by Betty Neels
All the same, she found herself looking forward to their arrival at Madeira. Aunt Bess had already decided that she wouldn’t go ashore, but Jenny could if she wished; just for an hour or so in the morning before the ship sailed for Lanzarote.
They docked early in the morning and Jenny slipped on deck to get her first sight of Funchal, its white houses lining the water’s edge and climbing into the mountains looming at its back. It looked lovely in the early morning light; she craned her neck in all directions to get a better view and went back to drink her tea and dress before going to see how Aunt Bess was. She had had a good night, she declared, but still had no desire to go ashore. ‘On the way back,’ she decided, ‘but if you see anything you fancy, Jenny, buy it—the embroidery is exquisite, you know—something for Margaret and handkerchiefs for Mrs Thorpe, I suppose. Get what you like…’ She pushed her tray aside. ‘And get me a paper, child, will you? Now run along and have your breakfast and go ashore, but be certain to be back in good time.’
‘You don’t mind?’ asked Jenny anxiously. ‘You’ll be all right? I’ve told the doctor…’
‘Don’t fuss!’
Jenny skipped away to eat an excellent breakfast, count her escudos and leave the ship. It had been a little difficult to avoid the offers of company she had received, for she hadn’t felt sociable, but by dint of hanging about until almost everyone had gone ashore, she had succeeded, although she had been delayed at the last minute by a cablegram from Toby, asking her if she had changed her mind. Without stopping to think she had gone back to Aunt Bess and spoken her mind, scowling horribly as she tore it up and flung it into the wastepaper basket, and Aunt Bess had said sharply: ‘You’re being a silly girl, Janet. It would be an excellent marriage from every point of view.’
‘Except mine,’ snorted Jenny.
‘Pooh!’ her aunt had spoken strongly. ‘You don’t know what you want.’
Jenny wandered down the gangway after that, smiled at the first officer who was standing on the quay, and strolled through the noise and bustle around her, looking cool and very pretty in her blue cotton dress and wide straw hat. Perhaps she didn’t know what she wanted, she mused, but at least she knew what she didn’t want. She walked on, out of the dock and along the road towards the town. It was already warm and she had no definite plans of what she should do. A little shopping, she supposed, and a long, cool drink in a café.
CHAPTER FIVE
SHE HAD BEEN walking for perhaps five minutes when she saw the Professor strolling towards her, nattily dressed in light slacks and a cotton shirt. She almost fell over her own feet, stopping so suddenly at the sight of him, aware of a glow of pleasure flooding her person, which, considering that they didn’t like each other, seemed strange.
His, ‘Good morning, Jenny Wren,’ was coolly friendly and showed no surprise.
‘Well, I never!’ she exclaimed. ‘However did you get here?’
He forbore from telling her that he had flown his own plane over. ‘Oh, there are ways and means,’ he told her airily.
‘Oh—on holiday?’ she went on.
‘Er—yes, one might call it that. Your aunt is on board?’
‘Yes. Were you going to see her? I left her writing letters…’
‘You have had your breakfast?’
‘Ages ago.’
‘Would it annoy you very much to come with me while I look her over?’ He caught her by the arm and turned her round smartly and began to stroll back towards the quayside, without waiting for her reply. ‘I remembered that your ship would be calling here this morning and it seemed a suitable opportunity…’
‘You aren’t worried about her?’ asked Jenny quickly.
‘If you mean do I anticipate any recurrence of the old trouble, I do not.’ He went on to talk about nothing much until they reached the ship once more. As they went past the first officer, Jenny paused to explain: ‘My aunt’s doctor,’ and when they were out of earshot:
‘My dear girl,’ observed her companion mildly. ‘I’m a surgeon. You, a nurse, should know the difference.’
‘Well, of course I do,’ she was a little impatient. ‘I didn’t know you were so fussy about a little thing like that.’
The Professor made a small choking sound. ‘There is a considerable difference—’ he began, still mild to be cut short by her: ‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy!’
They had reached the sun-deck by now and she tapped on her aunt’s door, looking at him over her shoulder as she spoke.
He swooped, there was no other word for it, and kissed her hard and with expertise. ‘Stuffy?’ he asked silkily, and hearing Miss Creed’s voice bidding them enter, opened the door. Jenny stepped past him nicely pink in the cheeks, her chin up, her eyes very bright, so that Aunt Bess, looking up from her writing, exclaimed tartly: ‘You look as though you’ve been quarrelling or kissing, Janet—which…’ She paused as her eyes lighted on the Professor’s vast frame in the doorway. ‘Ah, it’s you.’ She didn’t sound surprised. ‘And are you on holiday too, Eduard?’
Despite her sharp voice she smiled at him and his mouth curved a little as he told her: ‘A brief day or so. I realised that you would be calling here today and it seemed a good idea to look you up.’
‘Huh—to examine me, I suppose, and send me a bill afterwards.’
‘Er—examine you, yes, but since we are both on holiday I had intended to waive my fee.’
Miss Creed took him up smartly. ‘You’re more sensible than I thought. Certainly you may examine me. Now?’
‘If it is convenient,’ he murmured, ‘and just a few questions…’
His patient threw down her book. ‘Jenny, turn yourself into a nurse and see to me.’ And to the Professor: ‘Where is your stethoscope?’
‘I hardly think I need it. Your pulse, a quick look at the scar, and as I said, a question or two.’
Miss Creed waved an imperious hand at Jenny. ‘Then run along, child, I shan’t need you. Be back for lunch.’
But Jenny stayed where she was. ‘You don’t need me, Professor van Draak?’ she asked in a cool voice. His glance was quick and casual. ‘Not at the moment, thank you.’
‘Then be sure and return at the right time,’ reiterated her aunt, and since there was nothing more to be said, she went.
But somehow the fun had gone out of the morning. She walked slowly away from the ship and along the road curving beside the water until she reached the town, where she pottered a little aimlessly round the shops, had a long, cool drink at a pavement café, quite unconscious of the stares her pretty face and bright hair induced, and then wandered on again. She was supposed to be buying things, but it was getting warm now and although she had an hour to kill, she felt disinclined to spend it in the shops.
The small side streets looked inviting and a little mysterious, leading away from the town’s centre towards the mountains looming in the distance. Jenny turned into one of them and had taken barely a dozen paces when the Professor’s large, firm hand gripped her shoulder, making her jump and turn sharply.
‘Not up here, dear girl,’ he begged her.
‘Scaring me like that!’ uttered Jenny peevishly. ‘Creeping up behind me…’
‘I didn’t creep.’ He sounded meek, although she was sure that he wasn’t meek at all. ‘I merely followed you to warn you that this part of the town isn’t really for young tourists.’
‘Who is it for?’
His eyes laughed down at her. ‘Shall we say men only?’
She gave him a stony look. ‘Well, there’s no way of knowing.’ She felt belligerent, caught unawares, and at a disadvantage.
His hand slid from her shoulder and caught her elbow instead and she found herself walking back the way she had come. ‘I should have been perfectly all right,’ she protested with slight pettishness.
He stopped to look down at her. ‘With that face and hair?’ He shook his head. ‘Come and have a drink.’
‘I’ve had one, thank you.’
‘One
should drink plenty in this heat. Doctor’s advice.’
‘But you’re not a doctor—you’re a surgeon, you said so.’
‘Ah, yes—so I did. I’m a modest man; I tend to hide my light under a bushel. I do happen to be a doctor of medicine, but I never cared for the medical side and I tend to forget…’
‘Well,’ said Jenny, exasperated, ‘you might have told me!’
‘You didn’t ask.’ He had steered her through the streets to a pavement table outside one of the cafés and pulled out a chair. ‘Now sit down and bury the hatchet while you cool your fiery feelings with a long drink. What would you like? Have you tried Sangria?’
‘No—I had a soft drink.’
‘Then you must sample it.’ He sat down gingerly on the flimsy chair and gave their order, then went on chattily: ‘So pleasant, these brief interludes.’
She let that pass. ‘How did you find Aunt Bess? Better, I hope?’ She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that she found them pleasant too.
He waited until their drinks arrived. ‘Remarkably fit—good reactions, and provided that she has told me the truth, she is making excellent progress. She will never be quite one hundred per cent again, you know that, but provided that she’s moderately careful she should be able to resume a more or less normal life. Do you mind if I smoke?’
Jenny said that no she didn’t and watched him fill his pipe. When it was nicely alight he asked: ‘I take it there will be a good chance of you going back to your job?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at Queen’s and not for some time, I think. You see, Dimworth is quite a large place to manage. But the season will be over soon; if Aunt Bess feels quite fit by then, I’ll see about getting another job.’
‘You mind giving up your nursing?’
She sipped her drink and found it good. ‘Well, yes—you see, while I’m in hospital I’m independent.’
‘And when you’re at Dimworth you have to conform?’
She had forgotten that she didn’t like him, that he was arrogant and brusque and laughed at her. Just to voice her troubled thoughts was a relief, and he was easy to talk to. ‘Yes.’
‘And dwindle away into spinsterhood? I think not.’
‘Well, no—actually Aunt Bess wants me to marry…’
‘She has mentioned it—the young man Toby. Very suitable, I gather.’
‘Yes, but I don’t want to marry him.’ She sounded pathetic without meaning to.
‘This is a free world, Jenny—or at least parts of it are, and it’s your life, isn’t it? Throw him over, this so worthy young man.’
‘Well, I’ve been throwing him over for years—but he’s so—so nice—much too nice for me.’
‘You wish to marry a man who is not nice?’ There was laughter in his voice.
‘Don’t pick on words!’ snapped Jenny. ‘You know very well what I mean.’ She sucked her drink through the two straws with childlike pleasure and went on. ‘He’s—he’s…well, if you must know, he always lets me have my own way.’
Her companion puffed smoke gently, his eyes on the graceful rings he was making. ‘Ah—and you are wise enough to know that wouldn’t be a good thing for you.’
‘I never…’ began Jenny. ‘He’s a very nice man, I said so.’ She added unkindly: ‘He’s young too.’
The Professor looked blandly across the little table at her. ‘Another reason why you shouldn’t marry him—although,’ he went on judicially, ‘perhaps you would suit each other very well after all. You could be bossy-boots for the rest of your life and he would become nicer and nicer—meek is I think your word for it. Your children would be simply ghastly.’
Jenny choked. ‘Bossy-boots!’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever next?’ She swallowed the rest of her drink, anxious to be gone from this tiresome man. ‘I am not—and my children will be simply super…’
‘Given the right father,’ conceded the Professor, and Jenny, choking again on the last few drops of her drink, caught her breath and had to be slapped sharply on the back, so that the tears stood in her eyes and she became quite purple in the face.
‘You really shouldn’t allow yourself to become so worked up,’ advised the Professor kindly, ‘nor should you gobble down your drinks in that fashion.’
Jenny, her breath back, let it out slowly. ‘You are quite detestable,’ she told him in an icy voice unfortunately spoilt by a hiccough. ‘I am not worked up, only when you deliberately annoy me.’
‘My dear Miss Wren—or may I call you Jenny?—I am the mildest of men…’
‘Rubbish, and you’ve been calling me Jenny for goodness knows how long. You are a bad-tempered man, determined to annoy me!’
His look of astonishment was a masterpiece. ‘Good gracious—I? Annoy you? Though I must confess to a bad temper. A man must have a few faults,’ he added modestly. ‘Have another Sangria?’
She said with dignity, ‘Very well, I will, thank you.’
He beamed at her. ‘Friends again?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer but embarked upon a gentle flow of small talk which required little or no answer. Indeed, he gave her very little chance of replying even if she had wanted to, and at length interrupted himself to say: ‘It’s almost lunch time, I’ll take you back to the ship.’
They went by taxi, and Jenny was unaccountably annoyed at his very casual goodbye at the foot of the gangplank.
She lunched with little appetite and then, because Aunt Bess had changed her mind and wanted to go ashore after all, spent the next hour or so in a hired car which took them from Funchal along the coast road to Canico and Santa Cruz and Machico, before driving over the Portela Pass to Faial. Aunt Bess was getting tired by then, so they stopped for a cool drink and returned to the ship in plenty of time to settle her for a nap before dressing for dinner. She was already dozing as Jenny left her and went to her own cabin to review her wardrobe. There were several pretty dresses she hadn’t worn yet, but she eyed them without much interest; any old thing would do, she decided for there was no one to notice what she wore. She didn’t go too deeply into who the no one might be and perhaps in defiance of the half hidden thought, made up her mind to make the effort after all and wear a leaf green chiffon, a filmy creation which looked nothing at all on its hanger but did wonders for a girl once it was on, especially when she happened to have coppery hair.
Aunt Bess, refreshed after her nap, and with the stewardess to help her, had clothed herself with some splendour, zipped and buttoned into plum-coloured silk, a number of gold chains draped across her massive front. She lifted the old-fashioned gold-rimmed spectacles hanging from one of them as Jenny went in and studied her niece.
‘Very nice,’ she pronounced. ‘We will have a drink.’
‘Tonic water, Aunt,’ said Jenny firmly, and led her elderly relative to the nearest lift.
The bar was quite full; Jenny knew most of the people there by now and she smiled and nodded to them as she accompanied her aunt to their usual corner, left empty by tacit consent. Only it wasn’t empty. The Professor, in all the subdued elegance of white dinner jacket and black tie, was already there. He rose and came towards them and took Miss Creed’s hand. ‘This is delightful,’ he observed, addressing her and smiling only briefly at Jenny. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of ordering your usual drinks.’
He had settled Aunt Bess in her usual seat as he spoke, pulled out a chair for Jenny and sat down between them before she found her voice to say: ‘Are you travelling on this ship too? I thought…’
His smile held a touch of mockery and his voice was cool. ‘You forget, I’m on holiday too.’
She persisted: ‘Yes, but this morning…’
‘I don’t remember it being mentioned,’ he snubbed her gently, and turned to make small talk with Miss Creed while Jenny, in a quite nasty temper, studied his profile. Arrogant, she muttered silently, and rude he could at least pretend to be civil! She stared at the glass in her hand, gloomily contemplating several days of avoiding his company. His
quiet observation, ‘Yes, it is quite a small ship as ships go,’ was so appropriate to her thoughts that she flushed and drank unwisely, almost all of her Pimm’s Number One. It didn’t help at all, either, when he leaned forward and took the glass from her hand and said in an avuncular manner: ‘I did warn you not to gobble your drinks, Jenny.’
She shot him a fiery look, quite unable to answer for the moment, and in any case Aunt Bess had embarked on an account of their afternoon drive in her compelling voice, allowing for no one else to speak save when she paused for suitable comment.
The Professor was sitting at the captain’s table too. What was worse, he faced Jenny across it, so that each time she looked up, it was to find his eyes upon her, a fact which caused her to carry on an animated conversation with the elderly man on her right—something to do with shipping, although she wasn’t sure what—and presently she turned her attention to the famous journalist on her left, whose manner was a shade too charming for her taste. Until now she had kept him at arm’s length, but now, with the Professor within a yard or so of her, his firm mouth curled into the tiniest of sneers, she allowed herself to be drawn into frivolous chat with the man. But before long she wished that she hadn’t been so forthcoming, for he showed every sign of turning the inch she had given him into an ell. Moreover, she was only too well aware of the Professor’s sardonic eye. She was doing her best to wriggle gracefully out of accepting an invitation to go on a sightseeing tour of Lanzarote in the journalist’s hired car when the Professor came to her rescue.
