The Moon for Lavinia

She handed over the patient’s notes, and without looking at the professor, went back to theatre. Zuster Smid had gone off duty, taking most of her staff with her, there were only Neeltje and herself working until nine o’clock. She had been sorting instruments while her companion saw to the theatre linen, when the door opened and Professor ter Bavinck walked in. He walked over to say something to Neeltje before he came across the theatre to Lavinia.

‘Off at nine o’clock?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sir.’

His mouth twitched faintly. ‘Could you stop calling me sir? Just long enough for me to invite you out to supper.’

‘Me? Supper?’ Her eyes were round with surprise. ‘Oh, but I…’

‘Scared of being chatted up? Forget it, dear girl; think of me as a Dutch uncle anxious to make you feel at home in Amsterdam.’

She found herself smiling. ‘I don’t know what a Dutch uncle is.’

‘I’m vague about it myself, but it sounds respectable enough to establish a respectable relationship, don’t you agree?’

A warning, perhaps? Letting her know in the nicest way that he was merely taking pity on a stranger who might be feeling lonely?

‘Somewhere quiet,’ he went on, just as if she had already said that she would go with him, ‘where we can get a quick snack—I’ll be at the front entrance.’

‘I haven’t said that I’ll go yet,’ she reminded him coldly, and wished that she hadn’t said it, for the look he bent on her was surprised and baffled too, so that she rushed on: ‘I didn’t mean that—of course I’ll come, I’d like to.’

He didn’t smile although his eyes twinkled reassuringly. ‘We don’t need to be anything but honest with each other,’ a remark which left her, in her turn, surprised and baffled. He had gone while she was still thinking it over, and any vague and foolish ideas which it might have nurtured were at once dispelled by Neeltje’s, ‘You go to supper with the Prof. Did I not tell you how good and kind a man he is? He helps always the lame dog…’

Just for a moment the shine went out of the evening, but Lavinia was blessed with a sense of humour; she giggled and said cheerfully: ‘Well, let’s hope I get a good supper, because I’m hungry.’

She changed rapidly, not quite sure what she should wear or how much time she had in which to put it on. It was a warm evening and still light; still damp from a shower, she looked over her sketchy wardrobe and decided that the pink cotton with its jacket would look right wherever they went. As she did her face and hair she tried to remember if there were any snack bars or cafés close to the hospital, but with the exception of Jan’s Eethuisje just across the road and much frequented by the hospital staff who had had to miss a meal for some reason or other, she could think of none. She thrust her feet into the pink sandals, checked her handbag’s contents and made her way to the entrance.

The professor was there; it wasn’t until she saw him, leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, that she realized that she hadn’t been quite sure that he would be. He came across the hall to meet her and she noticed that his clothes were good; elegant and beautifully cut if a little conservative—but then he wasn’t a very young man.

He said hullo in a casual way and opened the door for her and they went out to the forecourt together. It was fairly empty, but even if it hadn’t been, any cars which might have been there would have been cast into the shade by the car outside the door.

‘Oh, it’s the Bentley!’ cried Lavinia as her companion ushered her into its luxury.

‘You like it? I need a large car, you see.’ He got in beside her. ‘One of the problems of being large.’

She sat back, sniffing the faint scent of leather, enjoying the drive, however short, in such a fabulous car. And the drive was short; the professor slid in and out of the traffic while she was still trying to discover which way they were going, and pulled up after only a few minutes, parking the car on the cobbles at the side of the narrow canal beside an even narrower street, and inviting her to get out. It seemed that their snack was to be taken at what appeared to be an expensive restaurant, its name displayed so discreetly that it could have passed for a town house in a row of similar houses. Lavinia allowed herself to be shepherded inside to a quiet luxury which took her breath and sitting at a table which had obviously been reserved for them, thanked heaven silently that the pink, while not anything out of the ordinary, at least passed muster.

It was equally obvious within a very few moments that the professor’s notion of a quick snack wasn’t hers. She ran her eyes over the large menu card, looking in vain for hamburgers or baked beans on toast, although she doubted if such an establishment served such homely dishes.

‘Smoked eel?’ invited her companion. ‘I think you must try that, and then perhaps coq au vin to follow?’ He dismissed the waiter and turned to confer with the wine waiter, asking as he did so: ‘Sherry for you? Do you prefer it sweet?’

She guessed quite rightly that it wasn’t likely to be the same sort of sherry they drank at hospital parties. ‘Well…’ she smiled at him, ‘I don’t know much about it—would you choose?’

The sherry, when it came, was faintly dry and as soft as velvet. Lavinia took a cautious second sip, aware, that she hadn’t had much to eat for some time, aware, too, that conversationally she wasn’t giving very good value. Her host was sitting back in his chair, completely at his ease, his eyes on her face, so that she found it difficult to think of something to talk about. She was on the point of falling back on the weather when he said: ‘Tell me about yourself—why did you take this job? Did not your family dislike the idea of you coming here? There are surely jobs enough in England for someone as efficient as you.’ He saw the look on her face and added: ‘Dear me, I did put that badly, didn’t I? It just shows you that a lack of female society makes a man very clumsy with his words.’

She took another sip of sherry. ‘I haven’t a family—at least, only a sister. She’s fifteen, almost sixteen, and lives with an aunt. She hasn’t been happy with her and when I saw this job advertised I thought I’d try for it—I shall be able to live out, you see, and Peta will be able to come here and live with me. I couldn’t do that in England—not in London at any rate, because flats there are very expensive and nurses don’t earn an awful lot.’

She finished the sherry. It had loosened her tongue; she hadn’t told anyone her plans, and here she was pouring out her heart to a stranger—almost a stranger, then, though he had never seemed to be that, rather someone whom she had known for a very long time.

‘You are prepared to take that responsibility? You should marry.’ There was the faintest question in his voice.

‘Well, that would be awfully convenient, but no one’s asked me, and anyway I can’t imagine anyone wanting to make a home for Peta as well as me.’

She couldn’t see his eyes very well; the heavy lids almost covered them, probably he was half asleep with boredom. ‘I think you may be wrong there,’ he said quietly, and then: ‘And what do you think of our hospital?’

It was easy after that; he led her from one topic to the next while they ate the smoked eel and then the chicken, washed down with the wine which had been the subject of such serious discussion with the wine waiter. Lavinia had no idea what it was, but it tasted delicious, as did the chocolate mousse which followed the chicken. She ate and drank with the simple pleasure of someone who doesn’t go out very often, and when she had finished it, she said shyly: ‘That was quite super; I don’t go out a great deal—hardly ever, in fact. I thought you meant it when you said a quick snack.’

He laughed gently. ‘It’s quite some time since I took a girl out to supper. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for a long while.’ He added deliberately: ‘We must do it again.’

‘Yes, well…that would be…’ She found herself short of both breath and words. ‘I expect I should be getting back.’

He lifted a finger to the hovering waiter. ‘Of course—a heavy day tomorrow, isn’t it?’

He spoke very little on their way back to the hospital, and Lavinia, trying to remember it all later, couldn’t be sure of what she had replied. He wished her good night at the hospital entrance and got back into his car and drove off without looking back. He was nice, she admitted to herself as she went to her room; the kind of man she felt at ease with—he would be a wonderful friend; perhaps, later on, he might be. She went to sleep thinking about him.

There was the usual chatter at breakfast and several of her table companions asked her if she had had a good supper. Evidently someone had told them. Neeltje probably; she was a positive fount of information about everything and everyone. She informed everyone now: ‘The Prof’s going to a conference in Vienna; he won’t be here for a few days, for I heard him telling Doctor van Teyl about it. We shall have that grumpy old van Vorst snapping our heads off if we have to go to the Path. Lab.’ She smiled at Lavinia. ‘And he is not likely to ask you to go out with him.’

Everyone laughed and Lavinia laughed too, although in fact she felt quite gloomy. Somehow she had imagined that she would see Professor ter Bavinck again that morning, and the knowledge that she wouldn’t seemed to have taken a good deal of the sparkle out of the day.

She settled down during the next few days into her new way of life, writing to Peta every day or so, studying her Dutch lessons hard so that she might wring a reluctant word of praise from Juffrouw de Waal, and when she was on duty, working very hard indeed. She had scrubbed for several cases by now and had managed very well, refusing to allow herself to be distracted or worried by the steady flow of Dutch conversation which went on between the surgeons as they worked, and after all, the instruments were the same, the technique was almost the same, even if they were called by different names. She coped with whatever came her way with her usual unhurried calm.

Only that calm was a little shattered one morning. They were doing a gastro-entreostomy, when the surgeon cast doubts on his findings and sent someone to telephone the Path. Lab. A minute or two later Professor ter Bavinck came in, exchanged a few words with his colleagues, collected the offending piece of tissue which was the cause of the doubt, cast a lightning look at Lavinia, standing behind her trolleys, and went away again.

So he was back. She counted a fresh batch of swabs, feeling the tide of pleasure the sight of him had engendered inside her. The day had suddenly become splendid and full of exciting possibilities. She only just stopped herself in time from bursting into song.

CHAPTER THREE

BUT THE DAY wasn’t splendid at all; she was in theatre for hours as it turned out, with an emergency; some poor soul who had fallen from a fourth floor balcony. The surgeons laboured over her for patient hours and no one thought of going to dinner, although two or three of the nurses managed to get a cup of coffee. But Lavinia, being scrubbed and taking the morning’s list, went stoically on until at length, about three o’clock in the afternoon, she had a few minutes in which to bolt a sandwich and drink some coffee, and because the morning’s list had been held up it ended hours late; in consequence the afternoon list was late too, and even though she didn’t have to scrub, she was still on duty. When she finally got off duty it was well past seven o’clock. There was no reason why she should look for the professor on her way to supper; he was unlikely to be lurking on the stairs or round a corner of any of the maze of passages, so her disappointment at not meeting him was quite absurd. She ate her supper, pleaded tiredness after her long day, and retired to the fastness of her room.

A good night’s sleep worked wonders. She felt quite light-hearted as she dressed the next morning; she would be off at four o’clock and the lists weren’t heavy; perhaps she would see Professor ter Bavinck and he would suggest another quick snack… She bounced down to breakfast, not stopping to examine her happiness, only knowing that it was another day and there was the chance of something super happening.

Nothing happened at all. Work, of course—there was always plenty of that; it was a busy hospital and the surgeons who worked there were known for their skill. The morning wore on into the afternoon until it was time for her to go off duty. Neeltje was off too—they were going out with some of the other nurses; a trip round the city’s canals was a must for every visitor to Amsterdam and they would take her that very evening. She got ready for the outing, determined to enjoy herself. She had been silly and made too much of the professor’s kindness—it was because she went out so seldom with a man that she had attached so much importance to seeing him again. Heaven forbid that she should appear over-eager, indeed, if he were to ask her out again she would take care to have an excuse ready, she told herself stoutly. She stared at her reflection in the looking glass—he wasn’t likely to ask her again, anyway. He was in the hospital each day, she had heard someone say so, and there had been plenty of opportunities…

She left her room and took the short cut to the hospital entrance where she was to meet the others. The last few yards of it gave her an excellent view of the forecourt so that she couldn’t fail to see the professor standing in it, talking earnestly to a young woman. It was too far off to see if she was pretty, but even at that distance Lavinia could see that she was beautifully dressed. She slowed her steps the better to look and then stopped altogether as he took the girl’s arm and walked away with her, across the tarmac to where his motorcar was standing. She didn’t move until they had both got into it and it had disappeared through the gates, and when she did she walked very briskly, with her determined little chin rather higher than usual and two bright spots of colour on her cheeks.

When they all got back a couple of hours later, the professor was standing in the entrance, talking to two of the consultants, and all three men wished the girls Goeden avond. Lavinia, joining in the polite chorus of replies, took care not to look at him.

She wakened the next morning to remember that it was her day off. The fine weather still held and she had a formidable list of museums to visit. She was up and out soon after nine o’clock, clad in a cool cotton dress and sandals on her bare feet and just enough money in her handbag to pay for her lunch.

She went first to the Bijenkorf, however, that mecca of the Amsterdam shopper, and spent an hour browsing round its departments, wishing she had the money to buy the pretty things on display, cheering herself with the thought that before very long, she might be able to do so. But it was already ten o’clock and the museums had been open half an hour already, she started to walk across the Dam Square, with its palace on one side and the stark war memorial facing it on the other, down Kalverstraat, not stopping to look in the tempting shop windows, and into Leidsestraat. It was here that she noticed that the blue sky had dimmed to grey, it was going to rain—but the museum was only a few minutes’ brisk walk away now, she could actually see the imposing frontage of her goal. The first few drops began to fall seconds later, however, and then without warning, turned into a downpour. Lavinia began to run, feeling the rain soaking her thin dress.

The Bentley pulled into the curb a little ahead of her, so that by the time she was level with it the professor was on the pavement, standing in the rain too. He didn’t speak at all, merely plucked her neatly from the pavement, bustled her round the elegant bonnet of the car, and popped her into the front seat. When he got in beside her, all he said was: ‘You’re very wet,’ as he drove on.