The Quiet Professor

by Betty Neels

  ‘He fits in very well—such an easy young man to entertain. A pity you weren’t able to come too, Meg.’ She eyed her beautiful daughter’s face. ‘You’re rather pale, dear—you’ve been working too hard.’

  ‘Well, yes, but now I’ve two whole days to be idle. I thought I’d take a fortnight’s holiday at the end of June. Are you and Father going away? Melanie said something about going to Brittany; we might go together.’

  ‘Can’t Oscar get some time off with you, and shouldn’t you pay another duty visit to his people?’

  ‘He told me he hasn’t a chance of leave for several months—the odd weekend perhaps.’ She cut a hunk of the cake her mother had put on the table and bit into it. ‘I don’t think Mrs Fielding will invite me unless she has to. She doesn’t like me and I don’t like her. I dare say it will be all right if we keep away from each other and just meet when we have to.’

  Mrs Rodner looked doubtful. ‘Darling, I’m not sure…’ She broke off as Melanie came in, gave Megan a hug and sat down beside her.

  ‘I say, someone at the church said they saw you in a Rolls-Royce going through the village. Was it you?’

  ‘Yes. The professor of pathology was going to Oxford and gave me a lift.’

  ‘Is he nice? Young? Good-looking?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure if you’d like him.’ Megan reflected that her shy sister would retire even deeper into her shell if they should ever meet. ‘He’s not young. I’ve no idea…about forty, I suppose, and he’s good-looking and he’s rather reserved.’

  ‘He has very bright blue eyes, the faintest accent because he’s Dutch and he’s one of the largest men I’ve ever seen,’ said her mother.

  Both girls laughed. ‘Mother, I didn’t know you were so observant,’ said Megan.

  ‘He sounds interesting. What a pity Oscar couldn’t come with you, Meg.’

  ‘No chance of that for a while, Melly. He’ll squeeze out a weekend when he can—even a day. It very much depends on what’s on the wards.’ She smiled at her. ‘You had a lovely weekend, didn’t you?’

  ‘Heavenly. I took him to those gardens—that place near Wing, the daffodils were gorgeous and we had lunch at the pub there.’ Melanie’s pretty little face shone with pleasure at the remembrance.

  ‘You get on well with Oscar, don’t you, love?’ asked Megan.

  ‘Oh, yes. You don’t mind, Meg?’

  ‘Mind? Of course not. I would have minded very much if you had disliked each other on sight, and Oscar gets so little time in which to enjoy himself away from his work.’

  ‘Well, now you’ve got that flat he’ll have somewhere to go when he can snatch an hour,’ said Mrs Rodner comfortably. Only she didn’t feel comfortable; she looked at her two daughters, both unaware of what was happening to them, and there was no way of telling them. They would have to discover it for themselves, and since they were both fond of each other they would both be hurt.

  She got up from the table. ‘I thought I would make a rhubarb pie—it would be nice,’ she said. ‘Will one of you pick some for me? There’s plenty under the buckets at the bottom of the garden. Meredith might like to go with you.’

  The two girls, happily unaware of her thoughts, went off into the kitchen garden with the cat at their heels. They picked the rhubarb then sat down on an old wheelbarrow to crunch the radishes that they had pulled.

  ‘They’ve had the horses out at Cobb’s Farm,’ said Melanie. ‘There are mushrooms in the bottom field, and Mr Cobb said I could have any I liked to pick.’

  ‘There can’t be many at this time of year, but we might go and look before breakfast tomorrow. Church in the morning?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I made Oscar go.’ Melanie laughed. ‘He said he hadn’t been for ages, but he did it to please me.’

  Megan ate another radish. ‘Good for you, love. We’d better take this rhubarb to Mother or we shan’t get a pie for lunch.’

  Megan didn’t waste a moment of her weekend; the weather remained springlike and warm and she spent hours pottering around the garden, weeding and planting and eating her mother’s splendidly cooked meals. She had time to think too, and away from the hospital it seemed so much easier to do that clearly. The vague uncertainties she had been worrying about became unimportant, the subtle change in Oscar’s manner towards her became a figment of her imagination, and by Sunday evening she had sorted out her feelings, told herself that she had been overtired and fancied things which hadn’t happened at all. ‘A load of rubbish,’ she assured Meredith cheerfully, and didn’t allow her thoughts to dwell on the fact that Oscar hadn’t phoned at all over the weekend. Then, of course, there was really no reason why he should, only that he had formed that habit when she went home for weekends on her own.

  Mindful of the professor’s weakness for punctuality, she was ready, with Meredith in his basket, by six o’clock. They were all in the drawing-room, exchanging last-minute chat, when they heard the car whisper to a halt and Mrs Rodner stood up. ‘I’ll go,’ she said, and left the room before anyone could say anything, to return after a few moments with the professor looming behind her. Looking at him, Megan reflected that if one didn’t know him one would suppose him to be a mild man incapable of uttering any but the kindest of words. He shook her father’s hand with every show of pleasure, gave her a nod in greeting, and took the hand Melanie held out to him.

  He took it gently and gave her a smile of such charm that she smiled back. ‘I’ve heard of you from Megan,’ he told her in a voice as gentle as his hand clasp. ‘You must have enjoyed having her at home, even for such a short time; the weather has been specially good too.’

  It surprised Megan that her shy sister answered him without her usual shyness. ‘I wish she were at home all the time—we went mushroom-picking before breakfast.’

  ‘The best time of the day. Let us hope that the weather will be just as kind when Megan comes again.’

  He didn’t linger and after another five minutes’ talk with her mother and father asked Megan if she was ready, picked up Meredith’s basket and went out to the car with her. Beyond the nod and his question he hadn’t spoken to her, although as he opened the car door for her he gave her a thoughtful look. Megan, who had missed the look, thought waspishly that she need not have bothered to have worn the new outfit again; a sack would have done for all the notice he had taken of her. The guilty thought that it shouldn’t matter to her—an engaged girl—what the professor thought, anyway, sent the colour into her cheeks so that her companion, getting into the car beside her, cast a look of thoughtful appreciation at her pretty face before turning the key in the car and waving to the little group standing there in the porch. Megan waved too, wrestling with mixed feelings: regret at leaving home once again, pleasure in the company of the professor and a sudden eagerness to see Oscar.

  Melanie went back into the house but Mr and Mrs Rodner lingered in the garden. ‘He’s in love with her,’ said Mrs Rodner in a pleased voice.

  Her husband took her arm. ‘Really? Has he told you so?’ He sounded amused.

  ‘Of course not. He won’t tell anyone, certainly not our Meg, until he is good and ready.’

  ‘How do you know this, my dear?’

  ‘He didn’t even look at her when we came in, just nodded, but didn’t you see the way he stared down at her as she got into the car?’

  ‘Well, no, my dear, I can’t say that I did, and if you’re right, and I must say I find it most unlikely, what about Oscar?’

  ‘He fell in love
with Melanie the moment he set eyes on her and she with him. Meg doesn’t know that yet, but she knows there’s somehow something that’s not quite right. I did tell you…’

  ‘Yes, dear, and I suggested that you had patience.’

  ‘Well, I am having patience, only I don’t want Meg hurt. I don’t think she’s really in love with Oscar, not deeply, but all the same she’ll feel slighted.’

  ‘Melanie will be upset too.’ Mr Rodner turned to his wife and marched her back into the house. ‘Let us have coffee and try and forget this; after all, it is pure conjecture.’

  On the porch, Mrs Rodner paused to say, ‘You liked him…?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘There you are, then,’ declared Mrs Rodner, clinching the matter.

  The professor had very little to say on the way back to London and that was of a trivial nature. Megan, searching her head for something to talk about, grew more and more silent and was thankful that the professor seemed perfectly at ease without the need for conversation. It was only as he drew up before her flat that he said, ‘You have all you want? You will allow me to come in with you and make sure that everything is as it should be?’

  ‘Thank you, but there is no need…’

  He had helped her out of the car and collected the cat basket and her bag—now he took the door key from her, opened the door and switched on the light.

  The little place looked dark and chilly. He bent to light the gas fire and shut the door behind her, let the cat out of his basket and went to examine the back door and the window in the kitchen.

  ‘Would you like coffee—or tea?’ asked Megan, quite expecting him to refuse.

  ‘Tea would be delightful.’ He put the kettle on as he spoke and she took off her jacket and dug into her bag for the cake her mother had baked, put cups and saucers on a tray and warmed the teapot.

  The place looked better already; the lampshades cast a kindly glow over its shabbiness and the gas fire, old-fashioned though it was, gave out a pleasant heat. ‘Do sit down,’ she begged him, and fetched a plate and a knife. ‘Mother always gives me a cake to bring back. Will you have some?’

  The tray between them and Meredith sitting at her feet, they drank the pot dry and ate a good deal of the cake.

  Presently the professor got up to go. They had been talking about nothing much but now he said, ‘Your sister is a very pretty girl but extremely shy, is she not?’

  ‘Yes, you noticed that, didn’t you? But not shy with everyone—she liked you.’

  ‘Unlike the nurses at Regent’s, she is not afraid of me.’ He smiled as he spoke.

  ‘Oh, that’s a silly kind of legend about you. You’re up on that top floor, you see, and you’re so very large. When you go onto the wards they get a bit nervous…’

  ‘Because I’m large?’

  ‘Partly, I suppose, and partly because you’re quiet even when you’re annoyed about something.’

  ‘I must mend my ways.’ He had his hand on the door. ‘Don’t thank me for the lift—it is I who thanks you. Your company was a pleasure.’

  He bent suddenly and kissed her on her surprised mouth. ‘Goodnight, Megan.’

  She stood still, watching the door close behind him and then listening to the sound of the car driving almost silently away.

  ‘Well!’ said Megan, and again, ‘Well!’ She bent to pick up Meredith and sat down with him on her lap. She had enjoyed the kiss, there was no denying that, and since she had done nothing to encourage such behaviour she told herself that it wasn’t necessary to feel guilty about it. She did feel guilty, though, and got up and picked up the receiver and rang Oscar’s number at the hospital.

  He answered at once. ‘You’re back—did you have a good weekend? Was everyone all right?’

  ‘They’re all fine. Have you been busy? Any chance of a few hours off this week? Even a half-day?’

  ‘I’ve fixed a day off on Wednesday; I’m going home. I’ll try and get an hour or two off one evening. The medical side’s chock-a-block and I’m on call.’

  ‘I won’t keep you, Oscar. Let me know if you’re free and I’ll try and fix my off duty. Goodnight, dear.’

  She hung up, her mind already busy with possibilities if they could manage an evening together. Perhaps dinner out somewhere? Or should she try once more to cook supper for them both at the flat? She got ready for bed, put everything ready for the morning and lay in the dark, vaguely bothered about something, only she didn’t know what that something was.

  ‘It can’t be anything much,’ she told Meredith, curled up beside her, ‘or I’d know, wouldn’t I?’

  A satisfactory answer: she went to sleep at once.

  The ward was relatively quiet when she got to it in the morning. Three cases for operation but an equal number of discharges, which was a good thing since it would be take-in again on Wednesday. She took the report, went through the case sheets with Jenny, did her morning round and went to the office to deal with the paperwork. She had given herself an afternoon off duty so that Jenny could have an evening before her days off and since the operation cases had all gone to Theatre and were back again by one o’clock she felt free to go back to the flat after her dinner in the canteen.

  To her friends’ enquiries as to whether she had enjoyed her weekend she replied cheerfully that she had had a splendid time, but she didn’t tell them that she had had a lift from the professor; even friends gossiped and she could imagine how the hospital grapevine would embellish the news so that soon it would have the pair of them going down the aisle and Oscar a broken man.

  She gave the flat a good clean when she got there and then went shopping. The general stores at the end of the street sold just about everything; she stocked up and went back to make herself tea, feed Meredith and put everything ready for her supper when she got back home that evening.

  The ward was still quiet and she had enough nurses on duty. She wrote the report, checked the operation cases, talked to anxious relations and did the medicine round, and then gave the report to the night nurses before going off duty. It had been quite a nice day, she reflected on her way home. She wondered if the professor had had a nice day too; only of course nice was a word she knew he didn’t approve of.

  * * *

  Take-in began quietly, which was a good thing because Jenny wouldn’t be back until the next day. Megan went off duty that evening satisfied that the day had gone as well as could be expected, cooked her supper, attended to Meredith and washed her smalls and then sat down with a book. She had barely opened it before the phone rang.

  ‘It’s me,’ said Melanie ungrammatically, ‘Meg, guess who came today? You never will, anyway—Oscar. He said he had meant to go home but at the last minute he decided that he wanted a day in the country so he came here. We had such a lovely day.’

  Megan found her voice. ‘Melly, how very nice for you. Did you go walking?’

  ‘Yes. Miles and miles. He’s only been gone about an hour. Did he tell you he was coming?’

  ‘No, love, but I’ve been on duty since eight o’clock this morning, so he wouldn’t have had the chance. I know he wasn’t too keen to go home. I expect he’ll give me a ring when he gets in.’

  ‘He did say he’d fetch me one day so that I can see your flat, Meg. May I visit you? One day when you’re free I’d love to see it.’

  ‘Of course you can come. I’ll let you have a few days to choose from. Do you want to stay the night? I could get a room for you…’
<
br />   ‘Oscar said he’d drive me back.’ When Megan didn’t answer, she said, ‘Meg, you’re still there? I expect you’re tired. Goodnight, dear.’

  Megan put down the receiver. ‘How silly of me not to have seen it,’ she told Meredith. ‘They’re just right for each other, aren’t they?’ A tear trickled down her cheek and she wiped it away angrily. ‘Perhaps he loved me a little, but I don’t suppose he was ever in love as well. I’ve been pretty silly too.’ Another tear crept down. She didn’t wipe it away this time but picked up Meredith and cried all over him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  UNLIKE the heroines in romantic fiction, Megan didn’t stay awake all night; she mopped her face, mopped a damp Meredith, got into bed and went to sleep for the simple reason that she had had a long day and she was tired. To say that she awoke refreshed would be quite another matter, and while she dressed and drank her tea she struggled to achieve a state of mind in which she could think sensibly what was best to do. ‘I’d better see Oscar as quickly as possible,’ she told Meredith as she portioned out his breakfast and bit into a slice of toast, ‘although I’d much rather not! I must be very calm and sensible too.’

  She went to peer at her face in the looking-glass; she looked a hag, she told her reflection. If anyone asked what was the matter she would have to say that she had a cold. A careful make-up might have helped but she had no time.

  The ward had been busy overnight, which was a good thing, for the report was rather longer than usual and there was a case in Theatre and a street accident coming up from Casualty. There was, thank heaven, no time for anyone to look at her. She attacked the day’s work with her usual energy, satisfied that she looked just the same as usual. Not quite, perhaps, because at dinner her friends stared at her rather hard and asked her what was the matter.

  ‘You look as though someone had knocked you on the head, Meg,’ said someone.

  ‘Nothing as dramatic. I’ve got a cold starting, I think.’