A Gem of a Girl

by Betty Neels

  She went at once to tidy her hair and dispose of the shawl and went back to the entrance hall to join him again. There were a great many people there and from what she could see of the women around her, her dress was barely adequate—still, as long as Bart found it pretty… They took to the dance floor and Gemma forgot everything else but the pleasure of dancing. They had circled the floor perhaps twice when Leo took Bart’s place with a careless: ‘Thanks, old chap,’ and a smile for her which set her heart beating nineteen to the dozen. ‘Surprised?’ he wanted to know. ‘I got Bart to fix it…’

  ‘Why?’

  He looked taken aback. ‘Well, I thought it would be fun—besides, I thought that the van Berhuys might object.’

  ‘Object?’ She was quite bewildered. ‘Why should they? You’re a friend of the family.’

  ‘Oh, rather—known them for years.’ He smiled his charming smile again. ‘I wanted to keep it a secret—you and me. People don’t believe in love at first sight any more.’

  ‘Don’t they?’ Her heart was dancing a jig. ‘I can’t think why not; there must be dozens of ways of falling in love, so why not at first sight?’

  ‘A sensible darling, aren’t you? We’re going to have a lovely evening together and I shall drive you home afterwards.’

  She looked at him with delight, then said regretfully: ‘I can’t come with you, Leo. I promised his mother that I would see that Bart didn’t drive too fast.’

  Leo looked annoyed, but she didn’t see that, only heard him say carelessly: ‘Oh, well, we’ll sort that out later, shall we?’

  The music had stopped, but he didn’t let her go. ‘Come and meet some of my friends,’ he invited, and caught her hand in his. There was no sign of Bart and the place was packed now; it would be hopeless to look for him, so Gemma allowed herself to be led across the room to a rather noisy group, the young men long-haired and extravagantly dressed, the girls in dresses which Gemma thought privately weren’t quite decent even if they had cost a fortune. She smiled and murmured her way around the circle and everyone asked her a great many questions in too loud voices while they eyed her dress with thinly veiled amusement. Gemma saw the look and her small chin lifted, but the situation was saved by one of the young men, who swept her off to dance so that the unpleasant moment passed. He danced well but a little wildly, singing in her ear and holding her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. She resigned herself to ten minutes or so of his company before, surely, Leo would rescue her.

  It wasn’t Leo who rescued her. They had reached the comparatively empty space at the bottom of the ballroom when her companion said, far too loudly: ‘This is the stuffed shirt end—the professors and deans and clever dicks…’

  Ross was there, sitting at one of the small tables with another older man and two rather matronly women with nice faces, and although she hadn’t meant to, Gemma gave him an appealing glance as they passed the table and whirled away again. He was the last person she had expected to see there, and probably he was just as surprised to see her… Her partner disappeared and the professor was in his place, dancing her quite beautifully down the ballroom.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said matter-of-factly. ‘I hope I interpreted that look correctly. It was rescue you wanted, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you,’ said Gemma fervently, aware that he danced a good deal better than Bart or Leo and certainly far better than the noisy type she had just endured. ‘I’m not sure who he was—a friend of Leo’s…’ She paused and the professor said non-committally:

  ‘Ah, yes—I saw him. Where is Bart?’

  ‘Bart? Well—I haven’t seen him just lately…’ She didn’t see the rather grim expression on her companion’s face. ‘He’s taking me home,’ she added, aware somehow that the professor needed placating and not sure why. She added, because he was a man one didn’t try to sidetrack: ‘Leo said he would, but I said no because your mother asked me most particularly to see that Bart didn’t drive too fast.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ murmured her partner, which told her nothing at all and was the kind of annoying answer to dry up any conversation. ‘Come and meet a few friends of mine,’ he invited, and she found herself sitting at the little table, drinking something or other, drawn into the friendly talk of the older man, who was the dean, and the two women, one of whom was his wife. Presently another man came over to join them and the dean, making little jokes about his age, asked Gemma to dance. They circled the room sedately and she saw that the professor was dancing with the dean’s wife, although she couldn’t see Bart anywhere, or Leo—but somehow she didn’t mind very much; this was better than having to talk to Leo’s friends, even though it wasn’t very exciting.

  The dance ended and they went back to their table. Gemma finished her drink and hoped that the professor would ask her to dance again, but he showed no inclination to do so, and when Bart suddenly appeared and invited her to take the floor with him, she did so, wondering what it was that the professor had uttered low-voiced to his brother to make him look so defiant and sulky. She set herself to cheer him up, but her good intentions were cut short by the reappearance of Leo, who slid smoothly into Bart’s place and danced her off the floor and into one of the small rooms leading out of the ballroom.

  ‘Lord, what a crush!’ he complained. ‘I saw you entangled with the elderlies and sent Bart along to rescue you.’ He was holding her hand, but she withdrew it gently.

  ‘I didn’t find them elderly,’ she told him, ‘and why didn’t you do the rescuing yourself?’

  He grinned like a small boy and Gemma found herself smiling back at him. ‘You must have guessed by now that Ross doesn’t like me overmuch—we keep out of each other’s way and we’re civil when we meet, of course, but he’s a good deal older than I am, isn’t he, and we have very little in common. Being so learned makes him a bit of a bore and rather a dull fellow.’ He had taken her hand again and she let it lie.

  ‘You’re wrong, of course,’ she told him quietly. ‘He’s not dull and he’s certainly not a bore…’

  ‘My darling girl, he shall be none of these things if you say so—now let’s talk about us.’ He pulled her to him and kissed her, and Gemma, who had been hoping that he would do just that, was disappointed to find that it wasn’t what she had expected—oh, it was thrilling all right, but something was lacking. Perhaps she was too excited to enjoy it. She kissed him back a little awkwardly and said shyly: ‘I can’t think what you can see in me.’

  His answer was more than satisfactory, but then it should have been, for had she but known it he had had considerable practice in such matters with other girls. But she didn’t know it, so she took his words at their face value, cherishing every one of them to remember later.

  They danced again presently, and Gemma, caught up in daydreams and excitement and the heady belief that Leo thought her a wonderful girl, looked for once almost pretty, so that the professor, treading a sober foxtrot with the dean’s wife again, looked at her thoughtfully and while carrying on a desultory conversation with his partner, allowed his powerful brain to assess the situation. But none of this showed on his calm features. He bent his head to listen to some triviality uttered by his partner, and when he caught Gemma’s eye as she flashed past them in a more up-to-date version of the dance, his faint smile betokened polite recognition and nothing more.

  The end of the evening came too soon for Gemma; she had danced almost every dance with Leo, although between them she had had to endure the brittle friendliness of his companions, but that had been a small price to pay for the delight of his company. As for the professor, she had glimpsed him from time to time, and presently forgot him completely.

  Leo had said nothing more about taking her home, and although she would have liked to have gone with him more than anything else, she had put it out of her mind, and supposed that he had done the same. She fetched the shawl from the mass of evening wraps and fur coats and repaired to the entrance hall to wait for Bart, but the minutes passed and the
crowds thinned rapidly; she was beginning to feel anxious when Leo joined her.

  ‘Sorry you were left alone,’ he said solicitously, ‘but Bart isn’t feeling well—had too much to drink, I shouldn’t wonder, so it looks as though I’m going to get my wish after all; someone has to take you home and there’s nothing I’d like more.’

  Gemma hesitated. ‘Ought I to see Bart first?’ she asked. ‘His mother might want to know why he didn’t come home—I’m not sure…’

  ‘I’ve messages from him—you weren’t to worry, for a start, and will you make it all right with his mother, and he’ll telephone in the morning.’

  It didn’t sound quite like Bart. ‘Oh, well, all right,’ she said at length. She was still hesitating and Leo frowned a little.

  ‘You don’t seem very pleased at the prospect of my company.’

  He sounded cool and she hastened to say: ‘Oh, but I am, really I am, only I’m sorry about Bart.’

  ‘He’s in good hands; he’ll be as right as rain in no time—he’s had the sense to know that he’s in no fit state to drive.’ He tucked a hand under her arm. ‘Let’s go, shall we?’

  She accompanied him happily enough to the entrance; it was hard luck on Bart, but as things turned out, convenient for her. She went through the big double doors of the hospital and walked into the professor’s large and solid back.

  It wasn’t Leo’s hand on her arm any more, but the professor’s, and Leo was standing a little apart, looking sulky.

  ‘You took a long time,’ observed the professor, and although his voice was mild it held a silkiness which gave Gemma the nasty feeling that he was in a riproaring temper, but she had no need to reply, for he went on in Dutch, addressing himself to Leo. Leo answered him presently, sounding as sulky as he looked, and Gemma looking from one to other of them in bewilderment, was relieved when the professor said in English:

  ‘A little misunderstanding—Bart isn’t fit to drive, but as I’m going home anyway, I’ll take you with me.’ He glanced at Leo. ‘Good of you to offer Gemma a lift,’ he remarked in a voice which suggested that there was nothing good about it. ‘Goodnight.’

  He didn’t give Gemma a chance to say more than goodnight herself, but swung her round and marched her across the courtyard to where a white Jaguar XL-S was parked. The professor opened its door and ushered her in smartly and she said crossly: ‘This isn’t your car,’ her world so awry for the moment that she would have liked to have burst into tears or given him a good thump, only with the size of him, she wouldn’t have done much damage.

  ‘Er—yes, it is. Now don’t be a silly girl—get in.’

  Gemma snorted. Now she was a silly girl, was she, to be ordered about and have her evening ruined, and bullied into the bargain! She got into the luxurious seat with dignity without looking at him and then forgot all about being dignified, for Bart was sitting in the back. It was a handsome car, meant for two but with space for an occasional third, and he looked a little cramped. He said hullo in a sheepish voice, and startled out of her own not very happy thoughts, she exclaimed: ‘Bart— Leo said you weren’t feeling quite the thing…’ She looked at him anxiously, for he was a nice boy; the twins would be like him in a year or two… ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed?’

  ‘He will be in bed soon enough,’ observed the professor, easing himself into the seat beside her, ‘and he can start sleeping it off now—it’s only a hangover, but my dear Bart, if you will drink vodka in such quantities, that is to be expected.’

  ‘It was a joke.’ Bart still sounded sheepish.

  ‘I know that, but a thoughtless one. It was known that you were to drive Gemma back, was it not?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I told Leo—probably he forgot.’

  ‘Probably he did,’ said his brother in a dry voice.

  Gemma was only half listening. As the big car slid out of the hospital courtyard and into the city streets, she muttered in a voice she strove to keep even, ‘I can’t quite see why you should have to take me home, Professor.’

  He glanced at her briefly. ‘Spoilt your evening, have I? Don’t worry, Gemma, Leo always gets what he sets his heart on—that is, almost always.’

  ‘That’s hardly the point, is it? You just—just…’

  ‘Gummed up the works? Yes, I did.’ He added impatiently: ‘Why do you have to be such a child—the eldest of six and still wet behind the ears!’

  This inelegant speech had the effect of rendering her speechless for several seconds until she managed in a furious voice: ‘You’re rude and arrogant and—and you’re a bully too…’

  ‘Anything you say,’ he agreed blandly, and she reflected uneasily that although he had spoken so quietly he was probably holding a very nasty temper in check. The perverse urge to annoy him still more took hold of her, so that she went on recklessly: ‘I was having a simply lovely time and I’m perfectly able to look after myself—Leo would have taken me home.’ She added nastily: ‘And I should have enjoyed that.’

  The professor laughed. ‘Vixen!’ he murmured. ‘I’m sorry you’re so upset, but it will do no harm, you know—Leo enjoys a good chase and I promise you that I won’t be there to spoil things next time. Am I forgiven?’

  Gemma had never quarrelled for more than half an hour with anyone and she never bore a grudge. She said willingly enough, ‘Yes, all right, but I don’t want to talk about it any more.’

  They were on the motorway and the Jaguar was making light of the kilometres. Just as though they hadn’t had a single cross word, the professor remarked easily: ‘You met a great many people this evening. How did you like the dean and his wife?’

  ‘Nice,’ pronounced Gemma. ‘He’s a poppet, and she was so kind—in the same way as your mother is kind. One can talk to people like that and they listen in a cosy way, but they’re never inquisitive.’

  He nodded. ‘And what about the crowd Leo runs with?’

  She stirred uneasily. ‘Well, I’m not used to people like that—clever and smart and one never quite knows if they’re serious or not—can you imagine them in the village at home? You see, I’m not clever or witty and I can’t talk like they do—I felt an ig-ig…’

  ‘Ignoramus,’ he supplied gravely. ‘But not really; they would feel the same if someone put them into the middle of a hospital ward and told them to take the temperatures. They’re in their element at a night club, and you’re in yours flinging old ladies down fire chutes and making tea at one o’clock in the morning without so much as a frown.’ They were approaching Rosendaal and he slowed a little. ‘Talking of tea, I think we shall have to revive Bart with some black coffee when we get in.’

  ‘He’ll be all right in the morning?’

  ‘He’d better be; I’ve no intention of Mama finding out that he was pickled in vodka.’

  It gave her a pleasant feeling, knowing that the professor stood by his brothers and sisters when they needed it after some petty misdemeanour. She said suddenly: ‘I’m sorry I said all that about you just now. None of it was true—it’s jolly decent of you to cover up for Bart.’

  He thanked her blandly. ‘But you would do the same?’

  ‘Of course—the eldest always does.’ She frowned into the motorway ahead, clearly seen in the car’s headlights. ‘You said pickled with vodka.’

  ‘Just that. He was dared to drink a glass of the stuff, and he did, silly chap, between Pilseners, and then, for a joke it seems, someone laced his next few Pilseners with more of the stuff. He was out cold when I found him.’

  ‘Found him? Did they leave him like that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It must have been one of those friends of Leo’s—they were rather wild.’

  ‘Probably.’ Gemma waited for him to continue, but he didn’t, so she went on: ‘Leo said Bart had a bit of a headache and was a bit under the weather; if he’d known, he would have done something about it.’

  ‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ agreed the professor gently.

  ‘Have you known him long?’ Her hea
d was full of Leo again.

  ‘De Vos? All our lives—he is ten years younger than I.’

  ‘He’s great fun.’ Her voice was a little high in her efforts to keep it casual.

  ‘Indeed yes. I gather that you—er—like him.’

  ‘I do.’ She was in full spate now, longing to tell someone how she felt about Leo, and this placid man beside her, despite his unexpected, quickly damped down anger, seemed to fulfil the role of confidant to the manner born. ‘You see, no one has ever treated me like that before—looked at me as though I was pretty, and told me I was even though I know I’m not, and—and telephoned me…and I never knew that he would be at the ball—it was a super surprise. I wish I had another dress, though, this one wasn’t nearly grand enough.’

  The professor made a small sound. He said in a kind voice: ‘I thought it was charming, and so did the dean.’

  She thanked him; it was the kind of remark she might have expected from him, although she could hardly say that the dean’s opinion of her dress didn’t matter a fig to her; it was Leo she wanted to please.

  There was a companionable silence between them until she asked: ‘Do you really suppose he’ll ask me out again?’

  ‘Of course he will. I should buy a new dress, if I were you—it won’t be wasted.’

  They were almost home. Gemma turned to look at Bart, snoring behind them; at least she would be able to say with perfect truth that he hadn’t driven fast. As though he had read her thoughts, the professor said:

  ‘I’ll tell Mama that I decided to come home and drive you both—there’s no need to say more than that.’

  ‘Very well.’ He turned the car in at the gates and stopped in front of the door; there was a faint light showing through the transom above it but the rest of the house was in darkness. He got out and opened the door, then came back for her, and when she was safely inside he went back to rouse Bart.