Cobweb Morning

by Betty Neels

  Alexandra smiled. ‘Well, of course, why shouldn’t they be?’ and could not prevent herself from asking: ‘Does he come often, the doctor?’

  Penny answered readily. ‘Oh, yes, every week. He brings me books and magazines now that I may read a little and he shows me pictures of places and asks me if I know them. Sometimes he’s stern, though, and says I must do as I’m told…’

  ‘Why does he say that?’

  ‘Well, sometimes I don’t do as Sister tells me and then I get giddy—I shan’t be giddy for always, shall I?’

  ‘No, of course not, Penny, but you gave your head a nasty bang, you know, and it’ll take a little time to get quite well.’

  She gave the girl sitting so docilely in the chair a motherly look. What a charming creature she was; no wonder the housemen made a beeline for her the moment they came into the ward, and so, apparently, did Doctor van Dresselhuys. She frowned, annoyed at having thought about him at all; she had dismissed him to the back of her mind days ago—she had tried to dismiss him altogether, but he had refused to go—and now, with just one remark from Penny, here he was again, every line of his handsome, aloof face well remembered, every note of his deep voice ringing in her ears.

  She found herself wondering if she would encounter him on one of his visits, but either he had just gone or was expected shortly; he was never there when she was. After a few days she came to the conclusion that he didn’t want to meet her again.

  She was finding the month hard to get through; she and Anthony couldn’t avoid meeting each other, and although she kept up a semblance of friendliness towards him, he chose to ignore this, behaving as though his feelings were much injured, and taking care to let everyone see it. She found herself longing to be gone even though her plans for the future were still vague. Even the news that Penny was considered well enough to leave hospital, while delighting her, did nothing to spur her on to the tiresome task of finding another job, let alone make up her mind where she wanted to go.

  A decision which, as it turned out, she didn’t have to make, for the very next day, a few minutes after she had gained her room after her day’s duty, the floor telephone shrilled, bidding her go all the way downstairs again because Doctor van Dresselhuys would like a word with her.

  Not in the best of tempers at this infringement of her free time, she dug her feet back into her shoes, put back the cap she had just taken off her rather untidy head, and trailed down four flights of stairs, to find him pacing impatiently to and fro in the hall.

  The moment he saw her, however, he stopped his perambulations and came towards her, reaching the bottom step at the same time as she did, so that she found her eyes almost on a level with his. They stared at each other silently until she asked in a nettled tone: ‘You wanted to see me, Doctor van Dresselhuys?’

  ‘Yes. Penny is leaving the hospital in two days’ time, of course you know that.’ His voice was almost curt. ‘I understand that you are also leaving and have no immediate plans for the future. Penny has nowhere to go and until such time as she regains her memory, or her family come forward to claim her, my aunt has offered to give her a home. It is, of course, out of the question that she should do this without help. It would oblige me—us, if you would accompany her as a companion—nurse, whatever you like to call yourself, until her future is assured—at a not too distant date, I hope. We would naturally pay you your present salary.’

  Alexandra opened her mouth and closed it again. She had been very much surprised at his offer, and now she was still more surprised to find that her instinctive response had been to say yes without even bothering to think it over. But she was a level-headed girl, not liking to be rushed into anything, so she thought about it for a few minutes, then: ‘That would be a great deal too much money,’ she observed. ‘Looking after one girl is hardly the same as running a big unit.’

  He disregarded this. ‘You’ll come?’ His cool assumption that she would come piqued her. ‘I was going home for Christmas…’

  ‘Would you have gone if you had remained at St Job’s?’

  Honesty compelled her to say that she wouldn’t, even though it annoyed her very much to have to confess it. He nodded in a satisfied way, which annoyed her even more. ‘Then I can take it as settled?’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ she snapped. ‘Do you always bulldoze your own way over other people? You’ve told me nothing; merely asked me to take a job. I don’t even know where your aunt lives.’

  He smiled at her with a sudden charm which took her breath.

  ‘I’ve annoyed you, I’m sorry. I’ve been careless of your feelings and quite thoughtless; that is because I have been considering this plan for the last few days and I very much want you to take the job. You see, Penny is fond of you, and you have helped her a good deal even though she hasn’t been in your care for the last couple of weeks. You are a sensible woman and resourceful too, and I think—so does Mr Thrush—that if anyone can help Penny to overcome her amnesia, you are that one. Besides, Aunt Euphemia likes you.’

  He paused and turned away to stare out of the small window, although there was nothing to see in the outside dark. ‘And you are quite right, I have told you nothing. My aunt has a small house—a cottage—in Suffolk. Rather remote, I should warn you, the nearest town of any size is Needham Market, and that’s no size at all. The cottage is a mile from the nearest village, Denningham. Do you drive?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah, well, there will be no problem there, and little or nothing for you to do other than keep Penny under your eye, look to her health and try constantly, without her being too aware of it, to coax back her memory, even her name would help. We have decided to wait another two or three weeks, and if there are no developments during that time, then we shall have to do some more thinking. It is extraordinary that none of her family or friends have come forward; she may of course be in the unhappy position of having neither, but I hardly think that is the case.’ He gave her a direct look. ‘Would you mind very much about Christmas?’

  It surprised her then, that although she was devoted to her family and had been looking forward to seeing them, she didn’t mind so very much. ‘Well…’ she began, and he interrupted her with: ‘Could we compromise? You are due to leave in two days’ time, aren’t you? The same time as Penny. Could you not go home for a few days and then return here to collect her and take her down to my aunt’s house? I’m sure that I could persuade Mr Thrush to keep Penny another few days if necessary.’

  ‘Well,’ said Alexandra again, ‘yes, all right, Doctor. It’s true that I haven’t decided on another job yet; I’ve been offered several and I don’t really care for any of them.’ She added in a burst of honesty, ‘Only there’s just one condition, I won’t come unless you agree to pay me less money.’

  ‘Why?’ He looked faintly amused, so that she went on awkwardly: ‘Well, it—it will cost you a lot of money to have Penny, even for three weeks, and then me on top of that…’

  ‘Now that is extremely thoughtful of you, Miss Dobbs.’ His eyes flickered down to his well-worn suit and then back to hers, and although his face was blandly friendly, she could have sworn that he was laughing silently, so that she pinkened. ‘I accept your condition, dear girl, and thank you. It is quite true that there will be some expense in the matter of clothes and so on for Penny; you will be of the greatest help there, for Aunty is a thought old-fashioned, and I—I know very little about such matters.’

  His voice was as bland as his face and she frowned a little uneasily, but he gave her no time to ponder his words. ‘I won’t keep you any longer,’ he told her decisively, ‘I’m sure that you have plans for your evening.’ His manner became almost friendly. ‘I hope I shall not be the cause of annoying young—er—Ferris again, keeping you talking like this.’

  There was the faintest query in his voice; he would know about her and Anthony—everyone in the hospital knew by now, and there was no use in pretending they didn’t. ‘You don’t have to be polite ab
out it,’ she said, ‘Anthony and I…well, we agreed that we didn’t suit each other.’ She caught the doctor’s eyes bent upon her and saw their sardonic gleam.

  ‘We had a flaming row,’ she amended, ‘that’s really why I’m leaving.’

  He answered her in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘You were entirely unsuited, even to someone as disinterested as myself, that was obvious.’

  Her fine eyes flashed. ‘Oh, was it indeed? And what business is it of yours, might I ask?’

  ‘None at all—I have just told you that I am quite disinterested—I merely made an observation.’

  She took instant exception to this. ‘Well, don’t, I’m not a child to be told what to do.’

  He studied her rather heated countenance. ‘How old are you, Sister Dobbs?’

  She wasn’t a girl to be coy about such things. ‘Twenty-seven,’ she told him with the faintest lift of her eyebrows, and he said instantly, half laughing: ‘And I am thirty-six—that is what you wished to know, was it not?’ He smiled and held out his hand. ‘A pleasant stay at your home, and my thanks for taking the job. And now I must be going.’

  She felt her hand wrung gently and remembered to ask: ‘Will I have instructions when I get back here?’

  ‘Yes, all arrangements will have been made for you.’ He sounded suddenly impatient to be gone. ‘Good-bye, Miss Dobbs.’ He nodded briefly and walked to the door where he turned to say: ‘I think I shall call you Alexandra—Miss Dobbs doesn’t suit you in the least.’

  She stood where he had left her, looking at the door long after he had closed it, trying to make up her mind if the feeling making itself felt inside her was dislike for him, or whether she liked him very much. A bit of both, she concluded sensibly, and went back to her room to fetch some money so that she might telephone home.

  Her mother, as was usual, was a little incoherent, for she had a habit of speaking her thoughts aloud in the middle of a perfectly rational conversation, casting her listeners, unless they knew her well, into confusion. But Alexandra was used to her; through the tangle of regret at her not being home for Christmas, delight at her impending visit, the complete breakdown of the village organ and Mrs Watt’s total inability to speak her lines right in the nativity play being got up by the WI, Alexandra deduced that her parent was resigned to her taking a new job at such an awkward time, and when that lady asked suddenly if she and Anthony had quarrelled irrevocably, Alexandra was able to assure her quite cheerfully that yes, they had, to which her mother replied: ‘Oh, well—there’s that nice Dutch doctor.’

  ‘Mother dear,’ said Alexandra, very clearly, ‘we don’t even like each other particularly. Besides, he’s years older than me.’

  ‘How old?’ demanded her mother.

  ‘Thirty-six.’

  ‘Just right,’ replied Mrs Dobbs happily. ‘You just wait and see…’

  ‘Mother,’ Alexandra was laughing now, ‘you’re incorrigible! I must go, see you in two days’ time—ask Father to meet me if he can, will you?’

  She went back upstairs, and because she had nothing better to do, began on the interesting task of sorting out what clothes she would need. No uniform, the doctor had said, and since Aunty lived in such a retired manner, presumably no evening clothes. She decided on serviceable tweeds and sweaters and a rather nice trouser suit she had only just bought. Her winter coat was tweed too, russet and brown—and there was a knitted cap and scarf to go with it as well as a fine wool dress to wear beneath it—with those she should be able to get through a couple of weeks in the depths of the country; as an afterthought she added a silk jersey dress in a dark burgundy red and some elegant shoes—after all, she would be there for Christmas and Miss Thrums, however isolated, must surely have a few friends to drop in. Lastly, as a concession to the probable wet weather, she added an elderly anorak, hooded, shabby, but still useful.

  Two days later she went home, to be met by her father in Dorchester. A quiet man, who said little but saw a great deal, he touched lightly upon her new job, expressed regret that her visit was to be such a short one, and volunteered his opinion that Suffolk was a charming part of England, even in midwinter. She agreed absently and then asked: ‘Father, does it seem strange to you that no one has come forward to claim Penny?’

  ‘Not really. It’s a sad fact that a great many young people today leave home and find work in another part of the country—she’s young, this Penny of yours? But old enough to work for her living, presumably—and she could drive a car. A car, I’m told, stolen from a garage in the Midlands. Not that she need necessarily have taken it—someone she knew might have done that and lent it to her, without her being aware of the circumstances. In that case whoever that was isn’t likely to come forward, is he—or she? They would be accused of theft.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that. But her parents…’

  ‘Dead—on holiday abroad, there are a dozen possibilities. In any case, dear, I shouldn’t worry your head about it—the thing is to help her to regain her memory; once that is done, those looking after her can sort things out. Mr Thrush, isn’t it, and this Dutch doctor—a friend of his, you say?’

  Alexandra was looking at the familiar landscape. ‘Yes—and quite a close one, I imagine, though I don’t think he’s anything very special. He’s—well, he’s a bit shabby, I suppose, though his clothes are very good and he doesn’t seem to have a car—the Morris is his aunt’s. I think he must be a GP in Holland, though I haven’t asked.’

  Her father gave her a quick look. ‘No reason why you should, is there? I daresay Mr Thrush and he knew each other when they were younger men.’

  ‘He’s not that old,’ said Alexandra sharply, and then, happy to change the conversation: ‘Oh, look, there’s old Mrs Duke.’ She waved as they passed and added happily, ‘It’s lovely to be home again, Father.’

  The two days went in a flash; she had no sooner arrived than she found herself packing her case again, wishing with all her heart that she had refused to take on a job so soon after leaving St Job’s. Only a fool, she thought crossly, would have allowed herself to be persuaded to miss Christmas at home—she didn’t even need the money; she had a little saved and her father, while not overblessed with the world’s goods, would have raised no objection to her staying home for a few weeks, or for that matter, for as long as she had wanted to. But some of her dissatisfaction disappeared when she reached the hospital and found Penny eagerly waiting for her. The girl seemed delighted to see her again, tucking a hand into Alexandra’s arm and looking confidingly into her face. ‘I was terrified that you wouldn’t come,’ she told her.

  Alexandra thought how young and helpless she looked. ‘Well, I did, didn’t I?’ she reassured her, ‘so now you don’t need to worry any more.’

  They went by train to Needham Market, a tiresome journey, but as Mr Thrush had pointed out, a good opportunity to note how Penny reacted to her surroundings. But she didn’t, she sat looking out of the window, not really noticing anything, and by the time they arrived she was getting tired. It was a relief to find Miss Thrums on the platform, who, after a brisk greeting, ushered them out of the station to where the Morris 1000 was standing. It was six or seven miles to Denningham, and apparently Miss Thrums knew every inch of the way blindfolded; nothing else could have accounted for the speed at which she drove. Alexandra, sitting beside her with Penny tucked up on the back seat, was thankful that the rolling, open countryside afforded a good view for some distance ahead of them, so that any oncoming traffic had time to take evasive action before Miss Thrums ran them down. ‘You drive, I hear,’ she remarked. ‘Taro was pleased about that—he has the oddest notion that I’m not a good driver.’

  ‘Taro?’ asked Alexandra. Such a strange name, but it suited him.

  ‘Yes, dear—my nephew, after his father, you know. His mother was my sister—such a dear girl and younger than I. She died two years ago. His father is still alive although retired, and he has three sisters. He and I have always been great friends.�
� She took her eye off the road to give Alexandra a searching glance. ‘Such a dear boy.’

  ‘Yes? Well, I expect he is,’ said Alexandra awkwardly, and was glad when her companion changed the subject.

  The doctor had been right; Denningham was very small, a handful of lovely old cottages, a village shop and church and the manor house standing behind the stark lines of the winter trees. They drove through it, still much too fast, and presently turned off the road into a narrow lane running through ploughed fields and, presently, a copse. The cottage had buried itself halfway through the little cluster of trees and undergrowth, a Hans Andersen masterpiece, small and gabled and narrow-windowed, each gable carved with a variety of animals’ heads, its front door a ponderous affair which one would have to stoop to enter.

  ‘My little place,’ Miss Thrums pointed out happily, and shot the car with abandon up the short, muddy drive to the door and leapt out with all the agility of a fourteen-year-old. ‘You bring in Penny,’ she advised Alexandra, ‘we can fetch the bags later.’