by Betty Neels
She assured him that she would. She hadn’t gone the previous year because Esme had had the measles. She had no idea if the professor intended to go. ‘Not that it is of the slightest concern to me,’ said Julie aloud, and went away to eat her dinner.
* * *
She had nothing to wear and little more than a week in which to solve that problem. She and her mother, with occasional unhelpful advice from Esme, combed through their wardrobes and then the trunks in the attic. They laid out the results on her mother’s bed, and from them contrived a suitable ensemble. A grey chiffon dress, so out of date that it was fashionable again, high-heeled sandals, which pinched a bit but were just right with the dress, and a little brocade jacket which concealed the rather out-of-date cut of the dress’s bodice. With minor alterations it would do very well.
‘And of course you can have the coat,’ said Mrs Beckworth. ‘Is he nice, this young man who is taking you?’
‘One of the junior registrars—Oliver Mann.’
‘Does Simon go to these dances?’
‘I’ve no idea. I suppose he’ll have to put in an appearance—to dance with consultants’ wives and the senior staff.’
Mrs Beckworth, glancing at her daughter’s face, refrained from asking more questions.
* * *
The professor appeared to be his usual rather aloof self, intent on his work and giving her more than enough to do, but on the evening before the dance, as Julie was getting ready to go home, he looked up from his desk.
‘Are you going to the dance?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’ She returned his stare. ‘With Oliver Mann—he’s a junior—’
‘Yes, I know who he is.’ His usual bland voice sounded harsh. ‘I hope you have a very pleasant evening.’
She very much wanted to ask him if he would be there, but that might look as though she expected him to dance with her. She wished him goodnight and went home to try on the grey dress once more.
* * *
The hospital dance was an annual affair and everyone went—from the most junior of the student nurses to the hospital governors—if their circumstances permitted. Julie, dressed and wrapped in the coat, her stylish sandals already nipping her toes, got into the taxi her mother had insisted upon her having.
The entrance hall at St Bravo’s was thronged, but Oliver was looking out for her, and once she had left her coat in the improvised cloakroom they made their way to the hospital lecture hall—a vast place, decorated now with streamers and balloons. The dancing had started some time ago and they joined the crowds on the dance floor.
Julie, looking around her, was thankful for the crush. Her dress, compared with most of those around her, wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny. Oliver didn’t notice that, though. He told her awkwardly that she looked nice, and swung her into an old-fashioned foxtrot.
He had been quite right—he wasn’t a good dancer. He had no sense of rhythm and every now and then he trod on her feet...
The music stopped and he said enthusiastically, ‘That was great. I hope the next dance is a slow one—you know, the kind where you can stay in the one place all the time.’
And which would be a good deal kinder to her feet, reflected Julie.
The next dance was a waltz, an ‘excuse-me’, and they had circled the room once before someone tapped Oliver on the shoulder and she found herself looking at the vast expanse of the professor’s white shirt front.
She glanced up briefly. ‘I didn’t think you’d be here.’
‘Of course I’m here, so that I may dance dutifully with all the right ladies.’
So it was a duty dance! thought Julie peevishly. She might have known it. She said with a snap, ‘Well, at least this duty dance doesn’t have to last too long. Hopefully someone will come along and relieve you of one of them at least.’
‘Tut-tut, you are too quick with your guesses.’ He looked down at her and wondered with a flash of tenderness from where she had unearthed her dress. Not a made-over cloak, but definitely not haute couture. Whatever it was, she looked beautiful in it—but then she would make a potato sack look elegant.
He ignored the tap on his shoulder from one of the radiographers and swung her into a corner of the room. ‘You are enjoying yourself?’
‘Very much. Oliver is rather nice, you know,’ she improvised quickly. ‘We’ve known each other for some time.’
‘Indeed.’ The professor, who didn’t believe a word of that, sounded no more than polite, and she rushed on quickly.
‘He’s from Leeds, and hopes to get a job there when he’s finished here. From what I hear, it’s a rather nice city. I’m sure I should like it.’
The professor didn’t allow himself a smile—not even a twitch of the lip. ‘You wouldn’t mind living so far away from your family?’ he enquired politely.
What had she started? thought Julie, and plunged even deeper into deception. ‘Oh, no! One can always drive to and fro,’ she added airily.
‘Indeed one can.’ He was all affability. ‘And when are we to be given the glad news—wedding bells and so on?’
If Oliver were to come now she would die. ‘Oh, there’s nothing definite.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. I hope you will stay until I leave.’
‘Leave? Leave? You’re going back to Holland, of course.’ She had gone quite pale.
‘Not entirely—merely altering the balance of my work. I’ll still have a consultant’s post here, but I shall undertake much less work here and more in Holland.’
She said, unable to help herself, ‘You’re going to get married?’
‘It’s high time I did, isn’t it?’ He spoke lightly, and when one of the medical students tapped him on the shoulder he handed her over with nothing more than smiling thanks.
After that Julie danced and laughed and talked, and now and again caught a glimpse of the professor dancing with his colleagues’ wives and then with the pretty theatre sister and the even prettier Outpatients sister.
She and Oliver shared a table with several others, but the delicacies laid out for their consumption were dust and ashes in her mouth. She danced again after supper, for she danced well and was in demand as a partner, but she longed for the evening to end.
It was after midnight when she saw her chance and told Oliver that she was leaving. When he protested, and then said that he would see her home, she told him lightly that a taxi would be waiting for her. ‘It’s been a lovely evening, Oliver, and thank you for inviting me. You go back and do your duty on the dance floor. There’s that nice staff nurse from Casualty casting eyes at you...’
‘You don’t mind? I mean, I’ll take you home with pleasure...’
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes, and I mustn’t keep the cab waiting.’ Out of the corner of her eye she had seen the professor looking at her from across the floor, which prompted her to kiss Oliver’s cheek before she slipped away.
It took a few minutes to find her coat. The attendant—one of the servers from the canteen—was sleepy and impatient, but once it was found Julie nipped smartly towards the hospital doors. She didn’t relish her solitary walk home and she hoped there might be a late bus or a real taxi, but she didn’t care. Anything was better than staying there watching the professor smiling down at his partners...
It was dark, very dark, and the bright lights streaming from the hospital seemed to make it darker. She paused for a moment and put out a hand to push the doors open.
There was no mistaking the long-fingered elegant hand which came over her shoulder, gave her her hand back and opened the door.
‘It isn’t raining,’ said the professor breezily. ‘The car’s close by.’
He bustled her across the courtyard and into the Bentley, and it was only when he had got in beside her that she found her breath.
&nbs
p; ‘This is quite unnecessary, Professor,’ said Julie coldly.
‘My dear girl, you’re behaving foolishly—trotting off home in the middle of the night in this neighbourhood. That’s what you intended to do, wasn’t it? What fairy tale did you spin to young Oliver?’
‘I’m not a child—’ began Julie.
‘Something which I have discovered for myself. And for which I am thankful.’
Julie sat bubbling over with temper, at the same time aware of heartfelt relief. Only a fool would traipse the streets at that hour of the night, and only her disappointment over the evening had overridden her caution. She had been silly to feel disappointed too; there was no reason why the professor should even have nodded to her, let alone danced with her...
The professor had nothing to say either, and he had stopped outside her front door before she could decide whether to speak.
‘Is there someone waiting up for you?’ he wanted to know.
‘No. I have a key. Thank you for bringing me. I hope I haven’t spoilt your evening.’
He turned to look at her. ‘The answer to that is so complicated that I’ll say no more. Give me your key.’
She handed it over meekly; there were times when it was wise not to argue with him.
‘Stay there while I unlock the door.’ He got out, opened the door and switched on the hall light, came back and helped her out, then waited while she went indoors. She had to say something, thought Julie desperately.
She turned to face him. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been silly. Thank you for bringing me home. Goodnight.’
She looked very beautiful, standing there with the dim light from the hall shining behind her. The professor resisted a strong urge to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he sensed that she was in no mood to be kissed. He bade her a cheerful goodnight, adding the rider that he would see her on Monday morning, and when she had gone inside, shut the door, got back into his car and returned to the hospital.
There was still an hour or more before the dance would end, and the more senior the member of the staff the more obligatory it was to remain until the very last note from the band.
The first person he saw when he entered the hall was Oliver, looking worried.
‘Anything wrong?’ asked the professor.
‘No, sir—at least, I came here with Julie—you know, your secretary—and she told me she’d be leaving before the end and that she had a taxi coming for her.’ His youthful brow furrowed. ‘I should have made sure that it was there.’
‘It was.’ The professor, who only lied when it was absolutely necessary, considered that it was necessary now. ‘Julie got in and was driven away. I wished her goodnight and she answered me.’
The relief in Oliver’s face was very evident. He gave the professor a disarming smile. ‘I say, sir, thanks awfully. I was a bit worried.’
The professor told him kindly to go and dance, and felt old. Too old for Julie? He had no chance to pursue the thought as the senior medical consultant’s wife had tapped him on the arm.
‘You should be dancing, Simon. You must know that half the nurses here are hoping you will do just that.’
‘You’re flattering me. I’ve a better idea...’ He whirled her away while she laughingly protested.
Presently she said, ‘Clive wants to talk to you—you’d better come to dinner one evening. I’m not supposed to know, of course, but you’re thinking of making your headquarters in Leiden, aren’t you? You’ll still work here?’
‘Oh, yes. But more or less on a part-time basis.’
‘You have that charming little house here, though. Won’t you miss it?’
‘I shall be to and fro quite frequently—it will still be my home while I’m over here.’
‘What a restless way to live, Simon. You ought to marry.’
‘And live here permanently?’
She looked up at his face; its expression gave nothing away. ‘No, I don’t think you would do that. I think your roots are in Holland, even though you choose to work here too.’
He smiled suddenly. ‘Yes, they are. None the less, I hope to go on working at St Bravo’s for a long time yet.’
‘Oh, good.’ The music stopped and they stood together on the edge of the dance floor. ‘But I should like to see you married, Simon. Men need someone to look after them.’
‘Don’t let Blossom hear you say that!’
She laughed. ‘He always looks so grumpy, but I think that secretly he would chop his right arm off for you.’
‘Heaven forbid. But he looks after me splendidly when I’m over here.’
Simon danced until the band played a final encore, and then waited patiently with the senior hospital staff while the nurses and housemen said their goodnights and went off to their beds. There were a further five minutes or so while everyone agreed that the evening had been a success before they, too, went home.
The professor went quietly into his house, but not so quietly that Blossom didn’t hear him—appearing silently on the narrow staircase, cosily clad in his dressing gown.
‘Here’s a fine time to come home,’ he observed tartly. ‘There’s coffee on the Aga. Shall I fetch you a cup, sir?’
‘I’ll fetch it for myself, Blossom. Do go back to bed, there’s a good fellow.’
Blossom turned on his heels, his duty done. ‘Had a good time? Was that nice young lady there?’
‘Miss Beckworth? Yes, she was.’ The professor paused on his way to the kitchen. ‘You liked her, Blossom?’
‘Indeed I did. Danced with her, did you?’
‘Yes.’ For a moment the professor savoured his memories. ‘Goodnight, Blossom.’
* * *
He went down to Henley in the morning, and wandered from room to room in his cottage there. Even in the winter it was pretty—small and old, and furnished with simple tables and chairs. His mother had come over to England when he had bought it and chosen curtains and covers, and Blossom had equipped the kitchen to suit his fancy. Simon wondered if Julie would like it as much as he did, with its pocket handkerchief of a garden bordering the Thames and the flowerbeds and the plum tree.
It was a haven of peace after his busy week at the hospital, and presently he went to the garden and began digging over the empty bed at its end, where Blossom had suggested that a herb garden might flourish. He worked for some time and then took himself off to the local pub for bread and cheese and beer and the friendly talk in the bar. He went back eventually, and finished his digging, then made himself a pot of tea and locked the little place up once more.
He would bring Julie to see it very soon, he reflected, driving back to London, and to make sure that she came he would invite her mother and Esme too.
Blossom had the day off, but he had left soup on the Aga and a cold supper ready in the dining room. And later, his meal over, the professor went to his study and began to write an article for the Lancet. He worked until he heard Blossom’s key in the door and then, after his loyal servant had gone to his bed, he sat, his work forgotten, and thought of Julie.
* * *
Julie was thinking of him, her feelings mixed. She was going to feel awkward on Monday morning and she hoped that he would make no reference to her stupid behaviour. She had told her mother that the dance had been delight-ful, that she had danced every dance, that the dress had been perfectly all right, and, when pressed, had offered the information that the professor had brought her home.
‘You danced with him?’ asked her mother, artfully casual.
‘Yes—once. There were an awful lot of people there—you know, governors and their wives and daughters. Some of their dresses were lovely.’
It was a red herring which her mother ignored. ‘I expect Simon looked very handsome...’
‘Well, yes. I mean, men always look elegan
t in black tie, don’t they?’
‘I hope he comes to see us soon,’ chimed in Esme. ‘I found a book in the library all about diabetes—really gruesome—and I want to ask him about it. Do you suppose he’ll know?’
‘I’d be very surprised if he doesn’t,’ said Julie. She added carelessly, and with well hidden pain, ‘He’s going to spend more time in Holland, by the way. He’ll still work at St Bravo’s, but on a part-time basis.’
‘He’s going away?’ Esme was upset. ‘That means I’ll not see him again.’
‘He’s not going yet—at least, I don’t think so. It’s just that instead of working part of the time in Holland and most of the time here, he’s changing it round.’
‘I wonder why?’ asked Mrs Beckworth.
Julie didn’t answer.
* * *
She need not have worried about Monday. The professor was already at his desk when she got to work, glasses on his nose, his desk littered with patients’ notes. His good morning was absent-minded and he didn’t look up for more than a moment when he asked her to let him have the post as quickly as possible.
Whatever her feelings were, Julie knew her job; ten minutes later she laid the letters on his desk, sorted into important and trivial, and waited with her notebook and pencil while he read them. Presently he said, ‘I’ll leave you to see to these,’ and handed back the pile of unimportant letters he had wasted little time over. ‘I’ll dictate these now.’
When he had finished—and how he managed never to be at a loss for a word in someone else’s language always surprised her—he got up.
‘I’m going to Birmingham. I should be back some time this evening. If I’m not in in the morning do whatever you think fit.’
He had gone while she was still telling him in a meek voice that she would do her best.
He wasn’t there the next morning. She sorted the post, arranged his diary just so, made sure that his desk was exactly as he liked it and started on her own work. The phone never ceased to ring—various wards and departments wanted him and the path lab wanted him to phone the minute he returned. His registrar dealt with most of the queries she passed on to him, and when she asked him rather worriedly if the professor would be in that day, said in a non-commital voice that he supposed so.
