Fate Takes A Hand

‘It is perfectly satisfactory. He must return for a new plaster in three weeks’ time and continue to wear it for a further few weeks. He must use his hand normally. Do not get it wet, of course, and if it aches at all there is no reason why he shouldn’t have a sling.’

‘Thank you for telling me. I really am most grateful.’

He nodded impatiently. ‘Do you not close the shop for your lunch-hour?’

‘Heavens, no. Lots of customers come between one and two o’clock.’

‘When do you take your lunch-hour?’

‘Well, I don’t. I mean, I have sandwiches and eat them when there’s time.’

‘The owner?’

What a lot of questions, thought Eulalia. ‘Oh, Mrs Pearce goes home. She has a husband to feed, and she has to see wholesalers and so on—it’s convenient to do that over lunch.’

His growl was so fierce that she wondered what she had said to annoy him. A quick-tempered man, no doubt. ‘You will be good enough to send some flowers to Miss Kendall. What do you suggest?’

‘Well, it depends, doesn’t it? If it’s just a loving gesture, red roses are for love, aren’t they? But if it’s by way of saying you are sorry about something, then a mixture of flowers—roses and carnations and some of those lilies there and an orchid or two…’

‘Perhaps you will make up a bouquet and have it sent round?’

‘A large bouquet? Any particular flowers?’

‘No. Make your own choice. I’ll write a card.’

She watched him scrawl on the card and put it in its envelope.

‘It’s a waste of money,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘Miss Kendall threw the yellow roses at me, you know.’

‘Indeed?’ He gave her a bland look. ‘Don’t you have a delivery boy?’

‘Good heavens, no, that would be eating the profits.’

‘You enjoy your work, Miss Warburton?’

‘I like flowers and arranging them.’

‘But you do not enjoy living in London and working in this shop?’

It wasn’t really a question, just stating a fact, and she wasn’t sure how to answer him. ‘I’m glad to have a job.’ She added with sudden asperity, ‘And I can’t think what business it is of yours.’

‘Upon reflection, nor can I. Good day to you.’

He shut the door gently behind him as he left.

‘High-handed,’ said Eulalia loudly, ‘as well as bad-tempered. If I hadn’t disliked that Miss Kendall on sight, I’d be sorry for her.’

It was almost the end of the following week when Peter rushed to meet her when she got home. ‘Aunt Lally, oh, Aunt Lally, something splendid—Mr van Linssen’s going to take me round his hospital on Sunday afternoon. He knows I’m going to be a surgeon like him and he said I deserved a treat because I’ve been a good boy. Do say I can go—he says he’ll fetch me in his car and bring me back.’

Eulalia took off her jacket and kicked her shoes from her tired feet.

‘Darling, when did he say all this?’

‘He stopped here on his way home and he said he was sorry you weren’t here but he hoped you’d let me go with him. Two o’clock,’ added Peter.

She looked down at the eager little face.’ He didn’t have many treats. His small school-friends had fathers and mothers who took them to fun-fairs and the zoo, and in the summer to the sea for a holiday, but he had never voiced a wish to do that, although she was quite sure that he longed to do the same. She might not like Mr van Linssen, but for some reason or other she trusted him. She said at once, ‘Darling, how lovely. Of course you can go, and how kind of Mr van Linssen to ask you. Did you thank him?’

‘Yes, of course I did, but I said I’d have to ask you first.’

‘Well, I think it’s a splendid idea. How are you going to let him know?’

‘He said he’d be driving past tomorrow morning and it’s Saturday so I’ll be here.’ He lifted a happy face to her. ‘Won’t it be fun?’ His face clouded. ‘Only, what will you do, Aunt Lally? Because Trottie’s going to her friend’s for dinner…’

Eulalia glanced across to the table, where Trottie was arranging knives and forks and spoons. ‘I’ve so many odd jobs to do—not housework, just nice little jobs like sewing on buttons—and I can read the Sunday papers.’

Trottie’s eyes were on her face, and for a moment it seemed as though she would speak, but she only smiled. ‘Sounds nice and peaceful to me,’ she said finally. ‘Dear knows you don’t get much time to yourself.’

‘You must remember every single thing you see,’ said Eulalia, as they sat down to their supper.

* * *

Sunday came with blue skies and bright sunshine, and the three of them went to church before Trottie went to catch her bus. ‘There’s everything ready for your dinner,’ she told them. ‘Be sure and have it early so’s not to keep Mr van Linssen waiting. I’ll be back around seven o’clock, same as usual.’

It was a nice dinner but Peter was too excited to eat much. He was ready and waiting for a long time before two o’clock. ‘Perhaps he won’t come,’ he said, for the tenth time.

‘He said two o’clock, dear, so don’t worry—there’s still ten minutes left.’

He came five minutes later and she went to open the door to him.

Her, ‘Good afternoon, Mr van Linssen,’ was coolly polite. ‘This is very kind of you.’

He stood looking at her. ‘A pleasure. It has struck me that it might be sensible if you were to come too.’ At her frown, he added, ‘There is always the small chance that I might be called away urgently and Peter cannot be left alone. Do you dislike the idea very much?’

Upon reflection, she didn’t dislike the idea at all. ‘I don’t want to spoil Peter’s afternoon.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll leave you somewhere in safe hands.’

A remark which ruffled her feelings. She was on the point of making a suitably telling reply when Peter joined them. ‘Are we ready? What a pity you can’t come with us, Aunt Lally.’

‘She is coming,’ said Mr van Linssen, and shut the door.

‘Do go and fetch whatever you need to fetch. Peter and I will plan our route round the hospital—you can have five minutes.’

Her eyes sparkled with temper. ‘I don’t ‘ she began with dignity. She caught his eye then. It was very compelling. She mumbled, ‘All right, I won’t be long.’

Thank heaven she hadn’t changed out of the dress she had worn to church; she had intended to get into an old cotton dress and turn out a few cupboards. She brushed her hair, powdered her nose, added some more lipstick, found her bag and went back to the living-room. The pair of them were crouched over a large sheet of paper spread out on the table. A plan of the hospital, she supposed.

‘Won’t anyone mind?’ she asked, as she got into the back of the car. ‘Us walking round?’