Ring in a Teacup

Lucy perched on the table and gobbled up strawberries while she answered her mother’s questions; they were usually the same, only couched in carefully disguised ways: had Lucy met any nice young men? had she been out? and if by some small chance she had, the young man had to be described down to the last coat button, even though Lucy pointed out that in most cases he was already engaged or had merely asked her out in order to pave the way to an introduction to one of her friends. She had little to tell this time; she was going to save the lecturer for later.

‘Lovely to be home,’ she observed contentedly. ‘Who’s here?’

‘Kitty and Jerry and Paul, dear. Emma’s got her hands full with the twins—they’ve got the measles.’

Emma was the eldest and married, and both her brothers were engaged, while Kitty was the very new wife of a BOAC pilot, on a visit while he went on a course.

‘Good,’ said Lucy. ‘What’s for dinner?’

Her parent gave her a loving look; Lucy, so small and slim, had the appetite of a large horse and never put on an ounce.

‘Roast beef, darling, and it’s almost ready.’

It was over Mrs Prendergast’s splendidly cooked meal that Lucy told them all about her unfortunate lapse during the lecture.

‘Was he good-looking?’ Kitty wanted to know.

‘Oh, very, and very large too—not just tall but wide as well; he towered, if you know what I mean, and cold blue eyes that looked through me and the sort of hair that could be either very fair or grey.’ She paused to consider. ‘Oh, and he had one of those deep, rather gritty voices.’

Her mother, portioning out trifle, gave her a quick glance. ‘But you didn’t like him, love?’

Lucy, strictly brought up as behoved a parson’s daughter, answered truthfully and without embarrassment.

‘Well, actually, I did—he was smashing. Now if it had been Kitty or Emma…they’d have known what to do, and anyway, he wouldn’t have minded them; they’re both so pretty.’ She sighed. ‘But he didn’t like me, and why should he, for heaven’s sake? Snoring through his rolling periods!’

‘Looks are not everything, Lucilla,’ observed her father mildly, who hadn’t really been listening and had only caught the bit about being pretty. ‘Perhaps a suitable regret for your rudeness in falling asleep, nicely phrased, would have earned his good opinion.’

Lucy said ‘Yes, Father,’ meekly, privately of the opinion that it wouldn’t have made a scrap of difference if she had gone down on her knees to the wretched man. It was her mother who remarked gently: ‘Yes, dear, but you must remember that Lucy has always been an honest child; she spoke her mind and I can’t blame her. She should never have had to attend his lecture in the first place.’

‘Then she wouldn’t have seen this magnificent specimen of manhood,’ said Jerry, reaching for the cheese.

‘Not sweet on him, are you, Sis?’ asked Paul slyly, and Lucy being Lucy took his question seriously.

‘Oh, no—chalk and cheese, you know. I expect he eats his lunch at Claridges when he’s not giving learned advice to someone or other and making pots of money with private patients.’

‘You’re being flippant, my dear.’ Her father smiled at her.

‘Yes, Father. I’m sure he’s a very clever man and probably quite nice to the people he likes—anyway, I shan’t see him again, shall I?’ She spoke cheerfully, conscious of a vague regret. She had, after all, only seen one facet of the man, all the others might be something quite different.

She spent her nights off doing all the things she liked doing most; gardening, picking fruit and flowers, driving her father round his sprawling parishes and tootling round the lanes on small errands for her mother, and not lonely at all, for although the boys were away all day, working for a local farmer during the long vacation, Kitty was home and in the evenings after tea they all gathered in the garden to play croquet or just sit and talk. The days went too quickly, and although she returned to the hospital cheerfully enough it was a sobering thought that when she next returned in a month’s time, it would be September and autumn.

Once a month wasn’t enough, she decided as she climbed the plain, uncarpeted stairs in the Nurses’ Home, but really she couldn’t afford more and her parents had enough on their plate while the boys were at university. In less than a year she would qualify and get a job nearer home and spend all her days off there. She unpacked her case and went in search of any of her friends who might be around. Angela from Women’s Surgical was in the kitchenette making tea; they shared the pot and gossiped comfortably until it was time to change into uniform and go on duty for the night.

The nights passed rapidly. Children’s was always full, as fast as one cot was emptied and its small occupant sent triumphantly home, another small creature took its place. Broken bones, hernias, intussusceptions, minor burns, she tended them all with unending patience and a gentleness which turned her small plain face to beauty.

It was two weeks later, when she was on nights off again, that Lucy saw Mr der Linssen. This time she was standing at a zebra crossing in Knightsbridge, having spent her morning with her small nose pressed to the fashionable shop windows there, and among the cars which pulled up was a Panther 4.2 convertible with him in the driving seat. There was a girl beside him; exactly right for the car, too, elegant and dark and haughty. Mr der Linssen, waiting for the tiresome pedestrians to cross the street, allowed his gaze to rest on Lucy, but as no muscle of his face altered, she concluded that he hadn’t recognised her. A not unremarkable thing; she was hardly outstanding in the crowd struggling to the opposite pavement—mousy hair and last year’s summer dress hardly added up to the spectacular.

But the next time they met was quite another kettle of fish. Lucy had crossed the busy street outside the hospital to purchase fish and chips for such of the night nurses who had been out that morning and now found themselves too famished to go to their beds without something to eat. True, they hadn’t been far, only to the Royal College of Surgeons to view its somewhat gruesome exhibits, under Sister Tutor’s eagle eye, but they had walked there and back, very neat in their uniforms and caps, and now their appetites had been sharpened, and Lucy, judged to be the most appropriate of them to fetch the food because she was the only one who didn’t put her hair into rollers before she went to bed, had nipped smartly across between the buses and cars and vans, purchased mouthwatering pieces of cod in batter and a large parcel of chips, and was on the point of nipping back again when a small boy darted past her and ran into the street, looking neither left nor right as he went.

There were cars and buses coming both ways and a taxi so close that only a miracle would stop it. Lucy plunged after him with no very clear idea as to what she was going to do. She was aware of the taxi right on top of her, the squealing of brakes as the oncoming cars skidded to a halt, then she had plucked the boy from under the taxi’s wheels, lurched away and with him and the fish and chips clasped to her bosom, tripped over, caught by the taxi’s bumper.

She wasn’t knocked out; she could hear the boy yelling from somewhere underneath her and there was a fishy smell from her parcels as they squashed flat under her weight. The next moment she was being helped to her feet.

‘Well, well,’ observed Mr der Linssen mildly, ‘you again.’ He added quite unnecessarily: ‘You smell of fish.’

She looked at him in a woolly fashion and then at the willing helpers lifting the boy up carefully. He was screaming his head off and Mr der Linssen said: ‘Hang on, I’ll just take a look.’

It gave her a moment to pull herself together, something which she badly needed to do—a nice burst of tears, which would have done her a lot of good, had to be squashed. She stood up straight, a deplorable figure, smeared with pieces of fish and mangled chips, her uniform filthy and torn and her cap crooked. The Panther, she saw at once, was right beside the taxi, and the same girl was sitting in it. Doctor der Linssen, with the boy in his arms, was speaking to her now. The girl hardly glanced at the boy, only nodded in a rather bored way and then looked at Lucy with a mocking little smile, but that didn’t matter, because she was surrounded by people now, patting her on the shoulder, telling her that she was a brave girl and asking if she were hurt; she had no chance to answer any of them because Mr der Linssen, with the boy still bawling in his arms, marched her into Casualty without further ado, said in an authoritative way: ‘I don’t think this boy’s hurt, but he’ll need a good going over,’ laid him on an examination couch and turned his attention to Lucy. ‘You had a nasty thump from that bumper—where was it exactly?’ and when she didn’t answer at once: ‘There’s no need to be mealy-mouthed about it—your behind, I take it—better get undressed and get someone to look at it…’

‘I wasn’t being mealy-mouthed,’ said Lucy pettishly, ‘I was trying to decide exactly which spot hurt most.’

He smiled in what she considered to be an unpleasant manner. ‘Undress anyway, and I’ll get someone along to see to it. It was only a glancing blow, but you’re such a scrap of a thing you’re probably badly bruised.’ To her utter astonishment he added: ‘For whom were the fish and chips? If you’ll let me know I’ll see that they get a fresh supply—you’ve got most of what you bought smeared over you.’

She said quite humbly: ‘Thank you, that would be kind. They were for the night nurses on the surgical wards…eight cod pieces and fifty pence worth of chips. They’re waiting for them before they go to bed—over in the Home.’ She added: ‘I’m sorry I haven’t any more money with me—I’ll leave it in an envelope at the Lodge for you, sir.’

He only smiled, pushed her gently into one of the bays and pulled the curtains and turned to speak to Casualty Sister. Lucy couldn’t hear what he was saying and she didn’t care. The couch looked very inviting and she was suddenly so sleepy that even her aching back didn’t matter. She took off her uniform and her shoes and stretched herself out on its hard leather surface, muffled to the eyes with the cosy red blanket lying at its foot. She was asleep within minutes.

She woke reluctantly to Casualty Sister’s voice, begging her to rouse herself. ‘Bed for you, Nurse Prendergast,’ said that lady cheerfully, ‘and someone will have another look at you tomorrow and decide if you’re fit for duty then. Bad bruising and a few abrasions, but nothing else. Mr der Linssen examined you with Mr Trevett; you couldn’t have had better men.’ She added kindly: ‘There’s a porter waiting with a chair, he’ll take you over to the home—Home Sister’s waiting to help you into a nice hot bath and give you something to eat—after that you can sleep your head off.’

‘Yes, Sister. Why did Mr der Linssen need to examine me?’

Sister was helping her to her reluctant feet. ‘Well, dear, he was here—and since he’d been on the spot, as it were, he felt it his duty…by the way, I was to tell you that the food was delivered, whatever that means, and the police have taken eye-witness accounts and they’ll come and see you later.’ She smiled hugely. ‘Little heroine, aren’t you?’

‘Is the boy all right, Sister?’

‘He’s in Children’s, under observation, but nothing much wrong with him, I gather. And now if you’re ready, Nurse.’

Lucy was off for two days and despite the stiffness and bruising, she hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for some time. The Principal Nursing Officer paid her a stately visit, praised her for her quick action in saving the boy and added that the hospital was proud of her, and Lucy, sitting gingerly on a sore spot, listened meekly; she much preferred Home Sister’s visits, for that lady was a cosy middle-aged woman who had had children of her own and knew about tempting appetites and sending in pots of tea when Lucy’s numerous friends called in to see her. Indeed, her room was the focal point of a good deal of noise and laughter and a good deal of joking, too, about Mr der Linssen’s unexpected appearance.

He had disappeared again, of course. Lucy was visited by Mr Trevett, but there was no sign of his colleague, nor was he mentioned; and a good thing too, she thought. On neither of the occasions upon which they had met had she exactly shone. She dismissed him from her mind because, as she told herself sensibly, there was no point in doing anything else.

She was forcibly reminded of him later that day when Home Sister came in with a great sheaf of summer flowers, beautifully ribboned. She handed it to Lucy with a comfortable: ‘Well, Nurse, whatever you may think about consultants, here’s one who appreciates you.’

She smiled nicely without mockery or envy. It was super, thought Lucy, that the hospital still believed in the old-fashioned Home Sister and hadn’t had her displaced by some official, who, not being a nurse, had no personal interest in her charges.

There was a card with the flowers. The message upon it was austere: ‘To Miss Prendergast with kind regards, Fraam der Linssen.’

Lucy studied it carefully. It was a kind gesture even if rather on the cold side. And what a very peculiar name!

It was decided that instead of going on night duty the next day, Lucy should have her nights off with the addition of two days’ sick leave. She didn’t feel in the least sick, but she was still sore, and parts of her person were all colours of the rainbow and Authority having decreed it, who was she to dispute their ruling?

Her family welcomed her warmly, but beyond commending her for conduct which he, good man that he was, took for granted, her father had little to say about her rescue of the little boy. Her brothers teased her affectionately, but it was her mother who said: ‘Your father is so proud of you, darling, and so are the boys, but you know what boys are.’ They smiled at each other. ‘I’m proud of you too—you’re such a small creature and you could have been mown down.’ Mrs Prendergast smiled again, rather mistily. ‘That nice man who stopped and took you both into the hospital wrote me a letter—I’ve got it here; I thought you might like to see it—a Dutch name, too. I suppose he was just passing…’

‘He’s the lecturer—you remember, Mother? When I fell asleep.’

Her mother giggled. ‘Darling—I didn’t know, do tell me all about it.’

Lucy did, and now that it was all over and done with she laughed just as much as her mother over the fish and chips.