I’m going to be sick…’

There was a providential sink nearby, and she found herself leaning over it, a firm, cool hand holding her head…

Presently she gasped, ‘Oh, the relief,’ and then, aware of the hand, mumbled, ‘How awful for you. I’m so sorry.’

‘Best thing you could have done. You probably swallowed a good deal of ditchwater.’

He bent over her, wiped her face with his handkerchief and led her outside into the crisp March evening.

Sarah tugged on an arm to call a halt. ‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘I’m fine now.’

‘You have somewhere to go? Money? Do you know your way about Arnhem?’

She looked away, searching for an answer which wouldn’t sound like a fib.

‘The police said I could collect our cases and things in the morning from the police station…’

‘You know where that is?’

‘No, but I can ask.’