Promise of Happiness

‘People don’t force anyone in these days,’ remarked her companion.

‘Oh, yes, they do.’ She wanted to argue with him about that, but there wasn’t much more time. ‘She wrote to the Principal Nursing Officer and her doctor wrote too. She sent Basil—he’s my stepbrother, to fetch me. She wasn’t really ill—jaundice, but not severe, but somehow I couldn’t get away. I tried once or twice, but each time she told me what she would do to Pooch and Bertie if I went, and I had no money.’ She added vehemently: ‘I don’t suppose you know what it’s like not to have any money? It took me almost two years to save up enough money to get away.’

‘How much did you save?’ he asked idly.

‘Thirty pounds and sixty pence.’

‘That won’t go far.’ His voice was gentle.

‘Well, I thought for a start it would pay our bus fares and breakfast before we look for a job.’

‘Will your stepmother not look for you?’

‘Probably, but they don’t get up until eight o’clock. I call them every morning—they’d wonder where I’d got to. But by the time they’ve asked the housekeeper and looked for me that will be at least another hour.’

‘And what kind of job do you hope to get?’

‘Well, nursing, of course, though I suppose I could be a housekeeper…’

‘References?’ he probed.

‘Oh—if I gave them the hospital at Leeds my stepmother might enquire there and find out—there isn’t anyone else, only my father’s elder brother, and he lives in Cornwall, and I don’t expect he even remembers me.’ She turned to look at him. ‘I suppose you couldn’t…?’

‘No, I couldn’t.’ His tone was very decisive.

She watched the almost empty street and didn’t look at him. ‘No, of course not—I’m sorry. And thank you for giving us a lift. If you’d stop anywhere here, we’ll get out.’

He pulled into the kerb. ‘I am a little pressed for time and I am tired, but I have no intention of leaving you here at this hour of the morning. I intend to have breakfast and I shall be delighted if you will join me.’

He didn’t sound in the least delighted, but Becky was hungry. She asked hesitantly: ‘What about Pooch and Bertie?’

‘I feel sure we shall be able to find someone who will feed them.’

‘I’m very obliged to you,’ said Becky, any qualms melting before the prospects of a good meal.

He drove on again without speaking, threading his way into and across the central motorway, to take the road to Tynemouth and stop outside the Imperial Hotel.

‘Not here?’ asked Becky anxiously.

‘Yes, here.’ He got out and opened her door and then invited Bertie to get out too, handing her the string wordlessly before entering the hotel. He was looking impatient again and as she hastened to keep close, reflecting that the hotel looked rather splendid and that probably the porter would take one look at her and refuse to allow her in—especially with the animals.

She need not have worried. Her wet raincoat was taken from her and leaving Pooch and Bertie with Mr Raukema van den Eck she retired to the powder room with her comb to do the best she could with her appearance. And not very successfully, judging by her host’s expression when she joined him.

They were shown into the coffee room where a table had been got ready for them and what was more, two plates of food set on the floor beside it. Becky took her seat wonderingly. ‘I say,’ she wanted to know, ‘do all hotels do this? I didn’t know— breakfast at seven o’clock in the morning and no one minding about the animals.’

Her companion looked up from his menu. ‘I don’t think I should try it on your own,’ he suggested dryly. ‘They happen to be expecting me here.’ He added: ‘What would you like to eat?’

Becky hesitated. True, he drove a Rolls-Royce and this was a very super hotel, but the car could go with the job and he might have intended to treat himself to a good meal. She frowned; it seemed a funny time of day to be going anywhere…

‘I’m very hungry,’ said Mr Raukema van den Eck. ‘I shall have—let me see—grapefruit, eggs and bacon and sausages, toast and marmalade. And tea—I prefer tea to coffee.’

‘I’d like the same,’ said Becky, and when it came, ate the lot. The good food brought a little colour into her pale thin face and her companion, glancing at her, looked again. A plain girl, but not quite as plain as he had at first supposed. When they had finished she made haste to thank him and assure him that she would be on her way. ‘We’re very grateful,’ she told him, and Bertie and Pooch, sitting quietly at her feet, stared up in speechless agreement. ‘It’s made a wonderful start to the day. I’ll get my coat…would you mind waiting with them while I go? I’ll be very quick…you’re in a hurry, aren’t you?’

‘Not at the moment. Take all the time you need.’ He had taken a notebook from a pocket and was leafing through it.

Becky inspected her person in the privacy of the powder room and sighed. Her hair had dried more or less; it hung straight and fine down her back, a hideous mouse in her own opinion. She looked better now she had had a meal, but she had no make-up and her hands were rough and red and the nails worn down with housework. She didn’t see the beauty of her eyes or the creaminess of her skin or the silky brows. She turned away after a minute or two and with her raincoat over her arm went back to the coffee room. She was crossing the foyer when the door opened and three people came in; a large, florid woman in a too tight suit who looked furious, and a small, elderly lady, exquisitely dressed, looking even more furious, and seated in a wheelchair pushed by a harassed-looking man.

‘I am in great pain,’ declared the little lady, ‘and you, who call yourself a nurse, do nothing about it! I am in your clutches for the next few weeks and I do not like it; I wish you to go.’

The large woman put down the wraps she was carrying. ‘Foreigners,’ she observed nastily. ‘They’re all alike. I’m going!’

She took herself off under Becky’s astonished stare followed by a gleeful chuckle from the little lady, who said something to the man behind the chair so that he went out of the door too. It was then that her eye lighted upon Becky. ‘Come here, young woman,’ she ordered imperiously. ‘I am in great pain and that silly woman who calls herself a nurse took no notice. You have a sensible face; lift me up and look beneath my leg, if you please.’

Becky was an obliging girl; she twitched back the rug covering the lady’s knees in preparation for lifting her and saw why she was in a chair in the first place. One leg was in plaster, the other one had a crêpe bandage round the knee. ‘Which leg?’ asked Becky.

‘The bandaged one.’

It was a pin which shouldn’t have been there in the first place, its point imbedded behind the lady’s knee. Becky made soothing noises, whisked it out, pocketed it and tucked the bandage end in neatly. ‘That must have hurt,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Can I help with anything else?’

The little lady smiled. ‘No, my dear, thank you. You’ve been kind.’ The man had come back with a small case under his arm. ‘I’ll go straight to my room and they can send up breakfast.’ She waved goodbye and Becky heard her telling the porter to let her know…she didn’t hear any more as the lift doors shut.

She went back to the coffee room and was a little surprised to find that her host seemed in no hurry at all. All the same, she bade him goodbye and marched resolutely to the door. It was still raining outside and she had no idea where to go, but she refused his rather perfunctory invitation to stay where she was for an hour or so; he must be longing to be rid of them by now. She went off down the street, walking as though she knew just where she was going, although she hadn’t a clue.

Mr Raukema van den Eck stood where he was, watching her small upright person out of sight. If he hadn’t had an appointment he might have gone after her…it was like putting a stray kitten back on the street after letting it sit by the fire and eat its fill… He frowned with annoyance because he was becoming sentimental and he didn’t hold with that, and the waiter who had just come on duty hesitated before sidling up to him.

‘The Baroness is here, Baron,’ he murmured deferentially.

‘Just arrived?’ He glanced at the man. ‘She’s in her room? I’ll come up at once.’

He ignored the lift, taking the stairs two at a time, to tap on the door which had been indicated to him. It was a large, comfortably furnished room and his mother was sitting, still in her wheelchair, by the window.

‘Mama, how delightfully punctual, and was it very inconvenient for you?’

She lifted her face for his kiss and smiled at him. ‘No, my dear—Lucy was charming about it when I explained and William took the greatest care of me, and after all we didn’t have to leave until six o’clock.’

Her son looked round the room. ‘And the nurse?’

His mother’s very blue eyes flashed. ‘I have given her the sack. A horrible woman; I knew I should not like her when she arrived last night, the thought of spending three weeks in her company made me feel ill, and only a short while ago, as we arrived, I begged her to help me because of the pain and she would not. So I sent her away.’

Her son blinked rapidly, his mind running ahead. Here was a situation to be dealt with and he was due to leave in less than an hour. ‘Where was the pain?’ he asked gently.

‘It was a pin, in the bandage round my knee—at the back where I could not get at it. There was a girl in the foyer—a skinny little creature with enormous eyes; she knew what to do at once when I asked for help. Now why cannot I have someone like her instead of that wretched woman they sent from the agency?’

The faint but well-concealed impatience on the Baron’s features was replaced by a look of pleased conjecture. ‘And why not?’ he wanted to know. ‘Mama, will you wait for a few minutes while I see if I can find her? There is no time to explain at the moment—I’ll do that later. Shall I ring for a maid before I go?’

It was still raining as he got into the car and slid into the early morning traffic, thickening every minute, but he didn’t drive fast. Becky and her companions should be easy enough to see, even in a busy city, but there was always the likelihood that she had gone down some side street. But she hadn’t; she had stopped to ask the way to somewhere or other, that was apparent, for the matronly-looking woman she was talking to was pointing down the street. The Baron slid to a halt beside them, wound down his window and said quietly: ‘Becky…’

She turned round at once and when she saw who it was her face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she observed. ‘Are you on your way again?’