by Betty Neels
She flung open the closet door and Mrs Wright’s kind eye took in the skirt and blouses. ‘How sensible to bring a skirt and several tops,’ she declared bracingly. ‘I’ve done that too. We’ll wear them this evening, dear—Renier always has a house full for drinks, you know.’ She went on carefully: ‘I believe we’re going in to Utrecht tomorrow morning; you and I could slip away and have a look round. And Emily, no one has thought to tell you, but of course, you’re getting a salary while you’re here…’
Emily turned a shocked face to her companion’s. ‘Oh, I couldn’t! I’ve not done anything…’
‘You drove us here and if Reg wants anything done you’ll be doing it, my dear—and I must confess not to have to worry about him at night will be a relief. Not that you’ll need to stay awake, or anything like that, but sometimes if he can’t sleep, he gets up and roams around, so I’m afraid to go to sleep…’
It was a relief to Emily that she was going to be of some use, after all. ‘Look, I’ll ask the Professor to have a bell fixed up, then if Doctor Wright wants anything, I can see to it, so you can sleep soundly.’
‘That would be lovely, Emily. Now, tomorrow, how about treating yourself to something really glamorous for Christmas night? Renier has the family to dinner and it’s quite an occasion. I thought I’d look round for myself, too.’
‘Oh, well, if you’re going to… I’ve brought some money with me and I do need another dress, don’t I?’ Emily looked in the mirror and combed her tidy head even tidier. ‘I didn’t know about presents…?’
‘Ah, yes, we’ll see if we can find a few things… Renier’s got everything, which makes it very difficult. Just a small something, dear—it’s nice to exchange little gifts on Christmas morning, isn’t it?’
In bed, hours later, Emily went over her day. It had been delightful, although she had had her misgivings about that to begin with. But lunch had been a very pleasant meal, enlivened by the presence of the Professor’s grandmother, a diminutive, rather plump old lady who told Emily in precise careful English that she was eighty-one years old and unlike the young people of today, she enjoyed life to the full. She had eyed Emily sternly and then relaxed with a sharp: ‘Not that you look like one of these modern girls, with their ugly trousers and unkempt hair.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘What do you think of Renier?’
It had been a little hard to answer that because her host was sitting at the head of the table, not quite out of earshot. Emily recalled with shame that she had blushed, although she had replied sedately that he was an excellent surgeon.
Unexpectedly, he had come to her aid with: ‘And Emily is an excellent nurse, Grandmother,’ to which the old lady had replied:
‘Well, I think every girl should be taught to do something useful before she marries.’
Emily wriggled in her comfortable bed at the memory of his bland: ‘Are you planning to get married, Emily?’
They had spent the afternoon looking round the house in a leisurely fashion, although half way through Doctor Wright had decided that he would like a rest. So she had accompanied him up to his room, seen him comfortably settled on the chaise-longue before the fire, laid a coverlet over his legs, arranged a table with anything he might require upon it, and then gone downstairs again, but when she reached the big garden room at the back where they had all been, she saw that the Professor and Mrs Wright were so deep in conversation that they didn’t even see her, so she had gone to the sitting room and picked up a magazine and while she leafed through it wondered what they were talking about. Doctor Wright, presumably.
She had worn the long skirt and the pale pink crêpe blouse with the ruffles for the evening, and reflected now that it had been most suitable. True, a number of the ladies who had come to visit Renier were very handsomely dressed and most of them had beautiful jewellery, but she had felt satisfied in a modest way that she hadn’t looked too bad. At least old Mevrouw Jurres-Romeijn had complimented her in somewhat outspoken terms, on her suitable appearance. It was a pity that the Professor hadn’t had a word to say to her other than the usual polite nothings a host utters to his guests. But tomorrow was another day, she told herself, and went to sleep on the thought.
And a very nice day it was, too. The Professor wasn’t at breakfast, and Doctor Wright had elected to have his in his room, so she and Mrs Wright spent an agreeable time discussing their shopping. ‘And you know,’ said Mrs Wright happily, ‘Reg is so much better; knowing you were close by and the bell under his hand, he told me he’d slept all night, and I believe he did.’
They drove into Utrecht in the Jag, with Emily sitting beside the Professor making polite conversation, because to sit in silence was really too much. ‘This is a very comfortable car,’ she observed, and didn’t see the little smile, instantly suppressed.
‘Very,’ he agreed gravely, and since he didn’t seem disposed to say any more she tried again.
‘Do you prefer a large car?’
‘Er, yes—you see, I’m a large person, Emily. I have a Lagonda V12 though, a 1940 model; it’s a two-seater drophead couppé—it’s been restored, of course, but I can get ninety miles an hour out of her. I’ll take you for a run, only you’ll have to wrap up warmly.’
Emily’s eyes shone. ‘That sounds fun, I’d like that.’
The two men went off on their own in Utrecht. Doctor Wright wanted to renew his acquaintance with the medical staff at the hospital and, Emily guessed, show himself off as a splendid example of the Professor’s surgery. She and Mrs Wright, left to themselves, made for the shops and spent an interesting time looking at clothes. Finally Mrs Wright bought herself a velvet dress which, she explained, was suitable to her age and appearance and Emily, carried away by the excitement of the shops with all their Christmas delights, allowed herself—with no difficulty at all—to be persuaded into buying a lovely flyaway chiffon dress in rose pink, its scooped-out neckline bound with a darker satin and with ballooning elbow sleeves. It gave her a glow and Mrs Wright, standing beside her while she studied herself in the looking glass, said softly: ‘It’s beautiful, dear, it makes you look very pretty, especially if you do your hair in a different style—a little softer, if you see what I mean—such nice hair, too.’
‘And have you enjoyed yourselves?’ the Professor wanted to know. ‘Naturally you went to see the Dom Tower, and climbed its four hundred and sixty-five steps, and probably you had time to pay a visit to the Central Museum and take a quick peep at the Brutenhof Almshouses as well. Probably you didn’t get as far as the Devil’s Stone.’
‘We each bought a dress,’ Emily told him, a little breathless, because she was sitting beside him again and he seemed to have that effect upon her.
‘And so have I,’ observed Mrs Wright from the back seat. ‘We’ve had a lovely time; we thought we’d compete in the glamour stakes on Christmas night. I daresay there will be some gorgeous girls there.’
‘Of course.’ Emily didn’t see the lightning glance he threw at her mediocre profile. ‘Franz is bringing a Vogue model with him, I shall cut him out.’ Franz was his younger brother, Emily had discovered that from Mrs Wright. There was a sister too, married and living in Amsterdam, much younger than the Professor. They would be coming for Christmas, together with a great many aunts and uncles and cousins. ‘And New Year, too, my dear—it will be as much fun as Christmas.’
Back in the Professor’s great house, snug in her pleasant room, Emily experimented with her hair, redid her face, and went downstairs. Presumably there would be tea, if only she could find the room it would be in.
She had reached the hall when Hans appeared, smiling, and led her to a small arched door at its end. ‘Tea will be served in here, miss—Mrs Wright is already downstairs.’
The room was small compared with the others, panelled and richly cosy with moss green curtains and carpet and pink lampshades to cast a glow over everything. There was a brisk fire burning in the steel grate, too, and Mrs Wright was sitting by it, looking at a magazine. She look
ed up as Emily went in. ‘The men are in Renier’s study, deep in blood and bones, as usual. We’ll have tea on our own, shall we?’
It was pleasant sitting there, drinking tea from delicate china cups and eating Bep’s little biscuits, and after a while the men joined them, saying that they had had their tea, and before long they were deep in a discussion about Christmas. ‘I thought we might have a crowd in for drinks on Christmas Eve,’ observed the Professor, ‘friends and acquaintances and the family, of course—there’ll just be family on Christmas Day. There’s a party at my sister’s on Boxing Day and everyone goes home on the following day. Then at New Year, it will be the family again— I thought we might have a dance and ask in a few neighbours.’
Emily, listening to his quiet, unhurried voice, felt as though she were in a dream. It didn’t seem possible that only a short while ago she had been making paper chains to cheer a lonely Christmas.
But loneliness was something she could forget now; there was so much to do and see; her days were full. The Wrights had breakfast in their room and on her second morning she found that she was to share hers with the Professor. At least, she discovered, she shared the table with him, but hardly his attention; that was taken up with his letters and the papers, although his manners were too good to allow her to feel neglected. But the conversation he tossed at her from time to time was a little absent-minded and consisted of enquiries as to how she had slept, whether her breakfast was to her liking and polite remarks about the weather. After ten minutes or so she told him kindly: ‘Look, do get on with your post and the papers; I don’t a bit mind if you don’t talk. My father never spoke a word at breakfast.’ She smiled at him across the table. ‘I’ll have breakfast in my room, if you like, it must be vexing to have me here and feel that I must be talked to.’
He had put down the letter he was holding to look at her. ‘I do believe you mean that,’ he observed in some astonishment. ‘It’s true I breakfast alone except for the dogs, but if you will forgive me not making small talk, then I should much prefer you to breakfast with me.’ He smiled suddenly and she felt warmed by it. ‘You are a very restful girl, Emily.’
She stared at him for a long moment and he added with perception: ‘You’re not going to forget, are you? Will you believe me when I say that from whatever angle I see you, you no longer merge into the background?’
Very nicely put, thought Emily, he’d charm money from a miser’s purse. Aloud she said: ‘Yes, I’ll believe you and even though I—I haven’t forgotten I don’t hold it against you, you know. Only I don’t think I’m prim.’
He gave a bellow of laughter which made her jump. ‘No, I don’t think so either. What are you going to do today? I suggested to Maud Wright that she took you on a tour of the house—Hans will go with you; his English is quite good. I’d take you myself, but I’m tied up for the next few days. Feel free to do what you like, Emily, and if you want a car, just ask Hans—there’s a Mini in the garage eating its head off for lack of exercise.’
She thanked him politely and went on eating her breakfast while he returned to his. They didn’t see each other again until the evening and then not alone. She saw that he was tired and although she said nothing he crossed the room to sit with her while they had their drinks before dinner. ‘I’ve had a busy unrewarding day,’ he told her. ‘I wish I could tell you about it. Sometimes I wonder why I chose to be a surgeon.’
‘Because you didn’t want to do anything else,’ said Emily promptly, ‘and for every day that goes wrong, two go right.’
‘Do days go wrong for you, Emily? I seem to remember…’
She smiled widely. ‘Oh, yes—and mine always seem to come in bunches.’
He twisted his glass idly. ‘Do you expect to hear from Louisa while you’re here?’
The question surprised her and made her vaguely unhappy. ‘No—she doesn’t like writing letters. She told me she had a lot of invitations over Christmas.’
‘She’s the kind of girl who always will. A very pretty girl, your little sister, with a sharp eye to turning things to her advantage, especially men.’
Emily hastened to Louisa’s defence. ‘She’s very young, and—and she was the youngest, you know. They always get a bit spoilt.’
He stood up. ‘My youngest isn’t going to be spoilt. Shall we go in to dinner?’
The rest of the evening was spent pleasantly enough playing a far from serious game of bridge, although Emily suspected that if the other three had had their way they would have played the game with the concentration it needed. She wasn’t good at it herself, but no one seemed to mind her revokings and trumpings, which wouldn’t have been quite as bad if she had bent the whole of her mind on to the game, but a bit of it was mulling over the Professor’s remarks about Louisa. He couldn’t be in love with her after all; just amused. Probably he liked his girls a bit older. She already knew that he liked them beautiful and blonde and unblushing.
Christmas Eve was upon them before they realised it; two men staggered in with a gigantic Christmas tree as Emily was going down to breakfast, and disappeared into the drawing room with it, and there was an undercurrent of subdued bustle throughout the big house. The first of the guests would be arriving after lunch. Emily had peeped into some of the bedrooms upstairs and seen that they were ready with books and tins of biscuits by the beds and flowers on the tables. The two elderly maids whom she hardly ever glimpsed must have been busy.
The Professor greeted her with: ‘The tree’s here—we’ll decorate it after lunch. Do you want anything from Utrecht? It’s your last chance.’
She thought. ‘No, I don’t think so, I’ve got all my presents.’
He nodded. ‘There’s some post for you.’ He got up and brought her a small pile of letters and two small packages, and she settled happily to opening them. Cards from girls she knew at the hospital, a lovely silk scarf from Mary and George, handkerchiefs from the twins, and in the other packet, something from Louisa, two pairs of tights—the wrong size, Emily noted wryly.
There was plenty to keep them occupied during the morning. She and Mrs Wright tied the last of their presents while the doctor read his paper and presently Emily put on her outdoor things and walked to the village. They needed more labels and she was nothing loath to trying out the odd word of Dutch she had painstakingly acquired during the week she had been in Holland. She was on her way back when the Professor overtook her in the Jag. He stopped and opened the door for her to get in, observing as he did so: ‘Our good Dutch air suits you, Emily, your cheeks are pink.’
‘And my nose, I’ve no doubt. But it’s lovely here. Don’t you dislike London when you have to go there?’
‘There’s more social life there—theatres and good restaurants, but this is my home.’
He turned the Jag into the drive and slowed the car. ‘Do you like my home, Emily?’
‘Very much. It’s a bit large—I mean, not for you because you’re used to it, but it’s…’ she paused for a word and couldn’t find one. ‘It’s very beautiful,’ she finished. ‘You must love it.’
‘Well, yes,’ he had idled the car to a halt before the door, ‘an ancestor of mine built it and we’ve lived in it ever since. I know every stick and stone about the place and every man, woman and child for miles around, and if that makes me sound deadly dull, I enjoy a night out at a London night club as much as the next man.’
‘I’ve never been to a night club,’ said Emily, and then blushed because it sounded as though she was fishing to be taken to one. But it couldn’t have entered his head; his face remained blandly polite as he leaned across to open her door.
Decorating the tree turned out to be a hilarious business; it involved climbing up and down a ladder, laden with tinsel or whatever, while those who weren’t doing the climbing stood round telling the climber just what to do. Half way through the first of the family arrived—the Professor’s sister Evelina and her husband Nikolaas. Evelina was tall and slim and very pretty with the Professor�
��s straight nose and big blue eyes. She hugged her brother, greeted the Wrights like old friends and then hugged Emily. ‘Isn’t this fun?’ she asked everyone in an English almost as good as the Professor’s. ‘Nik, do go and bring in the presents and I’m dying for tea or a drink.’
‘Tea,’ her brother corrected her. ‘Hans shall bring it in a few minutes.’ He spoke from the other side of the tree, standing on the top rung of the ladder while he arranged the star just so.
His younger brother Franz came next, accompanied by a willowy girl with huge eyes and the kind of make-up Emily could never hope to achieve. She shuddered at the sight of the sugary cakes and biscuits which had arrived with the tea tray and drank her tea without sugar or milk, muttering about calories to anyone who would listen to her. Emily wondered if Franz was serious about her and thought not; he must have been at least ten years younger than the Professor, good-looking, she conceded, but cast in a less giantlike mould than his brother. He was charming to her so that she began to enjoy herself, and when somebody turned on the radio and he caught her round the waist and whirled her into the centre of the big room to dance, she whirled and twirled with the unselfconscious pleasure of a little girl.
More aunts and uncles and cousins arrived presently, so that the old house rang with voices and laughter and finally, when Emily went downstairs before dinner, wearing the velvet skirt and the Liberty top, she had taken Mrs Wright’s advice too and taken great pains with her hair; instead of screwing it rather tightly into a big knob on top of her head, she had allow the sides to be looser and rolled her brown hair into carefully pinned coils. She only hoped that they would stay as they were and she still wasn’t sure if all her effort had been worthwhile.
But they had. The Professor, waiting in his vast drawing room, his grandmother already sitting by fire, a few of his family already assembled, crossed the silky carpet to meet her. He stopped short in front of her and said, smiling a little: ‘You have such pretty hair; I’ve often wondered why you scraped it back so severely. It’s nice. Come and have a drink.’
