by Betty Neels
She should have shouted in Dutch, of course, only she didn’t know the word for trees. She shouted again and added: ‘Hurry, please hurry!’ and caught her breath as the beam from a powerful torch was shone over her, and the Professor’s voice, sounding quite harsh, came from somewhere behind it. It was a pity that he spoke in Dutch, for she couldn’t understand a word of it, and when he switched to English he sounded as calm as he always did.
‘I hurried the moment I heard you scream,’ he told her mildly. He dropped on a knee beside her and lifted his grandmother out of her stiff, numbed arms, and Emily, now that they were being rescued, allowed the tears to stream down her cold cheeks. ‘She’s been unconscious all the time,’ she said through chattering teeth. ‘I couldn’t examine her properly, but I felt her arms and legs; her left ankle’s swollen.’ She gulped. ‘Her pulse wasn’t too bad. She’s not—not…?’
‘No, she’s not.’ He lifted his voice in a great bellow and she saw torchlight through the trees. ‘And you?’ His voice was very gentle now, not harsh at all. ‘Are you all right, little Emily?’
‘Yes—yes, I’m fine.’ People crowded round them now, half a dozen men with torches, all talking at once. The Professor spoke to them and the stretcher someone had been carrying was unfolded and his grandmother gently laid upon it. Emily’s coat was still wrapped round her, but she had forgotten all about it. It wasn’t until the Professor straightened up from another quick examination of the old lady and seen the stretcher bearers on their way that he exclaimed: ‘Your coat—where is it? You’re frozen, Emily!’
‘I put it round your granny.’ She was still crying although she didn’t know it any more. She started to get to her feet and discovered that they were numb with the cold and wouldn’t do anything she wanted them to do, but now it didn’t matter, for the Professor had taken off his sheepskin jacket and enveloped her in it with a word to the men standing by, picked her up, and lighted by his companions, carried her out of the wood. The rain had turned to sleet and the wind had strengthened its cold breath and she muttered against his jacket: ‘You’ll catch your death of cold.’ But he only laughed, a deep rumble which vibrated against her ear and somehow made her feel quite cheerful again.
From time to time she begged him to put her down, but it was a waste of breath—he took no notice at all, striding steadily over the icy ground until he reached the cottages. There was a Range Rover parked in the narrow lane and the men were putting the stretcher carefully into it. The Professor slid Emily tidily into the front seat and went to take another look at his grandmother, but only for a moment. He got in beside her, Hans clambered into the back while the other men went back to their cottages, and before she had time to realise that her arms and legs were thawing and hurting like blazes, they were before the house. ‘Stay where you are,’ commanded the Professor, and leapt out, and Emily, tired and shivering with cold and a still remembered fright, was only too happy to do as she was told.
When he came back she asked: ‘Your grandmother? Is she all right? Will she have to go to hospital?’
He had got in beside her and flung an arm round her shoulders and she longed to lean against him and have another good howl, but instead she held herself stiffly and she felt his hold slacken. ‘No, I don’t think so—she’s conscious now and her ankle’s sprained, not broken. There’s no sign of concussion; I think it was the cold and the shock of the fall. I’ve telephoned for a nurse to come out and be with her for the night. We can take another look at her in the morning, what she needs now is a sound sleep.’ He turned to look searchingly at her puffy blotchy face. ‘And so do you. Bep is going to see you into bed. A bath first, not too hot, mind, and I’ll come and look you over later.’
‘But I’m quite all right, really I am, only cold.’
‘And brave and uncomplaining and sensible. You saved Grandmother’s life, Emily. I can never thank you enough for that.’ He sighed. ‘The darling, pig-headed old lady! I should have guessed. I suppose she saw me go out with Heleen.’
‘I saw you go out with her, too.’ said Emily, and could have bitten out her tongue for saying it.
‘A pretty girl, isn’t she?’ observed the Professor blandly. ‘And now—bed, my girl.’
He helped her out of the car because her feet weren’t really quite themselves yet and once in the hall he picked her up and took her upstairs and dumped her on the bed with Mrs Wright and Bep hovering on either side.
‘You’ll eat your supper,’ he told her, ‘then I’ll come and have a look at you.’
A warm bath was heaven with Mrs Wright and Bep fussing round her like two fond mothers, and because she sneezed twice as she got into bed, Bep fetched a woollen shawl and insisted on tucking Emily into it before her supper was brought up to her. ‘Eat every morsel,’ warned Mrs Wright, and Emily, quite famished, did just that, and what with the good food and a kind of delayed relief, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
When she woke up the Professor was sitting on the side of the bed, holding her hand. As she opened her eyes he observed: ‘You look about ten years old with all that hair and that woolly shawl. Bep tells me that you sneezed.’
She was about to tell him that she often sneezed but never caught cold when she sneezed again, whereupon he got up, went to the door, shouted ‘Maud!’ and came back again, this time to lean over the end of the bed, the stethoscope he had carried in his pocket in his hand.
Mrs Wright joined them so quickly, Emily guessed that she had been waiting just outside the door. ‘Now it’s me being the nurse,’ she declared cheerfully. ‘What am I supposed to do?’
‘Er—unwrap Emily, if you would be so kind—just the shawl so that I can listen to her chest. I’m not sure how long she was with Grandmother, but it’s pretty cold outside.’
So Emily sat up in bed and said ‘ninety-nine’ each time he told her to and coughed meekly on command. ‘Nothing there,’ he assured her, and sounded just like the family doctor; a nice mixture of impersonal friendliness and reassurance. ‘Stay in bed for breakfast, Emily, and I’ll take another look at you in the morning.’
‘Very well, and will you please let me know how Mevrouw Jurres-Romeijn is getting on?’ She sneezed again and scrabbled round for a hanky and the Professor handed her his. It was enormous, very white, and smelled faintly of the best sort of aftershave. Emily blew hard and felt a silly wish to burst into tears again. She caught the first of them in time, though. ‘Oh, dear, now my eyes are watering—perhaps I have caught a cold, after all.’
The Professor was eyeing her closely. ‘Perhaps you have. On the other hand…’ He didn’t finish whatever it was he was going to say but uttered an abrupt ‘goodnight,’ and walked out of the room.
‘He’s had a trying day,’ said Mrs Wright.
Now he’d gone Emily didn’t bother about the tears. She mopped them away carelessly and said: ‘How could he have, with that pretty girl—he told me her name—Heleen.’
‘Yes, dear. One of any number. They all look alike to me.’ She added vaguely: ‘It’s like putting oil of cloves on an aching tooth, it soothes it for a time, but it doesn’t cure it.’
Emily was quite mystified; she had no idea what Mrs Wright meant, suddenly talking about toothache. Probably she was tired too. She sighed, remembering how the Professor had left the room like that, just as though he couldn’t bear the sight of her for another minute. And yet he had been very kind when he had found them. ‘I think I shall sleep like a top,’ she told Mrs Wright.
But before she could curl up for the night Bep appeared once more with a glass of milk heavily laced with brandy. She was to drink every drop, the Professor had said so. She did as she was bid, too sleepy to argue, and then still wrapped in Bep’s shawl, drifted off within minutes, greatly helped by the brandy. She didn’t wake all night, certainly not when the Professor came into the room on his way to his own bed in the early hours of the morning. He stood for a long while looking down at her. Only her face was visible, the rest was shrouded
in wool, her hair spilling out untidily on to the pillows. She was a little flushed and her small nose was pink. There were tearstains on her cheeks too, which she hadn’t bothered to wipe away. She looked, if truth must be told, like a very ordinary girl with a cold, but the Professor looked at her as though he had never seen anyone quite as beautiful in all his life.
The cold, routed by Emily’s extremely good health, the brandy and a good night’s sleep in a warm bed, was nothing more than a vague snuffle in the morning. The Professor, paying her a visit after breakfast, assured her that she had taken no harm from her cold sojourn, agreed that there was no reason why she couldn’t get up if she felt like it, and observed that he would be away all day. His manner, though friendly, was distant and he wasted no time on light conversation. Emily had the strong feeling that he couldn’t get away fast enough. He did remain long enough for her to enquire after Mevrouw Jurres-Romeijn, though. The old lady had slept all night, he assured her, and had sat up and eaten a splendid breakfast not half an hour since. He intended bringing a colleague back with him that evening to examine her and the ankle would keep her off her feet for a few days. The nurse was to remain and his grandmother had expressed a wish for Emily to visit her if and when she felt inclined to do so.
‘She knew nothing of you finding her, of course,’ explained the Professor, already half way to the door, ‘but she wants to thank you for saving her life.’
‘Oh, pooh,’ said Emily, embarrassed to the point of gruffness. ‘I didn’t do anything—anyone who’d have found her would have done the same.’
He paused once more, his hand on the door. ‘Yes, but it was you who found her, Emily.’ He didn’t return her tentative smile as he went out.
The Wrights were being driven by Hans to see some friends living in Loenen. Emily, up and dressed and assuring Bep that she had never felt better, went along to the floor above. Mevrouw Jurres-Romeijn was sitting up in bed, her hair beautifully arranged as always, a lacy bedjacket trimmed with swansdown that exactly matched the pink quilted bedspread, round her shoulders. She looked remarkably pretty and in the best of health. The nurse who had admitted Emily went away at a word from the old lady and Emily was told to sit by the bed and make herself comfortable. ‘Emma’s going to fetch the coffee.’ The bed’s occupant looked Emily over carefully. ‘You looked a bit peaked, child. I hope there was no harm done—Renier told me that you were on the ground without your coat for some time. I have to thank you for taking such care of me, Emily, and for saving my life. I am deeply indebted to you.’ She put out a delicately thin hand, with its thick wedding ring. ‘Come here and kiss me.’
Emily dropped a soft kiss on the old cheek and took the hand in hers.
‘I feel fine,’ she said gently, ‘and I’m so glad that you do too. I’m sorry about the ankle, though, but Professor Jurres-Romeijn said that it wasn’t too bad a sprain.’
‘Why don’t you call him Renier, child?’
Emily coloured faintly. ‘Well, you see I’ve worked for him and seen him on the wards doing his rounds and operating theatre—it seems impertinent.’
The old lady gave a chuckle. ‘He wouldn’t be pleased to hear that, he’s not—how do you say in your English?—cocky.’ She gave Emily’s hand a little shake. ‘Don’t you like him, Emily?’
Emily blushed. Whichever reply she made she could see that her companion was going to ask her why, and then she’d have to answer that too. She was saved from answering by Emma coming in with the coffee tray and seized on her respite to start talking feverishly about the weather, the Wrights going out and what charming cottages there were on the estate.
To all of which Mevrouw Jurres-Romeijn gave civil answers, only when they had had their coffee and Emma had gone again, she repeated: ‘Don’t you like my grandson, Emily?’
‘He’s an excellent surgeon,’ she said at length, aware that her answer was in danger of becoming hackneyed.
‘Well, he could be that and quite unacceptable in every other respect,’ her companion pointed out a little tartly, ‘but I think that is all the answer I’m going to get.’
‘Yes,’ said Emily firmly, ‘it is.’
The old lady nodded to herself in a satisfied manner. ‘It’s my birthday in two days’ time. I shall be eighty-one, there will be a party which you will attend, of course, for you don’t return until two days after that, do you?’
Emily smiled at the old lady. She had known about the party, the Professor had told them about it and she and Mrs Wright had put their heads together over their presents; a frivolous pink chiffon hanky case, to match which Emily had found some fine lawn hand-embroidered hankies. They were to dress for the occasion too and there would be a cake and champagne. Mevrouw Jurres-Romeijn’s bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement as she talked about it.
Presently Emily saw that the old lady was growing drowsy. She bade her goodbye, promising to come again in the evening, and went downstairs. It was too early for her solitary lunch, so she wandered into the drawing room and from there to the sitting room and the dining room, looking at all the pictures as she went. Some of them were very beautiful and she supposed valuable too. Presently she was joined by the dogs; Potter the bull terrier and Soapy, so called because, as the Professor said, he was soft in the head. They stayed with her until Bep came to tell her that her lunch was ready in the small sitting room behind the drawing room. They made nice company while she ate it and because she felt a little lonely she talked to them as she did so. She had reached the pudding, an apple tart with thick rich cream accompanying it, when the Professor walked in. She should have guessed who it was, of course, because the dogs had run to the door, but she was deep in thought, wondering about a job and where she should live, but at the sound of his voice telling the animals to behave themselves, she turned round to look at him.
‘Oh, they said you would be away all day.’
‘So I am officially, but I wanted to check up on Grandmother.’ He had sat himself down at the table and Bep arrived silently with a tray of coffee. ‘I wanted to check up on you too, Emily.’
‘Me?’ She didn’t quite meet his eye. ‘I’m fine. I sat with Mevrouw Jurres-Romeijn this morning. How will you manage about her birthday party?’
‘Easily enough. Carry her down to the drawing room and arrange her on one of the sofas. Your cold has come to nothing?’
She bit into the pie and chewed it up before she answered. ‘Yes.’
The Professor leaned back in his chair, his coffee cup in his hand. ‘If it was a cold. It can resemble so many other things—a gush of tears, for example.’
‘I was not crying,’ said Emily so quickly that he laughed.
‘No? All right, but tell me why you were, all the same.’
‘Well, I won’t, and it couldn’t possibly interest you anyway.’
‘What makes you say that?’ His voice was very smooth.
‘Nothing makes me say it, I just know…’
Bep had brought in another cup and fresh coffee and he poured a cup for her to take to Emily. When she had gone again, he got up and walked round the table and sat down on it, close to Emily, who sat looking into her cup as though it held something much more fascinating than coffee. Presently he stretched out an arm, took the cup from her and set it in the saucer, and when she looked up at him in surprise he bent down and kissed her.
‘Emily, you’re going back with the Wrights in two days’ time—would you stay on here instead?’ She was surprised to hear the uncertainty in his voice. ‘You could look after Grandmother; she has become very fond of you, and…’
She cut him short, terrified that if she allowed him to continue she would give in without any fight at all. What heaven, she thought, to stay here and see him every day, and at the same time she said sharply: ‘I can’t—it’s very kind of you to suggest it, but I have several interviews lined up…’ She plunged into a description of a series of mythical jobs she had been offered, aware that his eyes were fixed on her face and not q
uite certain if he believed her or not. ‘So you see, I couldn’t,’ she finished presently.
‘You are anxious to return to London and work in a hospital there? Carve a future for yourself?’ His bland voice had an edge to it.
‘Yes, oh, yes, rather! I’ve always been sold on the idea of being a career girl.’
He got up from the table. ‘I’m sorry, I had thought…never mind. The jobs you describe sound splendid, almost too good to be true,’ his voice was dry. ‘I’m sure you’ll make a success of one or other of them.’
