by Betty Neels
She drew a steadying breath. ‘Coffee, please,’ and she took the chair beside his because he was holding it for her. It would help the situation a great deal if someone else came down to breakfast, but on the other hand she wondered what he would say next if they were alone for a little longer.
He handed her her coffee. ‘Bacon? Eggs? Kippers, perhaps—or a boiled egg?’
How could he talk about kippers when only a moment ago he had been kissing her as though he really enjoyed it? ‘Bacon and eggs,’ said Eloise; if he could eat a hearty breakfast and do a little kissing on the side, so could she.
It was vexing of him to observe as he handed her a plate: ‘How nice to find a girl who eats properly and doesn’t nibble at various diets.’ He sat down again and helped himself to toast. ‘No weight problems?’ he wanted to know, kindly.
Eloise sugared her coffee. ‘None.’
‘I must say you’re very satisfactory as you are. I don’t care for skinny women.’
Eloise choked. ‘Are you suggesting that I’m fat?’
‘Just right, dear girl. Why did you drag your hair back so savagely yesterday evening?’
Really, he was a most difficult person to converse with! ‘What can it matter to you what I do with my hair?’
His voice was silky. ‘Ah, now wouldn’t you like to know? Here come the rest of us.’
And after that there wasn’t a chance to speak to him alone. Mr Plunkett declared himself ready to leave the moment they had finished breakfast, and Mijnheer Pringle had to go to Groningen, although he had consented to stay another night or two at his friend’s house.
Eloise made her goodbyes quietly, this time receiving nothing but a handshake from her host and the careless, conventional hope that they might meet again at some time. It was Bart’s dignified goodbye which warmed her. ‘I thank you, miss,’ he said with a sincerity which she found touching, ‘and I shall remember you with pleasure always. I hope that we may meet again.’
A sentiment the doctor, beyond his casual remark, didn’t echo. She had hoped, right until the last minute, that he might say something—anything—to her, but he didn’t. It was only too obvious that she didn’t matter at all. She summoned a cool smile as she got into the car behind her mother and Mr Plunkett, and she didn’t look back.
‘Such a nice man,’ commented her mother as they turned out of the gateway into the road, and looked round at Eloise.
‘Yes, isn’t he?’ She knew that she had spoken too quickly and too brightly by the look on her mother’s face, and before that lady could embark on a gossip about him, Eloise added: ‘We haven’t had a chance to talk about you—do tell me your plans. It’s so exciting—when are you going to get married?’
The subject kept them occupied for hours, with Mr Plunkett putting in a sensible word or so every now and then. They were to marry quite soon, and their home would be hers whenever she liked to visit them. The banns had been read already and they had thought in about a couple of weeks’ time, provided Eloise could get a day or two off for the wedding.
‘And what about you, darling?’ asked Mrs Bennett.
‘Well, we’ll give up the flat, won’t we, and I’ll get a room in the Nurses’ Home as I suggested. Could you come up to London for a couple of days so that we could pack up? Could Mr Plunkett bring you?’
He begged her to call him Jack and agreed to do anything within reason, adding a number of helpful suggestions, so that by the time they were in England again, driving at his sensible pace up the motorway to London, everything had been more or less settled.
The flat looked terrible after the subdued splendour of the doctor’s home. The three of them went up the stairs without speaking and Mrs Bennett unlocked the door and they followed her into the narrow hall. When they were all inside, she said soberly: ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry—this, after all that…’
Mr Plunkett put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Well, my dear, I’m afraid the cottage isn’t all that grand.’
‘It’s perfect,’ protested his future bride, ‘and it’s all I want, Jack.’ She gave him a happy smile and looked at Eloise. ‘And you, darling—are you sure this is what you want to do, leave here and live in?’
Eloise allowed herself a moment’s reflection on what she did want; to live with Timon van Zeilst in his lovely house, and rear a family of tough little boys and small girls with blue eyes like their father… ‘Quite sure, Mother.’ She made her voice cheerful. ‘It all fits in so well, doesn’t it? I’m sure to go back on night duty and the Junior Night Sister leaves in a month—if I’m lucky enough to get the job they’ll give me a very nice bedsitter, and I can come home and see you quite often—I might even afford a car.’
She smiled lovingly at her mother; it was lovely to see her looking so happy again. She had always been a pretty woman, now she positively glowed; Jack Plunkett was exactly right for her; calm and rather quiet and fond of her in a nice, speechless way—they would be very happy. Mrs Pringle, thought Eloise, would have been delighted. The thought saddened her, but she didn’t allow it to show. ‘I’ll get the beds ready,’ she declared, ‘and make tea—we don’t want anything to eat after that gorgeous meal we had on the way, do we? Mother, why don’t you and Jack take a look round and decide what you want packed up and sent down to Eddlescombe? I’ve not quite finished my holiday, you know, I could get this place emptied. There’s that man down the street who does small removals—he’d fix everything up and anything we don’t want he’ll buy, I daresay.’
The rest of the evening was spent making lists, measuring furniture to see if it would fit into the cottage, and deciding what to discard, and in the morning there was no time for anything at all, for Mr Plunkett wanted to make an early start. When they had gone, Eloise made another pot of tea and sat down in the silent kitchen to drink it. It was fortunate that there was so much to do, otherwise she might have moped.
It was something of a relief to go back to St Goth’s a day or two later; the flat was no longer home with her mother gone and some of the unwanted furniture already sold. Mrs Bennett was to come up in a week’s time and do the final packing and Eloise, when she was off duty, would help her. The money from the furniture already sold would be more than enough to buy her mother’s wedding outfit. ‘And a dress for you, too, darling,’ she had insisted over the telephone. ‘We’ll have a lovely day shopping.’
Eloise had gone back to her packing cases, resolutely keeping her mind on the new dress, burying the persistent little niggle that there was really no point in trying to look chic. There would be no one—and by no one she meant Timon, of course—to see.
She was put straight back on night duty when she reported back. It was also intimated to her that if she wished she might apply for the Junior Night Sister’s post. For the time being, she had decided not to ask to live in; there were still three weeks of their month’s notice to leave the flat and it would be better, if she got the new job, to wait until she was made a Sister, so that she could move straight into the Sisters’ Wing of the home. Everything, she told herself with hollow cheerfulness, was turning out splendidly; her mother happy and living in her beloved countryside again, and she herself with an assured future; it was ridiculous that she should feel like crying whenever she thought about it.
Women’s Surgical was full and busy, and over and above that, it was take-in week. For the first few nights Eloise worked unceasingly with meals snatched when she could get them, and came off duty in the morning too tired to do more than cycle home to the unwelcoming flat and sleep.
But it was better when her mother arrived, excited and bubbling over with delight at seeing her again. They sat in the now sparsely furnished sitting room, discussing the future, and several times Mrs Bennett led the conversation round to Timon van Zeilst, hinting wistfully that it would have been nice if Eloise could meet him again.
Eloise managed to preserve her usual matter-of-fact front. ‘Well, Mother dear, we didn’t get on all that well, you know,
and it isn’t as though I were a raving beauty. Besides, there was that girl—Liske, he’s going to marry her, I believe.’
‘I disliked her,’ declared Mrs Bennett with unwonted venom, ‘wanting attention all the time. She didn’t care a button about Deborah—all she did was make eyes at Timon.’
‘I daresay he liked it,’ said Eloise dryly. ‘Now, love, where are we going to do our shopping?’
It was fortunate that Eloise had nights off; the packing up of the flat was almost done now and they could easily spare a day or two to go in search of something pretty for Mrs Bennett. She forgot, for the time being, about the doctor while they embarked on a lengthy discussion about clothes.
They had a splendid day; they hadn’t been able to let themselves go in such a fashion for years, and Mrs Bennett, rendered quite rash after a period of pinching and scraping, fitted herself out with a pale blue outfit. ‘For,’ as she confided to Eloise, ‘Jack likes me in blue and he’s given me a mink stole and they will go splendidly together.’ She bought a frivolous hat too, and gloves and shoes. But Eloise didn’t find her shopping quite so easy; for one thing, she had decided prudently that whatever she bought would have to be worn during the forthcoming winter, so it would have to be a colour she wouldn’t get heartily sick of within a few weeks, but she found something at last; a dark green wool coat, and although she almost never wore a hat, she bought one to please her mother—a velvet tammy which matched very well. It was pure good luck that she saw a jersey dress in a paler green. Not spectacular but very wearable, and even in her own modest opinion, the outfit suited her.
The wedding was only a week away now; she would travel down to Eddlescombe on her nights off and spend a day or two there, staying with Jack’s sister until after the wedding. It would be lovely to see the village again and meet old friends, and when she got back to London she would fill in her application form and take it to the Principal Nursing Officer and ask at the same time if she could move into the Nurses’ Home.
Jack hadn’t been able to come up to London to fetch her mother back. Eloise put her on to the train and went back on night duty, where work drove all other thoughts out of her head.
The wedding was a quiet affair, but happy, too. Mrs Bennett looked pretty and happy and at least ten years younger than she was, and Eloise enjoyed every minute of it. She had been taken round the cottage the evening before and seen how well the furniture from the flat suited it. There was a dear little walled garden too, with a low arched door leading to a small paddock where, her mother told her proudly, they were going to keep chickens, and last of all, she had been shown the little bedroom set aside for her visits. ‘And never forget that this is your home, darling,’ her mother had said.
The village had been kind too, welcoming her into the homes of people she hadn’t seen for years, and all of them delighted that her mother was marrying again. Her mother was going to be happy; Eloise went back to the cold little flat, satisfied that her parent’s future would be an untroubled one—not very exciting, perhaps…she sighed as she hung away the new outfit and went into the kitchen to get her supper. Tomorrow night she would be on duty again, but before that she would fill in the application form and go along to St Goth’s and hand it in in the morning. Lying in bed later, she told herself that she should be perfectly content with her own future, too. It was as safe and assured as her mother’s. And much, much more dull, added a small voice in the back of her head. She stayed awake a long time thinking about Timon van Zeilst, a fruitless exercise which ended in a sleepless night until she dropped into a heavy doze about five o’clock.
She was roused barely two hours later by the door bell, its strident peal bringing her half awake, her wits addled by its din and her lack of sleep. The milkman, she guessed crossly, and turned over, pulling the blankets over her head. But the awful noise was repeated, so that she was forced to get out of bed, wrap herself in her dressing gown and make her sleepy way to the door. If it was the milkman she would give him a piece of her mind! She flung the door open in a pettish manner and was confronted by the doctor, his large person elegantly clothed in a car coat over a dark grey suit, his calm face freshly shaven, his blue eyes clear and alert.
She had no words and it was he who said: ‘Hullo, Eloise,’ and added blandly: ‘I see I’m a little too early to be welcome.’
She stopped scowling then and opened the door wide. She had no notion of telling him that he would be welcome at any time, day or night, and all she said, rather primly, was: ‘Not at all, Doctor van Zeilst. I didn’t sleep awfully well, and I dozed off…do come in. I’ll make some tea.’
He squeezed past her into the narrow hall and glanced around him without saying anything, and she added defensively: ‘I’m moving out in a day or two—the furniture has gone down to Eddlescombe.’
He nodded casually. ‘Of course. Go and put some clothes on, dear girl. I’ll make some tea.’
Eloise started for the bedroom and then paused. ‘How did you know that I was here, and why have you come? Have you been over here long? And…’
‘What a busy little tongue! I had your address from Cor Pringle—he asked me to come and see you.’
Eloise swept her wealth of hair over her shoulders, conscious of bitter disappointment. So he hadn’t wanted to come—he’d been asked to look her up; doing a good turn, nothing else. She became conscious too that he was staring down at her, smiling.
‘I want you to come back with me, Eloise Cor needs someone with him, and he likes you. Will that do to go on with?’ He sighed gently. ‘I’ve only just arrived in England.’
Her mind seized on that. ‘Travelling all night? You must be tired and hungry. Would eggs and bacon do? Wait while I put on some clothes.’
‘So kind,’ he murmured, and took off his coat. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
She flung herself into slacks and an old sweater she had been wearing while she cleared up the flat, and didn’t bother about her hair or her face, only washed the latter and tied the former back with a handy ribbon, not bothering to look. He had the tea made by the time she got back to the kitchen, with the one cup and saucer and a mug on the table and a half full bottle of milk. He poured their tea while she assembled frying pan, eggs and the last of the bacon.
‘It’s rather primitive,’ she apologised as she laid the table with the odds and ends of crockery it hadn’t been worth packing, and cut bread for toast.
‘I am a primitive man,’ he observed blandly, and went on looking bland when she laughed. He added: ‘How did the wedding go?’
‘Perfectly. Mother looked so sweet, only she was a little sad because of Mrs Pringle.’
‘We are all a little sad—Deborah was much liked.’ He buttered the toast she gave him. ‘Eloise, Cor Pringle is just about at the end of his tether, and that son of his hasn’t helped. He’s shunning everyone because he thinks they will be embarrassed if he talks about Deborah to them, and that’s just what he wants to do at the moment. He talks to me, but I’m not always available, and then the other day he told me that he was sorry you had gone home because you would have understood and he could have talked to you. So I said I’d fetch you.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that. I don’t like to see a good man go to pieces. Oh, he’ll get over it, but he has to blunt the first sharp edge of his sorrow and it helps to talk.’
She dished up three eggs and several slices of bacon and put them on his plate. ‘Eat it while it’s hot,’ she advised him. ‘Look, I’d like to help, but I haven’t any more holidays due and I’ve been offered a Sister’s post—I was going this morning to hand in my application form.’ She added soberly: ‘You see, I should have a secure future…’
The doctor buttered more toast and handed it to her. ‘I see—well, there was no harm in asking.’
Eloise stared at her plate. ‘Mind you, I don’t give a jot about a secure future and even if I said I’d come I don’t know how to set about it; you must see that I can’
t just walk into Miss Dean’s office and tell her I’m leaving to look after someone in Holland—there’s a month’s notice too…’
He was staring at her hard. ‘And if that could be arranged? If you were allowed to leave at a moment’s notice, would you come?’
She took her eyes off her plate and met his blue gaze and heard herself say yes.
‘Splendid. Is there any more toast?’ And when she reached for the loaf: ‘Bart wished to be remembered to you, by the way.’
‘Oh, does he?’ she smiled widely. ‘I like him. You must be so happy to have someone like that in your lovely home.’
‘You found it lovely?’
She popped two more slices under the grill. ‘Oh, I did—so lovely it’s hard to talk about it.’
‘I’m glad. Have you a telephone?’
She shook her head. ‘It’s been cut off—there’s a callbox at the corner of the street. Do you want any more toast?’
‘No, thanks. I’ll wash up while you dress and then go and telephone.’
Eloise eyed him, wondering if she would seem inquisitive if she asked who he wanted to speak to at eight o’clock in the morning. She had just decided that it was when he observed: ‘Let me allay your curiosity—I’m going to telephone Sir Arthur Newman.’ He swept the dishes off the table and began to wash up as though he had done it all his life, and Eloise, restraining herself from saying anything at all, went along to dress.
He was in the only chair left in the sitting room when she went into it, reading a newspaper, but he put it down at once and got to his feet. ‘Ready? We’ve got five minutes.’
She gave him a vexed look. ‘Well, really, you might have warned me! And we can’t possibly get to St Goth’s in that time—if that’s where we’re going.’
