A Kiss for Julie

by Betty Neels

  ‘Everyone will speak English, I hope?’

  ‘Oh, yes, with a variety of accents.’

  Groningen, when they reached it, looked charming under the streetlamps. The professor drove straight to the heart of the city, crossing first one square and then a second. ‘All the main streets lead off from these two squares,’ he explained. ‘The hospital is down this side-street.’

  It was a splendid building with a vast entrance hall, where she wasn’t allowed to linger. The professor spoke to the porter and crossed to the row of lifts, taking her with him. ‘My bag,’ said Julie, hurrying to keep up.

  ‘It will be taken to your room. Come along now, and I’ll introduce you to the warden who will take care of you.’

  ‘At what time do you want me to start work, Professor?’ She was facing him in the lift. ‘And how shall I know where to find you?’

  ‘You will be fetched at half past eight. The seminar starts at nine with a coffee interval and a break for lunch. You will be shown where you can have a meal. We start again at two o’clock and finish around four. I hope to leave here not later than two o’clock on the day after tomorrow. Then you will spend the night with Mevrouw Schatt, and be free in the morning.’

  The lift had stopped. ‘Thank you, Professor; it’s nice to know your plans. I’ll be ready in the morning.’

  He didn’t answer but she hadn’t expected him to. Why waste words when one or even none would do? He marched her along a corridor then over a covered bridge to a building behind the hospital and knocked on a door at the end of the passage. It was opened by an elderly woman in a sister’s uniform who smiled at him and shook hands. ‘Zuster Moerma, this is Miss Beckworth, my secretary; I know you’ll look after her.’

  Julie shook hands and then waited while the two of them engaged in a brief conversation in Dutch. That finished, the professor bade her goodnight, turned on his heel and went away.

  Zuster Moerma watched him go. ‘Such a kind man,’ she observed. ‘Now you will come with me, please, and I will show you your room. Someone will bring you a warm drink—tea, perhaps? You must be tired; the professor works hard and he expects everyone else to do the same.’

  Julie’s room was small, nicely furnished and pleasantly warm. She was bidden goodnight, assured that breakfast would be brought to her at half past seven next morning, that the bathroom was just across the passage and that a tray of tea would be brought to her in a few minutes.

  Someone had brought her bag and computer up to the room; she unpacked what she would need and put the computer on the solid little table by the window. She still had half an hour’s typing to do. The professor, being the man he was, would probably ask for it the moment he saw her in the morning.

  The tea-tray came, borne by a cheerful girl in a print dress and white pinny. Old-fashioned but nice, thought Julie, and settled down to enjoy a cup. There were biscuits too—thin, crisp and sweet. She wasn’t hungry but she ate some of them before having a bath and settling down at the table to finish her typing.

  She was sleepy by the time she got into bed, and closed her eyes at once with only a fleeting thought of the professor. Probably buried under a pile of papers with those glasses on his nose, she thought, only half-awake.

  * * *

  The same girl brought her breakfast in the morning. Julie had been up since seven o’clock and had showered and dressed; now she sat down to enjoy the coffee and rolls with the little dish of cheese and ham which accompanied them, and, her meal over, she carefully checked everything, packed her bag once more and put the computer into its case. She had no idea if she would have time to do any work before they left but doubtless the professor would tell her. He had, she conceded, been careful to keep her up to date with his plans.

  Zuster Moerma came for her at half past eight exactly and led her back into the hospital. Julie, following on her heels, lost all sense of direction before long. The various staircases they went up and down all looked alike, as did the corridors. She could hear sounds of activity coming from the various doors they passed—the wards, she supposed.

  The aula was reached finally; it was larger than in Leiden and filled to capacity with rows of serious-looking gentlemen. Professor van der Driesma was standing by the door as they reached it and bade them good morning, exchanged what Julie supposed were a few pleasantries with Zuster Moerma, then turned to Julie.

  ‘They’ve given you a table under the platform so that you can hear easily. There will be a good deal of discussion.’

  An understatement, thought Julie an hour later; there had been a great deal of discussion and she had had to keep her wits about her, and there was still another hour after the coffee-break. Much refreshed by the brimming mug that someone had brought her, she bent once more over her pad.

  * * *

  A nurse led her away for her lunch in the canteen. A pretty girl with fair hair and big blue eyes, with the unlikely name of Skutsje, which Julie was quite unable to pronounce correctly. She wasn’t from Groningen but her home was in Friesland, just across the county border. ‘I work here now,’ she explained in awkward English, ‘and it is very nice.’

  Julie shared a table with her and several other nurses; all of them had a smattering of English, and plied her with questions over their bowls of soup and Kaas broodjes, and she wished that she could have seen more of them, but, anxious not to be late, she was led back to the aula to find the professor already there, talking to a small group of colleagues. He nodded to her as she went to her seat and presently came over to her.

  ‘You have had lunch?’ he wanted to know. ‘When this session is finished you will have time to type up your notes, will you not? Tomorrow morning you will be free; I have consultations until lunchtime. I should like to leave here directly after that. Shall we meet in the entrance hall just before two o’clock?’

  ‘Very well, Professor. You mean I can do as I like until then?’

  ‘Certainly. I dare say you will want to look at the shops, and St Martiniskerk is well worth a visit. I’m sorry you have had no chance to look around Groningen today.’

  ‘Well, I came to work, didn’t I?’ said Julie cheerfully. ‘But I shall enjoy looking round tomorrow morning. I’ll be in the hall on time.’

  ‘Good.’ He went away then and left her to settle herself down, ready for the afternoon’s work. Various medical men were reading papers and she had to keep her mind on her work. There was a brief break for a cup of tea but then they were off again, and since they were from a variety of countries she was hard put to it to keep up with some of their accented English. She was glad that she had a tape recorder with her to fill in the gaps.

  She didn’t see the professor again but went away with Skutsje, who had come to fetch her to a small office where she could get on with her typing. That lasted till she was fetched once more to eat her supper—a cheerful meal with the nurses whom she had met at midday. Afterwards, despite their friendly offers to take her with them to watch TV in their sitting room, she went back to the office to finish her work.

  It was quite late by the time she had typed the last of the notes; she tidied the pile of paper, collected her belongings and found her way back to the nurses’ home where she showered and got into bed, to sleep at once. It had been a long and arduous day and she only hoped that she hadn’t missed anything.

  * * *

  The morning was bright and crisply cold; she ate her breakfast while she was told where to go and what to see and presently left the hospital on her sightseeing tour, promising to be back for the midday meal. She went first to St Martiniskerk, admired the beautiful frescos, listened to the carillon and decided that she hadn’t the time to climb the three hundred and twenty feet to the top of the Martini Tower.

  A morning wasn’t long enough, she decided, taking a quick look at the university and the gardens in the Prinsenhof before finding t
he shops so that she could buy presents to take home. She hadn’t much money; she settled for illustrated books for her brothers, some chocolates for Esme, cigars for Luscombe and a small delft plate for her mother. Blotto would have to have biscuits.

  That done, it was time for her to take herself back to the hospital and go to the canteen for soup and rolls and salad. Lunch was fun, with everyone talking at once, until she saw the time, regretfully said goodbye and hurried over to the home to get her things.

  The warden met her. The porter had already taken everything, she was told, and then she was bidden a warm goodbye. She shook hands with the hope that she would come again some day and made her way to the entrance hall; it was ten minutes to the hour and she intended to be the first one there. There was no one in the hall and the porter in his box had his back to her. There was no sign of her bag and the computer either; she crossed to the big entrance door and looked out.

  The professor was there, standing by his car, talking to a girl. Even at that distance Julie could see that she was strikingly good-looking and beautifully dressed. As she looked he put his arms around her shoulders and kissed her, and then, an arm in hers, walked her across the forecourt to a scarlet Mini. The girl got in and he bent once more to kiss her and then stood watching as she drove away.

  Julie went back to where the lifts were without the porter seeing her, and a moment later the professor came into the hall; she started to walk towards him. ‘I’m not late?’ she asked as they met.

  He was coolly polite. ‘Exactly on time, Miss Beckworth.’ She found it impossible to believe that he was the same man who had hugged the girl so closely.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE PROFESSOR DROVE straight to Mevrouw Schatt’s house when they reached Leiden. ‘I have an appointment shortly but I would be obliged if you will come to the hospital in about an hour’s time. I have a number of letters to dictate. You can get them typed there and I will sign them before I leave the hospital.’

  He stayed for a few minutes talking to Mevrouw Schatt before getting back into his car and driving away, and Julie went to her room and presently returned downstairs for a cup of tea and some of Mevrouw Schatt’s boterkoek, while she told that lady of her visits to Amsterdam and Groningen. An hour wasn’t long, though, and she got into her jacket once more and walked to the hospital. She was relieved that the porter expected her and summoned another porter to take her to Professor van der Driesma’s office.

  He was sitting behind a big desk, loaded down with papers, his specs on his nose, but he got up as she went in, asked her to sit down, hoped that she had had time for tea and began without more ado on his letters.

  Most of them were straightforward, she was thankful to discover—courtesy thanks for this and that, arrangements to meet in London, agreements to consultations—only a handful were bristling with medical terms.

  ‘Bring them here when you have finished, please, Miss Beckworth; I will see you back to Mevrouw Schatt’s house then.’

  ‘Please don’t bother,’ said Julie. ‘It’s only a few minutes’ walk; you must have heaps of other things to do.’

  ‘Indeed I have, but I must remind you that I am responsible for you, Miss Beckworth.’

  Julie stood up and gathered up her pad and pencil and the little medical dictionary that she was never without. ‘Oh, dear, so tiresome for you, Professor. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  He got up to open the door for her and stood watching her walk away along the corridor. A pity that she didn’t turn round to see him, and see the look on his face.

  She went to the office that she had used before and wasted quite five minutes of her time thinking about him and the girl in the hospital courtyard. He had looked, even at a distance, loving, and for some reason the thought made her feel vaguely unhappy. She thrust it aside and switched on the computer. I ought to feel pleased that he’s human like the rest of us, after all, she reflected.

  She doubted that when she returned with his letters; the quick look he gave her as she laid them on his desk was coolly indifferent. As though he’s looking at me over a high wall, thought Julie; if she hadn’t seen him kissing that girl she wouldn’t have believed it...

  She looked at his downbent head as he signed his letters. Perhaps he was unhappy without her; perhaps for some reason they weren’t able to marry; perhaps the girl was already married... Julie’s imagination set off on a wild-goose chase of its own, to be interrupted by his quiet ‘Miss Beckworth, if I might have your attention?’

  She gave him a guilty look. ‘Yes, yes, of course, Professor.’

  ‘You have had no time to yourself while we have been in Holland; when we get back to London you might like to have a day to yourself before coming back to work?’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I still have some notes to write up, though.’

  He said indifferently, ‘Just as you like. I expect you can arrange your work to suit yourself, but I shan’t need you for the first day after our return.’ He signed the last letter. ‘You are ready? Let us go.’

  He didn’t wait at mevrouw’s house but saw her inside and drove off quickly. Siska and Jason would be waiting to welcome him home on the other side of Rapenburg.

  They were expecting him; Siska had the door open as he got out of the car and Jason hurled himself at him. The professor closed his front door behind him and thought how delightful it was to be home, and for the first time in many years he thought, too, how pleasant it would be if he had a wife waiting for him. Someone like Julie, who unfortunately had made it very plain from the beginning that she didn’t like him.

  He shrugged the thought aside, bent to caress his dog, listened to Siska’s domestic gossip and went along to his study. There was time enough for him to catch up on his letters before dinner.

  He took Jason for a walk later that evening but he didn’t cross to the other side of the canal; he could see that the only light on at her house was an upstairs one and, in any case, what would be the point?

  * * *

  He was up early the next morning, taking Jason for his run then going over to the hospital for a brief examination of the patients whom he had gone to see previously. He would go back again to bid his colleagues goodbye before he left later in the day. Now he went back to his house to his study to telephone, and then into his drawing room to drink the coffee that Siska had ready from him.

  The long windows overlooked the street, which was free from traffic and quiet in the autumn morning. Indeed, there was only one person in it—Julie, walking briskly towards the Rapenburg, probably on her way back from another visit to St Pieterskerk and the Persijnhofje—an almshouse founded by an ancestor of President Franklin Roosevelt—and doubtless on her way to another museum. It was a windy day and she had stopped to pin back her hair; on a sudden impulse he went to the house door and opened it and, as she drew level, her head bowed against the wind, went down the double steps.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Beckworth. You’re out early. Come in and have a cup of coffee?’

  She gaped up at him. ‘Oh, hello. I didn’t expect... That is, are you staying in one of these houses?’ She looked around her. ‘Do they belong to the university?’

  ‘Some of them do. Come inside; this wind is chilly.’

  She went indoors with him and Siska, carrying the coffee-tray, came into the hall. The professor spoke to her, took Julie’s jacket and then led the way into his drawing room, where Jason came to inspect her, rolling his yellow eyes and showing a splendid set of teeth.

  Julie held out a fist and hoped that he wouldn’t devour it, but he didn’t; at a quiet word from the professor he butted his great head against it and leered at her in what could only be a friendly fashion. ‘He’s yours? You live here?’ asked Julie.

  ‘Yes, and yes. This is one of my homes, although I do spend a good deal of time in London.’

&nb
sp; She looked around her; the room was large and high-ceilinged, its walls hung with mulberry-coloured paper. The floor was polished wood, covered by beautiful rugs, and the furniture was mahogany and tulip wood: a lovely William and Mary chest, a bureau of the same period, heavy with marquetry, a Dutch display cabinet, its shelves filled with silver and porcelain, and a sofa-table behind a vast couch. There were tripod tables too, each with its lamp, and here and there superb Meissen porcelain figures.

  ‘What a very beautiful room,’ said Julie.

  ‘I’m glad you like it. Come and sit down and have your coffee.’

  Julie sat down and drank her coffee from a paper-thin porcelain cup and nibbled little cinnamon biscuits, making polite conversation and feeling ill at ease. The professor behind his desk or lecturing in his quiet voice was one thing; drinking his coffee in his splendid house was quite another.

  He responded to her rather vapid remarks with unwonted gentleness and hidden amusement, egging her on gently to talk about her family and home so that she forgot her uncertainty towards him, again talking freely about her father.

  She paused at length, suddenly shy and afraid that she had been rambling on and boring him. ‘I must go,’ she said. ’Mevrouw Schatt will be waiting for me. I’m sorry, I’ve wasted your morning; there must be so much you want to do when you’re home...’ She remembered something. ‘I expect you have friends—and people you know in Groningen...’

  ‘Indeed I have, for I was born there; my family live there, and people I have known for many years.’

  She asked recklessly, ‘So you don’t want to go back there and—and settle down?’

  ‘I imagine, Miss Beckworth, that you mean do I wish to marry and live there.’ He studied her pink face before he went on. ‘This is my true home; if and when I decide to marry, my wife will live here.’

  Julie got to her feet. ‘Yes, of course; I’m sorry, I wasn’t prying. Thank you for the coffee.’