by Betty Neels
Tea finished, she said a little shyly, 'I think I had better go home, Professor. Mother and Father are going to Coventry in the morning. It will be Father's last job away from home.'
'He enjoys his work?' the professor asked idly.
'He'd rather be a schoolmaster, and not in London.'
'If he were to get a post in the country, you would go with your parents?'
'Yes, oh, yes. I expect I'd have to look for another kind of job. I like needlework and sewing. I expect I could find work in a shop or helping a dressmaker.' She added defiantly, 'I like clothes…'
He prudently kept silent about that. He had a brief memory of Anneliese, exquisitely turned out in clothes which must have cost what to Emmy would have been a small fortune. Emmy, he reflected, would look almost pretty if she were to dress in the same way as Anneliese dressed.
He didn't ask her to stay, but waited while she said goodbye to Charlie and Humphrey and thanked Beaker for her tea, and then went with her to the car.
The streets were almost empty on a late Sunday afternoon and the journey didn't take long. At the house he declined her hesitant offer to go in. He opened her door, thanked her for her help, still standing on the pavement in the dull little street, and waited while she opened the house door and went inside.
Driving back home, he reflected that he had enjoyed his afternoon with Emmy. She was a good companion; she didn't chat and she was a good listener, and when she did have something to say it was worth listening to. He must remember to let her know from time to time how Charlie progressed.
* * *
A pleasant afternoon, Emmy told her parents, and the dog, Charlie, was just what she would have chosen for herself. 'And I had a lovely tea,' she told them. 'The professor has a man who runs his home for him and makes the most delicious cakes.'
'A nice house?' asked her mother.
Emmy described it-what she had seen of it-and the garden as well.
'It's not like London,' she told them. 'In the garden you might be miles away in the country.'
'You miss our old home, don't you, Emmy?' her father asked.
'Yes, I do, but we're quite cosy here.' Empty words which neither of them believed.
'I dare say the professor will tell you how the dog settles down,' observed her mother.
'Perhaps.' Emmy sounded doubtful.
* * *
She didn't see him for several days, and when he at length stopped to speak to her on his way home one evening, it was only to tell her that Charlie was nicely settled in.
'A very biddable animal,' he told her. 'Goes everywhere with me.'
He bade her good evening in a frosty voice and went away, leaving her wondering why he was so aloof.
He's had a busy day, reflected Emmy, he'll be more friendly in the morning.
Only in the morning he wasn't there. Audrey, who always knew the latest gossip, told her as she took over that he had gone to Birmingham.
'Gets around, doesn't he? Going back to Holland for Christmas too. Shan't see much of him-not that he's exactly friendly. Well, what do you expect? He's a senior consultant and no end of a big noise.'
Which was, Emmy conceded, quite true. And a good reason for remembering that next time he might pause for a chat. He was beginning to loom rather large on the edge of her dull, humdrum life, which wouldn't do at all. Sitting there at her switchboard, she reminded herself that they had nothing in common-Well, Charlie perhaps, and being in the hospital when the bomb went off.
Besides, she reminded herself bitterly, he considered her plain and dowdy. If I could spend half as much on myself as that Anneliese of his, reflected Emmy waspishly, I'd show him that I'm not in the least dowdy, and a visit to a beauty salon would work wonders even with a face like mine.
Since neither of their wishes were likely to be fulfilled, she told herself to forget the professor; there were plenty of other things to think about.
It was a pity that she couldn't think of a single one of them-within minutes he was back in her thoughts, making havoc of her good resolutions.
* * *
She was in the professor's thoughts too, much to his annoyance. The tiresome girl, he reflected, and why do I have this urge to do something to improve her life? For all I know she is perfectly content with the way she lives. She is young; she could get a job wherever she wishes, buy herself some decent clothes, meet people, find a boyfriend. All of which was nonsense, and he knew it. She deserved better, he considered, a home and work away from London and that pokey little house.
But even if she had the chance to change he knew that she wouldn't leave her home. He had liked her parents; they had fallen on bad times through no fault of her father. Of course, if he could get a post as a schoolmaster again away from London that would solve the problem. Ermentrude could leave St Luke's and shake the dust of London from her well-polished but well-worn shoes.
The professor put down the notes he was studying, took off his spectacles, polished them and put them back onto his nose. He would miss her.
'This is ridiculous,' he said to himself. 'I don't even know the girl.'
He forebore from adding that he knew Ermentrude as if she were himself, had done since he had first seen her. He was going to marry Anneliese, he reminded himself, and Ermentrude had demonstrated often enough that she had no interest in him. He was too old for her, and she regarded him in a guarded manner which made it plain that in her eyes he was no more than someone she met occasionally at work…
The professor was an honourable man; he had asked Anneliese to marry him-not loving her but knowing that she would make a suitable wife-and there was no possible reason to break his word. Even if Ermentrude loved him, something which was so unlikely that it was laughable.
He gave his lectures, dealt with patients he had been asked to see, arranged appointments for the future and always at the back of his mind was Ermentrude. She would never be his wife but there was a good deal he could do to make her life happier, and, when he got back once more to Chelsea, he set about doing it.
CHAPTER FOUR
DESPITE her resolutions, Emmy missed the professor. She had looked forward to seeing him going to and fro at St Luke's, even if he took no notice of her. He was there, as it were, and she felt content just to know that he was. Of course, she thought about him. She thought about Anneliese too, doubtless getting ready for a grand wedding, spending money like water, secure in the knowledge that she was going to marry a man who could give her everything she could want.
'I only hope she deserves it,' said Emmy, talking to herself and surprising the porter who had brought her coffee.
'If it's women you're talking about, love, you can take it from me they don't deserve nothing. Take my word for it; I'm a married man.'
'Go on with you!' said Emmy. 'I've seen your wife, she's pretty, and you've got that darling baby.'
'I could have done worse.' He grinned at her. 'There's always an exception to every rule, so they say.'
* * *
'No sign of our handsome professor,' said Audrey when she came on duty. 'Having fun in Birmingham, I shouldn't wonder. Won't be able to do that once he's a married man, will he? Perhaps he's going straight over to Holland and not coming back here until after Christmas.'
'Christmas is still six weeks away.'
'Don't tell me that he can't do what he chooses when he wants to.'
'I think that if he has patients and work here he'll stay until he's no longer needed. I know you don't like him, but everyone else does.'
'Including you,' said Audrey with a snigger.
'Including me,' said Emmy soberly.
* * *
Emmy was on night duty again. Her mother was home and so was her father, now inspecting various schools in outer London and coming home tired each evening. He didn't complain, but the days were long and often unsatisfactory. He had been told that the man he had replaced would be returning to work within a week or ten days, which meant that he would be returning to hi
s badly paid teaching post. Thank heaven, he thought, that Emmy had her job too. Somehow they would manage.
Emmy had dealt with the usual early enquiries, and except for internal calls the evening was quiet. She took out her knitting-a pullover for her father's Christmas present-and began the complicated business of picking up stitches around the neck. She was halfway round it when she became aware of the professor standing behind her. Her hand jerked and she dropped a clutch of stitches.
'There, look what you've made me do!' she said, and turned round to look at him.
'You knew that I was here?' He sounded amused. 'But I hadn't spoken…'
'No, well-I knew there was someone.' She was mumbling, not looking at him now, remembering all at once that what was fast becoming friendship must be nipped in the bud.
She began to pick up the dropped stitches, and wished that the silent switchboard would come alive. Since he just stood there, apparently content with the silence, she asked in a polite voice, 'I hope that Charlie is well, sir?'
The professor, equally polite, assured her that his dog was in excellent health, and registered the 'sir' with a rueful lift of the eyebrows.
'Your kitten?' he asked in his turn.
'Oh, he's splendid, and George and Snoodles take such care of him.'
The professor persevered. 'Has he a name?'
'Enoch. Mother had a cat when she was a little girl called Enoch, and now he's clean and brushed he's the same colour. Ginger with a white waistcoat.' She added, 'Sir.'
The professor saw that he was making no headway; Ermentrude was making it plain that she was being polite for politeness' sake. Apparently she had decided that their friendship, such as it was, was to go no further. Just as well, he reflected, I'm getting far too interested in the girl. He bade her a cool goodnight and went away, and Emmy picked up her knitting once more.
A most unsatisfactory meeting, she reflected. On the other hand it had been satisfactory, hadn't it? She had let him see that their casual camaraderie had been just that-casual, engendered by circumstances. He was shortly going to be married, she reminded herself; he would become immersed in plans for his wedding with Anneliese.
* * *
She was mistaken in this. The professor was immersed in plans, but not to do with his future. The wish to transform Emmy's dull life into one with which she would be happy had driven him to do something about it.
He had friends everywhere; it wasn't too difficult to meet a man he had known at Cambridge and who was now headmaster of a boys' prep school in Dorset. The professor was lucky: a schoolmaster had been forced to leave owing to ill health and there was, he was told cautiously, a vacancy. 'But for the right man. I've only your word for it that this Foster's OK.'
The headmaster wrote in his notebook and tore out the page. 'He can give me a ring…'
The professor shook his head. 'That wouldn't do. If he or his daughter discovered that I was behind it, he'd refuse at once.'
'Got a daughter, has he? Thought you were getting married.'
The professor smiled. 'You can rule out any romantic thoughts, but I would like to help her get out of a life she isn't enjoying; away from London. To do that her father must get a post somewhere in the country, for that's where she belongs.'
His friend sighed. 'Tell you what I'll do. I'll concoct a tale, you know the kind of thing-I'd met someone who knew someone who knew this Foster, and as there was a vacancy et cetera…Will that do? But remember, Ruerd, if I contract any one of these horrible conditions you're so famous for treating, I shall expect the very best treatment-free!'
'A promise I hope I shall never need to keep.' They shook hands, and his friend went home and told his wife that Ruerd ter Mennolt seemed to be putting himself to a great deal of trouble for some girl or other at St Luke's.
'I thought he was marrying that Anneliese of his?'
'And still is, it seems. He was always a man to help lame dogs over stiles.'
'Anneliese doesn't like dogs,' said his wife.
* * *
It was the very next day when the letter arrived, inviting Mr Foster to present himself for an interview. And it couldn't have come at a better time, for with the same post came a notice making him redundant from his teaching post on the first of December. They sat over their supper, discussing this marvellous stroke of luck.
'Though we mustn't count our chickens before they are hatched,' said Mr Foster. 'How fortunate that I have Thursday free; I'll have to go by train.'
Emmy went into the kitchen and took the biscuit tin down from the dresser-shelf and counted the money inside. It was money kept for emergencies, and this was an emergency of the best kind.
'Will there be a house with the job?' she asked. 'Littleton Mangate-that's a small village, isn't it? Somewhere in the Blackmore Vale.' She smiled widely. 'Oh, Father, it's almost too good to be true…'
'So we mustn't bank on it until I've had my interview, Emmy. Once that's over and I've been appointed we can make plans.'
* * *
The next day, replying sedately to the professor's grave greeting, Emmy almost choked in her efforts not to tell him about the good news. Time enough, she told herself, when her father had got the job. Only then, too, if he asked her.
'Which he won't,' she told George as she brushed him before taking him on his evening trot.
The professor, it seemed, was reluctant as she was to resume their brief conversations. He never failed to greet her if he should pass the switchboard, but that was all. She felt bereft and vaguely resentful, which, seeing that she had wanted it that way, seemed rather hard on him. But at least it boosted her resolve to forget him. Something not easily done since she saw him willy-nilly on most days.
Her father, in his best suit, a neatly typed CV in his coat pocket, left on Thursday morning on an early train, leaving Emmy to fidget through her day's work, alternately positive that her father would get the post and then plunged into despair because he had been made redundant, and finding a job would be difficult, perhaps impossible. In a moment of rare self-pity she saw herself sitting in front of the switchboard for the rest of her working life.
The professor, catching sight of her dejected back view, was tempted to stop and speak to her, but he didn't. A helping hand was one thing, getting involved with her spelt danger. It was a good thing, he reflected, that he would be going over to Holland shortly. He must see as much of Anneliese as possible.
* * *
The bus ride home that evening took twice as long as usual, or so it seemed to Emmy. She burst into the house at length and rushed into the kitchen.
Her mother and father were there, turning to look at her with happy faces. 'You've got it,' said Emmy. 'I knew you would, Father. I can't believe it.'
She flung her coat onto a chair, poured herself a cup of tea from the pot and said, 'Tell me all about it. Is there a house? When do you start? Did you like the headmaster?'
'I've been accepted,' said Mr Foster. 'But my references still have to be checked. There's a house, a very nice one, a converted lodge in the school grounds. I am to take over as soon as possible as they are short of a form master. There are still three weeks or so of the term.'
'So you'll be going in a day or two? And Mother? Is the house furnished?'
'No. Curtains and carpets…'
Mr Foster added slowly, 'Your Mother and I have been talking it over. You will have to give a month's notice, will you not? Supposing we have as much furniture as possible sent to Dorset, would you stay on for the last month, Emmy? Could you bear to do that? We'll take George and Snoodles and Enoch with us. The house can be put up for sale at once. There's little chance of it selling quickly, but one never knows. Could you do that? In the meantime your mother will get the house at Littleton Mangate habitable. We can spend Christmas together…'
Emmy agreed at once. She didn't much like the idea of living alone in a half-empty house, but it would be for a few weeks, no more. The idea of leaving St Luke's gave her a lovel
y feeling of freedom.
'Money?' she asked.
'The bank will give me a loan against this house.' Her father frowned. 'This isn't an ideal arrangement, Emmy, but we really haven't much choice. If you give a month's notice you'll be free by Christmas, and in the meantime there is always the chance that the house will sell.'
'I think that's a splendid idea, Father. When do you start? Almost at once? Mother and I can start packing up and she can join you in a few days. I'll only need a bed and a table and chairs. There's that man-Mr Stokes-at the end of the street. He does removals.'
'I'm not sure that we should leave you,' said her mother worriedly. 'You're sure you don't mind? We can't think what else to do. There's so little time.'
'I'll be quite all right, Mother. It's for such a short time anyway. It's all so exciting…'
They spent the rest of the evening making lists, deciding what to take and what to leave. Tired and excited by the time she got to her bed, Emmy's last waking thought was that once she had left St Luke's she would never see the professor again.
* * *
Going to work the next morning, she thought that perhaps she would tell him of the unexpected change in her life.
However, he didn't give her the chance. Beyond an austere good morning he had nothing to say to her, and later, when he left the hospital, he had a colleague with him.
Oh, well, said Emmy to herself, I can always tell him tomorrow.'
Only he wasn't there in the morning; it wasn't until the day was half-done that she heard that he had gone to Holland.
She told herself that it didn't matter at all, that there was no reason to expect him to be interested in her future. She had already given in her notice and would not tell anyone about it.
