by Betty Neels
She paused uncertainly on the edge of the pavement, deciding whether to go left or right, and the doctor, watching her from the window of his study, smiled as she turned briskly to the left, where in the distance, she could see the reassuring bulk of the houses of Parliament.
CHAPTER THREE
RETURNING AFTER a brisk hour’s walk, Cordelia felt that she had done rather well; guided by the map she had found her way back to the Imperial Palace, conveniently surrounded by museums, the Spanish Riding School and some charming gardens. A good jumping off ground upon which to base the daily excursions she had planned for Eileen.
Back at the apartment, Thompson appeared silently beside her as she went down the hall. ‘I will put tea in the small sitting room, Miss. Would ten minutes suit you?’
She beamed at him. ‘Oh, Thompson, how nice. Yes, that will be fine. Where’s the small sitting room?’
He indicated a door at the end of the hall. ‘I rather fancy that will be the room set aside for the use of yourself and Miss Eileen during your stay,’ he told her. ‘Anything you require, Miss, if you would ask me or Mrs Thompson.’ He added poker faced: ‘The Dr is much occupied with his work and doesn’t wish to be bothered with matters which Mrs Thompson or I can deal with.’
‘I understand Thompson, Miss Eileen and I will do our best not to disturb him. I—I was told that he was a very busy man.’
‘Indeed, Miss. Writing a book, he is, as well as lecturing at the medical school and working as a temporary consultant at the general hospital not very far from here, just off the Wahringer Strasse. A kind of exchange of eminent medical men, I understand.’
She found a nicely arranged tea tray waiting for her, with small sandwiches, sugary cakes and tea in a delicate china pot. Uncle Charles might not like his bachelor peace invaded, but he was a thoughtful host. She occupied the hours after that in making out a timetable of their days; it had to be largely guesswork because she wasn’t sure for how long each day Eileen would go to school, but with the small guide book she had purchased when she was out, she could see that there were more than enough places of interest to keep them fully occupied for weeks. They would visit the nearby museums first, she decided and heaven knew there were enough of them and there were even more churches… And an odd morning window shopping might be a good idea, and one or two concerts. Well pleased with herself, she looked up as Eileen knocked on the door and came in.
‘I’ve had such a gorgeous tea, enormous cream cakes—it’s a super place, Cordelia, I shall take you there, and we looked at some shops and Granny says I may have a new outfit for when Mummy and Daddy get back. I’m to ask Uncle Charles for the money…What have you been doing?’
And when Cordelia outlined her plans: ‘It sounds dreadfully dull. I shall tell Uncle Charles that I don’t want to visit a whole lot of stuffy museums.’
‘By all means,’ agreed Cordelia equably. ‘I’ve no doubt that you’ll enjoy school better.’
‘I won’t go to school either. Granny allows me to do as I like.’
‘That’s nice for you, but of course you’ll grow up without two ideas in your head which would be very boring for your friends; young men like to air their views, but you know they like an intelligent listener too.’
‘How do you know?’ asked Eileen rudely.
‘You learn about these things as you grow up,’ observed Cordelia calmly. ‘But it’s up to you, of course. Your uncle won’t want me to stay, and quite right too—he’d be wasting his money.’
She wasn’t prepared for Eileen’s instant reaction to this.
‘You’re not to go—I want you to stay here with me. If I ask Granny she’ll make you stay.’
‘No one can make me stay, my dear. I don’t want to go, but I quite see that it would be a frightful waste of your uncle’s money to keep me here unless I made some effort to improve your mind.’
Eileen smiled suddenly. ‘Darling Cordelia, do stay. I promise you I’ll go to all the beastly museums you want. I don’t want to go to school, but I suppose I’ll have to go to those classes Uncle Charles has arranged.’
‘I expect you will, but they’ll only take up a part of each day, you know. I thought that once a week at least we’d take ourselves off to the shops and have a good look round. You shall help me buy a dress—I’m hopelessly unfashionable.’
‘Yes, you are, but you’d look quite pretty if you got a smart outfit. Have you a lot of money to spend?’
Cordelia laughed. ‘Almost no money at all, which will make it all the more fun. Now let’s get ready for dinner, shall we?’
They went downstairs presently, the best of friends, Eileen in a dress far too elaborate for her age, and Cordelia presenting a neat and unassuming appearance which did nothing for her at all, except to make her look as much like an old fashioned governess as it was possible to be.
Lady Trescombe was in the drawing room, elegant in black chiffon and her son was with her; he was in a dinner jacket and Cordelia instantly felt hopelessly unsuitably dressed, a feeling only slightly mitigated by his: ‘I have to go to a reception directly after dinner.’ He spoke kindly but with an aloof air which chilled her. Even the glass of sherry she was given before they went into the dining room didn’t dispel her gloom.
Dr Trescombe certainly lived in some style; the table was a splendid sight with its starched white linen, gleaming silver and shining crystal. The food matched it; lobster soup, filleted trout, boeuf en croüte and a delicious concoction of ice cream and fruit and shredded chocolate topped with whipped cream, made specially, the doctor informed his niece, in honour of her arrival. Cordelia, a little too thin in any case, and not one to put on weight easily, ate everything with a healthy appetite. The job had its drawbacks, she thought, listening to the doctor and his mother discussing the current performance at the Opera House, but it also had its advantages. She hadn’t had such a delicious meal for years.
They had their coffee in the drawing room, she had barely set her cup and saucer down when the doctor said carelessly, ‘You would no doubt like to see Eileen to her bed, Miss Gibson. If there is anything either of you require will you ask Mrs Thompson? I breakfast at half-past seven. You will be called in good time in the morning.’
Cordelia gave him a clear, faintly pitying look. Good manners wouldn’t allow him to show his unease at having them in his house and she would have to make things as easy as possible for him while they were there. She got up at once, waited while Eileen said good night to her grandmother and uncle and added her own quiet ‘Good night’ and ushered a silently protesting child from the room.
‘I don’t want to go to bed,’ declared Eileen the moment they were in the hall. ‘Granny lets me stay up as long as I like.’
‘It’s very kind of your uncle to have us here,’ observed Cordelia matter-of-factly, ‘and remember, it’s because your grandmother needs a rest. The least we can do is do as he wishes. It’s not all that early either, by the time you’ve had a bath it’ll be ten o’clock. Remember we have to be up early in the morning too. Unless your uncle has any special plans for you, I thought we might go along to the Imperial Palace. I walked there this afternoon and it looked well worth a visit. We might take a ride in one of those dear little carriages too.’
This happily had the effect of putting Eileen in a good humour again; she went to bed without further ado and Cordelia was free to go to her room next door.
The curtains had been drawn but she opened the french window they covered and stepped on to the narrow balcony. The street below was brightly lit but quiet, but she could hear the steady hum of traffic in the distance and see the lights of the city all round her. It would be fun, she mused wistfully, to be driven through the streets, past the cafés, and watch the people in them; friends and lovers, husbands and wives, elderly gentlemen sipping whatever it was one sipped in Vienna. Of course, she would need a companion, someone who would listen to her comments and answer her questions…’ Daydreams,’ said Cordelia, severely, and turn
ed to go through the window again. She paused at the sound of a car and leaned over the wrought iron railing to watch the Jaguar which had met them at the boat slide to a halt before the house and Thompson get out. A moment later the front door opened and the doctor came out, the lights from the hall silhouetting him against the dark outside. He stood a minute, talking to Thompson and then went unhurriedly to his car. With his hand on the door he turned round and looked back over his shoulder at Cordelia, a small dark figure lighted from the open window. He stared up at her for a long moment and she stared back, wondering if she should call another good night. She was glad that she had decided against that, for he said nothing at all but got into his car and drove away.
She got ready for bed, a little worried that he might have thought that she was snooping, but since there was nothing to do about it, she put her sensible head on the pillow and went to sleep.
A strapping young woman brought her tea in the morning and Cordelia tried out her German on her with quite satisfactory results. When the girl had gone, she got out of bed and peered between the curtains. It was a fine morning and the fresh green leaves on the trees planted on the small grassy plot at the corner of the street rustled gently in the light wind.
Cordelia made sure that Eileen was getting up and got herself dressed in her sensible neat clothes, made up her face without a great deal of interest, brushed her soft hair into smoothness and went to see if Eileen was ready. She wasn’t, of course, it took Cordelia several minutes to find the particular T-shirt Eileen simply had to wear so that they only just made it to the dining room with seconds to spare.
The doctor was already at table, but he rose as they joined him, offered a cheek for his niece’s kiss, wished Cordelia a polite good morning, and became immediately immersed in the papers scattered round his plate. He wasn’t a tidy man, which surprised her, for he presented an immaculate appearance, for as he finished with one letter or the other, he cast them on to the floor beside his chair. He ate what was on his plate when he remembered and she was sure that he wasn’t eating nearly enough. The wish to tidy up his correspondence, put a knife and fork in his hand and tell him to eat up was very strong, but she suppressed this motherly instinct and got on with her own breakfast. She had warned Eileen not to talk unless her uncle opened a conversation, so the three of them sat there, not saying a word until at length he threw his napkin to join the papers on the floor and got up, still reading. He had quite obviously forgotten that they were there, indeed, he went through the door without pause and then, to their surprise, poked his head round the door and wished them a pleasant day rather in the manner of a man who had just remembered some small forgotten chore.
‘Why doesn’t he talk?’ Eileen was keen to know, listening to the shutting of the front door.
‘I think perhaps he’s a very clever man,’ explained Cordelia. ‘Clever people aren’t always aware of the ordinary world around them; they’re wrapped up in whatever they’re clever about.’
Eileen’s eyes gleamed with mischief. ‘I say, Cordelia, darling, shall we do something about it? If we could find a beautiful lady in gorgeous clothes to catch his eye.’ She studied Cordelia, ‘It’s a pity,’ she said regretfully, ‘but I’m afraid that you wouldn’t do…’
‘No, well, of course I wouldn’t,’ agreed Cordelia seriously. ‘I haven’t any gorgeous clothes for one thing, and no one has ever considered me beautiful. But it would be nice if your uncle were to meet someone…it’s such a waste, if you see what I mean.’
And Eileen, a precocious child, saw.
Lady Trescombe always breakfasted in her room; there was no hurry, the two of them sat over their meal, planning their morning, always providing Lady Trescombe hadn’t already made plans of her own. Which she hadn’t. Eileen going to wish her grandmother good morning presently, was told to send Cordelia to her, and when Cordelia tapped on the door and presented herself in the large, splendidly furnished room set aside for Lady Trescombe’s use, it was to be told to take Eileen for a drive along the Ring, give her coffee or chocolate in one of the cafés, and then visit St Stephan’s Cathedral. ‘And after lunch, which you will have here, I intend taking her to the shops with me. You will be free until we return at tea time, Cordelia. I shall be going back to England tomorrow afternoon. I had wished to leave in the morning, but there was no available seat; I shall probably spend the morning with Eileen and you may do as you wish for an hour or so. Your free time is something you must arrange with the doctor, and you must be prepared to have it when it is convenient.’ She smiled kindly at Cordelia. ‘You are quite happy to remain here until Eileen’s parents return?’
‘Yes, thank you, Lady Trescombe. I’ve made a rough list of the more interesting places to visit, and we can see them at our leisure once I know when Eileen is to go to school.’
Lady Trescombe nodded. ‘Of course. Charles will arrange that and let you know.’
If he remembers, thought Cordelia, on her way to the door, to be called back and given a roll of notes. ‘For the carriage drive and your coffee.’
‘Thank you—I’ll keep a careful note of what I spend.’
The drive was fun; the carriage was small and open with two well groomed horses and a cheerful driver in the traditional bowler hat. Cordelia had brought her guide book with her but the public buildings which it listed were largely overlooked by them both; the shops and cafés and the people thronging the pavements were far more interesting.
They had coffee and mountainous cream cakes presently and then, obedient to Lady Trescombe’s suggestion, found their way to St Stephan’s Cathedral where they lingered far too long, so that they had to take another fiacre back to the apartment, much to Eileen’s delight.
The doctor was home for lunch and he questioned them politely about their morning.
‘Your German is adequate, Miss Gibson?’ He glanced at her briefly, not smiling.
‘I think so, Dr Trescombe, at least for everyday needs.’
He nodded. ‘I will let you know as soon as I can arrange Eileen’s lessons.’ And that was the sum total of their conversation. She went out again after lunch having seen Lady Trescombe and Eileen driving off in a taxi. She was careful not to go too far and since it was a warm afternoon, she sat in the Volksgarten, reading the guide book and making a list of the things she would like to buy. A fearful waste of time, really, for she would need to save as much as she could. All the same, she was conscious that her clothes weren’t adequate; the doctor might be a man wrapped up in his learned books and papers, but there had been a decided look of amused scorn in his look when he had first seen her, thinking of it made her squirm, just because of that look she was going to buy just one stunning outfit…
Lady Trescombe and Eileen got back very shortly after she did and they had tea together while the child enthused about the dress her grandmother had bought her and the splendid shops they had visited, and then, because Lady Trescombe wished to rest before dinner, the two of them went to the small room Thompson had pointed out, and played Demon Patience until it was time to change for the evening. Cordelia put on the dress she had worn previously and then helped Eileen into the vivid printed top and wide skirt she had coaxed out of her grandmother that afternoon. Perhaps, Cordelia thought soberly, it would be a good thing for the child to be away from her doting grandparent for this short time, for she only had to want something to get it. All the same she was a nice child and it was impossible not to like her.
Dinner followed the pattern of lunch with general conversation in which Cordelia was politely included although for most of the time it was of mutual friends and of people the doctor had come to know in Vienna. Of his work he said nothing and she knew that his bland politeness would prevent her from venturing even the mildest enquiry about that. Besides, she reminded herself, governesses and companions and the like were seldom, if ever, treated as one of the family. She owned to being interested in him and strangely sorry for him too. To be so deeply engrossed in his work when he
had so much going on around him; probably he didn’t know where he was half the time and just as likely, it didn’t matter to him.
They drove to the airport at Schwechat after lunch the next day and Cordelia had been surprised to find the doctor at the wheel of the Jaguar. She sat in the back with Lady Trescombe and admired the way he drove; there was nothing even faintly absent minded about the way he sent the car through the crowded streets of Vienna until they had passed the suburbs and after that it seemed no time at all before they were at the airport. She had expected to stay in the car while Eileen and her uncle saw Lady Trescombe through the checking of baggage and bade her goodbye, but Dr Trescombe had told her briefly to go with them and she had done so, feeling like an intruder and thankful that she was an insignificant person capable of melting into the background as necessary. But it had been a wise decision. Once Lady Trescombe had gone through the gate, Eileen had burst into a passion of tears and after one look at the doctor’s helplessness, Cordelia had taken charge with her quiet competence, mopping the child’s face and talking quietly until Eileen at length stopped weeping. She muttered pathetically. ‘I’ve been with Granny a long time… She’s so nice…’
The doctor flung an arm round her shoulder. ‘Yes, she is, isn’t she? I shall miss her too. But she does need a rest, Eileen, and think what fun it will be when your mother and father get back and we’ll all have a big party. You must search the shops here for a really fine present.’
For the doctor a surprisingly long speech and a very understanding one. Cordelia gave him an approving look, offered a clean handkerchief to Eileen and observed, ‘I believe the enamel ware in Vienna is famous…’
In the car, sitting in the back once more, but alone this time, she heard with astonishment, ‘I think tea at Sacher’s, don’t you, Miss Gibson?’
She kept her voice very level. ‘It sounds delightful, Dr Trescombe.’ So they had tea at that famous coffee house and while the doctor contented himself with a pot of coffee, she and Eileen had their tea in dainty little pots and ate unbelievably large and creamy cakes while they talked cheerfully about everything under the sun, the only thing they didn’t mention was Lady Trescombe, by then about to land at Heathrow.
