Never the Time and the Place

‘You’re a dear, Mrs Cross, and could you put on another cup and saucer? Mr van Tacx missed his lunch and he’s famished as well as thirsty.’

‘Is ’e now? A fine body of a man like ’im needs ’is food. If yer was to ring them so-and-so’s in the kitchen, they could send up a bit of ’am.’

Mr van Tacx was lying back at his ease with his eyes shut. Josephine lifted the receiver but he didn’t open them.

‘Mr van Tacx has missed his lunch. Will you send up some ham for sandwiches please, right away…’

‘Cheese?’ He asked softly with his eyes still shut.

‘And cheese,’ she added firmly, ‘and please be quick. He has a teaching round very shortly.’

‘I can see that we are going to get on very well together.’ His eyes were still closed.

‘I hope so, sir.’

He opened one eye. ‘A whole month—do you suppose we shall be able to keep this affability up?’

She gave him a wary look. ‘I cannot see why not, sir.’

‘I hope that if and when we meet out of working hours, you will refrain from addressing me as sir.’

‘If you wish that—but we are very unlikely to meet.’

‘There is a divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them how we may.’ He opened the other eye. ‘Your William Shakespeare, or to put it more simply, “Nothing is so certain as the unexpected”.’

And while she was still staring at him.

‘Mrs Prior…’ He was businesslike now. ‘I’m afraid we may be too late there but we’ll do what we can. She is married? Husband? Children?’

‘A husband. There’s a son in Australia.’

‘Would she be cared for if we sent her home?’

‘I doubt it. Mr Prior was concerned about himself when he talked to me. He may have been worried, of course.’

‘I’ll see him. If necessary we’ll send her to a convalescent home and she can come back for radiotherapy in a week or two.’

Mrs Cross came in then, bearing a loaded tray which she dumped on to Josephine’s desk. ‘There yer are, Sister, there’s enough for the pair of yer—as nice a bit of ’am as I seen for a long time and real cheese, not that stuff they send us for the diabetics when we ’ave ’em. On account of you being important,’ she explained kindly to Mr van Tacx who was looking at her with a fascinated eye. ‘Now eat up and there’s more tea if yer fancy it.’

Josephine thanked her and when Mrs Cross had gone said demurely, ‘She doesn’t mean to be familiar—she’s above rubies and has been here for heaven knows how many years. She has never gone on strike or gone slow and once or twice when there’s been a flap on, she’ll just stay in the kitchen making tea to keep us going.’

She poured the tea, a strong, dark brew which she milked generously before she passed it with the sugar bowl.

Mr van Tacx helped himself lavishly and sipped appreciatively. ‘I have acquired the habit of drinking tea,’ he remarked. ‘In Holland we drink coffee, and tea is milkless and much weaker. This would drive a train.’

He settled into his chair and Josephine said severely, ‘If you don’t sit still the chair is going to collapse. Have a sandwich.’

They sat for a moment in a pleasant companionship but presently Mr van Tacx started to discuss the patients and Josephine became at once a Ward Sister who knew exactly what was expected of her. She replenished their cups, passed the sandwiches to his side of the desk and got out her pen; like Mr Bull, he fired off instructions at an alarming rate and she couldn’t hold all of them in her head.

Presently he got up to go. ‘I’ll be in later,’ he told her, ‘and ring down to the lodge when Mr Prior gets here. You’re on this evening?’

She didn’t tell him that she should have been off duty at five o’clock but as so often happened on theatre day, she had stayed on duty.

‘Yes,’ she said quietly, ‘I’m on until eight o’clock, Mr van Tacx, and I’ll phone down for you. But will you be here?’

He said coldly, ‘Did I not make myself clear, Sister?’

A remark which effectively wiped away the faint liking she had begun to admit to.

At supper, when she was at last off duty, several of her friends wanted to know why she hadn’t gone off duty. ‘How’s that new man?’ they wanted to know. ‘Slow?’

She shook her head. ‘Oh, no, but the first case took about twice as long as he had expected and then I stayed on because that particular patient’s husband was coming to visit. He was a bit difficult yesterday. Mr van Tacx came up to see him…’

‘And what’s Malcolm going to say to that?’ asked a voice, ‘staying on duty just to oblige a consultant and him too good looking to be true.’ The speaker sighed gustily. ‘I wouldn’t mind being in your shoes, Jo…’

Josephine put her knife and fork carefully together on her plate. She didn’t like the girl who spoke; the Medical Ward Sister, a good nurse but spiteful at times. ‘You can jump in any time you like,’ she said calmly, ‘for my part you can have carte blanche, and as for Malcolm, since we are no longer engaged, he has no say in the matter.’

She got up from the table and walked out of the canteen and the hapless girl who had spoken was attacked from all sides. To her cries that she hadn’t known and she hadn’t meant any harm anyway she met with a forthright warning to hold her silly tongue in future and mind her own business.

Josephine went to her room, took off her cap, wrapped a tweed coat over her uniform, pulled her leather boots over her black tights, and left the nurses’ home by the side door nearest the car park used by the staff. She wasn’t very clear as to what she intended to do or where she was going—it was already dark, a nasty blustery evening and chilly. She wanted above all things to go home but that was too far. She unlocked the Mini and got into the driver’s seat and sat there, her mind a miserable blank.

‘And where are you going?’ asked Mr van Tacx gently, and poked his head through the open window.

She had let out a squeak of fright which she covered in a dignified but breathless, ‘Out, Mr van Tacx, and I do not care to have the wits scared out of me…’

‘Sorry.’ He sounded not in the least sorry and he made no attempt to remove his head from the window. ‘Feeling low, aren’t you? It’s unpleasant to be jilted…’ She muttered furiously and he went on calmly, ‘Oh, several persons have told me, you’re a nine days wonder you know. You’ll get over it.’

‘I do not care to discuss my affairs with you, Mr van Tacx and I cannot think of what possible interest they can be to you anyway.’

‘Well, no—why should you? All you really need now is a shoulder to weep into and someone to listen. I haven’t felt the need of a shoulder myself but I’m willing to lend you mine—you’ll feel better when you’ve talked about it.’

She said furiously, ‘How could you possibly know?’

‘Because I’ve been jilted myself.’ He opened the door. ‘Move over, I’ll drive somewhere where we can have coffee or a drink.’

She opened her mouth to refuse, realised that it would be useless anyway and found herself squashed into the other seat. The small part of her brain that wasn’t numbed by surprise, noted that a Mini really wasn’t a car for a man of his size.

‘Do you mind where we go?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘Is the tank full?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. We’ll keep to this side of town shall we? Do you know Epping Forest? Buckhurst Hill—the Roebuck—we can get something there.’

He didn’t speak as they took the little car through Hackney and on to the dreary bricks of Leyton and Wanstead, but then going north towards Epping Forest, he began to talk. Later she couldn’t remember what he had said, but his voice had been pleasantly soothing and she had relaxed. By the time they reached the Roebuck she had pulled herself together, even felt a little ashamed of herself. Next time, she promised herself, she would be armed against being taken unawares, and anyway, by the morning the whole Hospital would know…

The pub was very much to her taste, actually a country hotel with a comfortable bar nicely filled. Mr van Tacx parked the Mini and marched her briskly inside and sat her down at a table in a quiet corner.

‘Coffee and a brandy with it and sandwiches?’