by Betty Neels
‘There is. Did you know that this is a great wine-growing district? And each year when the wine is ready, people stream here to sample it. They drink it in places called Heurigen and they know where to go because there is a pine pole hung above the door.’ He paused: ‘I’m not boring you?’
‘No, oh, no. I’ve been longing to ask questions…’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Am I such an ogre, Cordelia?’
‘No, of course not, Doctor, only—well, you have your work and your interests.’
‘So I have. I begin to think that they are not enough.’ He sat back in his chair and glanced at Eileen who had wandered off to play with the restaurant puppy. ‘Well, it seems a good enough time to ask more questions, doesn’t it?’
‘Just a few—the Prater—we’ve not been there, because I’m not exactly sure what it is—an amusement park? And is it suitable for Eileen?’
‘Not until she’s quite her old self. It’s a hive of activities—sports, fair ground, a trade fair, swimming pool, race course—the lot. But somehow I don’t think it’s quite your taste, Cordelia. A visit to look round, perhaps—you should have a country garden for a background…’
This was so unexpected that she stayed silent.
‘Liberty prints and your hair hanging down your back.’ But she must have dreamt that bit for he went on in a very ordinary voice: ‘I doubt if you’ve been to mass in the Hofburg Chapel although you’ll know all about the Vienna Boy’s Choir—only for subscribers though—and tucked away in a corner of the Hofburg Palace there are work rooms where the tapestries and carpets are repaired and mended. Indeed, it’s difficult to know where to go first, it’s such a rambling place. What did you see with young Salfinger?’
‘The silver…’
‘That was all? A pity that you are returning to England in a few days time, and there’s a great deal still for you to see here.’
‘Yes, I know. But I’m glad that I’ve seen so much—I’ll always remember it…’ and you, she added silently.
Eileen came wandering back then and they got into the car once more and drove on. ‘We’re going to Klosterneuburg,’ observed the doctor—’I thought we’d make a rough circle round Vienna, and that’s a good spot for a picnic.’
The picnic was a great success; Mrs Thompson had packed a basket with the kind of food one read about in glossy magazines and when they had eaten almost all of it, they stretched out under the trees talking. Cordelia couldn’t remember any of their conversation afterwards, only that they had all had a share in it and had laughed a great deal.
They drove slowly back to Vienna taking a roundabout route and stopping for tea and gigantic cream cakes on the way. It was a delightful place but Cordelia was glad that the doctor had decided to take a picnic instead of lunching at a restaurant, she was going to remember the day for always; it would be a cherished memory.
Eileen was tired when they got back. ‘Bed,’ said Cordelia firmly, ‘you can have your supper on a tray,’ and when the child would have argued: ‘No, love, you’re tired. You’ve had a lovely day, and I daresay we’ll think of something interesting to do tomorrow.’
Eileen after a token and half hearted denial of tiredness, followed her to her room willingly enough. Cordelia added her own good night to her charge as the doctor, with the briefest of nods, crossed the hall to his study. Half an hour with his face in a book, thought Cordelia, before he had that dinner date. She saw Eileen into bed, tidied the bathroom, sat for ten minutes on the end of the bed, making suggestions for the next day and went down to see what Mrs Thompson could produce for supper.
Cold watercress soup, suggested that admirable lady, chicken vol-au-vents, creamed potatoes and aubergines cooked in butter and a sorbet for afters.
‘It sounds delicious’, declared Cordelia, ‘and I’ll have mine on a tray, Mrs Thompson—you’ve got the extra bother of sending up Eileen’s supper, and I’ll be on my own…’
She hadn’t heard the door open behind her. ‘No, you’ll be with me,’ observed the doctor blandly, ‘you really can’t leave Vienna without seeing the Prater Park—there’s a good restaurant there, and if you feel you must be cultural, I’ll take you to Praterstrasse and you can take a look at the house where Strauss composed the Blue Danube.’
Cordelia stared up at him. ‘But you have a dinner engagement—you said so’.
‘I cried off.’ And at her astonished look: ‘Don’t look like that—I shan’t be missed. Besides I have a great wish to see the Prater Park too.’
Cordelia said a little wildly: ‘Oh, have you. But Eileen—she’s in bed.’
‘The right place for her; she’s had a long day. Mrs Thompson will keep a motherly eye on her, won’t you, Mrs Thompson?’
‘Of course, Sir. She’ll be no trouble. If I take her supper up in half an hour?’
‘And in the meantime you can get yourself ready, Cordelia. Bring a wrap of some sort—it’ll be chilly later on. Will an hour suit you?’
She nodded and added childishly, ‘What shall I wear?’
His face was very kind. ‘A summer dress—that pale silky thing you wear will do nicely.’
She showered and did her face and hair and got into the silk jersey dress and went to see how Eileen was getting on. Enjoying a hearty supper, by the look of it with the radio belting out pop music and a book propped up on the tray.
‘You look nice,’ she observed with her mouth full. ‘I can’t think what’s come over Uncle Charles—perhaps it’s a kind of a farewell treat—after all he hasn’t entertained you at all, has he?’
‘Well, he had no need to,’ said Cordelia reasonably, ‘I’m your governess, my dear, not his guest.’
‘Well, I hope you can think of something to talk about. There’s one thing, he never bores on about being a doctor, does he? He’d be quite nice if he got married and had a woman’s softening influence…
Cordelia giggled. ‘You are the most ridiculous child.’ She dropped a kiss on Eileen’s cheek. ‘I shan’t tell you to be good—you’re too old for that, but please put out the light at nine o’clock and go to sleep.’
‘OK, but if I wake up when you come back you’re to tell me about it.’ She inspected the sorbet and picked up a spoon. ‘You know—what kind of an evening you’ve had. Uncle Charles might find you quite fun.’
Cordelia doubted that.
He was waiting for her in the hall, sitting on the wall table, reading. He got up when he saw her and put the book down and she thought how very good looking he was. He wasn’t wearing his usual sober grey suit either, but a blazer and a tie which she was sure signified some club or old school or the like. His pale fawn slacks were faultlessly cut and he looked at least ten years younger. She loved him to distraction and the contrast between them, in her opinion was cruel.
‘Eileen all right?’ He asked easily.
‘Oh, yes. Eating a huge supper with the radio blaring…she’s promised to put out her light at nine o’clock. She’s tired but she loved her day.’
‘And you? Did you love your day too?’
‘Yes, oh yes, very much thank you.’
‘Good. Let us hope that you will find this evening just as enjoyable.’
She did, of course. She would have been happy digging potatoes or sweeping streets with Charles, as it was she was ecstatic; the one fly in her ointment was the doubt that she was being as entertaining as he would like. She had had little chance of practising amusing conversation during the last few years, besides she was a little shy of him. It didn’t enter her head that he might enjoy a companion who listened when he talked, refrained from making catty comments about the people around them, and maintained a restful silence without apparently feeling that she should fill it with mindless chatter.
They dined in a former Emperor’s hunting lodge—a meal worthy of it’s surroundings; lobster patties, and then a Hungarian dish; smoked duck with stuffed cabbage and to finish a magnificent confection of fruit, chocolate, nuts, ice cream and whipped
cream. To accompany these the doctor ordered Durnsteiner Katzensprung: a wine from Durnstein, a picturesque village on the other bank of the Danube, and when Cordelia asked him to translate its name he told her ‘Cats Leap’, the kindly cat face on the label implying that it carried no hangover with it. ‘So we can safely drink the bottle between us,’ he assured her and smiled at her with such charm that her heart knocked against her ribs.
By the time they had had coffee the long summer evening was sliding slowly into dusk. There were lights everywhere now, and crowds of people intent on enjoying themselves. ‘The fun fair, I think,’ suggested the doctor and took her arm.
Cordelia, not having had much fun for several years, was entranced; egged on by her companion, she had a go at everything; aiming at coconuts with the earnestness of a child, having her fortune told, watching the sword swallower; trying her skill at the shooting gallery because she wanted the prize—a small teddy bear. She had no luck but the doctor did and she tucked the furry toy under one arm and when invited, had a session on the dodgems. It was rather a tight squeeze, the pair of them in the little car and it made more room when the doctor put his arm around her. The giant Ferris wheel she refused to try and he didn’t attempt to persuade her, suggesting instead that they might walk through the park and find somewhere they could have some more coffee. Sitting opposite him presently, while the waiter took their order, she tried to thank him for her lovely evening but he waved her thanks aside. ‘You certainly deserve an evening out,’ he told her carelessly, ‘the least I could do for you after the time you’ve had with Eileen. When you came you assured me that neither of you would trouble me in any way, and you haven’t. Indeed, I was scarcely aware of you in the apartment.’
Just the sort of speech to take all the shine out of her evening. And there was no way in which to answer it. She smiled vaguely in his direction suddenly self conscious, aware that he expected her to say something.
‘You’ll be glad to have the apartment to yourself, I expect,’ she observed in an over bright voice.
‘I’m leaving Vienna very shortly. I shall go back to my practice.’
He was leaning back in his chair smiling faintly, watching her and she sought feverishly for something to say, ‘Your book? Thompson told me that you were writing one—is it finished?’
‘Yes. What are your plans for tomorrow?’
A snub—presumably he could ask questions of her, but she might not of him. It made her aware of her position in the household so that she answered stiffly: ‘When we went to Schonbrunn I promised that I would take Eileen back before we left Vienna, we didn’t have time to see everything.’ She added, ‘So I thought we might go there tomorrow; we could take a taxi or a fiacre and I’ll not let her do too much.’
‘We’ll go in the car—an early lunch I think and we can have tea somewhere. Did you see the coach museum?’ And when she shook her head, ‘we can walk down the linden tree avenue—I imagine the Gloriette will be too far for Eileen—if you feel like it though, I’ll stay with her while you walk to the top and take a closer look.’
‘Am I to come with you?’
He didn’t answer at once and she thought that perhaps he hadn’t heard her. ‘Oh, yes Cordelia, you have become very necessary—in fact indispensable. Your family must miss you very much.’
A difficult remark to answer. ‘Well, my stepbrothers and sisters are a good deal younger than I…’
‘Yes, of course—I should have told you weeks ago to ‘phone to your home whenever you wished, but I daresay you write to each other.’
She peeped quickly at him but his face was as placid as his voice had been; just for a moment she had the feeling that he was probing. She remembered uneasily that all the post was put by his plate on the breakfast table each morning and the afternoon letters were left on the hall table for everyone to see. If he had bothered to look, he would have noticed that she never had any letters. She said ‘of course’, in a voice which unused to lying, betrayed itself.
It was a relief when he began to talk about something quite different and presently suggested that they might continue their stroll through the park. Cordelia, glancing at her watch and seeing how late it was, hesitated. ‘It’s half-past eleven…’ She pointed out.
‘You’d like to go back home? We can walk this way—the car’s only five minutes away.’ His tone was easy and made her feel quite put out.
She was still more put out when they arrived back at the apartment and after bidding her a polite good night, he glanced at his watch and let himself out again. Cordelia stood in the hall, not sure whether to laugh or cry. She had had no time to thank him for her evening, indeed, she had the impression that he couldn’t get away fast enough. What should have been an evening to remember had turned sour. She went on standing there, staring aimlessly at the door, disappointment welling up inside her. She would not go to Schonbrunn she decided then and there; she would have a headache or a sore throat then the doctor could exert himself to entertain his niece. Thank heaven Eileen’s parents would soon be back and she could go away from this hateful place and never see him again… At this point the door opened and the doctor walked in again. She saw that there was a certain urgency in his manner as he crossed the hall, caught her hand and urged her back towards the door. ‘There’s been an accident,’ he told her. ‘You can help.’ He raised his voice shouting for Thompson and when he came hurrying, told him to ‘phone the police and send them to the house next door. Thompson was far too good a servant to waste time asking questions, he said ‘Yes, Sir,’ in an unhurried manner and went to the ‘phone.
The doctor drew Cordelia outside into the corridor and hurried her down the stairs and into the street. The apartment house next door was exactly the same as the one they had left, its wide porch shrouded in shadow.
The doctor then opened his car door and took out a powerful torch and handed it to Cordelia, took his bag from the back and said tersely. ‘In the porch, shine the torch when I say so. I hope you’re not squeamish.’
She hoped she wasn’t too, but she did as he told her and gave an involuntary gasp as the powerful beam lighted up the inert figure sprawling by the door. There was a lot of blood and the figure was very still. She held the torch with both hands to keep it steady and asked in a dry whisper, ‘Is he dead?’
‘No, hold that torch still, I must stop this bleeding.’
He was undoing the man’s jacket and pulling up the stained shirt and Cordelia prudently shut her eyes. She was a sensible girl, but the man looked ghastly and she was feeling a little sick. All the same, after a moment she opened them cautiously to see what the doctor was doing. He had exposed the wound; no, several wounds, she saw, quite small stab wounds in the man’s chest, surely not large enough to make such a fearful mess…
‘Bring that torch nearer,’ commanded the doctor, and she did so, her teeth clenched, and noticed that the hem of her dress was spattered with blood. Hardly the time to worry about such things, she told herself, with the poor man lying there, desperately ill, but all the same the dress was probably ruined. She took another look at the man and swallowed hard; she mustn’t be sick at all costs.
‘A little nearer,’ said the doctor, intent on what he was doing. ‘The police ambulance should be here by now, and the police.’
Obedient to their cue, they arrived together seconds later, armed, thank heaven with their own torches, so that Cordelia was able to switch off hers and put it back in the car, and then, because everyone was intent on the man lying there, slipping back next door, up the stairs and thankfully into the doctor’s apartment, where Thompson was waiting. He took one look at her white face, sat her down and fetched her a glass of brandy.
‘Ugh, I hate the stuff,’ said Cordelia and obediently swallowed. It made her feel better though, and she was able to tell Thompson what had happened. ‘Though I’ve no idea what happened or who the man is,’ she finished.
‘No doubt the doctor will find out, Miss,’ said Thompson soo
thingly. ‘He’ll go to the hospital and hand him over, I daresay.’ He studied her in a fatherly fashion: ‘A nice pot of tea, Miss—I’ll get Mrs Thompson to make it at once. You go into the drawing room and I’ll bring it.’
She drank two cups, decided against a third and prepared to go up to bed; the doctor might be away for hours yet, and even if he wasn’t he wouldn’t want to find her still sitting up. But the chair was comfortable and she was suddenly sleepy. Five minutes, she promised herself and closed her eyes. When she opened them he was sitting opposite to her, well back in his chair, a glass of whisky in his hand, reading.
‘Ah—oh,’ said Cordelia wildly, ‘I went to sleep—I’m sorry, I didn’t…’
He closed the book and put it on the table beside him. ‘Don’t apologise, you look quite charming when you’re sleeping.’
Did he mean that she looked the reverse when she was awake? She didn’t dare ask.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘well, I’ll go to bed…’
‘Don’t you want to know what has happened to the man?’
‘Yes, of course I do, but I don’t expect you want to talk now.’
‘Then you suppose wrong. I have always envied my married friends who go home at ungodly hours and find their wives waiting with hot drinks and a ready ear.’
He must be joking. She said coldly: ‘I have no doubt that you could remedy that if you should wish to, Doctor.’
He smiled. ‘Of course. Indeed, I intend to do so very shortly.’ He added kindly just in case she hadn’t understood. ‘Get married, you know.’
She said bleakly: ‘How nice. I hope you’ll be very happy.’
‘I have no doubt of that. Would you like a drink? No? You behaved with commendable aplomb this evening— I’m sorry that your evening was spoiled, Cordelia. The man will recover; he’d lost a lot of blood but as far as could be seen at the preliminary examination, nothing vital had been hurt.’
‘I’m glad. Does anyone know who he is?’
‘No idea at the moment, the police will get on to that. He’ll be well looked after.’ He put down his glass. ‘What about tomorrow? Lunch at noon I think, that will give us a long afternoon. But take a look at Eileen before you say anything, will you? She’s pretty fit now, but she mustn’t get overtired.’ He got to his feet. ‘And bed for you too.’
