by Betty Neels
Margo, ashamed of her thoughts, allowed a pert young woman from the new estate in the next village to buy the last two hats at a very reduced price. The stall was almost empty now. A hard core of dresses, obviously bought by mistake in the first place, hung limply on their hangers; they would be bundled up once again and reappear at the spring jumble sale in aid of church funds.
She was folding the last of them—puce nylon with a pattern of startling green leaves and a draped front guaranteed to disguise the wearer’s curves completely—when the professor returned to the stall.
‘Finished? Good. How long will you be?’
‘Half an hour or so—why?’
‘I thought we might have dinner. Your aunt tells me that she is invited out for drinks and will probably be asked to dine with these friends of hers.’
Margo gave him a thoughtful look. ‘Thank you, but I’ve several things to do this evening and I can get my own supper if Aunt Florence isn’t there.’
‘Ah, you think—mistakenly—that I am obliging her by taking you out for a meal. Nothing of the kind. I consider it high time that we spent an hour or so in each other’s company unhampered by emergencies of any sort.’
‘Why?’
‘I think that if we had time to talk we might find that we have quite a lot in common.’
She had made up her mind not to see him again, to forget him, to pretend that they had never met, and above all to convince herself that she didn’t love him... ‘All right,’ she said, promising herself silently that it was just this once.
‘I’ll come for you in about an hour,’ he told her, and went away to talk to the rector.
Margo totted up her takings, put the discarded dresses back in their box and went in search of her aunt, who, apprised of her plans, nodded her approval.
‘Go back to the house as soon as you’re ready, child. I’ll be home presently. You had better take a key with you. Where are you going?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Wear your blue dress...’
Margo agreed. She had no option; it was the only suitable garment she had. A pretty colour, and nicely cut, it was nevertheless hardly a garment to inspire a man to give it, or her, a second glance. It was all she had though...
Margo peered at her person in her aunt’s pier glass and decided that she would do. She did her hair with extra care, applied lipstick and powder and, encouraged by the result, went downstairs to find the professor chatting to her aunt.
He greeted her with easy friendliness, told her in just the right tone of voice that she looked nice and thought what a pity it was that her clothes were so dull. A pity, indeed; she had a pretty figure and nice legs and she deserved better than the uninspired dress she was wearing.
He took her to the Oakley Court Hotel at Windsor—a country house hotel, with grounds running down to the river, and inside a pleasant cosiness combined with charming surroundings and excellent food.
Gijs hadn’t bothered to think why he wanted Margo to have an evening out with him, but when he had seen her that afternoon, surrounded by cast-off hats and out-of-date dresses, he had a wish to take her away from it all, to find out what she was really like, what she wanted from life, if she was content...
They had a drink at the bar before going to their candlelit table in the restaurant. Margo glanced round her as they sat down. The dress was all wrong but there was nothing she could do about that, and since she was sitting down no one could see that it was the wrong length too. She dismissed it from her mind and studied the menu.
Spinach tartlets, then roast duck with cherry sauce, game chips and braised celery, followed by a lemon soufflé, accompanied by a bottle of Nuits St Georges, served to put Margo at her ease; never mind the dress, she was with Gijs, eating a delicious meal and drinking wine which tasted quite different from the occasional bottle she’d chosen from the supermarkets for birthdays and Christmas. She began to enjoy herself.
The professor had no difficulty in leading her on to talk about herself. He was aware that normally that was something she wouldn’t do, but the wine had loosened her tongue and she answered his gently put questions readily enough.
‘You do not wish for a career?’ he asked casually.
‘Well, I’m too old to start, aren’t I?’ she observed matter-of-factly. ‘I would have liked to have travelled after I left school—just to Europe to have a look round—and I think that I would have enjoyed nursing...’
‘You do not regret giving up George?’
‘Not a bit.’ She chose a chocolate from the dish which had come with the coffee.
‘Would you like to marry?’
‘Oh, yes, but I don’t think too much about that because I don’t think it’s very likely.’
‘Why not?’
She kept her voice light. ‘I have no looks. If I had a fortune perhaps it would help—and lovely clothes!’ She frowned at him across the table. ‘I’m talking far too much. Not that it matters. I mean, you’re a doctor and that’s almost like talking to a man of the church, isn’t it? Besides, we’re unlikely to see each other again.’
‘When we do meet each other it is on the most unlikely occasions.’
‘You’re going back to Holland soon. Will you be pleased to go?’
‘It is my country. I shall always have one foot in England, though—I have consultancy posts at several hospitals here. I go wherever I’m needed, but Holland is my home.’
She longed to ask him about his life there, but something in his manner stopped her. Besides, she reflected, the less she knew about him, the easier it would be to forget him. She began to talk about the bazaar and the small events in the village, and presently he drove her back to Aunt Florence’s house and when she thanked him for her evening told her quietly that he had enjoyed it too. He didn’t say that he wanted to see her again before he went back to Holland, nor did he ask her when she was going back home.
‘What did you expect?’ she asked her reflection in the old-fashioned dressing-table mirror in her bedroom as she got ready for bed. And, although not a girl to cry easily, she cried herself to sleep.
* * *
DURING THE NEXT few days she saw something of Helen. Invited to tea, she made friends with Peggy—still in her bed and with a new nanny in charge.
‘She’s almost well again now,’ said Helen. ‘Such a relief. I have never been so scared in my whole life. Thank heaven that you found her, Margo, and that Dr Wilcox was able to get hold of that marvellous specialist. Didn’t you think he was gorgeous? He’s not married. I asked him, and when he said he wasn’t I told him that he ought to get himself a wife. I mean people expect it, don’t they?’ She waved a hand. ‘You know, specialist in children’s illness and so on—it would make him even more dependable, if you see what I mean.’
‘If he’s already well-known I don’t suppose it matters much.’
‘Wait until you’re married and have children; you’ll know what I mean.’ Helen bit her lip. Margo’s chances of marrying seemed to her to be a bit slight.
* * *
MARGO WAS TO go back home. Her father would drive up in the car and she would go back to the gentle, monotonous routine of her daily life at Thinbottom.
She packed her bag, made her aunt a present of a particular rose bush she had coveted and laid the table for lunch while Phoebe made a casserole.
‘You must not travel on empty stomachs,’ declared Aunt Flo. ‘Put out the coffee-cups, Margo, and go to the kitchen and make sure the coffee’s ready, with a plate of Phoebe’s biscuits.’
Margo heard the front doorbell while she was warming the milk.
‘I’d better take the tray in,’ she told Phoebe. ‘That must be Father...’
It was the professor, standing before the fire, talking to her aunt.
She put the tr
ay down carefully, her heart in her throat, choking her. Here he was again, and in no time at all she would be gone.
‘I’ll fetch another cup,’ she said, and smiled vaguely in his general direction.
‘No need, Margo,’ declared Aunt Florence. ‘Gijs will drive you back—I quite forgot to tell you that he phoned yesterday evening to say that he was going your way and wanting to know if you would like a lift. I phoned your father.’
Aunt Florence spoke with her usual certainty that any arrangement she might choose to make was agreeable to everyone else. ‘Pour the coffee, dear.’
So Margo poured the coffee and handed out cups and biscuits and answered politely when spoken to. It was hard, she reflected, that, having made up her mind to forget him, he should turn up again. She took care not to look at him, and presently said that she thought she would go to the kitchen and give Phoebe a hand.
‘No need,’ said her aunt. ‘I want you to run down to the rectory with the accounts for the bazaar; I promised the rector I would let him have them today. Gijs can go with you—I dare say he’d like to stretch his legs.’
So Margo got into her jacket, wound a scarf round her small neck and declared herself ready. Going down the garden path, she said awkwardly, ‘I’m sorry about this. I dare say you want to leave as quickly as possible, and really there was no need for you to come with me.’
‘Why should I wish to hurry away? I have been invited to lunch. Why do you take it for granted that I don’t wish to be with you, Margo? You really must cultivate a better opinion of yourself. Are you not pleased to see me?’
‘Yes, of course. I was a bit surprised.’ She kept her voice steady and looked up into his face. ‘I’m always pleased to see you, only each time I do I expect it to be the last.’
He tucked her hand under his arm. ‘Next week I’m coming down to Thinbottom to take you to the hospital as I promised. You can spend the day there and I’ll bring you back in the evening.’
‘You will?’ Her eyes sparkled. ‘I’ll love that. Which day?’
‘Tuesday—you will have to be ready quite early in the morning.’
‘Oh, I will. Here’s the rectory...’
They were both invited in, and while one of the children went to fetch his father his wife led them into the sitting room.
‘Do sit down,’ she invited. She was a gossipy little woman, wanting to hear the details of Peggy’s accident firsthand.
‘So romantic,’ she cried. ‘And you two knowing each other and meeting again at Lord Trueman’s. You must both...’
Luckily they were spared the rest because the rector joined them at that moment. A good thing, too, for Margo’s cheeks had pinkened and the professor’s features had assumed a blandness which she was sure hid amusement.
On the way back she said, ‘I’m sorry about that...’
He took her arm. ‘Why? It must appear romantic to those who don’t know us. After all, how are they to know that neither of us has any interest in romance?’
She had no answer to that.
Chapter FOUR
IT was OBVIOUS that Aunt Florence approved of the professor. Over the casserole and the treacle tart which followed it the talk was leisurely and covered any number of subjects. It was only when he glanced at his watch and observed that they should be going that Aunt Florence got up reluctantly from the table.
Bidding them goodbye presently, she said, ‘I hope I shall see you—both of you—again soon. Margo knows that she is always welcome—and you, Gijs, if you are so inclined—although I dare say you are a very busy man and have any number of friends.’
She stood in the doorway, watching them get into the Rolls. Margo had been unusually quiet during lunch, she reflected. Probably a little sad at the thought of the mundane life she was returning to. She and the professor seemed to get on well enough—a casual friendliness which Aunt Flo supposed was all that could be expected from two people who lived such different lives. She watched the car until it was out of sight then went back indoors, feeling lonely; Margo had been a pleasant companion, someone nice to have around the house.
Professor van Kessel was thinking much the same thing as he talked casually about nothing in particular. He sensed that Margo was ill at ease and was intent on finding out why.
She sat very still beside him, looking out of the window and making suitable replies in her pretty voice, but she made no effort to start any conversation.
‘You’re sorry to be going back home?’ he asked.
‘No, of course not. I’ve had a lovely holiday, though.’
He remembered the bazaar, and wondered if staying with Aunt Florence had been very much different from being at home. He thought not. Sunday School, Mothers’ Union, arranging flowers, visiting parishioners and arranging whist drives, though splendidly worthwhile tasks in themselves, weren’t enough to fill a girl’s life. Not a girl like Margo, he reflected, who would make a splendid wife and mother. He must contrive to let her meet some of the younger doctors at the hospital on Tuesday.
They arrived back in time for a late tea but he didn’t stay for that. He made his excuses with his beautiful manners, giving no reason for his refusal, bade them goodbye, reminded Margo to be ready on Tuesday and drove away.
‘I dare say he’s on his way to a hospital or a meeting,’ observed Mrs Pearson. ‘A pity he couldn’t stay for tea.’ She brightened. ‘Perhaps he’s having it with friends. Nice of him to give you a lift, love.’
Margo agreed. Well, it had been nice of him, and after all that was all it had been—a lift home because he happened to be going that way too. Not, she told herself firmly, because he enjoyed her company.
There was Tuesday, of course, but she had no doubt that once they were at the hospital she would see nothing of him—probably he regretted his invitation. She should have refused...
* * *
IT SEEMED A month of Sundays until Tuesday. In reality it was only a few days away, and those days were fully occupied: driving her father to Blandford, shopping for her mother, sitting in on the committee planning Christmas entertainment for the Sunday School.
It came at last and she stood ready and waiting at half past eight in the morning, sure that he had forgotten.
He arrived exactly when he had said he would, accepted the coffee her mother had ready, then stowed her into the car and began the drive back to London.
‘You must have got up very early,’ observed Margo. ‘I hope you had a good night’s sleep.’
He assured her that he had, touched by her concern.
‘The colleague I am staying with is an old friend and a most considerate host, but I intend to look around for a small house in London. I come here so frequently nowadays—sometimes for a couple of days, sometimes for weeks at a time.’
‘But you have a home in Holland?’
‘Oh, yes.’
That was all he would tell her.
‘I’m handing you over to one of the housemen at the hospital; he’ll take you round and then bring you to my clinic. Alec Jackson—I think you will like him. He has an excellent future ahead of him.’ He glanced sideways at her serene profile. ‘I’ll drive you back some time this evening—I can’t be certain when.’
‘I’m sure I’m going to enjoy every minute,’ she assured him. Even if she didn’t see him again at the hospital there was the drive back home to look forward to...
The hospital was in the East End, crammed in amongst narrow streets of small houses and down-at-heel shops. Margo, seeing it for the first time, felt some disappointment at the sight of its elaborate Victorian brickwork and narrow windows, but, once urged inside by the professor, saw that the aspect was quite different: light walls, bright pictures, plenty of lights and potted plants, and as a background to these a steady tide of noise, rising and falling and never ceasing.
The entrance hall was quite small, with corridors leading away from it in all directions. The professor glanced at his watch and Margo saw his faint frown, but his face cleared as a young man came hurrying to meet them.
‘Good morning, sir.’ He had a cheerful, blunt-featured face, and smiled at her as the professor spoke.
‘Good morning, Jackson; this is Margo Pearson. Take her everywhere and take care of her for me. When she’s seen all she wishes to see, bring her along to the clinic, will you?’
He smiled down at Margo. ‘I hope you enjoy your visit,’ he said, and didn’t wait for her answer but strode away.
‘He’s got a busy day ahead of him,’ said Alec Jackson. ‘Running a bit late already.’ He touched her arm. ‘We’ll have coffee first, if you like, in the canteen, while I explain the lay-out of the place. It’s like a rabbit warren.’
The canteen was half-full, but they found a table and sat down facing each other. ‘May I call you Margo?’ asked Alec. ‘Have you known the professor for a long time?’
‘No—a month or so. And I don’t know him well, only we’ve met from time to time and he suggested I might like to see the hospital. Do you work for him?’
‘I’m on his team—very junior, I must add. He’s a splendid man—marvellous with children. There’s this op he does to lengthen malformed legs—very complicated. There are a couple of patients here who have had it done; you’ll see them presently.’ He added, ‘If you want to powder your nose the Ladies’ is over there. I’ll wait for you here.’
You couldn’t help but like him, thought Margo as she was whisked from one ward to the next. She would have liked a brother like him, someone she could talk to and laugh with.
True to his promise, he showed her two small boys, each with a leg encased in steel rods and bars with screws at one side.
