by Betty Neels
‘I hear you have been shopping, Miss Rodman.’
She cast an indignant look at Karel, who shrugged his shoulders and grinned, and replied, ‘Yes, Professor Eyffert,’ in a prim voice.
‘You are not, I hope, incurring expenses other than those on your own account, Nurse?’
She sorted this out. ‘No. At least…’ she frowned heavily at the pleasant scene around her without really seeing it. How tiresome he was! She drew an exasperated breath and let it out noisily when his voice, quiet in her ear, said, ‘Tiresome, aren’t I?’
She was a truthful girl. ‘Yes, you are, Professor. It’s all very secret, you see.’
He chuckled. ‘I’ll not utter another word about it—my ear tingles from the warmth of your feelings. Now give me a report, please.’
She complied, and added the information that Mr Sawbridge would be coming early on Monday morning, to be told in the smoothest possible fashion that he had already contracted that gentleman and had himself arranged for the visit. He went on to enquire about Cor’s state of mind and she answered briefly, ‘Skyhigh,’ whereupon he laughed softly, and said, ‘I imagined he would be.’ He went on more briskly.
‘Now listen carefully, please. There is something I wish you to do for me. In five days’ time it is the Feast of St Nicholaas in Holland. The children, as all Dutch children do, will put their shoes out to be filled with presents. I want you to go to my room as late as possible on St Nicholaas’ Eve. You will find some packages in the top drawer of the tallboy. Be good enough to distribute them while the children are sleeping.’ He didn’t wait for her to reply, but said goodbye briefly and hung up.
The next day she was free. She went over to the cottage in the Mini and spent the morning answering Aunt Polly’s questions, only to find that when the vicar and his wife came to tea that afternoon, that she was forced to answer the same questions all over again. Most of them concerned the Professor; it seemed to her that she had been talking about him all day. It had been foolish of her to suppose that, once away from Dalmers Place, she would be able to banish him from her mind. After the visitors had gone, and she was sitting on the rug before the fire opposite her aunt, that lady looked at her keenly and said:
‘You’re still happy looking after Cornelis, dear?’
Georgina put down the paper she had been glancing through.
‘Yes, Aunt Polly, he’s a very nice little boy, and bright for his age. I’m teaching him chess, you know, and he gives me a Dutch lesson each morning. He says I’m shocking at the pronunciation, and I must say some of the words are tongue-twisters.’
‘How about his chess?’
‘He’s good. I’m not bad, am I? But I shall have to take care not to be beaten before very much longer.’
‘Do any of the others play?’
‘No—at least Karel may do so, but I don’t fancy he has much time at present.’ She added, because she knew her aunt would ask anyway, ‘Professor Eyffert plays. Cor is going to challenge him to a game when he gets back.’
‘And when will that be?’
Georgina got up. ‘I don’t know. He’s a busy man, he comes and goes. I’m going to start supper, darling. Supposing I do something to that chicken—I can leave some to warm up for Moggy when she gets back.’
She went away to the kitchen, leaving her aunt to gaze thoughtfully into the fire.
The weather changed before St Nicholaas. The wintry sunshine gave way to grey, woolly clouds and a biting wind, but despite the weather Georgina went for her daily walks, and Beatrix, more often than not, with her. She learnt a great deal about the Professor from the little girl, although she was careful never to ask questions about him, much though she longed to do so.
It was dark early on St Nicholaas’ Eve. They had tea a little earlier and Georgina drew the chintz curtains against the gloom outside, and they sat in a circle round the fire, with the dog Robby well in front, and Ginger and Toto curled up carefully on either side of Cor. It was the nicest part of the day, thought Georgina; the mornings were nice too, but filled with the strict schedule she had devised—treatment for Cor, lessons and massage and games of chess before lunch—but by teatime everyone was pleasantly tired, and the children were content to sit over the Christmas decorations, which were nearly finished. There was, naturally enough, a great deal of talk about St Nicholaas over tea. Georgina suspected that the only one present to believe in him was Beatrix, but this didn’t prevent them all assuring her that they would put their shoes in the fireplace when they went to bed.
It was late by the time she judged everyone was asleep, and safe for her to go to the Professor’s room. She went to the great tallboy against one wall and opened the drawer, and looked with something like dismay at the gaily wrapped packages within it. She should have brought a basket. Instead, she scooped up the hem of her long quilted dressing gown and dropped them into it, and thus loaded, slipped back through the quiet house to her own room.
Everyone, it seemed, had two presents. She sorted them carefully, and found her name was on two of the small packages as well. Everyone in the household had put a shoe in front of the fire in Cor’s room—even Stephens had appeared, soft-footed, with some highly polished footwear belonging to his wife and Milly and himself. Georgina crept along the row of shoes, carefully removing the sugar lumps and carrots with which each was filled, supposedly for the delectation of the good saint’s horse. She arranged the presents neatly in their stead, and went soft-footed back to her room, wondering what to do with the offerings for the horse. At length she opened her suitcase which was in a big cupboard behind the panelled wall, and stuffed them in.
They opened their presents before breakfast—even Dimphena, who was always last out of bed, came into Cor’s room with Beatrix. Georgina, already up and dressed, thought she looked like a fairy-tale princess, with her lovely hair tousled, and wrapped in a gorgeous dressing gown which must have cost the earth.
Each of them had a chocolate letter—the initial letter of their names, extravagantly wrapped and beribboned—a charming custom which Cor had been at great pains to explain to Georgina some days previously. But it was the second package which contained the real gift. They started with Cor, who undid his with excited hands, and whooped with joy at the watch inside. Beatrix had one too—a small, dainty version of her brother’s; Georgina helped fasten them on and then joined in the chorus of admiration when Franz, in his turn, showed them a camera—a Praktica, he told them proudly—a Domiplan F2.8/50—a piece of information which conveyed nothing at all to his hearers, but which seemed to give him the greatest possible satisfaction. Dimphena’s box was very small; it contained pearl earrings, exquisitely simple—exactly right for a young girl. Georgina hadn’t much knowledge of good jewellery, but even to her unsophisticated eye, they looked real. She admired them with wholehearted sincerity and a complete lack of envy, and led a rapturous Dimphena to her mirror to observe their beauty.
It seemed rather an anti-climax to open her own gift after that. She did so swiftly, expecting a diary or one of those pen and pencil sets so suitable for the sort of people for whom it was hard to find the right gift. It was neither, but a small, fragile porcelain figure of a girl in a green and white and gold dress, with a little dog half hidden in her skirts. Georgina held it in her hands, speechless with pleasure, for by some delightful quirk of fate it was something she had admired many times in an antique shop in Saffron Walden. It was Meissen, and she had never quite plucked up the courage to ask its price. She looked at the watching faces around her.
‘I simply can’t believe it!’ she breathed. ‘St Nicolaas has given me something I’ve been wanting for months. However did he know?’
The little figure was passed from hand to hand and duly admired, and declared by Beatrix to be exactly right for her dear George, before being placed on the little table by Georgina’s bed. She thought about it a good deal during the day. Of course, it was the Professor, not St Nicholaas, who had provided the gifts, but alth
ough he would have made it his business to find out what his cousins wanted, she doubted very much if he would have gone to the same trouble in her case. Besides, who was there to ask? She had never mentioned it to anyone at Dalmers Place. It was, she concluded, one of those happy coincidences which almost never happen.
She examined the little figure again when she was getting ready for her walk. She was sitting on her bed, her coat half on, cradling it in her hands. She would keep it for always; a constant reminder of Julius, even if she were never to see him again—which seemed probable. It was unlikely that their paths would cross once she went back to St Athel’s. She fought a strong urge to burst into tears. That vague man of her dreams, whom she was one day to have met and married, had somehow turned into the Professor. He was, she admitted to herself, the man she had been waiting for, and she loved him with all her heart. It was a pity that he didn’t feel the same way.
She put her treasure down, finished dressing, and went for a walk with Beatrix. It was still very cold, with the smell of frost strong in the air, mixed with the sharp tang of rotting apples in the orchards and the aromatic smoke of burning leaves. They found a chestnut tree on their way home, and filled their pockets with nuts, so that when the Professor telephoned they were all crowded around the fire, roasting them on a shovel and making a good deal of noise about it. It was while she was peeling the last of the nuts that Georgina had her idea. Beatrix was chattering away in Dutch to her guardian; she was about to put back the receiver when Georgina cried, ‘Beatrix, just a minute. I want to speak to your guardian,’ and said in a panicky little voice, ‘Professor Eyffert, I’d like to go to London one day next week. Do you mind if I have my day off during the week instead of Sunday?’
His voice came back, maddeningly placid. ‘My dear good girl, take whichever day you wish—have Sunday as well if you need to. Why do you sound so desperate?’
Georgina swallowed. ‘I’m not. I—I thought Beatrix would hang up before I could speak to you.’
‘Is that all? I’m disappointed.’ He rang off.
She took the Mini to London, driving carefully, not because she was nervous, but because it was, after all, a borrowed car, and the road was icy. She parked it at St Athel’s, resisting an impulse to go into Cas for a gossip with anyone who was free, and hailed a taxi. It was already dusk when she arrived back at the hospital, loaded with parcels, having spent almost all her money, and for that very reason feeling more cheerful than she had done for some days. She drove back as fast as she dared, for she had said that she would be back in time for tea with Cor and she hated to disappoint him. As it was, they were half-way through the meal by the time she reached her room. She arranged her parcels tidily on the chest of drawers and was on her way to Cor’s room as the telephone rang. She went and sat quietly by the fire with her cup of tea, wondering if the Professor would want to speak to her. Apparently he didn’t, for after a few minutes he rang off, without even so much as his usual formal message.
She waited until she went to bed before opening her purchases. Most of them were presents for Christmas, but some of them were for herself. The largest box contained a dress—a long-skirted dream of a dress, of dark green velvet, with narrow sleeves and a high neck banded with white organdie—a feminine version of a clerical collar, its demureness accentuated by the white organdie wristbands. She had bought velvet slippers too, and for good measure, another lipstick. She tried them all on before she went to bed, then hung the dress in the magnificently fitted cupboard in the wall. In all likelihood it would stay there until she left Dalmers Place.
The next few days were busy ones. Mr Sawbridge came, followed by the physiotherapist and the radiographer. The Professor had said he would be home in two days’ time, and there were only five days left before Christmas. The decorations were almost finished; they had only to be sorted into boxes, ready to be put up on Christmas Eve. The tree had been installed in the drawing room by old Legg, and Mrs Stephens sent up vast quantities of mince pies each teatime.
Karel was home too, and Franz was on holiday from school—the old house was alive with a cheerful bustle. It began to snow the day before the Professor was due back. Georgina got Milly to sit with Cor while they all went outside and built a snowman, and afterwards, at Beatrix’s urgent request, had a tremendous battle with snowballs, which left them glowing and famished. When they went back indoors and Georgina saw Cor’s rebellious face against the pillows, she went to him and put a comforting arm around him and said:
‘You may not be as big as your guardian, Cor, not in size, but you’re a real big man just the same. If you weren’t I would never have been able to go outside with the others, because you would have made a fuss, and that would have made it unpleasant for everybody, wouldn’t it? We each threw a snowball for you, and put one of your caps on the snowman, and here’s Franz with something for you.’ The something was a plastic bucket, filled with snow, which Cor, suitably protected, made into snowballs for Franz and Karel to hurl out of the window: this restored his good humour to such an extent that Georgina heard him repeating to his brother what she had said, with a few embellishments which he had thought up for himself.
Karel was going out to dinner, and when the rest of them had dined they went back to Cor’s room. It was barely half past eight, and past the children’s bedtime, but Georgina saw that they were both far too excited to sleep.
‘I’m going to wash my hair,’ she announced. ‘I’ll do it now, and then how about singing some carols while I’m drying it?’ Her suggestion was greeted with enthusiasm, and Dimphena made it easier by saying that she wanted to wash her hair too, anyway. Half an hour later they were sitting by the fire again, the girls in their dressing gowns, and Beatrix ensconced firmly on Georgina’s lap. There was a carol programme on Cor’s radio and they were all singing with gusto, but presently the programme ended and Georgina said, ‘I wish we had a piano, then we could sing all we wanted.’
Dimphena, who was brushing her hair on the opposite side of the fire, looked up. ‘But we have! Not the one in the drawing room—there’s one in the schoolroom at the end of the corridor—it’s on casters.’
It was no sooner said than done. With Franz’s help, the piano was installed; five minutes later Georgina was seated at it, playing ‘The First Nowell’ with great verve and dash, and leading the singing in a rather nice soprano. They were singing so heartily that they failed to hear the car crunching through the snow on the drive below; they were still singing when the Professor opened the door. At the sight of him they stopped with the abruptness of a cut of the scissors through tape. They surged to meet him, laughing and talking and exclaiming, telling him everything at once. Georgina sat at the piano, watching him as he greeted each of them in turn while his eyes swept lazily around the room, noting the untidy heaps of decorations overflowing their boxes, the gay wrapping paper, the labels and string, the Christmas cards festooning the Balkan frame over Cor’s bed, the cats and Robby crossing the room to wreathe themselves around his legs, the abandoned towels from the hair-drying session. At the piano he blinked, and then eyebrows lifted, gave her a long look. She reddened under it, conscious that a dressing gown and hair hanging anyhow were the antithesis of the uniform he had requested her to wear at all times. He started towards her and she longed to turn and run. He would be bitingly polite and she would be shattered… But he said, to surprise her utterly:
‘I have been looking forward to coming home—I didn’t realize how much until the moment I entered this room.’
She stared at him while she got her breath. ‘It’s Christmas—the children have been so good, I thought an extra hour would be fun for them—and it’s my fault the piano is here. I hope you aren’t too annoyed.’
He gave her a half smile and said without annoyance, ‘It amazes me how you contrive to make me out to be an ogre. Why should I object to the children—or you—being happy?’
His blue eyes searched her face and his smile widened. ‘I can’t think
how we ever managed without you…’
The others had closed in around them: she looked round at their glowing faces. ‘You’re not an ogre. Professor, I—I think I was surprised.’
Cor’s voice broke in before she could say more.
‘Cousin Julius, you haven’t seen anything, have you? I mean anything strange in this room?’
He sounded apprehensive. His guardian stopped his calm study of Georgina and wandered over to the bed. ‘No,’ he answered readily. ‘Should I have done so?’ He looked round him vaguely. ‘It all looks much as usual.’ He was answered by a good deal of laughter and a babel of voices, each offering an explanation, which didn’t cease until he told Franz to go down to the hall and bring up the packages he would find there.
There was something for each of them in gay, beribboned boxes. Georgina opened hers to find a small Delft blue bowl full of budding crocuses. She voiced her thanks shyly and he cut them short with a quiet, ‘Only a trifle, Miss Rodman.’ She thought he was going to say something else, but Dimphena asked him just then if he would like a meal.
He put a large arm across her shoulders. ‘No, thanks, Phena. I dined on the way.’
‘Ooh! A date?’
Georgina looked up and saw that he was watching her; he didn’t take his eyes away as he answered carelessly, ‘Yes, I suppose you might call it that… Nurse, would you be good enough to give me a few minutes of your time in the morning? If you would breakfast with me—or a cup of coffee if you prefer—there are several things I wish to discuss.’
It was snowing again in the morning. She went quickly through the quiet house to where the Professor was breakfasting; it reminded her of her first morning, for the post, ten times greater this morning by reason of it being Christmas, was strewn around him, rather as though a gale had blown it haphazard through one of the latticed windows. He got up, sending a fresh shower of envelopes on to the floor, and said:
