Pineapple Girl

Mrs Bennett looked overwhelmed. ‘You’re really going down to Eddlescombe? It would be lovely to drive down with you—if Eloise could manage for a couple of days?’

‘Easily, darling.’ Eloise smiled at her mother. She hadn’t seen that look on her face for a long time; even if she hadn’t wanted to go with Mrs Pringle, she would have declared her delight at the prospect—and she did want to go, not only because it would give her mother the chance of a holiday; it would be fun to go somewhere different. Which reminded her. ‘You know, I’m not at all sure where you live,’ she told Mrs Pringle.

‘Holland, my dear. We’ve lived all over the world, you know, but now Cor is permanently based there, and he being a Dutchman finds that very satisfactory—so do I; we live in Groningen, in the north and within easy reach of the city. There’s a car if you care to drive it, and the country around us is delightful—quiet but not isolated. Cor is away a good deal, but he’s always home at weekends and we have friends—I think you might like it.’ She caught the questioning look in Eloise’s eye and added: ‘I’ll tell you about myself later; one’s little illnesses are always so boring for other people.’

She turned back to Mrs Bennett. ‘That’s settled, then, and how very pleased I am. Shall I collect you in—two weeks, is it? We’ll fix the exact day later—and Eloise will be free the day after you go to Eddlescombe, won’t she? Nothing could be better.’ She gathered up her gloves and handbag. ‘I really must fly—can I give you a lift, Maggie?’

She so obviously expected her offer to be accepted that Eloise’s aunt got to her feet quite quickly and with unusual meekness, and it was during their rather protracted farewells that Mrs Pringle said quietly to Eloise: ‘You’re back on duty in two days, aren’t you? Could you manage to meet me one morning before you come home?’

There was no time to ask questions. Eloise said yes and named a day and time and wondered what she was going to be told, for obviously Mrs Pringle was going to tell her something; something which she didn’t care to discuss with everyone; something to do with her op. Eloise reviewed her surgery and decided that it was probably a good deal more serious than Mrs Pringle had implied.

It was; sitting in the visitors’ room in the Nurses’ Home after breakfast a few mornings later, her visit disclosed quite simply that she had inoperable cancer; that there was little more to be done and that she and her husband had decided that she should return to Groningen and live out the rest of her life among her friends and in the home she loved. ‘I have a simply splendid doctor,’ she told Eloise cheerfully. ‘It was he who sent me to Sir Arthur Newman in the first place—you’ve worked for him, haven’t you, dear? I was in a nursing home, of course, though I should have been just as happy in hospital, but Cor insisted, bless him…’ She smiled. ‘So now you know—or did you guess?’

‘Almost—I thought it might be more serious than you wanted us to think, and when you mentioned a dressing…’

‘And you really don’t mind coming? It’s silly of me, I know, but I have to get used to the idea and I thought if I had someone I knew with me, just for a little while, then I can face it. They tell me I can expect six months, perhaps a little longer.’

Eloise got out of her chair and went to kneel by her visitor. ‘You’re brave, Mrs Pringle, and I’ll do all I can to help you. Your husband must be very upset.’

‘Poor dear, he is. Do you believe in miracles, Eloise?’

‘Yes, and I think most nurses and doctors do; you see, now and then there is a miracle, and who knows, it might be yours.’

Her visitor smiled crookedly. ‘Bless you for saying that! I believe we’re going to get on very well together.’ She got to her feet. ‘Not a word to your mother, mind—no one knows, only you and Cor and Sir Arthur, and of course my own doctor.’

‘Dutch?’ asked Eloise.

‘From Groningen.’ Mrs Pringle looked vaguely speculative for a moment. ‘I expect you’ll get on well with each other; he’s a mild sort of man. Now I’m going for you have to go home and go to bed. Will you tell your mother that I’ll write to her within the next day or so? And I’ll let you know at what time I’ll call for you.’ She leaned up and kissed Eloise’s cheek. ‘You’re a dear girl.’

Eloise cycled home thoughtfully, only half her mind on the traffic. Mrs Pringle was indeed a brave woman, and the idea of leaving her alone again after a couple of weeks went against the grain. She frowned over the problem until she was brought back to the present by a bus driver alongside her, waiting at the traffic lights, asking her from his cab if she had taken root. He said it nicely, for she was in uniform, but it recalled her to her whereabouts. She made haste home after that and spent the next hour or so listening to her mother’s delighted comments on her forthcoming holiday. ‘I am looking forward to it,’ declared Mrs Bennett for the hundredth time, ‘and I only hope you’ll enjoy yourself too, darling.’

Eloise gave her mother a hug. ‘I shall enjoy every minute of it,’ she assured her, reflecting that to do anything else wouldn’t help Mrs Pringle at all. ‘And now I’m off to bed, darling—I had a beastly night.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE FORTNIGHT went very quickly. The ward was busy for one thing, and for another, both Eloise and her mother had something to plan for. Refuting that wise but cautious saying about rainy days, Eloise took her mother shopping and persuaded her parent to invest in a good tweed suit, pointing out with rather muddled good sense that the garment in question would probably be twice the price by the time they could afford to buy it. Mrs Bennett, thus spurred on, found a dear little hat to go with it, had her good shoes re-soled and then turned her attention to her daughter. Eloise dressed well, considering she did so on a minuscule amount of money, but as her mother pointed out, Mrs Pringle very likely lived in some style, and she had to admit that her winter coat, although well cut and nicely fitting, was now about to see its third winter—moreover, she was heartily sick of it; something would have to be done to liven it up. This they achieved at a reasonable outlay by the purchase of an angora cap, scarf and gloves in a warm shade of honey which helped the dark brown of the coat considerably.

Eloise found a dress too of almost the same shade; one of dozens similar in Marks and Spencer, but as she pointed out, the chance of anyone in Holland knowing that was remote. It was simply cut, with long sleeves and a wide belt to define her small waist, and if the occasion warranted she would dress it up with a neck scarf or some beads. Sweaters she already had, and skirts and an elderly velvet dress the colour of a mole, bought in their more affluent days; no longer high fashion, but it would, at a pinch, pass muster. The two ladies went home, packed their cases and professed themselves well pleased with their purchases.

It had been arranged that Mrs Bennett should be fetched by Mrs Pringle’s car—a hired one, and as she confided to Eloise, it would be a treat in itself just to be driven all the way to Somerset. ‘Though Deborah always drove herself,’ she remarked, ‘and when I asked her why she had a chauffeur she said something about it being not like the old days and there was too much traffic. I must say I was quite surprised.’ Which Eloise wasn’t.

Her mother gone, Eloise combated loneliness with a great deal of housework, slept soundly and went on duty for the last time before her holiday. The tiresome Mrs Fellows had long since gone, but the ward was full and some of the patients were ill; she went off duty tired out and with the good-natured wishes of her friends ringing in her ears she cycled home, thankful that she had nothing to do but go to bed. She got up early, finished her packing, cooked herself an early supper, washed her hair and after touring the little flat to make sure that everything was in apple pie order, went back to bed again; she would have to be up in good time in the morning, as she was to be fetched at eight o’clock.

She woke to a bright day, the chilliness of autumn masked by brilliant sunshine. The winter coat was going to be a little heavy, but worn without a hat it would have to do. She took extra care with her pretty hair, made up her face carefully, collected her passport and purse, went through her handbag once more, and sat down to wait.

Mrs Pringle was on time; Eloise saw the car from the window, gave a final look round and went downstairs. She felt excited now and happier than she had been for a long time, although she knew that the happiness would be dimmed before long—Mrs Pringle had put a brave face on things, but there were going to be days when she wouldn’t feel so good, when Eloise would have to coax and encourage and somehow rekindle the spark of hope every patient had tucked away inside them. And there was always the possibility, however remote, that Mrs Pringle might make a recovery—it could happen, no one knew why, and it didn’t happen often, but it was something to bear in mind and work for.

Her patient was in the back of the car; if she were secretly worried about herself, no trace of it showed on her face. She told the driver to stow the luggage in the boot, invited Eloise to get in beside her and exclaimed happily: ‘I’m so thrilled at the idea of going home! I’ve been thinking of some of the things we might do together, but first I must tell you about your mother. I left her looking ten years younger and so happy—she sent her love and said you were to enjoy yourself. Such a dear creature and not changed at all, which is more than I can say for your aunt—how lucky she is to have you, Eloise. I always wanted a daughter. Of course it’s lovely having Pieter, but he doesn’t live at home.’ She sighed. ‘We always said that we would have six children.’

‘Mother wanted a large family…’

‘Yes. Ah, well, perhaps when you marry you’ll make up for it and have a pack of them—that will please her, though it’s not fashionable.’

‘Pooh,’ declared Eloise, ‘who cares about fashion?’ and just for a moment she saw herself, surrounded by several quite beautiful children, with a pleasant house in the background and an enormous garden, and somewhere close by, but regrettably vague, a husband. She might have elaborated on his appearance, only her companion was speaking again.

‘Well be met at Schiphol—Cor will be there with the car—this one is hired; as you know. It won’t take long to drive home from there—it’s less than a hundred and fifty miles. The village where we live is called Scharmerbloem—it’s small, but then you like the country, don’t you, dear? Just a few houses and a church. Groningen is only ten miles away, though.’

‘And your doctor—does he live in Groningen?’

‘Well, he has his consulting rooms there and beds in the hospital, but he lives quite close by us, by the side of a charming lake called Schildermeer. The village is called Oostersum—it’s as small as ours.’ She paused, ‘We do depend on our cars, of course, as although the main road isn’t too far away, it’s a good walk, though once you’re there the bus service is good.’

They were threading their way through the London traffic towards the airport and Mrs Pringle glanced out of the window rather wistfully so that Eloise said quickly: ‘Of course you’ll be coming back in a month or so for a check-up, won’t you? Sir Arthur would want that.’

‘Yes, although he did suggest that he might come and see me—he’s an old friend of our doctor and it would give him an excuse to visit him.’

‘What a good idea! I expect your doctor knows everything there is to know about you, Mrs Pringle?’

‘Yes, dear, and I’ve great faith in him; he’s quiet and solid and sure of himself.’

Eloise decided silently that probably he was big-headed; quite likely he wouldn’t take kindly to giving instructions to a foreign nurse. It was to be hoped that his English was adequate. She reflected uneasily that she had better get herself a dictionary and learn a few vital words of the Dutch language. In a way it was a pity that she wouldn’t be wearing uniform; a nurse never seemed a nurse unless she was in an apron and cap. As though her companion had read her thoughts, Mrs Pringle observed. ‘I’ve got some white dresses for you, dear—you don’t mind? There’s that dressing, and just in case I should have to stay in bed…’

‘How thoughtful of you, Mrs Pringle. I’ll wear uniform all the time if you want me to.’

Her companion was shocked. ‘Good heavens, no, dear—you’re on holiday, at least, more or less—besides, I don’t want any of my friends to know about me. I shall say that you’re the daughter of an old friend come to spend a couple of weeks with us—will that do?’

‘Very well, I should think.’ Eloise looked out of the window. ‘We’re almost there; I’m quite excited, I’ve not been in a plane before.’

Mrs Pringle was looking at herself in a pocket mirror. ‘I hate them,’ she said, ‘but they’re quick. The driver will see to our luggage and if I give you the tickets do you think you could cope?’

It was all a little strange but straightforward enough; Eloise coped and presently found herself sitting beside Mrs Pringle, watching the runway under the plane slide away at an alarming speed. She wasn’t sure if she liked it, so she looked away and didn’t look again until they had left the ground beneath them.

It was similar to travelling in a bus, she discovered, and once over her initial uneasiness, she peered down through the gaps in the cloud and saw that they were already over the water. It seemed no time at all before her companion pointed out the Dutch coast, flat and very tidy, far below them, the sea frothing endlessly at its unending sands.

Mijnheer Pringle was waiting for them and at first sight Eloise was disappointed; she hadn’t met him before, but his wife had always spoken of him with such warmth that Eloise had formed a picture of a commanding man, handsome and self-assured. And here he was, short, middle-aged and a little stout, with a round cheerful face from which the hair was receding, and not in the least good-looking. Nor was he commanding, although the porter seemed to treat him with respect. He embraced his wife carefully as though she were something precious and porcelain and then turned to Eloise, to shake her hand with a surprisingly hard grip and bid her welcome in fluent English. ‘The car’s here,’ he said, and took his wife’s arm. ‘Shall we go straight home or would you like to stop somewhere for coffee?’ He looked anxious. ‘Should you rest for an hour or two, Debby? We could go to an hotel.’

Mrs Pringle gave him a loving look. ‘I never felt better, Cor.’ She glanced at Eloise. ‘We had a very quiet flight, didn’t we, dear? and I’d love to go home…’

Mijnheer Pringle drove well, his wife beside him and Eloise in the back of the car. He kept up a steady flow of conversation, pointing out anything which he thought might be of interest to her and making little jokes. He was as brave as his wife, and she liked him. When he asked: ‘Do you not wonder why I, a Dutchman, should have so English a name?’ she said, surprised: ‘Well, I never thought about it—but of course it is English, isn’t it? I’ve always said Mrs Pringle, but that’s wrong, isn’t it? It’s Mevrouw. But you’re Dutch, Mijnheer Pringle, so why…?’

‘My grandfather came here when he was a young man and married a Dutchwoman, and my father was of course born here and married a Dutchwoman in his turn, so that I am truly Dutch although I have married an Englishwoman—amusing, is it not?’ He added: ‘And my good fortune.’

Eloise saw him glance sideways at his wife and smile; it must be marvellous to be loved like that; the kind of love which would surmount illness and worse. Perhaps somewhere in the world there was someone like Mijnheer Pringle waiting for her. It would be nice if he were tall and handsome, but that didn’t matter very much; it was being loved that mattered. She thought briefly of the very few young men who had shown any interest in her, and even that had been casual. She wasn’t eye-catching and she hadn’t been any good at pretending to love someone when she didn’t; they had found her amusing but shy and old-fashioned, and mostly treated her in a brotherly fashion, before long telling her all about some wonderful girl they had met and asking her advice. It had been a little lowering.

They stopped in Zwolle and had lunch. They were about halfway, Mijnheer Pringle told her, and would be able to travel fast on the motorway for almost the whole journey. ‘Although the last few kilometres are along narrow dyke roads—real country, pasture land mostly; with plenty of big farms although the villages are small.’

‘It sounds lovely,’ said Eloise, and meant it, for she was a simple girl with simple tastes; she had disliked London even while admitting its charm and she had done her best to overcome that dislike because as far as she could see she would have to stay there for the rest of her working days if she wanted a good job in a good hospital. She observed suddenly, thinking her thoughts aloud, ‘A lot of English nurses work over here, don’t they?’

‘Indeed they do.’ Mijnheer Pringle was scrutinising the bill with such intensity that she had the uncomfortable feeling that he might not have enough money to pay it. ‘Perhaps you like the idea, Eloise?’ he asked her kindly, counting out notes with care.