The Mistletoe Kiss

by The Mistletoe Kiss (lit)

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the professor and her supper tray.

  He greeted her with an impersonal hello. 'Beaker has done his best, so be sure and eat everything.'

  He put the tray down, set the bed table across her knees and plumped up her pillows. 'I think you might get up tomorrow—potter round the house, go into the garden—well wrapped-up. I'll take you home the day after.'

  'You're very kind, but I must go back to the house, just in case someone wants to buy it. I mean, I can't afford to miss a chance. It'll have to be left empty when I go home at Christmas, and you know how awful houses look when they're empty. So if you don't mind…'

  'I do mind, Ermentrude, and you'll do as I say. I'll phone the estate agent if it will set your mind at rest and rearrange things. Do you want me to tell your parents what has happened?'

  'Oh, no—they're getting the house straight, and Father's at the school all day so it's taking a bit of time. They've enough to worry about. They don't need to know anyway.'

  'Just as you wish. Does Mrs Burge know what to fetch for you?'

  'Yes, thank you. I gave her a list. I've only a few clothes there; Mother took the rest with her.'

  'Then I'll say goodnight, Ermentrude. Sleep well.'

  She was left to eat her supper, a delicious meal Beaker had devised with a good deal of thought. It was he who came to get the tray later, bringing with him fresh lemonade and a fragile china plate with mouth-watering biscuits.

  'I make them myself, miss,' he told her, beaming at her praise of the supper. 'Mrs Burge will look in on you when she gets back, with a nice drop of hot milk.'

  'Thank you, Beaker, you have been so kind and I'm giving you a lot of extra work.'

  'A pleasure, miss.'

  'I heard Charlie barking…'

  'A spirited dog, miss, and a pleasure to have in the house. Humphrey and he are quite partial to each other. When you come downstairs tomorrow he will be delighted to see you.'

  Emmy, left alone, ate some of the biscuits, drank some of the lemonade and thought about the professor. His household ran on oiled wheels, that was obvious. His Anneliese, when she married him, would have very little to do—a little tasteful flower-arranging perhaps, occasional shopping, although she thought that Beaker might not like that. And of course later there would be the children to look after.

  Emmy frowned. She tried to imagine Anneliese nursing a baby, changing nappies or coping with a toddler and failed. She gave up thinking about it and thought about the professor instead, wishing he would come home again and come and see her. She liked him, she decided, even though he was difficult to get to know. Then, why should he wish her to know too much about him? She had no place in his life.

  Much later she heard the front door close, and Charlie barking. He and Mrs Burge went home. She lay, watching the door. When it opened Mrs Burge came in, a suitcase in one hand, a glass of milk in the other.

  'Still awake? I've brought everything you asked for, and Professor ter Mennolt went to see the estate agent at his home and fixed things up. No one's been to look at the house.' Mrs Burge's sniff implied that she wasn't surprised at that. 'We looked everywhere to make sure that things were just so. And there's some post. Would you like to read it now?'

  She put the milk on the bedside table. 'Drink your milk first. It's time you were sleeping.'

  Emmy asked hesitantly, 'Are you going home now, Mrs Burge?'

  'No, ducks. I'll be here, just across the landing, if you want me. Now I'll just hang up your things…'

  Emmy stifled disappointment. There was no reason why the professor should wish to see her. He must, in fact, be heartily sick of her by now, disrupting his life.

  * * *

  The professor was talking on the phone. Presently he got his coat, ushered Charlie into the back of the car and, with a word to Beaker, drove himself to St Luke's where one of his patients was giving rise to anxiety.

  He got home an hour later, ate the dinner which Beaker served him with the air of someone who had long learned not to mind when his carefully prepared meals were eaten hours after they should have been, and went to his study to work at his desk with the faithful Charlie sprawled over his feet.

  * * *

  Waking the following morning, Emmy decided that she felt perfectly well again. She ate her breakfast in bed, since Mrs Burge told her sternly not to get up till later.

  'Professor ter Mennolt went off an hour ago,' she told Emmy. 'What a life that man leads, never an hour to call his own.'

  Which wasn't quite true, but Emmy knew what she meant. 'I suppose all doctors are at everyone's beck and call, but it must be a rewarding life.'

  'Well, let's hope he gets his reward; he deserves it,' said Mrs Burge. 'Time that fiancée of his made up her mind to marry him.' She sniffed. 'Wants too much, if you ask me. Doesn't like this house—too small, she says…'

  'Too small?' Emmy put down her cup. 'But it's a big house—I mean, big enough for a family.'

  'Huh,' said Mrs Burge forcefully. 'Never mind a family, she likes to entertain—dinner parties and friends visiting. She doesn't much like Beaker, either.'

  Emmy, aware that she shouldn't be gossiping, nonetheless asked, 'But why not? He's the nicest person…'

  'True enough, love. Looks after the professor a treat.'

  'So do you, Mrs Burge.'

  'Me? I come in each day to give a hand, like. Been doing it for years, ever since the professor bought the house. A very nice home he's made of it, too. I have heard that he's got a tip-top place in Holland, too. Well, it stands to reason, doesn't it? He's over there for the best part of the year—only comes here for a month or two, though he pops over if he's needed. Much in demand, he is.'

  She picked up Emmy's tray. 'Now, you have a nice bath and get dressed and come downstairs when you're ready. I'll be around and just you call if you want me. We'd better pack your things later on; the professor's driving you home in the morning.'

  So Emmy got herself out of bed, first taking a look at her lump before going to the bathroom. The swelling had almost gone and the cut was healing nicely. She stared at her reflection for several moments; she looked a fright, and she was going to wash her hair before anyone told her not to.

  * * *

  Bathed, and with her hair in a damp plait, she went downstairs to find Beaker hovering in the hall.

  His, 'Good morning, miss,' was affable. 'There's a cup of coffee in the small sitting room; it's nice and cosy there.'

  He led the way and opened a door onto a quite small room at the back of the house. It was furnished very comfortably, and there was a fire burning in the elegant fireplace. A small armchair had been drawn up to it, flanked by a table on which were newspapers and a magazine or two. Sitting in front of the fire, waving his tail, asking to be noticed, was Charlie.

  Emmy, sitting down, could think of nothing more delightful than to be the owner of such a room and such a dog, with a faithful old friend like Beaker smoothing out life's wrinkles. She said on a happy sigh, 'This is such a lovely house, Beaker, and everything is so beautifully polished and cared for.'

  Beaker allowed himself to smile. 'The master and I, we're happy here, or so I hope, miss.' He went, soft-footed, to the door. 'I'll leave you to drink your coffee; lunch will be at one o'clock.'

  He opened the door and she could hear Mrs Burge Hoovering somewhere.

  'I suppose the professor won't be home for lunch?'

  'No, miss. Late afternoon. He has an evening engagement.'

  * * *

  She put on her coat and went into the garden with Charlie after lunch. For one belonging to a town house the garden was surprisingly large, and cleverly planned to make the most of its space. She wandered up and down while Charlie pottered, and presently when they went indoors she sought out Beaker.

  'Do you suppose I might take Charlie for a walk?' she asked him.

  Beaker looked disapproving. 'I don't think the professor would care for that, miss. Charlie has had a
long walk, early this morning with his master. He will go out again when the professor comes home. There's a nice fire burning in the drawing room. Mrs Burge asked me to let you know that she'll be back this evening if you should need any help with your packing. I understand that you are to make an early start.'

  So Emmy retreated to the drawing room and curled up by the fire with Charlie beside her and Humphrey on her lap. She leafed through the newspapers and magazines on the table beside her, not reading them, her mind busy with her future. Christmas was too close for her to look for work; she would stay at home and help to get their new house to rights. There would be curtains to sew and hang, possessions to be stowed away in cupboards.

  She wondered what the house was like. Her mother had written to tell her that it was delightful, but had had no time to describe it. There had been a slight hitch, she had written; the previous occupant's furniture was for the most part still in the house owing to some delay in its transport. 'But,' her mother had written, 'we shall be quite settled in by the time you come.'

  Beaker brought tea presently; tiny sandwiches, fairy cakes and a chocolate cake which he assured her he had baked especially for her. 'Most young ladies enjoy them,' he told her.

  Emmy was swallowing the last morsel when Charlie bounded to his feet, barking, and a moment later the professor came into the room.

  His 'Hello,' was friendly and casual. He sat down, then enquired how she felt and cut himself a slice of cake.

  'I'll run you home in the morning,' he told her. 'The day after tomorrow I shall be going to Holland.'

  'There's no need,' said Emmy.

  'Don't be silly,' said the professor at his most bracing. 'You can't go back to an empty house, and in a very short time you would be going home anyway. There seems little chance of selling the house at the moment; I phoned the agent this morning. There's nothing of value left there, is there?'

  She shook her head. 'No, only my bed and the bedclothes and a few bits of furniture.'

  'There you are, then. We'll leave at eight o'clock.' He got up. 'Charlie and I are going for our walk—I shall be out tonight. Beaker's looking after you?'

  'Oh, yes, thank you.'

  'Mrs Burge will come again this evening. Ask for anything you want.'

  His smile was remote as he went away.

  She was still sitting there when he returned an hour later with Charlie, but he didn't come into the drawing room, and later still she heard him leave the house once more. Beaker, opening the door for Charlie to come in, said that Mrs Burge was in the kitchen if she needed her for anything. 'I'll be serving dinner in half an hour, Miss. May I pour you a glass of sherry?'

  It might lift her unexpected gloom, thought Emmy, accepting. Why she should feel so downcast she had no idea; she should have been on the top of the world—leaving London and that pokey house and going to live miles away in Dorset. She wouldn't miss anything or anyone, she told herself, and the professor, for one, would be glad to see her go; she had caused enough disruption in his life.

  Beaker had taken great pains with dinner—mushroom soup, sole à la femme, creamed potatoes and baby sprouts, and an apricot pavlova to follow these. He poured her a glass of wine too, murmuring that the professor had told him to do so.

  She drank her coffee in Humphrey's company and then, since she was heartily sick of her own company, went in search of Mrs Burge. There was still some packing to do, and that lady came willingly enough to give her help, even though it wasn't necessary. It passed an hour or so in comfortable chat and presently Emmy said that she would go to bed.

  'We're to go early in the morning, so I'll say goodbye, Mrs Burge, and thank you for being so kind and helpful.'

  'Bless you, ducks, it's been a pleasure, and I'll be up to see you off. Beaker will have breakfast on the table sharp at half past seven—I'll give you a call at seven, shall I?'

  She turned on her way out. 'I must say you look a sight better than when you got here.'

  Emmy, alone, went to the triple looking-glass on the dressing table and took a good look. If she was looking better now she must have looked a perfect fright before. No wonder the professor showed little interest in her company. Anyway, she reminded herself, his mind would be on Anneliese.

  * * *

  She woke in the morning to find her bedside lamp on and Mrs Burge standing there with a tray of tea.

  'It's a nasty old day,' said Mrs Burge. 'Still dark, too. You've got half an hour. The professor's already up and out with Charlie.'

  The thought of keeping him waiting spurred Emmy on to dress with speed. She was downstairs with only moments to spare as he and Charlie came into the house.

  His good morning was spoken warmly. He's glad I'm going, thought Emmy as she answered cheerfully.

  'There's still time to put me on a train,' she told him as they sat down to breakfast. 'It would save you a miserable drive.'

  He didn't bother to answer. 'The roads will be pretty empty for another hour or so,' he observed, just as though she hadn't spoken. 'We should get to Littleton Mangate by mid-morning. Ready to leave, are you?'

  Emmy went to thank Beaker and Mrs Burge, and got into her coat while Beaker fetched her case down to the car. It was bitterly cold, and she took a few quick breaths before she got into the car, glad to see Charlie already sprawling on the back seat. It was almost like having a third person in the car, even though he obviously intended to go to sleep.

  It was striking eight o'clock as they drove away, starting the tedious first part of their journey through London's streets and presently the suburbs.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS still quite dark, and the rain was turning to sleet. The professor didn't speak and Emmy made no attempt to talk. In any case she couldn't think of anything to say. The weather, that useful topic of conversation, was hardly conducive to small talk, and he had never struck her as a man who enjoyed talking for the sake of it. She stared out of the window and watched the city streets gradually give way to rows of semi-detached houses with neat front gardens, and these in turn recede to be replaced by larger houses set in their own gardens and then, at last, open country and the motorway.

  Beyond asking her if she was warm enough and comfortable, the professor remained silent. Emmy sat back in her comfortable seat and thought about her future. She had thought about it rather a lot in the last few days, largely because she didn't want to think too much about the past few weeks.

  She was going to miss the professor, she admitted to herself. She wouldn't see him again after today, but she hoped that he would be happy with Anneliese. He had annoyed her on several occasions, but he was a good man and kind—the sort of kindness which was practical, and if he sometimes spoke his mind rather too frankly she supposed he was entitled to do so.

  As the motorway merged into the A303 he turned the car into the service station. 'Coffee? We've made good time. You go on in; I'll take Charlie for a quick trot. I'll see you in the café.'

  The place was full, which made their lack of conversation easier to bear. Emmy, painstakingly making small talk and receiving nothing but brief, polite replies, presently gave up. On a wave of ill humour she said, 'Well, if you don't want to talk, we won't.' She added hastily, going red in the face, 'I'm sorry, that was rude. I expect you have a lot to think about.'

  He looked at her thoughtfully. 'Yes, Ermentrude, I have. And, strangely, in your company I do not feel compelled to keep up a flow of chat.'

  'That's all right, then.' She smiled at him, for it seemed to her that he had paid her a compliment.

  They drove on presently through worsening weather. All the same her heart lifted at the sight of open fields and small villages. Nearing their journey's end, the professor turned off the A303 and took a narrow cross-country road, and Emmy said, 'You know the way? You've been here before?'

  'No.' He turned to smile at her. 'I looked at the map. We're almost there.'

  Shortly after that they went through a village and turned off into a lane ov
erhung with bare winter trees. Round a corner, within their view, was Emmy's new house.

  The professor brought the car to a halt, and after a moment's silence Emmy said, 'Oh, this can't be it,' although she knew that it was. The lodge itself was charming, even on a winter's day, but its charm was completely obliterated by the conglomeration of things around it, leaving it half-buried. Her father's car stood at the open gate, for the garage was overflowing with furniture. There was more furniture stacked and covered by tarpaulins in heaps in front of the house, a van parked on the small lawn to one side of the lodge and a stack of pipes under a hedge.