by Betty Neels
CHAPTER SIX
THE DAYS AND NIGHTS flew by and it was lucky that the nights weren’t too bad, for there was a good deal to do before she went to bed each morning. She had arranged for a warehouse to store the furniture and they were to come for it on the day before she was due to leave and although that was still ten days away, there was a good deal of packing up to be done. And Mary telephoned most days to give her news of the twins and recount how well they were settling in. There had been a phone call from Louisa, too, an excited hasty conversation in which Emily couldn’t get a word in edgeways. Life was fun, said Louisa, and she loved the model school although it was hard work and some of the girls were incredibly mean to each other. ‘Not that I care,’ said Louisa airily, ‘it’s a competitive profession. Oh, Emily, you can’t think what you’ve missed, wasting your time in a hospital.’
Emily forbore from the obvious comment that she was hardly model material. ‘I’m quite happy,’ she pointed out. ‘Shall I see you some time?’
But Louisa was vague about that. Not before Christmas, and certainly not at Christmas; she had so many parties lined up…
‘In the New Year, then, love,’ said Emily. ‘I’ll let you know my address when I’ve got one.’
Afterwards she remembered that Louisa hadn’t asked her how she was managing or how she was going to move house or whether she had a job to go to. ‘Oh, well, as long as she’s happy,’ said Emily to the room at large.
She saw nothing of the Professor, although she went a little early each evening and lingered in the morning in the hope of meeting him. He had disappeared into thin air, it seemed, and she started her nights off feeling let down. The house looked strangely empty when she reached it, most of the books and ornaments had been packed now and she had polished the furniture in the sitting room and stacked it neatly and shut the door on it, which left the kitchen to live in. She cooked herself some breakfast, then remembered that she was to take a car out that afternoon, so that she gobbled the meal, cleared away like lightning, had a bath and went to bed with the alarm clock set for midday. It meant only three hours’ sleep, but she would be able to go to bed and sleep the clock round that evening.
She was dressed and ready when the car arrived, driven by a sober-looking middle-aged man who greeted her civilly enough, opened the door for her and moved into the other seat. The car was a rather elderly Rover and before she could say anything the man said: ‘This is the model you will be driving, miss.’ He sat back, his arms folded across his chest, and she realised that she was to take over without any more ado. She was nervous, scared stiff in fact, but after all, she had got her driving licence. She started the engine and quaking inwardly set the car going. For the first few hundred yards she was in a panic that she would do something stupid, but then quite suddenly she felt all right; there wasn’t too much traffic around and her feet and hands seemed to be doing all the right things. ‘Where to?’ she asked.
‘Turn left at the next crossroads, miss, and go through Brookmans Park and up as far as Hatfield, then go round the town and across to St Albans and back down the A6.’
She found herself enjoying it presently and although she made one or two mistakes, they were small ones, and since her companion merely grunted gently she concluded that she wasn’t doing so badly. She drew up finally with real reluctance before her little house and was elated when her companion pronounced that she was quite competent to drive the car anywhere she might want to go. ‘I’ll be here tomorrow, same time,’ he warned her. ‘We’ll spend an hour on the motorway and then find a quiet road so I can see you reverse and turn.’
And that went off successfully too. Emily returned to night duty feeling rather pleased with herself; she was to have one more outing, driving her taciturn companion as far as London’s heart and back home again. The other day she was going to spend shopping; she had George’s cheque and she hadn’t had any new clothes for a long time.
She had had a letter from Doctor Wright, too, a friendly missive saying how glad he and his wife were that she would accompany them to Holland, ‘Because we wouldn’t have gone on our own,’ he had finished.
She had tried to come to terms with herself over the Professor too. She would have to see a good deal of him, she supposed, and although that would be a delight for her, she would have to be careful not to let him see that. She thought about him a great deal although she didn’t see him, and carefully veiled enquiries as to his whereabouts drew blanks. It wasn’t until her next nights off that she asked Mr Bennett from the garage if she should pay him for the use of the car and got more news of the Professor than she had expected.
‘Not a farthing, miss—Professor Jurres-Romeijn settled the bill before he went. Back in Holland he is now and not expecting to come back for a few days. One of his partners is ill, so he had to go and take over for a bit. A very nice gentleman, if I might say so—not a bit like some foreigners.’
Emily did her last four nights duty in something of a panic. If the Professor had returned to his home for a sudden emergency, might he not quite easily forget that he had said that he would drive her up to town? Supposing he didn’t come? Should she ring Doctor Wright, or just turn up at his house on the day that had been arranged? She would have to find a small hotel for a couple of nights. Instead of spending a glorious day shopping she should have been better employed looking for a modest bed and breakfast somewhere. Not that she regretted her day at the shops; she had had a wonderful time with just for once enough money to buy what she wanted; a tweed coat in a flattering shade of green, a jersey dress to wear with it, a well cut skirt and several sweaters and blouses, a velvet skirt from Marks and Spencer teamed with a beautifully cut top she had seen in Liberty’s. She bought another blouse or two to wear with it because she couldn’t afford several evening dresses—besides, she might not need them. And she spent more than she had intended on shoes. She hadn’t had such lovely shoes for years…and boots, knee-high and very soft leather. There was enough for gloves and a handbag and a little felt pillbox hat before common sense told her to call a halt. On her last day, before she went on duty for the last time, she packed her case, saw the furniture out of the house and went to work. There had been no message from the Professor and by now she had stopped worrying; she would go to town and make her own arrangements until she was due to go to Doctor Wright’s. Several of her friends had given her the names of small hotels where she would be able to get a room and she could fill in her days easily enough. Shops and museums, she told herself vaguely.
She had breakfast at the hospital in the morning, said goodbye to her friends and went home for the last time to the empty little house. It was a cold morning and the man was coming to cut off the gas presently. She made a cup of tea and had a bath and dressed in the new clothes, wasting a lot of time over her face and hair before going downstairs with her case. The man from the gas had been, so had someone from the Electricity Department. She locked up carefully, inspected each empty room in turn and picked up her case. She would catch a bus from the end of the street and go to the Underground; it was still quite early and she had all day to look for an hotel. She opened her bag to make sure that the list she had made out was there, just as the door bell rang.
She rushed to the door unaware of the delight showing so plainly on her face as she opened it to find the Professor, huge in his car coat, standing on the step. ‘Oh, you came,’ she exclaimed stupidly, and then remembered to take the smile off her face and just look polite. On no account must he ever even guess at her feelings, and he was looking at her now with lifted brows and a faint smile which she couldn’t understand at all. She added, still very polite: ‘I’m just ready.’
He went past her into the narrow hall. ‘I imagine that you’re glad to leave.’
‘Yes, I am.’ She saw his glance taking in the emptiness and the shabby walls. ‘They took the furniture yesterday.’
‘You sold it?’
She felt shocked. ‘Oh, no—it’s all I have.
I’ll furnish a flat or a bedsitter when I get one.’
He didn’t answer and she hadn’t expected him to; it could hardly interest him—where she was going to live next.
‘You’ve not been to bed? You were on duty last night?’
She nodded.
‘You shall go to bed as soon as we reach my friends. Come along, then, if you’re quite ready.’ He took her case and put it in the boot and opened the car door for her after she had banged the door after her. The key she had already returned to Tracey’s mother, who was going to let the house agents have it later.
She was very tired and the comfort of the car lulled her into a half-waking state which left her head quite empty of ideas for a light conversation. But apparently that didn’t matter much; the Professor seemed little inclined to talk and the journey was a short one. Pulling herself together as they slid into the West End traffic, Emily was uneasy to see where they were. This was a part of London she hadn’t seen much of; tall Regency houses in quiet squares with small gardens in their centres, but perhaps they were taking a short cut.
They weren’t. The Professor drew up before such a house in the centre of a terrace, got out, opened her door and helped her out too and crossed the pavement to ring a large brass bell beside a soberly painted front door. It was opened by a hall porter, who at the Professor’s bidding collected her case and led the way to the back of a well appointed hall to the lift.
‘I don’t like lifts,’ muttered Emily, and hung back a little.
Unlike anyone else, who would certainly have asked her why not, the Professor merely signed to the porter to use the lift for himself, and guided her to the stairs.
‘It’s the top floor,’ he informed her.
‘Oh—well, you need not have walked up—it’s only me being silly. I was stuck in a hospital lift once, I had an unconscious patient on a drip with me, and the drip went wrong. The porter couldn’t help and it seemed all day before we got out…’
‘An unpleasant experience. And don’t give a thought to me; I may be over my first youth, but I can still climb stairs.’
She blushed and wishing to make some amusing reply, found her head empty again.
The landing on the top floor was as richly carpeted as the stairs and the front door of the flat was a handsome one. It opened as they reached it and a small dark girl and a rather stocky man a good deal older than she both spoke at once. ‘Come in, Renier—and this is Emily…’
She was shaken by the hand and led inside and the Professor disappeared with her case down a long passage. ‘A drink,’ cried the dark girl. ‘Renier hasn’t had a chance to introduce us—I’m Dolly and this is Peter—we’ve known him for ever, you know. Sit down, Renier said you’d be tired, so you shall go to bed presently…it’s lovely having you. Peter, take Emily’s coat.’ She turned round as the Professor came into the room. ‘We’re going to have a glass of Madeira and an early lunch, then Emily can take a nap.’
‘Then for heaven’s sake give her a biscuit with it, I don’t expect she had much breakfast. Did you, Emily?’
They all looked at her, Peter and Dolly with a warm sympathy, the Professor with a gentle mockery. She told them no, she hadn’t really, and obediently ate the biscuits offered with her drink. She was very afraid that she would go to sleep in the warm, charmingly furnished room; her companions’ voices came and went in her sleepy ears until the Professor’s remark that he must be off brought her wide awake. ‘I’ve a couple of cases,’ he explained, ‘but I’ll be clear this evening. Why not dine with me?’ His eyes flickered over Emily’s dress. ‘Pot luck, and don’t change,’ he added.
‘Lovely.’ It was Dolly who answered for them all. ‘We never see enough of you.’ She leaned up and kissed his cheek and Peter said:
‘So long, lad,’ which struck Emily as quite inappropriate—the Professor didn’t look a bit like a lad.
He was looking at her poker faced now. ‘Since we’re all saying goodbye so nicely…’ he said, and crossed the room, plucked her out of her chair, kissed her soundly, set her down again and went away.
The other two looked so unsurprised that Emily came to the conclusion that he was in the habit of kissing girls goodbye, only of course, not in hospital. She tried to look as though she was unsurprised too and she must have succeeded quite well, for Dolly started to talk about something or other which didn’t need an answer and presently an elderly woman came to the door and told them that lunch was ready.
The food was delicious and Emily was hungry, but a full stomach on top of being up all night made her so very sleepy that she almost dozed off over coffee.
‘Bed for you,’ said Dolly briskly. ‘I’ll call you at teatime—you just get into your bed and sleep until then.’
Which Emily did, barely noticing the pretty bedroom, but the bed was sheer heaven, warm and soft and smelling faintly of lavender. She was asleep within seconds.
She was wakened four hours later by Dolly’s cheerful voice and the pleasant clatter of a tea tray. ‘We let you sleep,’ she said comfortably. ‘And now eat everything up before you dress—there’s a shower room through that door, by the way; you’ve heaps of time before we go to Renier’s.’
Emily sat up and eyed the buttered crumpets hungrily. ‘I ought not to—I’m too fat…’
‘Rubbish, you’re just right, men hate skinny girls.’
Emily drank some tea. ‘Does he live far away?’
‘Renier?’ Dolly smiled. ‘On the next floor, ducky, though he’s only there when he’s in England—his home is in Holland.’
Emily licked a buttery finger. ‘Oh, well—I did know that he lived there, but you see we’re—we’re not…that’s to say I don’t know him well, I’ve only worked on a case for him.’
Dolly strolled over to the window and stood looking out into the wintry evening. ‘You’ll see quite a lot of him while you’re in Holland, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Emily seriously, ‘but it’s not like being friends, is it? He’s a professor and all that…’ She felt she wasn’t explaining very well, but Dolly seemed to understand.
‘He’s like anyone else only nicer. Most girls can’t wait to get at him,’ she said lightly.
‘Oh, I’m sure of that, for he’s very nice-looking, only sometimes he looks as though he’s laughing at one. I—I think I should tell you that he thinks I’m a prim miss and p-plump, so you can see we’re not friends; I’m going to Holland because Doctor Wright needs someone to drive the car and keep an eye on him.’
‘You don’t like Renier?’ Dolly sounded sympathetic.
Emily choked on a small sugared cake. ‘He’s a very good surgeon,’ she said, though it cost her a lot not to say more, and Dolly, who still had her back to her, frowned a little.
‘Well, let’s hope you get to know him better. He told us all about the twins, you know.’
‘Did he? And about Louisa, too, I expect? My young sister—she’s very pretty—he took her out; she’s going to be a model.’
Dolly came back and sat down on the side of the bed. ‘Is she? I’d rather be you, any day.’
By the time it was ready to go to the Professor’s flat, Emily felt wide awake. She had done her face and hair with care and the jersey dress looked quite nice; it was a relief to see that Dolly was wearing the same dress she had had on all day. They walked down the stairs and Peter rang the bell. The door was opened by an elderly man with a stern face who wished them good evening and begged them to enter in a dampening sort of voice instantly nullified by the Professor’s shout from an open door at the end of the hall. He appeared a moment later and ushered them into a large room very comfortably furnished with a great many big armchairs, a handsome bow-fronted cabinet, rows of bookshelves spilling books all nicely highlighted by the blazing fire in the stone hearth, and presently when they were all sitting round it, he enquired of Emily if she had slept and soon they were all engrossed in the map he had produced for her to see. ‘I’ve marked the route for you,’ he e
xplained, ‘and the Wrights know the way, but you’ll have to be careful in Rotterdam and again when you get to Utrecht.’ He looked across at Peter. ‘Remember when you two went on a grand tour of the Netherlands because you took the wrong turning? Not that Emily’s likely to do that, she’s too sensible.’ He took her glass and refilled it, and she began to feel quite happy and not scared stiff as she had expected. How silly to love someone you don’t know anything about, she thought, watching him pouring drinks for the other two; if only he’d laugh and joke with me like he did with Louisa.
But that, it seemed, was wishful thinking. Presently they went in to dinner, announced by the severe man, who surprisingly allowed himself to smile when Dolly asked how his wife did.
‘Thank you, madam, she’s very well indeed; she hopes you will enjoy the brown bread ice cream, she remembered that you have a partiality for it.’
‘Mrs Willy remembers everything,’ observed their host. ‘Willy, will you fetch up a bottle of champagne? It’s the only thing to drink on an occasion—and this is one.’
Dolly and Peter smiled as though they understood him, but Emily, who didn’t, looked puzzled. No one explained what the occasion was, though, and she forgot all about it in the pleasure of eating Mrs Willy’s scallops. They had rib of beef next which the Professor carved with a neatness only to be expected of him, and then, as a concession to the ladies, lemon sorbet, served in a frozen lemon cup and accompanied by little silver dishes piled high with whipped cream.
‘Any time you don’t want the Willy’s,’ declared Dolly, ‘I’ll have them off you.’
‘One of my oldest friends,’ declared the Professor to Willy, ‘and she wants to snatch my cook!’
Peter chuckled: ‘Well, you could easily bring that Bep from Holland whenever you come.’
‘Then who would look after this place while I’m away?’ He glanced at Emily, who hadn’t much to say for herself. ‘Shall we go into the sitting room for coffee? What are you all doing tomorrow?’ He looked at her as he spoke so that she felt bound to make some sort of a reply.
