by Betty Neels
‘Care to bet on it?’ He hurried her down the empty flights of stairs and out of a side entrance and popped her into the Rolls, discreetly parked where it shouldn’t have been. They were halfway to the hospital before she asked: ‘Why have we only got five minutes?’
‘Sir Arthur was going to telephone your Nursing Superintendent or whatever she’s called; he suggested that we should be there at half past eight because that’s the time he was making an appointment for us.’
‘Us?’
He gave her a sidelong glance. ‘Having disorganised your plans, the most I can do is to smooth your path.’ He shot the car into the hospital forecourt and hurried her inside. Glancing at the clock as he swept her along, Eloise was glad she hadn’t accepted his bet; there was half a minute to go.
‘It’s down this passage,’ she told him.
‘I know. I’ve been here before. We’ll just have time to state our case before Sir Arthur comes.’
She looked at him round-eyed. ‘You’re going to an awful lot of trouble…’
He had stopped outside Miss Dean’s office. ‘Ah, but you’re worth a lot of trouble, Eloise.’ He kissed her quite gently on her half open mouth, tapped on the door and pushing her ahead of him, went in.
CHAPTER SIX
AFTERWARDS, walking soberly back to the hospital entrance with Doctor van Zeilst and Sir Arthur on either side of her, Eloise wondered just what magic had been wrought by the two gentlemen, neither of whom looked capable of such unprofessional practice—indeed, peeping at them in turn, she decided that she had never seen two better examples of learned men going about their dignified business.
‘I hope, dear boy,’ boomed Sir Arthur over her head, ‘that you will be out of the country before our worthy Miss Dean finds the time to figure out that masterly rigmarole you offered her. I almost shed tears at this young lady’s plight—forced, if I remember aright, to remain in this hospital just because its rules could not be bent.’
Doctor van Zeilst inclined his head and looked smug. ‘I thought it quite a good effort myself.’ His self-satisfaction decided Eloise that it was about time that she bore a part in the conversation.
‘I’m not quite clear…’ she began in an uncertain voice, and both her companions stopped to look at her, so that she hurried on: ‘Has Miss Dean given me the sack, or am I borrowed, or what?’
‘Not sacked,’ observed Doctor van Zeilst in a shocked voice. ‘You have resigned for urgent personal reasons, with the option of applying for the Night Sister’s post which you seem so anxious to have, when you return—provided it isn’t filled in the meantime.’
She almost wrung her hands. ‘But of course it will be by then—I’ll be a staff nurse for ever! Oh, I wish I’d never…’
‘Tut, tut, you weren’t listening. Cor Pringle is going to Curaçao in two weeks’ time—I surely mentioned that? There will be plenty of time to apply for the job if you’re still bent on carving a career for yourself.’
They began to walk on again, and Eloise perforce with them. At the entrance Sir Arthur bade them goodbye and bon voyage and murmuring that he was already late for his ward round, went on his dignified way. When he was out of sight, Eloise, her temper frayed by uncertainty and the nasty feeling that she had been rushed into something she didn’t know about, snapped: ‘Well, what do I do next? You tell me.’
‘Coffee, I think, don’t you?’ Doctor van Zeilst smiled at her with great charm, and although her heart beat so fast at the sight of it that she almost choked, she said firmly: ‘That won’t help in the least.’
‘Oh, it will. We need a little time while I tell you what we’re going to do.’
‘We? Do what? Look, you must explain…’ Her voice was shrill with the beginnings of temper. ‘You rush me along to see Miss Dean and cook up a story I’m sure she doesn’t in the least believe—and however did you get her to allow me to resign and then apply…’
‘Charm.’ His voice was all silk. ‘And I must add, a good deal of spade work on the part of Sir Arthur. It’s amazing,’ he reflected gravely, ‘what one can achieve when one really puts one’s mind to it.’ He suddenly became businesslike, almost urgent. ‘Eloise, Cor Pringle really does need someone. Oh, he’s got Juffrouw Blot, but although she’s a splendid housekeeper, he can’t talk to her. I had to think of some way of getting you back without falling foul of hospital rules.
‘I imagine Miss Dean is fully aware that they are being bent, but why not when it’s in a good cause? If you were ill for two weeks, someone would take your place, would they not? I know you’re worried about resigning, but she promised that you might apply for that job, didn’t she? Will you stop worrying and listen to me?’
‘I’ve been listening.’
They had been walking down the narrow, shabby street behind the sprawling hospital. Now he stopped outside a neat little caf half way down it, much patronised by the hospital staff. There weren’t many people inside and they sat down at a table in the window, and after a minute or two the proprietor ambled over, gave the table an extra rub up with his cloth, took the doctor’s order for coffee, and went away again. It wasn’t until it arrived, hot and strong, that the doctor broke the silence between them. ‘We’ll go first to Eddlescombe, on our way home…’
Eloise put down her cup. ‘But it’s miles out of our way!’
‘Let us not exaggerate; it is a couple of hours’ driving from here, perhaps a little more.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We could be there by mid-afternoon, stay the night if your mother would be so kind as to invite us, and journey on the following morning.’
Eloise’s wide mouth curved with delight. ‘How super! Could we really?’
He took a lump of sugar from the bowl and crunched it up. ‘We could and we will—after all, you deserve some small reward. And now if you have finished your coffee, shall we go round to your flat? You can pack and do whatever is necessary—would an hour be long enough?’
It was obvious to her that she wasn’t going to be given more than that. She nodded. ‘Yes, provided you do some telephoning for me—the gas and electricity—oh, and the landlord.’
The doctor lifted a finger for the bill. ‘My practical Eloise! Let us get started by all means.’ He swept her out into the street again and walked her back the way they had come to where the car was parked in the hospital forecourt. A few minutes later they were at the flat.
And later still, with London’s outskirts already behind them, Eloise found herself driving down the M3, with the doctor, peacefully asleep, beside her. It seemed a good opportunity to explore her thoughts; there was very little traffic and the Rolls purred effortlessly ahead. She didn’t know if she were coming or going, all she was sure of was that her companion knew, and that because she loved him and trusted him she was quite content to leave her immediate future in a muddle in order to please him. Common sense told her that she was being a fool; later on she would come to her senses and probably bitterly regret allowing him to rearrange her life for her.
She sighed, remembered the instructions he had given her when she had taken over the driving, and slowed the car’s pace as they approached Wimborne Minster. She had driven rather less than a hundred miles at a steady, fast speed, mostly on the motorway, but she didn’t feel tired as she drove carefully through the little town and stopped in its square outside the King’s Head. It was time to wake her companion, but when she turned to him it was to find him awake, his eyes fastened on her. ‘Nice driving,’ he murmured. ‘You handle her very well.’
She thanked him primly and asked if he had slept.
‘Soundly, thanks to you. Shall we have lunch—it’s getting a little late, but I daresay they’ll serve us.’
They ate roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and followed it with treacle tart, washed down with claret. They were drinking their coffee when the doctor remarked: ‘I’ll drive the rest of the way—it’s not far now, is it? Just over twenty miles to Dorchester and take the Milton Abbas road—you’ll have to direct me.
Who taught you to drive?’
‘My father.’
‘He did it well, though I think you’re a naturally good driver.’
Eloise said thank you once more and then allowed her tongue to run away with her. ‘Do you let Liske drive your car?’ she wanted to know.
His eyes became very blue and cold. ‘No, I do not—why do you ask?’
Perhaps it was the claret, but she felt reckless. ‘Well, I thought she might…’
‘And what makes you think that?’ His voice was silky.
‘Well, she…she was at your house when we went there, and from what she said, I thought…she seemed very at home…’ Her voice petered out under his cold stare.
‘Well?’ he repeated, still silky, and she could see that she wasn’t to be allowed to leave the matter there.
‘As though she…as though you both…’ She tried again. ‘I thought perhaps she was going to marry you,’ she finished gamely, her voice small.
He smiled in what she considered to be a very nasty manner. ‘You may think what you wish,’ he told her blandly. ‘Shall we go?’
Excepting for giving directions when it was necessary, Eloise preserved silence for the remainder of their journey, spending her time trying out numerous apologies to herself, none of which were really satisfactory. And as for her companion, he was silent too, although from time to time he whistled softly to himself, for all the world as though he were in the best of humours—which he quite obviously wasn’t.
But when they arrived, no vestige of ill-humour was allowed to show. He got out of the car, came round to open her door and then waited while she went up the path to the cottage’s front door, where she thumped the knocker, tried the handle, and when she found it open, called, ‘Mother, it’s us!’ unaware of the doctor’s reluctant smile at her words.
She was answered by the opening of a window above her head and the appearance of her mother’s neat head thrust out. ‘Darling, what a lovely surprise—and Doctor van Zeilst, too! Come on in, I’m on my way down.’
They had barely got inside when she joined them, running down the staircase with the lightness of a girl, to fling her arms round her daughter’s neck and hug her before shaking hands with the doctor.
‘Oh, isn’t this just lovely!’ she exclaimed. ‘Jack will be pleased—he’s in the garden making chicken houses. Have you come to stay? I do hope so.’
‘We’re on our way to Holland,’ said Eloise quickly. ‘We wondered if we could spend the night.’
‘As many as you like, you’re both very welcome.’ Her mother smiled at her second guest and asked guilelessly: ‘Why are you going to Holland? Or rather, why did you come to England—or mustn’t I ask?’ She tucked a hand into his arm. ‘Come into the sitting room and sit down and tell me before I fetch Jack.’ She opened a door and ushered them into the comfortable little room, bright with firelight, and said: ‘Let me have your coats—now do tell…’
‘There’s nothing much to tell, Mrs Bennett.’ It was the doctor who answered her, for Eloise seemed to have lost her tongue for the moment. ‘Cor Pringle isn’t too well—depressed, not eating, lonely. He told me that he wished Eloise had still been with him because she understood how he felt and he felt he could talk to her—she has very kindly agreed to go and stay with him until he goes to Curaçao in two weeks’ time.’
If Mrs Bennett felt disappointment at this explanation, she concealed it admirably, only darting a look at her daughter’s composed features and smiling faintly. ‘How did you get away from St Goth’s?’ she wanted to know.
‘Doctor van Zeilst and Sir Arthur Newman talked to Miss Dean,’ Eloise told her flatly. ‘I’ve resigned, but I’m allowed to apply for that job I told you about when I get back—if it’s still going,’ she added snappily.
Her mother ignored the snappiness. ‘How sensible,’ she declared. ‘I’m sure Cor will be glad of your company—I thought it was a mistake staying on in that house by himself. Now he can talk as much as he wants to about Deborah. You can’t just turn your back on years of happiness with someone without talking about it—the trouble is, other people tend to shy away from just that because they think it makes you miserable—such a mistake.’ She looked at the doctor. ‘Not you, of course, Timon—you don’t mind if I call you that?—I thought you coped beautifully.’ She got to her feet. ‘I’m going to fetch Jack, then we’ll have tea. Did you get any lunch?’
Eloise answered this time. ‘Yes, thanks, dear—in Wimborne. But we’d love tea—I’ll give you a hand.’
She sent her mother such a beseeching look that that lady said instantly: ‘Oh, yes, do, dear,’ and the doctor, sitting in his chair watching them, allowed his eyelids to droop over the amused gleam in his eyes.
Jack having duly welcomed them and taken a chair opposite the doctor, the two ladies went off to the kitchen, a surprisingly roomy place, a trifle old-fashioned, but as Mrs Bennett declared, just how she liked it. They set about getting tea; scones and butter and jam and a large fruit cake as well as muffins. It was while Eloise was putting cups and saucers on a tray that her mother asked: ‘Did you two quarrel all the way here, darling?’
Eloise choked. ‘Mother! Not until we got to Wimborne. I drove most of the way and he slept—he’s been up all night.’
‘That accounts for that bland expression; I’ve noticed it before—lack of sleep,’ she went on vaguely, ‘or perhaps it was something else?’ She turned to look at her daughter, who was slicing cake savagely.
‘I expect he was thinking about Liske,’ muttered Eloise bitterly.
‘That’s what you quarrelled about?’
‘Mother, you can’t quarrel with him—he won’t. He just—just silences you. Shall I take in the tray?’
Tea was quite enjoyable. The doctor, tired or not, was the perfect guest and Jack was a good host, and if Eloise and the doctor took care not to address each other directly unless it was absolutely necessary, their companions appeared not to notice. They sat around the fire after tea, until it was time to get supper; a sizzling macaroni cheese with a sustaining soup first and beer for the men, and then once more round the fire while they drank their coffee. They didn’t stay up late, although it was very pleasant sitting there talking about nothing much, but as Mrs Bennett pointed out, they kept country hours and besides, Timon would be tired. She wished him goodnight, told her husband not to keep their guest up late, and whisked Eloise upstairs with her.
‘It seemed a good idea,’ she told her as they gained the small landing. ‘Only one bathroom, you see, though there’s plenty of hot water—you’ll have time to get a bath.’ She kissed Eloise gently. ‘Dear child, things take so long to happen sometimes.’ With which obscure remark she took herself off to her own room.
It was raining when Eloise woke in the morning, and not quite light. She got up and crept downstairs and made tea, then took a tray up to her mother’s room before going back to the warm kitchen to sit in her dressing gown by the Aga to drink her own. She had decided against taking the doctor a cup. He could come down for it; if she took it, he might think that she was trying to get into his good graces. ‘Monster!’ she muttered crossly, filled her cup for the second time and curled up in the elderly basket chair; she would sit there in peace and quiet for ten minutes.
A plan instantly shattered. The back door opened and the doctor came in, very wet. He looked at her without surprise, wished her good morning, remarked that he had taken the car to the village garage to get filled up and asked, very politely, if he might have a cup of tea.
Eloise uncurled herself, conscious that she looked pretty awful; the dressing gown she had borrowed from her mother was too small, too short and faded, and her hair was a wild tangle down her back. She wished him good morning a little belatedly and went to fetch a mug. ‘You’re very wet,’ was all she could find to say.
‘It’s raining,’ he commented mildly, and took off his car coat and opened the door again to shake it before draping it over a chair.
; She passed him the sugar. ‘I hope you slept well?’
‘Excellently, thank you.’ He looked at her searchingly as he spoke, almost as though by studying her tired face he could see that she had stayed awake far too long, thinking about him. ‘Shall you be ready to leave after breakfast?’
She nodded and got up once more. ‘Yes. We’re having it at eight o’clock—we can be away by half past. I’ll go and dress. There’s plenty more tea in the pot if you like to help yourself.’
He only smiled in reply and went to open the kitchen door for her, which was absurd of him, but nice all the same considering what a fright she looked.
It rained all day, with leaden skies and a nasty gusty wind which Eloise hoped would stop blowing before they got to Dover. Her companion was at his most amiable, although there was little warmth in his manner. She decided that he had made up his mind to be polite at all costs, maintaining a desultory conversation about this and that and being careful not to introduce any personal element. She replied suitably, and from time to time, feeling that it was her turn to bear the burden of polite talk, made observations about the weather, their journey, the countryside and the charms of Eddlescombe. Only as they sat down to lunch at the Wife of Bath in a small village just outside Ashford did she come to a halt. She sat studying the menu without really seeing it and presently, aware that his eyes were on her, said, quite against her inclination: ‘I’m sorry if I annoyed you yesterday.’
She looked at him as she spoke and saw his brows lift slightly. ‘Annoy me—you make me very angry, you frequently do.’
Any desire she might have had to apologise melted away into thin air. ‘Well, you had no reason to be,’ she told him roundly. ‘I hadn’t meant to pry, I only—well…’ She stopped, rather at a loss for words, and he supplied them for her in a silky voice: ‘Put out a feeler?’ he suggested. ‘Tried a little guessing? That will get you nowhere with me, Eloise.’
Nothing would get her anywhere with him. She ignored the snub and said haughtily: ‘I think that I have made it quite clear to you already that I have no interest in your affairs.’
