The Hasty Marriage

‘Poor old Laura,’ Joyce spoke with facile sympathy, ‘but if that’s what you want to do…’

Laura considered for one wild moment telling Joyce what she really wanted to do, and then looking up she found the doctor’s dark, questioning gaze upon her, so that she hastily rearranged her features into a vague smile and said enthusiastically, ‘Oh, rather. There’s nothing like a quiet evening, you know.’ She prolonged the smile until she reached the door, said ‘’bye’ to no one in particular and left them together.

The house was very quiet when everyone had gone out that evening; her father had pressed her to go with them to the doctor’s, but if she had done so the three old friends would have felt bound to exert themselves to entertain her, whereas she knew well enough that they wanted nothing better than to mull over the latest medical matters. So she repeated her intention of staying at home, saw the two elder gentlemen out of the front door and a few minutes later did the same for her sister and Doctor van Meerum. Joyce looked radiant and the doctor looked like a man who had just won the pools. She went back indoors, shutting the door firmly behind her, and wandered into the kitchen to get herself some supper. Scrambled eggs, rather watery because she cried all over them.

But no one would have known that a few hours later; she sat, composed and restful, in the sitting room, her newly washed hair hanging in a shining mousy cloud down her back, the coffee tray and sandwiches set ready, the local paper on her lap. The older gentlemen got back first, as was to be expected; they had drunk most of the coffee and made great inroads upon the sandwiches before they were joined by Joyce and Reilof van Meerum. Joyce glowed, looking quite breathtakingly lovely—enough to turn any man’s head, and it was obvious that that was what had happened to the doctor—he wasn’t a man to show his feelings, but some feelings couldn’t be concealed. Laura went away to get more coffee and when she returned he took the tray from her, asked her kindly if she had enjoyed her evening, and expressed the hope that she would be free to join them on the following day.

Laura, aware of Joyce’s anxious wordless appeal to say no, said with genuine regret and a complete absence of truth that she had promised to go back early as she was spending the afternoon with friends. The doctor’s polite regret sounded genuine enough but hardly heartfelt, and later, when they had parted for the night, she wasn’t surprised when Joyce came to her room.

‘Thank heaven I caught your eye,’ she observed. ‘Heavens, suppose you’d said yes!’ She smiled sunnily. ‘He was only being polite, you know. We’re going out for the day—to Cambridge—he was there, simply ages ago.’ She settled herself on the end of the bed. ‘Laura, isn’t it super—I’m sure he’s going to ask me to marry him.’

Laura was plaiting her hair at the dressing table and didn’t turn round; although she had been expecting Joyce to tell her just that, now that she heard the actual words she didn’t want to believe them. She finished the plait with fingers which trembled and said carefully: ‘Is he? However do you know?’

Joyce laughed, ‘Silly—of course I do,’ and she added with unconscious cruelty: ‘But you wouldn’t know…’

Laura smiled ruefully. ‘No, I wouldn’t. And are you going to say yes?’

‘Of course—lord, Laura, I’d be a fool if I didn’t—he’s very good-looking and he adores me and I’m sure he’s got plenty of money although he hasn’t exactly said so—but he’s got that marvellous car and his clothes are right.’

Laura stared unseeingly at her reflection in the looking-glass. Her face, she was thankful to see, looked just the same, although inside she was shaking with indignation and rage and a hopeless grief. ‘Do you love him?’ she asked.

Joyce got off the bed and strolled to the door. ‘Darling, I’m prepared to love anyone who can give me all the pretty things I want.’ She paused before she closed the door behind her. ‘I suppose he turns me on, if that’ll satisfy you.’

Laura got up early the next morning. She had slept badly and the urge to get out of the house before anyone else got downstairs was strong. She got into slacks and a blouse and went, quiet as a mouse, downstairs. Breakfast was already laid in the dining room, but she went straight to the kitchen, made tea, cut a slice of bread and butter to go with it and fetched a jacket from behind the kitchen door. It was a splendid morning as only an early May morning can be and she went through the village and then turned off down the narrow lane which was the back way to the neighbouring village. It had high banks on either side of it and the birds were already there, singing. There were catkins and lambs-tails too, and the hedges were thick with bread and cheese, green and fresh, and tucked away here and there were clumps of primroses and patches of violets.

The lane wound a good deal, so that it took twice as long as it needed to to reach Masham, but she had time and to spare; Joyce and Reilof van Meerum weren’t likely to leave the house much before ten o’clock, and Laura had just heard the church bells, still quite a way away, ringing for eight o’clock service. She reached the first few cottages as a handful of people came out of the church with the rector on their heels. He saw her at once and greeted her with pleasure, for they had known each other all her life.

‘Laura—you’ve strayed into the wrong parish, but how nice. It’s early, though.’ He gave her a questioning look.

‘I’ve got a weekend,’ she told him, ‘and it’s such a lovely morning, I simply couldn’t waste it in bed. I love the walk through the lane.’

He nodded. ‘Peaceful and quiet, designed for thinking one’s own thoughts.’ He gave her a quick glance, taking in the pallor of a sleepless night and her unhappy eyes. ‘Come and have breakfast with Martha and me,’ he begged her, ‘the house is so quiet now that Guy’s up at Cambridge.’

He led the way down the village street and across to the white house at the end of it. A charming house, built in the days when the village parson had half a dozen children and needed the rooms. Now, as Laura knew, it was almost empty and a well-loved millstone round the rector’s neck. They went in through the kitchen door and found Mrs Lamb frying bacon at the old-fashioned stove, and presently they all sat down to a leisurely meal before Mr Lamb got on to his bicycle and went off to a hamlet nearby to take morning service, leaving Laura to help with the washing up, peel the potatoes for lunch and set the table.

It was almost eleven o’clock by the time she got home, and time to get a meal for her father and godfather. She found them walking in the garden, deep in some conversation or other. They greeted her absentmindedly, asked vaguely if she was going to make them some coffee, and resumed their perambulations, leaving her to go to her room, change into a suit, do her hair and return to the kitchen. She gave them their coffee presently and then set about getting lunch, and it was over this meal that her father mentioned that Joyce and the doctor had left directly after breakfast and didn’t expect to get back until after tea. ‘They seem to be greatly interested in each other,’ he observed, ‘although I think myself that Reilof is too old for my little Joyce—still, if the child wants him, I’ll not say no—he’s obviously greatly taken with her.’ He glanced at Laura across the table. ‘I daresay you’ve noticed, my dear?’

She said yes, she had, her voice placid, and went on to remind him that she would be going back on the three o’clock train, whereupon he offered to drive her to the station. ‘It will be a nice little run for your godfather, too,’ he said with satisfaction, and added a little anxiously: ‘How about our tea, my dear—and supper?’

‘Tea’s all ready on a tray on the kitchen table, Father, you only have to boil a kettle. It’s cold supper, on the top shelf of the fridge, but I should think Joyce would be back by then. I’ll lay up another tray after I’ve washed up, though, just in case she isn’t.’

The matter being settled, she got on with the chores, repacking her bag once more before going in search of her father to remind him that he was taking her into Chelmsford. She sat with her godfather on the back seat because he complained mildly that he had seen almost nothing of her, and presently she wished she had insisted on him sitting with her father, because the questions he put to her were a little disconcerting and far too searching. Was she happy at the hospital? Had she any plans for the future, had she a young man?—an old-fashioned term which hardly fitted the circumstances, she considered, half amused. And what did she think of Reilof van Meerum?

She hedged round the last question. She didn’t know him well—he seemed very nice, but how could she know…?

‘You don’t need to know anything about anybody,’ stated her godfather, ‘either you like them or you don’t.’ He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘You do, Laura?’

‘Well, yes, Uncle Wim.’ She hastened to give the conversation another turn. ‘You’ll be here when I come home again—I’m not sure when…?’

‘I’ll be here—I shall go back with Reilof, but he comes so frequently I have no plans at present but shall fit in with him.’

‘Then I shall see you again.’ She checked, just in time, a sigh of relief as her father came to a halt before the station entrance, then she bent to kiss her companion and bade him stay where he was as she got out. She retrieved her bag, kissed her father too, and hurried away to catch her train. She spent the journey wondering what Joyce and Reilof were doing; Joyce had been very sure of him—any time now, thought Laura unhappily, I shall get a message to say that they’re going to get married. She gazed out of the window, seeing nothing of the rather dreary fringe of London and wishing she could be miles away, so that she couldn’t be telephoned, then she would never know—no, that would be far worse. The sooner she knew the better. Then she could start to forget Reilof as the man she had fallen in love with, and think of him as a future brother-in-law. The idea appalled her.

CHAPTER THREE

LAURA was sitting in Ann Matthew’s room, drinking tea and joining in, in an absent manner, the end-of-day talk. Ann had Women’s Surgical and had been on duty for the weekend, as had several other of Laura’s friends, and she had been greeted with the news that there had been a minor train accident that morning with a large number of light injuries to be dealt with as well as several cases to be warded.

‘Sunday morning,’ protested Audrey Crewe, who ran the Accident Room with the efficient nonchalance of an expert and was the envy of every student nurse who worked for her. ‘The one time in the week when I can really get down to the wretched off-duty and have two cups of coffee in a row—they poured in, ducky, and so dirty, poor souls—though most of them only had cuts and bruises and shock. I had to send four up to you, though, Laura—they’ll keep you busy for a day or two; two have had surgery, the others won’t be done until tomorrow, they’re not fit enough.’

‘It’s news like that that brings me rushing back,’ remarked Laura tartly, and was instantly sorry she had said it, because someone asked, ‘Why did you come back this afternoon, Laura? You usually sneak in at the last possible moment.’

‘Well, Joyce was out for the day, and the earlier train fitted in with Father’s plans…’

‘Go on with you,’ said a voice from the door. ‘You’ve quarrelled with the boy-friend. You’re wanted on the telephone, love—I expect he wants to make it up.’

There was a little outburst of laughter as Laura went out of the door, and she laughed with them while her insides went cold. It would be Joyce, to tell her that she was going to marry Reilof van Meerum, and she was so certain of it that when she heard her sister’s excited voice telling her just that, it wasn’t a shock at all, just a numbness which gripped her brain and her tongue so that Joyce asked sharply:

‘Laura? Are you still there? Why don’t you say something?’

‘It’s marvellous news,’ she managed then, her voice calm and pleasantly surprised, ‘and I hope you’ll both be very happy. Does Father know?’

‘Yes,’ bubbled Joyce, ‘and so does Uncle Wim, but you know what old people are, they hum and ha and sound so doubtful…’

‘Well, as long as neither of you is doubtful, I shouldn’t think there was anything to worry about, darling.’

‘We’ve opened a bottle of champagne—isn’t it all wildly exciting? Reilof’s here—he wants to speak to you.’

Laura drew a long breath and thanked heaven silently that she didn’t have to meet him face to face. At least by the time they did meet again she would have her feelings well in hand. All the same, when she heard his quiet ‘Laura?’ in her ear, she had to wait a second before she could get out a matter-of-fact ‘hullo’.

‘Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’ he asked.

‘Of course, with all my heart.’

‘That’s nice to hear. I’m sure you’re going to be a delightful sister-in-law. A pity that you aren’t here to celebrate with us. You must be sure and have a free weekend next time I come over.’

‘Oh, rather.’ Laura was aware that she sounded far too hearty, she would be babbling if she wasn’t careful, any minute now her tongue would run away with her. ‘Such a pity I had to come back early,’ she chattered brightly, ‘but I’d promised ages ago…’

His ‘Oh, yes?’ sounded faintly amused and a little bored; she was wasting his time, time he could be spending with Joyce. She held the mouthpiece a little way from her and called: ‘Okay, I’m coming now,’ and then spoke into it again. ‘So sorry, someone’s waiting for me—have a glass of champagne for me, won’t you? See you soon. ’Bye!’

She hung up and went slowly back up the stone staircase, not going back to Ann’s room but into her own. But that wouldn’t do, sooner or later someone would come looking for her. She snatched up a towel and sponge and went into one of the bathrooms and turned on the taps, and presently when a voice asked her if she was in there, she was able to answer quite cheerfully that the telephone call had taken so long that it hadn’t seemed worthwhile going back to them all.

‘Not bad news, I hope?’ asked the voice anxiously.

She forced her voice into just the right tones of pleased excitement: ‘Lord, no. Marvellous, actually—Joyce has got engaged. I’ll tell you all about it later.’

Later was breakfast, a blessedly hurried meal, so that she barely had the time to repeat the news baldly, listen to the excited babble of talk when someone realised that Reilof was the dishy doctor who had been seen with Mr Burnett, admit that he had been visiting her home quite regularly for the past week or so, and gobble her toast before the hurried race to the wards.

The four new cases kept her busy all day; none of them was very well and the two who were to go to theatre had to be prepped and doped and reassured, and once they had been wheeled away on their trolleys, there was everything to set in readiness for their return to the ward. Their wives came too, hurrying in from their suburban homes, leaving heaven alone knew what chaos behind them, to be sat in Laura’s office, given tea and sympathy and reassured in their turn. Presently, when they had calmed down, she took them along to the visitors’ room where they could sit in some comfort, with magazines to read and coffee and sandwiches served from time to time, although in Laura’s experience the magazines were rarely opened and the sandwiches and coffee were returned untouched.