Roses for Christmas

by Betty Neels

  Happily the relapse had been a brief one; on the fourth day Henry had woken up with a temperature which was almost normal again, demanding tea and toast and Margaret to talk to. Eleanor, hearing voices in her brother’s room at five o’clock in the morning, had gone at once to see what the matter was, and discovered Fulk sitting back in his chair, sharing a pot of tea with his patient. He had taken one look at her distraught countenance and said comfortably: ‘Fetch a tooth mug, Eleanor, and join us in our early tea; Henry is debating the important question as to what he would like for his breakfast. I fancy that we are out of the wood.’

  She had gone back into the bathroom and picked up the mug and then sat down on the edge of the bath. She had been wanting to have a good cry for some time now, but somehow the opportunity had never occurred, but now, opportunity or not, the tears poured down her cheeks, willy-nilly. She hardly noticed when Fulk took the mug from her, wiped her face with a towel and sat down beside her. ‘Watering pot,’ he said kindly, ‘you weep as copiously as you used to when you were a little girl.’

  She sniffed into the towel. ‘So would you if you were me,’ she declared in a muffled voice. ‘I’ve been so afraid that Henry…do you suppose there will be any lasting damage?’

  ‘Unlikely.’ Fulk had put an arm round her and it felt very comforting. ‘This setback only means that he has to take a little longer to get on to his feet again.’

  Eleanor sniffed. ‘You’re sure?’ And then because of the look of surprise on his face: ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon, just for a moment I forgot who you were—of course you’re sure. How happy Mother and Father will be…’ She sat up and felt his arm slacken. ‘I’ll get dressed and get some breakfast for Henry—shall I get some for you too? You’ve been sitting there since twelve o’clock, you must be hungry. If you’re very quick, you could get at least three hours’ sleep before you need to leave.’

  ‘So I could, but I won’t, I’ll have breakfast with Henry and you. Scrambled eggs for him and weak tea, and I’ll have eggs and bacon—three eggs, and toast and marmalade and coffee—you have whatever you like for yourself. Don’t dress; if Henry has a light meal now he will probably sleep again for several hours and that will do him good as well as keep him quiet.’ He studied her face. ‘You don’t look too bad,’ he remarked. ‘Off with you and I’ll come down and carry the tray up for you—fifteen minutes, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ she smiled rather mistily, and went down to the kitchen, a vast room with a vaulted ceiling, cupboards which would have housed a family, an imposing dresser which took up the whole of one wall, and enough labour-saving gadgets to gladden the heart of the most pernickety woman—no wonder Juffrouw Witsma always looked so contented! Eleanor peered around her with envy and opened the nearest cupboard door.

  Fulk had been right again; Henry ate every morsel of his frugal breakfast, murmured ‘Super,’ and went at once to sleep, not to wake again until the morning was far advanced, demanding something else to eat. And that evening when Fulk came home they all played a sedate game of Ludo, careful not to get too excited about it, and when finally Henry had been tucked down for the night they went down to dinner, leaving Tekla on guard, because, as Fulk pointed out, she was a sensible girl with a string of small brothers and sisters of her own and knew how to handle children. Their meal was a cheerful one, for Margaret and Fulk were on excellent terms with each other and between them soon had Eleanor laughing with them.

  The week passed quickly after that, with Henry improving rapidly—too rapidly, for he wanted to do everything at once. It was easier when at the end of the week, Fulk said that he might sit out for an hour or two each day, so that he and Margaret could amuse themselves at the small card table, and Eleanor seized these brief periods in which to take brisk walks, enjoying the wintry weather and the cold wind after so many days indoors. She ventured out of the grounds after the first day, exploring the narrow lanes running between the flat, frost-covered water meadows. There wasn’t a great deal to see, but it was peaceful as well as invigorating. She told herself that she felt much better for these outings, while at the same time aware that there was a hard core of sadness somewhere deep inside her, which for some reason or other she was loath to probe.

  She saw little of Fulk; he left early each morning and sometimes he wasn’t back until after they had had their dinner in the evening. He saw Henry twice a day, of course, but his remarks were mostly limited to the boy’s condition, and recommendations as to his further treatment. Walking briskly back to the house on the Friday afternoon, Eleanor found herself looking forward to the weekend; Fulk would be home.

  He arrived after tea, driving the Daimler Sovereign he used for the short journey to and from the hospital and his consulting rooms. Eleanor, who happened to be in the hall when he came in, thought that he looked tired and bad-tempered with it; he must have had a tiresome day. She said ‘Hullo,’ in a conciliatory voice and asked: ‘Shall I ask someone to bring you some tea?’

  He had shrugged himself out of his topcoat and started across the hall towards his study, his briefcase in his hand. ‘No time,’ he told her briefly, and went inside, closing the door firmly behind him. Eleanor went upstairs to make sure that Henry wasn’t getting above himself, cautioned him in a sisterly fashion, bade Margaret keep a sharp eye on her brother and went downstairs again to look for Moggy. She was returning from the kitchen, the kitten tucked under one arm, when she encountered Fulk once more, and urged on by a wish to see his tired face smile, asked: ‘Did you have a bad day?’

  He checked his stride to look at her. He was in a bad temper all right, his dark face frowning, his mouth a straight line; it surprised her very much when he said: ‘No,’ but she waited a moment, thinking that he might want to say something else. When he did speak, she was even more surprised.

  ‘I’m going away for the weekend,’ he said in a bland, cold voice she didn’t much care for. ‘Henry’s quite safe to leave; in any case, I’ve asked Professor van Esbink to keep an eye on him. I’m leaving in half an hour and when I return on Tuesday I shall go straight to my rooms, so if you wish to say anything, you had better say it now.’

  Eleanor stood, her mouth a little open, quite unable to think of a single word to say. When he said, still in that hateful voice: ‘You’re not usually so short of words,’ she snapped her mouth shut and then said: ‘What am I supposed to say? I’ll wish you a pleasant weekend if that’s what you want, though in your present nasty temper I should be sorry for your companions, but perhaps you’ll feel better by the time you get to wherever you’re going.’

  ‘Fishing!’ he declared. ‘You want to know where I’m going, don’t you? Cannes—to see Imogen.’

  Eleanor was conscious of a peculiar sensation which she didn’t have time to ponder. She said with false cheerfulness: ‘How nice for you both,’ and then more urgently: ‘You’re never going to drive all that way and then back again by Tuesday?’

  He raised his brows. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘It’s miles—you’re tired already…’

  His voice was silky now. ‘Eleanor, I brought you here to look after your brother. And now, if you will excuse me.’

  ‘It’s too far,’ declared Eleanor wildly.

  ‘Roughly seven hundred and fifty miles—fifteen hours’ driving on excellent roads.’ He smiled thinly. ‘If it makes you feel better, I shall only drive six or seven hours before I rack up for the night. I should be in Cannes some time during tomorrow afternoon.’

  ‘But coming back?’ she persisted, and then drew a sharp breath as he said blandly: ‘I haven’t been so fussed over since I had a nanny.’

  She stood just where she was, watching him go, listening to the high-powered whine of the Panther. It sounded very loud in the quiet house.

  ‘Fuss over him!’ said Eleanor to no one in particular. ‘Of course I fuss over him, and how fantastic it is that I’ve only just this minute discovered that I’m in love with the wretch.’ The sad feeling could be explained now, as well
as the eager looking forward to the weekend; perhaps she had known all the time without realizing it.

  She kissed the top of Moggy’s furry little head and started slowly up the staircase; the less she thought about it the better; by the time she saw Fulk again on Tuesday she would have forced herself to accept the idea and turn her back on it—because that was what she was going to have to do. She allowed herself a few moments of pure envy of Imogen, wondering what it would be like to know that a man loved you so much that he would make a round trip of fifteen hundred miles just to be with you for a day. She sighed so deeply that Moggy became dislodged and stuck a needlelike claw into her arm; she didn’t feel it, her thoughts were with Fulk, driving through the dark winter evening and on into an even darker night, intent on reaching his Imogen as quickly as possible.

  Eleanor paused at the top of the stairs; if she had been Imogen she would have gone half way—no, the whole way, to meet Fulk. After all, the girl did nothing, while he was wearing himself to a shadow, what with his work at the hospital, his own practice, and staying up half the night with Henry. That there was something absurd in describing a large man of fifteen stone or thereabouts as being worn to a shadow didn’t cross her mind. She could only imagine him going to sleep at the wheel of his powerful car and crashing somewhere remote and dying before anyone could reach him. She opened Henry’s door, offered Moggy to her brother and allowed herself to be persuaded to enjoy a game of three-handed whist. She played very badly; understandable enough, considering that her head was full of Fulk and nothing else.

  The weekend dragged by on leaden feet for Eleanor. Somehow she got through it, thankful that Henry was indeed well again and that Margaret was perfectly content to stay where she was. She telephoned her parents each evening because Fulk had told her to do so, giving them a racy account of Henry’s progress and even venturing to speak of his return in the not too distant future. ‘Perhaps for Christmas,’ she essayed. ‘I’ve not given a thought to presents yet, we’re miles from the shops, you know, and I haven’t been able to get out much—I’ll have to rush round and buy them when we get back.’ The thought of the ward and of Miss Tremble, who would certainly be there, and all the rush and bustle of Christmas in hospital gave her no joy at all, and her feelings must have sounded in her voice, for her mother asked: ‘You’re all right, dear? You sound…perhaps you’re tired.’

  Eleanor agreed that she was and handed the receiver to Margaret.

  It was late on Tuesday evening before she saw Fulk. It had been a cold day with a hint of snow. Probably it was this inclement weather as well as his long drive which had so lined and sharpened his handsome features. Henry had been asleep for some time and Margaret was flitting around in her dressing gown, putting off her own bedtime for as long as possible while Eleanor carried up the lemonade which Henry might want in the night before going downstairs once again to fetch Moggy to sleep on the end of the invalid’s bed. She was on her way upstairs once more, the little beast under her arm, when the door behind her opened and shut, and when she turned round: ‘How’s Henry?’ asked Fulk.

  She saw his tired face. ‘He’s splendid. Professor van Esbink telephoned twice, but there was no need for him to come.’

  Fulk threw his coat and gloves into a chair and crossed the hall to stand at the foot of the stairs. ‘I know, he telephoned me this morning. He has a high opinion of you, Eleanor, did you know that? He would like you to work for him.’

  She digested this flattering information in silence and jumped when he said sharply: ‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me if I had a pleasant weekend?’

  ‘Well, I did want to,’ she told him spiritedly, ‘but I didn’t feel like being snubbed.’

  He moved very fast; he was beside her almost before she had finished speaking. She hadn’t bargained for it and he was far too near for her peace of mind, and that peace was wholly shattered when he kissed her quite fiercely on her mouth, all without saying a word. He was back in the hall again while she was still blinking over it.

  ‘I’m going to have something to eat,’ he told her in a perfectly ordinary voice. ‘I’ll be up to see Henry later.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FULK DIDN’T COME for almost an hour, which gave Eleanor time to find a number of good reasons for his behaviour. It had been a kind of reaction, she told herself; he had been with Imogen and probably he was missing her terribly, and because Eleanor had been the only girl around he had probably kissed her to relieve his unhappy feelings. It was a silly argument, but she couldn’t think of a better one. The obvious thing to do was to ignore the whole incident, which wasn’t very easy, but by the time he did appear, she had succeeded in acquiring a calm manner and a placid face, although beneath this exemplary façade her feelings were churning around inside her in a most disturbing manner.

  But it had all been rather a waste of time, for he had barely looked at her and his manner, when he spoke, was very much that of the family doctor—affable, impersonal and just a little out of reach. He stayed only long enough to assure himself that all was well with Henry before wishing her a casual good night and going away again, and she went to bed shortly afterwards, quite bewildered and very unhappy.

  Henry was allowed up the next day; dressed, he looked small and thin and far too pale, but his appetite was excellent and although his exercise was very limited, he was at least on his feet once more. The weather was still wintry, but Fulk, after the first couple of days, took him for short drives each day, fitting them in, Eleanor suspected, during his lunch hour, but when she had remonstrated about this, he had told her quite sharply that he had plenty of free time during the middle of the day and that he enjoyed the drives as much as his passenger did.

  It would be Sint Nikolaas in a few days; Eleanor, who had heard all about it from Margaret, who had in her turn got it from Hermina, wondered if Fulk intended to do anything about it. She didn’t like to bring the subject up in case he felt that she was expecting him to celebrate the occasion in some way, but on the other hand Margaret had told Henry about it and she had heard them speculating together as to whether they would be getting any presents; she would have to do something about it after all. Until this moment she hadn’t needed any money; she had a little English money with her, but no Dutch, and it looked as though she would need some; she didn’t like the idea, but she would have to talk to Fulk about it.

  But there was no need; at breakfast the next morning, a meal at which she arrived a little late because of Henry’s small demands, Margaret was already broaching the matter. Fulk, immersed in his mail, as he almost always was, got to his feet as she joined them, wished her good morning and went back to his letters. Eleanor didn’t think that he looked over-friendly, but Margaret hadn’t noticed his withdrawn expression, or if she had, she had decided to ignore it.

  ‘Fulk,’ she said cheerfully, ‘I want to go to some shops and I expect Eleanor does too, only I don’t know how to set about it. I haven’t any money, though Eleanor has, but it’s pounds. Could we leave Henry for just a little while, do you suppose?’

  He put down the letter he was reading and gave her his full attention. ‘My dear child, that can easily be arranged—how stupid of me not to have thought of it before.’ He glanced at Eleanor, his eyebrows raised. ‘Why did you not ask me sooner?’

  ‘Well—I hadn’t thought about it, not until yesterday, and I had no idea that Margaret was going to say anything to you—I’d made up my mind to ask you myself.’

  ‘You should have asked sooner. I’m afraid that I can’t spare the time to stay with Henry, but I will arrange for a nurse to come for the day and keep him company—would tomorrow suit you?’

  He smiled nicely at her, although she had the impression that his mind was occupied by some other matter. She said diffidently: ‘Well, if it’s not being too much of a bother…’

  He was reading his letter again. ‘None whatever,’ he assured her. He got up to go very shortly afterwards, pausing only to say: ‘Let me hav
e what money you wish to change, Eleanor, and I will give you guldens for it.’

  When he had gone Eleanor turned to her sister. ‘Darling,’ she cried, ‘whatever made you ask Fulk? I mean, he was so preoccupied. I’d thought about it too, but really this morning of all times, when you could see that he had all those letters.’

  ‘Pooh,’ said Margaret forcefully, ‘he’d read them all ages ago. He wasn’t busy at all, just staring at that letter he was holding—he’d read it at least six times—I watched him. Besides, I want to buy Henry something for Sint Nikolaas, he’ll be frightfully disappointed if he doesn’t get a present. How shall we go? I suppose Groningen is the nearest place?’

  ‘I should think so—perhaps there’s a bus. I wonder if a taxi would cost a lot?’ Eleanor frowned. ‘And when are we to go? In the morning or after lunch, and do you suppose there will be someone in the shops who’ll speak English?’

  She worried about it on and off during the rest of the day, which turned out to be a waste of time, for when Fulk came home he told them that he would return during the midday break and drive them into Groningen and pick them up again when he had finished his work in the afternoon. ‘Better still,’ he suggested, ‘I’ll show you where my consulting rooms are and you can come there. Eleanor, if you will come with me, I’ll give you the money you require.’

  She fetched her purse and followed him across the hall to his study. ‘I’m not sure how much we need to spend,’ she told him. ‘It’s just a present for Henry, and I want to buy something for Margaret, too…’

  He had gone to his desk and opened a drawer. ‘How much money can you spare?’ he asked her bluntly.

  ‘Well, would ten pounds be enough?’ It sounded a lot of money and they hadn’t much to buy.

  He had his head bent so that she couldn’t see his face, he said gently: ‘I daresay—all the same, supposing I let you have more than that; you can repay me later. I should perhaps have warned you that it is customary to give everyone a small gift on Sint Nikolaas Eve; perhaps you should buy some small trifle for Juffrouw Witsma and Tekla and Bep—oh, and old Mevrouw Brom, too.’