Fate Takes A Hand

Mr van Linssen, his hand on the study door, nodded. ‘Please.’

Dodge coughed. ‘Miss Kendall telephoned shortly after seven o’clock, sir. She asked if you were home. She seemed somewhat agitated, so I took it upon myself to say that you had been detained at the hospital over an urgent case. I was to tell you that she intended to go to the theatre with her friends as arranged.’

‘Oh, lord, I forgot.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Well, it’s too late to do anything about it now. I’ll have dinner and phone later this evening.’

Dodge’s face didn’t alter, his, ‘Very good, sir,’ was uttered in his usual rather mournful tones, but once in the kitchen he informed Mabel, his cat, that it served that Miss Kendall right, always expecting the master to frivol away his precious free time at the theatre and suchlike, when all he wanted to do was to have a quiet evening with a book or in the company of his own friends.

Dodge shook his head sadly and began to dish up. He was a splendid cook, and with the aid of a daily cleaner ran the little house to perfection. He disliked Mr van Linssen’s choice of a bride. He considered her rude and arrogant and spoilt; moreover, despite his mournful manner, he was romantic at heart, and wished for nothing better than a love-match for his master.

Mr van Linssen enjoyed his dinner, finished an article he had been writing for The Lancet, made several phone calls to the hospital and then sat back idly in his chair. There was plenty of work for him to get on with on his desk, but he ignored it. He was mulling over his visit to Peter. A nice child, unspoilt too, and happy despite his orphaned state and lack of a father or uncle. Eulalia was doing her best, he had seen that for himself, and Trottie, waxing chatty over a cup of tea, had told him a good deal. Miss Lally was an angel, she had confided, and never had any time to herself. Even on a Monday, when she was free, there was the washing and ironing and shopping.

Mr van Linssen, who had only a vague idea about the running of a household, had nodded sympathetically. ‘What she wants is a good husband,’ Trottie had said, and had poured more tea.

She was an impetuous girl, he reflected now, outspoken too—not every man would want her for a wife. She was, of course, undeniably pretty. It was a pity that they had got off on the wrong foot, and she had made it obvious that she had no liking for him, although she had thanked him for looking after Peter and meant it.

He shrugged his shoulders, a little irritated at his interest in her, and lifted the phone.

Ursula’s voice, high with bad temper, caused him to wince. ‘I have had a wretched evening,’ she told him, ‘making excuses for you, and of course we were a man short for supper afterwards. Fenno, you will have to give up your appointments at all those hospitals—there’s no need. You’ve private patients enough, and think of the private hospitals there are—you could pick and choose and enjoy a social life.’

It was an old argument which he had always brushed aside. Now he said, ‘But I don’t want to give up my appointments, either here or in Holland, Ursula, nor do I intend to.’

She did some quick thinking. ‘Oh, darling, don’t be cross. I’ve had a beastly time—the play was a bore and some fool spilt wine down my dress—it’s a ruin. I’ll have to go looking for another one, and shopping is so tiring.’

He thought of Eulalia’s tired face when she had got home that evening and fought a rising tide of impatience. ‘I’m sure you’ll find something just as pretty as the frock which is spoilt.’

‘I’ll find something you will like, darling, be sure of that. Don’t let’s quarrel about something which isn’t in the least important.’

Mr van Linssen controlled his rage with an effort. ‘I have to ring off. I’ll phone you tomorrow.’

When, hopefully, he would feel more tolerant.

He fetched Peter the next morning, much to that little boy’s delight. ‘We thought there’d be an ambulance,’ explained Trottie. ‘Shall I come with him? However will he get back?’

‘I’ll bring him back, and there’s no need for you to come, Miss Trott.’

‘There’s coffee on the stove if you could find time for a cup, sir.’

Mr van Linssen sat himself down at the kitchen table, accepted the coffee and a slice of cake and remarked carelessly, ‘You must find this very different from the Cotswolds.’

‘Indeed I do, and so does Miss Lally. Made up her mind to go back there one day she has, bless her, though how she’ll manage that, bless me if I know.’

‘Perhaps she has prospects of marrying? An old friend—an admirer?’

‘Admirers enough,’ said Trottie, ‘but that’s not her way—too proud to accept help. Besides, she’s not found the right man yet.’ She gave a sniff. ‘Besides, he’ll have to be a proper man, if you know what I mean, able to take her troubles on to his shoulders. She’s not one of these modern young women wanting to be something big in the business world, but she’s no doormat, neither—’

She broke off as Peter came into the kitchen, his small face alight with excitement. ‘Are we going in your car? Is that why you’re here?’

‘Indeed it is. Are you ready? We’d better be off or we’ll be late.’

Mr van Linssen allowed Peter to chatter away as he drove to the hospital, but presently he asked casually, ‘Do you want to go to the Cotswolds too, Peter?’

‘Yes, ‘cos Aunt Lally does. We shall go one day. She said so—she’s going to make her fortune and we’ll go to the village where she was a little girl and she’s going to open a flower shop there and we’ll have a dog and a cat and a rabbit and there will be a garden.’

‘You might have to wait a bit, old chap.’

‘That’s what Aunt Lally says too, but I don’t mind. When I’m a man I’ll be a doctor like you, and then I can give her the money.’

Mr van Linssen’s rather stern face broke into a smile. ‘And why not?’ he wanted to know.

He parked the car and led Peter to the X-ray department, and, when he had been X-rayed, handed him over to Casualty Sister, who fed him chocolate biscuits and a glass of lemonade until Mr van Linssen came back to say that everything was splendid and that he was to come back and have a fresh plaster put on his arm in three weeks’ time. ‘You’ll have to keep that one for another five or six weeks, Peter, but you can use your arm as much as you like, as long as you keep it in a sling if it feels tired.’

‘Aunt Lally will be pleased. I’ll tell her.’

‘Maybe I’ll come along some time and explain it to her. Now we must go back.’

‘Are you very busy?’ asked Peter, as they went back to the car.

‘Not this morning, but this afternoon I’m going to operate.’

‘Oh, I’d like to watch you.’

‘So you shall, when you are a medical student and I’m grey-haired and elderly.’

Peter laughed at that. ‘With a beard and floppy moustache and specs!’

‘I do wear spectacles occasionally,’ said Mr van Linssen apologetically.

He didn’t stay when they reached the flat. ‘Everything’s just as it should be, Miss Trott,’ he said. ‘I’ll let your doctor know how things are, and I’ve no doubt he will get in touch with Miss Warburton.’ He sounded all at once very like a medical man, kind in a distant manner,

but quite impersonal.

* * *

When Eulalia got home that evening she listened first of all to Peter’s excited account of his visit to the hospital, and then to Trottie. Everything was all right, it seemed, and she was grateful to Mr van Linssen for taking so much trouble. She had no reason to suppose that he would leave any message for her; all the same, she felt a vague disappointment.

The weather turned suddenly wet and chilly, which meant that on Sunday, instead of their usual trip to one or other of the parks, she and Peter took a long bus ride, sitting on’ the front seat on top, sharing a bag of buns and pointing out everything which took their attention. And on Monday Peter went back to school.

It was halfway through the week when Mr van Linssen walked into the flower shop. Eulalia was alone, for it was the lunch-hour and Mrs Pearce had gone home for a while, leaving her to eat her sandwiches and get on with making bouquets for yet another wedding. She sighed as the doorbell tinkled, hoping it was someone who knew what they wanted and wouldn’t keep her for minutes on end while they decided what to do. She put down the roses in her hands and went into the shop.

Mr van Linssen, looming over the floral displays, looked larger than ever and bad-tempered to boot.

Eulalia went delightfully pink, and to cover her sudden shyness said, ‘Good afternoon, more yellow roses?’

It annoyed her then that she felt shy; from his forbidding appearance he had no recollection of kissing her, and certainly when he spoke it was quite without warmth, ignoring her remark.

‘It is only proper that I should inform you of the result of Peter’s X-ray, Miss Warburton, and as I was passing this way it seemed as good an opportunity as any at which to do it.’

‘It’s all right? Trottie said—’