by Betty Neels
‘This is not a smart place,’ explained Heleen, her companion, ‘it is cheap, though, and the coffee is good. There are some splendid restaurants but they cost very much money—you have perhaps been to one such?’
‘Well, I went to a very nice one yesterday, in Vlaardingen. It was called the Delta.’
Heleen’s eyes sparkled. ‘But that is a—a super place, most expensive. You were taken, of course.’ She smiled. ‘By Doctor van Dresselhuys, yes? We all know that you have been working for him. He is—how do you say?—the hero of all of us. So kind and charming; he is also very rich.’
It gave Alexandra a glow of pleasure to hear that, but all she said was: ‘He can be quite sharp sometimes; he likes his own way, doesn’t he?’
Heleen shrugged and laughed. ‘But that is natural for a man, is it not? I would not mind how sharp he was if he took me out just once to a place like the Delta.’ She leaned forward eagerly. ‘Tell me, what did you eat?’
They took a bus back afterwards, in time to drink yet more coffee with the late shift just off duty, and the next day Alexandra was on that shift herself. It was a duty no one liked; time for an extra sleep and a leisurely breakfast, certainly, but after that, once letters had been written or hair washed, no time at all, and being on duty at midday meant that one arrived at the tail end of the morning’s list, with patients to take over while the earlier shift went to their dinners, before getting the recovery room ready for the afternoon cases. The day flew by and when she got off duty just after nine o’clock, she was too tired to do more than have a bath and fall into bed. The next day was better, though. She was on duty at nine in the morning and free at five o’clock, and the day after that was Thursday.
Alexandra was up early, to do her face and hair with extra care before making tea in the kitchen at the end of the passage. She had decided that she would be just a little late; over-eagerness wouldn’t do at all. But at the last minute she couldn’t do it; probably he had a heavy day’s work before him and every minute would count. The carillon across the street was playing its tune for the hour as she went through the door, to find the Rolls outside with Taro at the wheel. Just for a few seconds she had the chance of studying his face, for he hadn’t seen her, staring ahead of him, his profile grim, his brows drawn together, but when he turned his head and saw her the frown disappeared and his mouth relaxed in a smile.
He got out of the car and took her case from her hand and threw it on to the back seat before opening the door so that she might get in. ‘Good girl,’ he told her approvingly, as he got into his own seat. ‘Thank heaven you’re not one of those women who feel that they simply must be late.’
‘Good morning,’ she said demurely, ‘and if I had been, would you have waited for me?’
‘Now that’s a question I must have time to answer.’ He was driving without haste through the busy morning traffic. ‘You look very nice,’ he commented without looking at her.
She had to laugh. ‘How could you possibly know? You haven’t looked at me…well, only for a second…’
‘Haven’t I? You’re wearing a tweed coat and one of those ridiculous wool hats—it suits you—and a mile and a half of scarf, leather boots and a shoulder bag. Your hair is all tucked away, which is a pity, and you came out of the door looking as though you were quite certain that I wouldn’t be there.’
She turned to look at him, round-eyed. ‘You can’t have seen all that.’
‘I did.’ They were on the highway now, passing the Euromotel, and Delft’s lovely skyline ahead of them seemed nearer than it was by reason of the cold, clear air. ‘Do you read Robert Burns?’ he asked.
‘Me? No—hardly ever.’ She thought about it for a moment. ‘Why?’
‘I can think of at least two of them which are appropriate to this conversation.’ He slowed the car. ‘Here’s Delft.’
She was seething with curiosity about Robert Burns’ poems, but she could see that he wasn’t going to say anything else, so she looked out of the window and presently asked: ‘Do you have to go away again as soon as we get to your home?’
‘I’m afraid so, but only to Leiden. I’ll be back soon after tea unless there’s something unexpected to hold me up. I’ve private patients to see this morning and the hospital afterwards.’
‘What about your lunch?’
She missed the gleam of amusement in his eyes. ‘I’ll get a sandwich.’
‘That’s not enough.’
He said on a half laugh: ‘Do I detect a motherly concern for my welfare, Alexandra? The first, I swear.’
She bit back the swift denial on her tongue and discovered at the same time a strong desire to burst into tears. Very silly, she told herself sternly. She would have to learn to control her feelings better than that and try and achieve the lighthearted, not quite friendly relationship which he seemed to prefer. She managed airily: ‘Oh, I was thinking of your hospital patients; if you’re hungry you’ll be testy.’
‘Good God, am I that? I had no idea.’
‘Of course you’re not,’ she told him crossly. ‘I was just saying…’
‘I wasn’t very nice to you when we first met, was I, Alexandra?’
It was so unexpected and she was so surprised that she could think of nothing to say. At length: ‘Well, you were rather worried, weren’t you? and you had no idea what I was like.’
He made a small sound and she wasn’t sure if he had laughed or not, perhaps it would be a good idea to change the conversation. ‘I wonder how Penny’s getting on?’ she asked, not really wanting to know, but he answered at once. ‘I had a letter from her this morning, she appears to have landed on her feet under the doubtful protection of the boy-friend. She wanted to know if you were still here, and there was a message for you too—you were to remember what she said—does that make sense?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘It was an interesting letter,’ his voice had become bland with a hint of laughter in it. ‘She told me that you—er—fancied me, Alexandra.’
She felt her cheeks grow warm and her pulse race and restrained herself only by a strong effort from shouting, ‘But I do, I do,’ at him. Instead she declared lightly: ‘What a load of old rot, but Penny liked making little jokes.’
It was really rather annoying when he said cheerfully: ‘What a pity! Being fancied—such a peculiar expression, too—might hold some delightful possibilities. Still, I’ve no time to worry about that now.’
They were driving down the lane which led to the house; a moment later they were there and less than five minutes after that he had gone again, with a nonchalant wave of the hand which left her feeling forlorn.
Upstairs, unpacking her bag, she decided that it was all her fault; she had drawn a modicum of comfort from Miss Thrums’ pleased welcome and Pieters’ smiling face, but why should she have expected more than pleasant hospitality from Taro? He had never—well, almost never, shown any desire to offer anything else, in fact, when she thought about it, his manner at times had been positively off-hand as though daring her to take him seriously.
She had been a fool to think otherwise; she should have learned better by now. She slapped on some more lipstick and went downstairs.
The day passed pleasantly. She and Miss Thrums talked and walked and sauntered through the greenhouses and wasted agreeable time with the animals. It wasn’t until they were leaving the house for what Miss Thrums called her post-prandial exercise that Penny was mentioned.
‘Taro had a letter this morning,’ she observed as they went across the garden and out through the little gate opening on to the lane at the back of the house. ‘He would have told you, of course.’
Why of course? wondered Alexandra, and said calmly: ‘Yes, he did.’
‘A strange letter. She is a clever girl, my dear, and a cunning one. She wanted to know where your home was, but Taro has no intention of telling her, naturally; in a week or so she will have got over her infatuation for him and forgotten all about you, too. At present, though, you are a ha
ted rival—you know that.’
‘Yes, but I can’t think why—I’ve never given her any cause…’
‘Quite so, my dear,’ said her companion briskly, ‘but that would have made no difference to Penny; she recognized you as a danger to her plans—I doubt if she ever forgives you. But even if she had planned some small mischief she would have been unable to carry it out with you here, and by the time you return to England the urge to do so will have died a natural death.’
Alexandra stopped to stare at Miss Thrums. ‘Is that why I was offered this job? To keep me here?…so that I wouldn’t go back…’ She paused quite speechless.
Her companion smiled. ‘Well, I believe that was one of the reasons that Taro was anxious you go to the hospital in Rotterdam—besides, it has given you a chance to see something more of Holland, although as I told you, I don’t care for Rotterdam.’
‘No, I don’t think I do either.’ They were walking on again. ‘It was kind of Taro to think of that—it never entered my head.’
Miss Thrums smiled again but offered no reply, merely observing that since they had arrived at the village it might be a good idea to visit its one shop and see if the sewing needles she required were obtainable there.
Their errand discharged, they turned for home. The afternoon was already darkening, with a mean, cold wind blowing in their faces.
‘An unpleasant climate in the winter months,’ commented Miss Thrums, ‘and yet I like it.’ As she closed the garden gate behind them, she asked: ‘You like Holland, Alexandra?’
‘Yes, I do.’ She pushed back the tendrils of hair blowing round her face. ‘I feel at home here, but I expect that’s because everyone I’ve met speaks English, and I like all the people I’ve met, too—and this house is lovely.’
‘Quite beautiful, even at this time of year—you should see it in the summer, with all the doors and windows wide and Taro pottering in the garden…and meals out of doors; it’s perfect. Taro’s lonely, though.’
‘He must have friends.’
‘Oh, any number, but what he needs is a wife and children.’ Miss Thrums opened a side door. ‘Here we are, despite the wind. How I shall enjoy a cup of tea.’
They were still sitting over it, toasting themselves before the blazing fire, when Taro came in. ‘Dear boy,’ beamed his aunt, ‘would you like fresh tea?’
‘Pieters is bringing it, thanks.’ He sat down opposite Alexandra and smiled at her. ‘You’ve had a pleasant day, I hope?’
‘Delightful, thank you—doing nothing is lovely; I’d quite forgotten how hard I worked at St Job’s—it’s just the same here. But I like being busy.’
The tea came, and they sat comfortably talking about nothing in particular until Miss Thrums declared: ‘I must go to my room and fetch my needlework; idleness is such a waste of time at my age.’
‘Let me go,’ said Alexandra, suddenly anxious not to be alone with the doctor.
‘Aunty wants to go,’ said Taro lazily, ‘she thinks we might like to have a cosy talk together, don’t you, my dear? Fetching her embroidery is just a blind.’
Alexandra sat looking at her feet, struggling to think of a clever answer to this piece of impertinence. She gave up after a moment or so and glanced up in time to see Miss Thrums already at the door Taro was holding open for her. It seemed a good opportunity to let him see that she wasn’t as meek as all that, so she got up too, intent on going too. But much too late; Taro had closed it before she was half-way there, and all he did was to catch her by the arm and walk her back to the fire, dump her in her chair and resume his own seat.
‘Dear girl,’ he observed mildly, ‘why this rush to run away?’
‘I’m not running away. I—I…’
He smiled at her then, a tender smile which set her heart thudding against her ribs. ‘You’re a darling,’ he said softly.
She was powerless to think sensibly when he looked at her like that. She said inanely: ‘Oh, am I?’ and smiled herself, and when he got out of his chair and came across to her and pulled her gently to her feet and kissed her it seemed only natural to kiss him back.
‘This is exactly the kind of cosy talk Aunty had in mind,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘I’ve had it in mind myself for quite a while now.’
He bent to kiss her once more and at the same time the telephone rang. He finished the kiss without rushing it, said ‘Blast,’ very softly and released her to answer it. ‘For you,’ he told her, and sat down on the sofa while she picked up the receiver.
It was her older brother. She said, ‘Hullo, Edmund,’ in pleased surprise, and then warned by his hesitant voice: ‘What’s the matter? Is something wrong? Mother—Father?’
It was their mother, he told her, suffering, of all things, from measles. Not well at all, he said soberly into her ear, and was there any chance of her coming home soon—just for a while, things were a bit difficult.
‘Mother? Measles?’ repeated Alexandra, amazed; she couldn’t remember her mother being ill. ‘Is she very bad?’
‘Well,’ said Edmund carefully, ‘she’s very spotty, and off colour, of course. There’s an epidemic round here, so it’s difficult to get the district nurse for more than half an hour now and again.’ She heard him sigh and knew what he was thinking. Her father would be rushed off his feet, Edmund himself, a junior partner with a small surgery which served one or two outlying villages, would be just as rushed, and with Jeff in Bristol and Jim busy at the farm, life was difficult. True, there was a dear old woman who came in to clean, but nipping up and down stairs to attend to an invalid’s wants, let alone cleaning the house and cooking, would be more than she could manage. She frowned and looked inquiringly at Taro, unashamedly listening to her end of the conversation.
He said at once: ‘Of course you must go. Will tomorrow do? I’ll fix things with the hospital and drive you to Schiphol—you should be able to get on a morning flight, and you’ll be home by tea-time.’ He gave her an encouraging nod. ‘Tell him that.’
‘You’re sure it’s all right?’ she asked as she put the receiver down a few minutes later.
‘Of course—I’ll see about a seat on the plane,’ and when that was settled he came and sat down again, not beside her on the sofa, but in the big wing chair on the other side of the hearth. There was, she saw at once, to be no resumption of the magic which had held them both enthralled only a few minutes earlier. Indeed, for the rest of that evening he was the kind host, the thoughtful friend, ready with suggestions for her journey and practical sympathy. Only as they said good night did he mention that he would drive her to the airport in the morning, and even then he had added to his aunt: ‘I would suggest that you came along for the ride, Aunty, but it will be rather early!’
Which remark left Alexandra to suppose that although he was going to drive her to Schiphol he didn’t much mind if he were alone with her or not.
They covered the twenty odd miles to Schiphol in less than half an hour. Breakfast had been early, but there had been no hint of haste about it. Pieters had served the meal in his usual unhurried manner and Taro might have had the whole day idle before him, to judge from his leisurely behaviour. Alexandra, who hadn’t slept well, was edgy—she could miss the plane, her mother might be worse, and over and above these, Taro had left her, as it were, half-way between heaven and earth. If only he would say something.
They were actually getting out of the car at Schiphol before he did. Until that moment he had talked trivialities with a detached friendliness which she had found singularly quelling, but now, with her case in his hand, he paused.
‘This isn’t quite what I had planned for today,’ he told her, and there was a gleam in his eye which quickened her heartbeat. ‘I moved heaven and earth to be free to spend it with you, and here I am, speeding you away at the earliest possible moment.’
He took her arm and walked her into the arrival hall, dealt with her luggage, and started for the exit leading to her flight. They had only five minutes, she saw with dism
ay, and even at that moment a disembodied voice urged passengers for the London flight to go aboard. She said like a child: ‘Oh, Taro, I’ve got to go, it’s all so quick…’
‘That’s the best way,’ he told her. She felt his hands on her shoulders. ‘Good-bye, Alexandra.’
His kiss was quick and hard before he pushed her gently towards the barrier. She found herself the other side of it, on the escalator, and turned round to wave, not believing that he had let her go like that. Wasn’t he going to see her again? He had said nothing, as far as she knew he didn’t even know her home address. She crossed the tarmac and climbed the steps into the plane, quite unaware of what she was doing. Perhaps he was glad; perhaps he felt relief that this had happened to prevent them getting too involved. Well, she for one was involved, and would be for the rest of her life. She looked out of the plane window, sucking the sweet the stewardess had offered her, and wished she was dead.
London, after the quiet countryside in Holland, didn’t impress her as she waited in the queue for a taxi once she had reached the air terminal, and Waterloo Station was bleak and crowded and she had to queue again for her ticket. She had time to telephone her home before she joined the small group of people waiting to be allowed on to the platform for the West Country train. She would have liked a cup of tea, but she didn’t like to chance missing her place. She opened the paperback she had brought with her and prepared to while away ten minutes or so.
She looked up startled when she heard her name. Anthony Ferris was standing a yard or so away from her, staring at her, as surprised as she was. After only the smallest hesitation he came forward. ‘Alexandra!’ he exclaimed. ‘Fancy seeing you here! I thought you were with that girl…’
‘She’s better—quite recovered.’ She really didn’t want to talk to him, but she had to be polite. ‘How are you, Anthony?’
