Tabitha in Moonlight

Tabitha added potato puree to the fish and said vaguely: ‘Oh, this evening—Staff Nurse Rogers will be here…’ She was interrupted by a subdued crash from the ward. ‘Go and see what that is, Nurse Williams,’ she said calmly, ‘and take a peep at Mr Bow on your way.’ She raised her eyes to the man waiting patiently at the door. ‘Staff will be on until nine o’clock—if you want anyone after that there’s Night Nurse…and Night Sister, of course.’ She was interrupted once more by Nurse Williams bearing a horrid mess of stew and broken plate on a tray.

‘Mr Bow’s fine, Sister. This is Mr Prosser’s and he’s very sorry. It slipped.’

Tabitha ladled stew, wondering why Mr van Beek still stood watching. ‘Do you want something, sir?’ she enquired politely, half her mind on dinners.

He gave her a pleasant smile. ‘Yes, Sister, but it can wait.’ He was gone, leaving her to fret over the prunes and custard as to what exactly it was that he wanted, and whether it was something she hadn’t got on the ward. Perhaps Sue would know; he might have said something to her. She would ask her at dinner.

Sue, although willing enough, was unhelpful. ‘I’ve no idea,’ she said. ‘He used the usual instruments; he’s fussy, but nice about it, and all orthopaedic surgeons are anyway. I tried to find out something about him, but he was closer than an oyster. He’s a dear, though—a bit quiet; a pity, because he’s got a lovely gravelly voice, hasn’t he? Are you on or off?’

‘On—I changed with Rogers because Mr Raynard wanted me to go to theatre—my morning was ruined!’

‘Never mind, Tabby, it’s your weekend.’

‘So it is,’ Tabitha replied gloomily.

The afternoon went in a flash. It was tea time before she had the opportunity to have a word with Mr Bow, who had made a surprisingly quick recovery from his anaesthetic and had asked for tea. She gave it to him, sip by sip, while they decided what to do.

‘I’ll have Podger,’ said Tabitha, ‘he’s no trouble. It’s your room I’m worried about. Do you want to keep it on?’

She could have bitten her tongue out the moment she had said it, because he answered with faint despair: ‘Where else can I go?’

Before she could make a satisfactory answer, Mr van Beek spoke from behind her.

‘I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of staying with me when you leave hospital, Knotty. We have several years to talk over, have we not? Besides, I need to pick your brains concerning several ideas which have been simmering…. Why not give up your room? I can easily arrange to have your furniture stored.’

Mr Bow looked bewildered. ‘But, my dear boy, I don’t even know where you live.’

‘Near enough,’ said the dear boy cryptically, ‘and when the time comes we can collect Podger.’

Mr Bow smiled. ‘It sounds delightful.’

‘Good—we’ll fix things for you, if you’ll leave it all to us. Now I’m going to ask Sister to get someone to settle you so that she can give you something for that niggling pain.’

He lifted a languid hand in salute and crossed the ward to Mr Raynard’s cubicle, and presently Tabitha heard him laughing there. He had a pleasant laugh, almost a chuckle. She sighed without reason, smiled at Mr Bow and went to find a nurse so that she could accompany Mr van Beek on his ward round. Afterwards, he went back to Mr Raynard again and Tabitha left them talking because it was time for her to go off duty and Rogers had to have the report. It didn’t take long, for Rogers had only been away for the afternoon hours; Tabitha gave her the keys, put on her cuffs, took off her apron, and with it tucked under one arm, wished everyone a good evening and started off down the corridor. She was a quarter of the way down its length when the ward door flapped open and shut behind her and Mr van Beek’s voice brought her to a halt. She turned round to face him and asked ‘Now what?’ in a resigned voice so that he smiled and said:

‘Nothing—at least nothing to do with the ward. I was wondering—’ he sounded diffident, ‘if you’re going to see about Mr Bow’s rent and so forth, if I might come with you. Perhaps the landlady…?’ He paused delicately and Tabitha thought that he must have possessed himself of quite a lot of inside information about Mr Bow’s circumstances. It would indeed be helpful if he were to parley with the landlady. She said thoughtfully:

‘Yes, I think it might be easier if you were to see her. I was going now, on my way home—I could give you a lift.’

‘Your car? Can you leave it here—we’ll use mine. Are you on duty early tomorrow?’

‘No, not until eleven. I suppose I could catch a bus.’

‘Right, that’s settled.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Twenty minutes’ time, then—the staff car park.’ He went back into the ward without waiting for her to answer.

Tabitha went to the changing room and changed into the pale blue jersey dress she had worn to work that morning, wishing at the same time that she had worn something more eye-catching. Not that she had any hope of Mr van Beek’s grey eyes resting on her for more than a few moments. How wonderful it would have been, she thought, if he had asked her out, not just to show him where Mr Bow lived, but because she was lovely to look at and amusing. She uttered an impatient sigh, tugged the pins impatiently from her hair and re-did it even tighter than usual, taking a perverse satisfaction in adding to the mediocrity of her appearance.

CHAPTER TWO

THE SENIOR medical staff had a car park of their own on the right of the hospital forecourt. It was almost empty at this time of day, for the normal day’s rounds were done and the theatres had finished at four o’clock and it was still too early for any possible extra visits to ill patients. There were only three cars in it, two of which Tabitha instantly recognized; the souped-up Mini Mr Jenkins, the gynae consultant, affected, and the elderly, beautifully kept Austin saloon the radiologist had bought some fifteen years previously and had never found necessary to change. The third car was a Bentley T convertible of a pleasing and unobtrusive shade of grey, in whose driving seat Mr van Beek was lounging. As Tabitha approached he got out, ushered her in to sit beside him and enquired in a friendly voice where Mr Bow lived.

‘About five minutes’ drive,’ said Tabitha, and felt regret that it wasn’t five hours. ‘The quickest way is to turn left into the High Street, down Thomas Street and turn right at the bottom of the hill.’

He let in the clutch. ‘Are you in a hurry?’ he enquired mildly.

Tabitha blinked her thick short eyelashes. ‘No,’ she said in a practical voice, ‘but I should think you would be—you must have had a hard day and I don’t expect you want to waste your evening.’ She gave him a brief enquiring look and wondered why he looked amused.

‘No, I don’t intend to,’ he agreed gravely. ‘Is this where we turn right?’

They were almost there; Tabitha wished she were Sue, who would have known how to turn even such a short encounter as this to good advantage. She said a little abruptly: ‘It’s this row of houses—the fourth from the end,’ and even as she spoke he was bringing the car to a gentle halt. They were standing on the doorstep waiting for someone to answer their ring when Tabitha asked: ‘What are we going to say?’

Mr van Beek looked down at her earnest face and said lazily:

‘If you wouldn’t mind just mentioning who I am…’ The door opened and the woman she had seen the previous evening stood in front of them. There was a cigarette dangling from her lip and her hair was caught up in orderly rows of curlers under a pink net. Without removing the cigarette, she said: ‘Hullo, you again,’ and gave Tabitha an unwilling smile which widened when she looked at Mr van Beek.

‘Good evening,’ said Tabitha, ‘I said I should be coming…this is Mr van Beek who wishes to make some arrangement about Mr Bow.’

The woman stood aside willingly enough for them to go in and Mr van Beek thanked her with charm; still with charm but with a faint undertone of command he said: ‘If you will be good enough to come with us—’ and when the woman looked surprised, ‘We intend to pack up Mr Bow’s possessions. He is an old friend of mine and wishes me to arrange for them to be stored; he won’t be coming back here.’

Mr Bow’s landlady bridled as she opened the door. ‘Not coming back, ain’t ’e? I’ll need a week’s rent in lieu—and there’s ’is washing.’

Mr van Beek was standing in the middle of the little room, looking at everything, his face inscrutable. ‘You shall have whatever is owing to you,’ he stated, and there was faint distaste in his quiet voice. ‘Be good enough to tell us which of these things belong to Mr Bow and we will pack them up while you are making out your bill, then you might return, please, and make sure that we have forgotten nothing.’

The woman said carelessly: ‘OK, if that’s ’ow you want it. The silver’s ’is and them pictures and the desk; there’s a case under the bed too.’ She crossed the room to open the drawers in a chest under the window. ‘’Ere’s ’is clothes.’ She went back to the door. ‘Don’t take nothing of mine,’ she cautioned as she went.

Tabitha already had Mr Bow’s case open on the bed. She crossed the room and in her turn, started to investigate the chest of drawers.

‘Poor old gentleman,’ she observed, half to herself, ‘how he must have hated it here.’

Mr van Beek had seated himself upon the table, swinging one long leg and looking around him in a thoughtful manner. ‘Are you in a hurry?’ he asked for the second time that evening.

Tabitha had scooped up an armful of clothes. ‘Not really,’ she answered cautiously as she bore them back to the bed. Was he going away to leave her to do all the work? Apparently not.

‘Then do leave that for a moment and sit down.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I think that you are a sensible young woman and we have to get Knotty’s future settled, more or less.’

Tabitha put her burden on the bed and perched on the bed beside it, wondering why his opinion of her good sense gave her so little pleasure. She crossed her hands tidily in her lap and said tranquilly: ‘I’m listening.’

He said unexpectedly: ‘You’re a very restful girl. Most women are forever patting their hair or putting on lipstick or peering at themselves in those silly little mirrors they carry around.’

She made no answer. She felt fairly sure that doing all of these things would make little difference to her appearance, but there seemed little point in telling him so, for it was surely something he could see for himself. She suspected that he was a kind man, wishful of putting her at her ease. He smiled at her and she smiled back, and when he got out his pipe and enquired: ‘Do you mind?’ she shook her head, feeling at ease with him.

‘Mr Bow,’ he began, ‘was my science tutor at university. We struck up quite a friendship, for he had known my father when he was alive and had been to our home several times. He was a keen sailor when he was younger—still is, I daresay—and so am I. We did a good deal of sailing together, the pair of us. When I went back to Holland he visited me from time to time, then about five years ago he didn’t answer my letters any more and when I went to his home, no one knew where he was. Each time I came to England I made an effort to find him, but without success, and then, today—there he was.’ He looked round the room. ‘Obviously fallen on bad times, if these few things are all he has left. He’s a proud old man, which probably accounts for his silence and disappearance, and he’ll be difficult to help. When he’s better I think I could persuade him to come home with me for a holiday, but what then?’

Tabitha hadn’t interrupted at all, but now she said: ‘I don’t know where you live, but if it’s a town of any size, could he not teach— English perhaps if he’s to live in Holland—just enough to make him feel independent? I know he’s eighty, but there’s nothing wrong with his brain.’