The Baroness was tired after their outing, so she elected to take a light lunch in her stateroom and then rest, sending Becky down to the restaurant for her own lunch while she ate hers. Becky found the place quite full, for a good many more passengers had boarded the ship that morning. She sat at her table, set discreetly in a corner, and ate a rather hurried meal, in case the Baroness should want her the minute she had finished her own lunch, and then slipped away, smiling rather shyly at the waiter as she did so. She hadn’t quite got used to being waited on.
The Baroness was drinking her coffee but professed herself quite ready to rest. Becky made her comfortable on the sofa along one wall, covered her with a rug and sat down nearby because her patient had asked her not to go away for a little while. ‘I’m expecting a call from Tiele,’ explained the Baroness, ‘and if you would stay until it comes through…’ She closed her eyes and dozed while Becky sat, still as a mouse, listening to the exciting noises going on all around them—people talking, music coming from somewhere, but faintly, the winch loading the luggage, an occasional voice raised in command or order. It was all very exciting; she contemplated her new shoes and thought about the Baron, his mother, the journey they were about to make, Norway, about which she knew almost nothing, and then the Baron again. It was a pity he didn’t like her, but very understandable, and it made his kindness in taking care of Bertie and Pooch all the greater; it couldn’t be much fun doing kindnesses to someone you didn’t care a row of pins for. Her thoughts were interrupted by the faint tinkle of the telephone, and she picked it up quickly with a glance at the still sleeping Baroness. Her hullo was quiet and the Baron said at once: ‘Becky? My mother’s asleep?’
‘Yes, but I think she would like me to wake her, if you would wait a moment.’
He didn’t answer her but asked: ‘You’re settling down, I hope? No snags? You won’t give way to seasickness or anything of that sort, I hope?’ She heard him sigh. ‘You didn’t look very strong.’
Becky’s voice stayed quiet but held indignation. ‘I’m very strong,’ she told him quite sharply, ‘and as the sea is as calm as a millpond, I’m not likely to be seasick.’
‘You seem to have a temper too,’ remarked the Baron. ‘As long as you don’t vent it on my mother…’
‘Well,’ breathed Becky, her chest swelling with rage under the neat dress, ‘I never did! As though I would! And I haven’t got a temper…’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Bertie and Pooch are quite nicely settled.’
‘I’m so glad—I’ve been worrying about them just a little; you’re sure…?’
‘Quite. Now if you would wake up my mother, Nurse?’
She was to be nurse, was she? And what was she to call him? Baron or doctor or sir? She crossed the room and roused the Baroness with a gentle touch on her shoulder and that lady opened her eyes at once with a look of such innocence that Becky didn’t even begin to suspect that her patient had been listening to every word she had uttered.
She went to her cabin while mother and son carried on a quite lengthy conversation and spent ten minutes or so doing things to her face. She had bought make-up, the brand she had always used when she had money of her own to spend, and now she was enjoying the luxury of using it. She applied powder to her small nose, lipstick to her too large mouth, and tidied her hair under her cap and then studied her face. Nothing remarkable; no wonder her employer had dismissed her with the kind of casual kindness he would afford a stray cat. She sighed and then adjusted her expression to a cheerful calm at the sound of her patient’s voice calling her.
The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough with the Baroness remarkably amenable when called upon to do her exercises. The moment they got on shore at Trondheim, Becky had been told to instruct her in the use of crutches, something she wasn’t looking forward to over-much. The Baroness could be a trifle pettish if called upon to do something she didn’t fancy doing, and yet Becky already liked her; she had probably spent a spoilt life with a doting husband and now a doting son, having everything she wanted within reason, but she could be kind too and thoughtful of others, and, Becky reminded herself, she had a wonderful job; well paid, by no means exhausting and offering her the chance of seeing something of the world.
There were almost two days before they would arrive at Trondheim, and Becky found that they went too quickly. A good deal of time was spent on deck, the Baroness in her wheelchair, Becky sitting beside her while they carried on a gentle flow of small talk. There was plenty to talk about; the distant coastline of Sweden and then Norway, their fellow passengers, the day’s events on board; there was so much to do and even though neither of them took part in any of them, it was fun to discuss them. The Captain was giving a cocktail party that evening, but the Baroness had declared that nothing would persuade her to go to it in a wheelchair; they would dine quietly in her stateroom as usual, and Becky didn’t mind; she had nothing to wear and the idea of appearing at such a glittering gathering in a nurse’s uniform didn’t appeal to her in the least. All the same, it would have been fun to have seen some of the dresses…
The Baroness liked to dress for the evening. Becky, helping her into a black chiffon gown and laying a lacy shawl over her knees, wished just for a moment that they had been going to the party, it seemed such a waste…
It wasn’t a waste. Instead of the sherry which the steward brought to the stateroom, he carried a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, and following hard on his heels was the Captain himself, accompanied by several of his officers, and they were followed by more stewards bearing trays of delicious bits and pieces, presumably to help the champagne down. Becky, with a young officer on either side of her, intent on keeping her glass filled and carrying on the kind of conversation she had almost forgotten existed, found life, for the first time in two years, was fun.
When the gentlemen had gone the Baroness sat back in her chair and eyed Becky. ‘You must buy yourself some pretty clothes,’ she observed. ‘You won’t always be on duty, you know—I know there was no time in Newcastle to do more than get the few essentials, but once we are in Trondheim you shall go shopping. Tiele gave you enough money, I hope?’
Becky thought with still amazed astonishment of the notes in her purse. ‘More than enough,’ she explained. ‘A week’s salary in advance and money to buy my uniforms and—and things.’
‘A week’s salary? What is that? Let me see, sixty pounds, did we not say? What is sixty pounds?’ It was lucky that she didn’t expect an answer, for Becky was quite prepared to tell her that for her, at least, it was a small fortune. ‘When we get to Trondheim you will have your second week’s wages—not very much, but I daresay you will be able to find something to wear.’
Becky thought privately that she would have no difficulty at all, although she had no intention of spending all that money. It was of course tempting to do so, but she had the future to think of; she supposed her present job would last a month or a little longer and even though she managed to get another job at once, there would be rent to pay if she were lucky enough to find somewhere to live, and food for herself and the animals until she drew her pay. All the same she allowed herself the luxury of planning a modest outfit or two. They would arrive at Trondheim the next day and a little thrill of excitement ran through her, just for the moment she forgot the future and the unpleasant past; Norway, as yet invisible over the horizon, was before her and after that Holland. Perhaps later she would be homesick for England, but now she felt secure and content, with almost the width of the