A Christmas Romance

by Betty Neels

  As soon as they had had their breakfast she would tell him that she was having lunch with friends … She discarded the idea. To tell him fibs, even small, harmless ones, was something she found quite impossible. She supposed that was because she loved him. People who loved each other didn’t have secrets. Only he didn’t love her.

  She glanced sideways at him. ‘You’ve spoilt your suit.’

  ‘And you your coat. I’m only thankful that it was you who were there. You’ve a sensible head under that bright hair; most people lose their wits at an accident. You were out early?’

  ‘I’d been to church. I planned to go for a long walk. I often do on a Sunday.’

  ‘Very sensible—especially after being cooped up in the hospital all week.’

  Meg came to meet them as they went into the house. She took Theodosia’s mac and cap and said firmly, ‘Breakfast will be ready just as soon as you’ve got into some other clothes, sir. Miss Chapman can have a nice warm by the fire.’

  She bustled Theodosia down the hall and into a small, cosy sitting room where there was a bright fire burning. Its window overlooked a narrow garden at the back and the round table by it was set for breakfast.

  ‘Now just you sit quiet for a bit,’ said Meg. ‘I’ll get Gustavus.’

  The cat, freed from his basket, settled down before the fire as though he had lived there all his life.

  The professor came presently in corduroys and a polo-necked sweater. Cashmere, decided Theodosia. Perhaps if she could save enough money she would buy one instead of spending a week next summer at a bed and breakfast farm.

  Meg followed him in with a tray of covered dishes; Theodosia’s breakfasts of cornflakes, toast and, sometimes, a boiled egg paled to oblivion beside this splendid array of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and kidneys.

  He piled her plate. ‘We must have a good breakfast if we are to go walking, too,’ he observed.

  She stared at him across the table. ‘But it is me who is going walking …’

  ‘You don’t mind if I come, too? Besides, I need your help. I’m going to Worthing to collect a dog; he’ll need a good walk before we bring him back.’

  ‘A dog?’ said Theodosia. ‘Why is he at Worthing? And you don’t really need me with you.’

  He didn’t answer at once. He said easily, ‘He’s a golden Labrador, three years old. He belongs to a friend of mine who has gone to Australia. He’s been in a dog’s home for a week or so until I was free to take him over.’

  ‘He must be unhappy. But not any more once he’s living with you. If you think it would help to make him feel more at home if I were there, too, I’d like to go with you.’ She frowned. ‘I forgot, I can’t. Gustavus …’

  ‘He will be quite happy with Meg, who dotes on him.’ He passed her the toast. ‘So that’s settled. It’s a splendid day to be out of doors.’

  They had left London behind them and were nearing Dorking when he said, ‘Do you know this part of the country? We’ll leave the main road and go through Billingshurst. We can get back onto the main road just north of Worthing.’

  Even in the depths of winter, the country was beautiful, still sparkling from the night frost and the sun shining from a cold blue sky. Theodosia, snug in the warmth and comfort of the car, was in seventh heaven. She couldn’t expect anything as delightful as this unexpected day out to happen again, of course. It had been a kindly quirk of fate which had caused them to meet again.

  She said suddenly, ‘That old lady—it seems so unfair that she should be hurt and in hospital while we’re having this glorious ride—’ She stopped then and added awkwardly, ‘What I mean is, I’m having a glorious ride.’

  The professor thought of several answers he would have liked to make to that. Instead he said casually, ‘It’s a perfect day, isn’t it? I’m enjoying it, too. Shall we stop for a cup of coffee in Billingshurst?’

  When they reached Worthing, he took her to one of the splendid hotels on the seafront where, the shabby raincoat hidden out of sight in the cloakroom, she enjoyed a splendid lunch with him, unconscious of the glances of the other people there, who were intrigued by the vivid ginger of her hair.

  It was early afternoon when they reached the dog’s home. He was ready and waiting for them, for he recognized the professor as a friend of his master and greeted him with a dignified bark or two and a good deal of tail-wagging. He was in a pen with a small dog of such mixed parentage that it was impossible to tell exactly what he might be. He had a foxy face and bushy eyebrows, a rough coat, very short legs and a long thin tail. He sat and watched while George the Labrador was handed over and Theodosia said, ‘That little dog, he looks so sad …’

  The attendant laughed. ‘He’s been George’s shadow ever since he came; can’t bear to be parted from him. They eat and sleep together, too. Let’s hope someone wants him. I doubt it—he came in off a rubbish dump.’

  The professor was looking at Theodosia; he knew with resigned amusement that he was about to become the owner of the little dog. She wasn’t going to ask, but the expression on her face was eloquent.

  ‘Then perhaps we might have the little dog as well since they are such friends. Has he a name?’

  He was rewarded by the happiness in her face. ‘He may come, too?’ She held out her arms for the little beast, who was shivering with excitement, and he stayed there until the professor had dealt with their payment, chosen a collar and lead for him and they had left the home.

  ‘A brisk walk on the beach will do us all good,’ said the professor. ‘We must have a name,’ he observed as the two dogs ran to and fro. They had got into the car without fuss and now they were savouring their freedom.

  ‘Max,’ said Theodosia promptly. ‘He’s such a little dog and I don’t suppose he’ll grow much more so he needs an important name. Maximilian—only perhaps you could call him Max?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ agreed the professor. He turned her round and started to walk back to the car. He whistled to the dogs. ‘George, Max …’

  They came running and scrambled into the car looking anxious.

  ‘It’s all right, you’re going home,’ said Theodosia, ‘and everyone will love you.’ She remembered then. ‘Gustavus—he’s not used to dogs; he never sees them …’

  ‘Then it will be a splendid opportunity for him to do so. We will put the three of them in the garden together.’

  ‘We will? No, no, there’s no need. If you’ll give me time to pop him into his basket, I can take him with me.’

  The professor was driving out of Worthing, this time taking the main road to Horsham and Dorking. The winter afternoon was already fading into dusk and Theodosia reflected on how quickly the hours flew by when one was happy.

  He hadn’t answered her; presumably he had agreed with her. There would be buses, but she would have to change during the journey back to her bed-sitter. She reminded herself that on a Sunday evening with little traffic and the buses half empty she should have an easy journey.

  They talked from time to time and every now and then she turned round to make sure the dogs were all right. They were sitting upright, close together, looking uncertain.

  ‘Did you have a dog when you were a little girl?’ asked the professor.

  ‘Oh, yes, and a cat. I had a pony, too.’

  ‘Your home was in the country?’ he asked casually.

  She told him about the nice old house in Wiltshire and the school she had gone to and how happy she had been, and then said suddenly, ‘I’m sorry, I must be boring you. It’s just that I don’t get the chance to talk about it very often. Of course, I think about it whenever I like.’ She glanced out of the window into the dark evening. ‘Are we nearly there?’

  ‘Yes, and you have no need to apologize; I have not been bored. I have wondered about your home before you came to London, for you are so obviously a square peg in a round hole.’

  ‘Oh? Am I? I suppose I am, but I’m really very lucky. I mean, I have the great-aunts and a j
ob and I know lots of people at the hospital.’

  ‘But perhaps you would like to do some other work?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I’m the right person to have a career, if you mean the sort who wear those severe suits and carry briefcases …’

  He laughed then, but all he said was, ‘We’re almost home.’

  If only it were home—her home, thought Theodosia, and then told herself not to be a silly fool. She got out when he opened her door and waited while he took up the dogs’ leads and ushered them to the door. When she hesitated he said, ‘Come along, Theodosia. Meg will have tea waiting for us.’

  Much later, lying in bed with Gustavus curled up beside her, Theodosia thought over her day, minute by minute. It had been like a lovely dream, only dreams were forgotten and she would never forget the hours she had spent with the professor. And the day had ended just as he had planned it beforehand; they had had tea by the fire with the two dogs sitting between them as though they had lived there all their lives. Although she had been a bit scared when the professor had fetched Gustavus and introduced him to the dogs, she had said nothing. After a good deal of spitting and gentle growling the three animals had settled down together.

  She had said that she must go back after tea, but somehow he’d convinced her that it would be far better if she stayed for supper. ‘So that Gustavus can get used to George and Max,’ he had explained smoothly. She hated leaving his house and her bed-sitter was cold and uninviting.

  The professor had lighted the gas fire for her, drawn the curtains over the window and turned on the table lamp, before going to the door, smiling at her muddled thanks and wishing her goodnight in a brisk manner.

  There was no reason why he should have lingered, she told herself sleepily. Perhaps she would see him at the hospital—not to talk to, just to get a glimpse of him would do, so that she knew that he was still there.

  In the morning, when she woke, she told herself that any foolish ideas about him must be squashed. She couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t in love with him, because she was and there was nothing she could do about that, but at least she would be sensible about it.

  This was made easy for her since Miss Prescott was in a bad mood. Theodosia had no time at all to think about anything but the endless jobs her superior found for her to do, but in her dinner hour she went along to the women’s surgical ward and asked if she might see the old lady.

  She was sitting propped up in bed, looking surprisingly cheerful. True, she was attached to a number of tubes and she looked pale, but she remembered Theodosia at once.

  ‘I’d have been dead if you hadn’t come along, you and that nice doctor. Patched me up a treat, they have! My daughter’s been to see me, too. Ever so grateful, we both are.’

  ‘I’m glad I just happened to be there, and it was marvellous luck that Professor Bendinck should drive past …’

  ‘Professor, is he? A very nice gentleman and ever so friendly. Came to see me this morning.’

  Just to know that he had been there that morning made Theodosia feel happy. Perhaps she would see him too …

  But there was no sign of him. The week slid slowly by with not so much as a glimpse of him. Friday came at last. She bade Miss Prescott a temporary and thankful goodbye and made her way through the hospital. It had been raining all day and it was cold as well. A quiet weekend, she promised herself, making for the entrance.

  The professor was standing by the main door and she saw him too late to make for the side door. As she reached him she gave him a cool nod and was brought to a halt by his hand.

  ‘There you are. I was afraid that I had missed you.’

  ‘I’ve been here all this week,’ said Theodosia, aware of the hand and filled with delight, yet at the same time peevish.

  ‘Yes, so have I. I have a request to make. Would you be free on Sunday to take the dogs into the country? George is very biddable, but Max needs a personal attendant.’ He added, most unfairly, ‘And since you took such an interest in him …’

  She felt guilty. ‘Oh, dear. I should have thought … It was my fault, wasn’t it? If I hadn’t said anything … Ought he to go back to Worthing and find another owner?’

  ‘Certainly not. It is merely a question of him settling down. He is so pleased to be with George that he gets carried away. They couldn’t be separated.’ He had walked her through the door. ‘I’ll drive you home …’

  ‘There’s no need.’

  Which was a silly remark for it was pouring with rain, as well as dark and cold.

  She allowed herself to be stowed in the car and when they got to Mrs Towzer’s house he got out with her. ‘I’ll be here at ten o’clock on Sunday,’ he told her, and didn’t wait for her answer.

  ‘Really,’ said Theodosia, climbing the stairs. ‘He does take me for granted.’

  But she knew that wasn’t true. He merely arranged circumstances in such a way that he compelled her to agree to what he suggested.

  She was up early on Sunday morning, getting breakfast for herself and Gustavus, explaining to him that she would have to leave him alone. ‘But you shall have something nice for supper,’ she promised him. The professor hadn’t said how long they would be gone, or where. She frowned. He really did take her for granted; next time she would have a good excuse …

  It was just before ten o’clock when he knocked on her door. He wished her good morning in a casual manner which gave her the feeling that they had known each other all their lives. ‘We’ll take Gustavus, if you like. He’ll be happier in the car than sitting by himself all day.’

  ‘Well, yes, perhaps—if George and Max won’t mind and it’s not too long.’

  ‘No distance.’ He was settling Gustavus in his basket. ‘A breath of country air will do him good.’

  Mrs Towzer wasn’t in the hall but her door was just a little open. As the professor opened the door he said, ‘We shall be back this evening, Mrs Towzer,’ just as her face appeared in the crack in the door.

  ‘She’s not being nosy,’ said Theodosia as they drove away. ‘She’s just interested.’

  She turned her head a little and found George and Max leaning against her seat, anxious to greet her and not in the least bothered by Gustavus in his basket. She was filled with happiness; it was a bright, cold morning and the winter sun shone, the car was warm and comfortable and she was sitting beside the man she loved. What more could a girl want? A great deal, of course, but Theodosia, being the girl she was, was content with what she had at the moment.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked presently. ‘This is the way to Finchingfield.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we are not going to your great-aunts’. I have a little cottage a few miles from Saffron Walden; I thought we could go there, walk the dogs and have a picnic lunch. Meg has put something in a basket for us.’

  He didn’t take the motorway but turned off at Brentwood and took the secondary roads to Bishop’s Stortford and after a few miles turned off again into a country road which led presently to a village. It was a small village, its narrow main street lined with small cottages before broadening into a village green ringed by larger cottages and several houses, all of them overshadowed by the church.

  The professor turned into a narrow lane leading from the green and stopped, got out to open a gate in the hedge and then drove through it along a short paved driveway, with a hedge on one side of it and a fair-sized garden on the other, surrounding a reed-thatched, beetle-browed cottage with a porch and small latticed windows, its brick walls faded to a dusty pink. The same bricks had been used for the walls on either side of it which separated the front garden from the back of the house, pierced by small wooden doors.

  The professor got out, opened Theodosia’s door and then released the dogs.

  ‘Gustavus …’ began Theodosia.

  ‘We will take him straight through to the garden at the back. There’s a high wall, so he’ll be quite safe there and he can get into the cottage.’

  He unl
ocked one of the small doors and urged her through with the dogs weaving themselves to and fro and she could see that it was indeed so; the garden was large, sloping down to the fields and surrounded by a high brick wall. It was an old-fashioned garden with narrow brick paths between beds which were empty now, but she had no doubt they would be filled with rows of orderly vegetables later on. Beyond the beds was a lawn with fruit bushes to one side of it and apple trees.

  ‘Oh, how lovely—even in winter it’s perfect.’

  He sat Gustavus’s basket down, opened it and presently Gustavus poked out a cautious head and then sidled out.

  ‘He’s not used to being out of doors,’ said Theodosia anxiously, ‘only on the roof outside my window. At least, not since I’ve had him. He was living on the streets before that, but that’s not the same as being free.’

  She had bent to stroke the furry head and the professor said gently, ‘Shall we leave him to get used to everything? The dogs won’t hurt him and we can leave the kitchen door open.’

  He unlocked the door behind him and stood aside for her to go inside. The kitchen was small, with a quarry-tiled floor, pale yellow walls and an old-fashioned dresser along one wall. There was an Aga, a stout wooden table and equally stout chairs and a deep stone sink. She revolved slowly, liking what she saw; she had no doubt that the kitchen lacked nothing a housewife would need, but it was a place to sit cosily over a cup of coffee, or to come down to in the morning and drink a cup of tea by the open door …

  ‘Through here,’ said the professor, and opened a door into the hall.

  It was narrow, with a polished wooden floor and cream-painted walls. There were three doors and he opened the first one. The living room took up the whole of one side of the cottage, with little windows overlooking the front garden and French windows opening onto the garden at the back. It was a delightful room with easy chairs, tables here and there and a wide inglenook. The floor was wooden here, too, but there were rugs on it, their faded colours echoing the dull reds and blues of the curtains. There were pictures on the walls but she was given no chance to look at them.