by Betty Neels
She got on with her work—filling in various forms so that all he would have to do was sign them, making appointments, and all the while wondering where he was.
* * *
He was in her mother’s kitchen, drinking the coffee Luscombe had made.
‘I’m playing truant,’ he explained, ‘and I mustn’t stay. But I wanted to ask you and Esme and Julie if you would like to come down to my cottage at Henley next Sunday. It’s a pretty little place and delightfully quiet.’
‘Oh, yes,’ breathed Mrs Beckworth happily. ‘We’d love to. Esme’s dying to see you again—something about diabetes. It was diabetes, wasn’t it, Luscombe?’
‘’S’right. Something to do with some islands, she said.’
‘Ah, yes—they call some special cells the islets of Langerhans. I’m not an authority, I’m afraid, but I’ll do my best to answer her.’ He got up. ‘I must go. Thank you for the coffee and I’ll hope to see you on Sunday—about ten o’clock? Is that too early?’
‘I’ll see the ladies are ready,’ Luscombe assured him, and went out to the car with him. ‘A day out’ll do Miss Julie good. A bit down in the dumps, she is.’ Luscombe met the professor’s eye. ‘She’s not happy, sir.’
‘I know, Luscombe. But will you trust me to make her happy when the time’s right?’
Luscombe grinned. ‘That I will, sir.’
* * *
Back in his office, the professor contemplated the pleasing sight of Julie’s downbent head, her colourful hair highlighted by the wintry sun edging its way through the small window of her office. He had wished her a brisk good morning and received an equally brisk reply, although she had gone a bit pink. She had bent over the computer again with a decided air of being busy, and he reflected that now was hardly the moment to invite her to join her mother and Esme on Sunday. Time enough for that; he was a man who could wait.
* * *
He waited until Friday afternoon, at the end of a tiresome day for Julie. She had finished finally, tidied her desk, made sure that everything was as it should be, and asked if there was anything else he wanted done.
‘Thank you, no.’
She went to get her coat from the hook on the wall. ‘I’ll see you on Monday, sir.’
‘Monday? Ah—it quite slipped my mind—we’ve had a busy week, haven’t we?’ He gave her a guileless look. ‘Your mother and Esme are coming down to my cottage on Sunday. I hope you will come with them.’
She stared at him, her mouth open. ‘Your cottage? Have you got another one? And Mother didn’t mention it.’
‘Oh, dear. Perhaps she thought that I would tell you. It seems that Esme has a great many questions to ask me... You will come?’
Her mother and Esme wouldn’t go without her, and it would be unkind to deprive them of a pleasant outing. Besides, she wanted to see this cottage. She said reluctantly, ‘Very well—since everything is arranged.’
‘Splendid. I am sure you will like it—it is by the river at Henley. I’ll call for you around ten o’clock.’ He saw her hesitate, and added in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘It’s a place I shall miss when I go back to Holland.’
She thought fleetingly of the girl in Groningen, but he was going away wasn’t he? He would forget them all once he was back in Holland, even if he came back from time to time. She had never given the girl cause to feel uneasy anyway...
She said soberly, ‘I shall enjoy seeing your cottage, sir. Goodnight.’
That evening she asked her mother if she had forgotten to tell her about their outing. ‘Professor van der Driesma didn’t say a word to me; it was a surprise.’
‘Oh, darling, how silly of me. I thought he would have said something to you and it quite slipped my mind—besides, I said nothing because I thought if Esme knew about it it might interfere with her schoolwork. She’s so keen on all this medicine...’
Julie, her mind full of the prospect of a day with Simon, hardly listened to this excuse.
* * *
They were ready when he arrived on Sunday morning, warmly clad since it had turned cold and grey and threatened rain or even snow, and Blotto—securely attached to his lead and begged to be a good boy—uttered little yelps of pleasure, sensing that the day ahead would be something special.
Luscombe saw them into the car, exchanged the time of day with the professor and waved them off, before going back into the house to enjoy a quiet day on his own.
The professor had invited Mrs Beckworth to sit beside him, and Julie and Esme, with Blotto between them, were ushered into the back of the car. ‘You shall sit beside me when we come home,’ he promised Esme as he got in and drove off.
He crossed the city, the streets quite empty of traffic, joined the M4 at Chiswick and made short work of the journey to Maidenhead—taking a minor road for the last few miles to Henley-on-Thames.
The cottage, when they reached it, looked enchanting. It was near the bridge over the Thames, not far from where the Royal Regatta ended its course. It was a dull morning and very quiet. The professor parked the car and helped Mrs Beckworth out.
She stood for a moment, looking at the charming little place. ‘It’s perfect,’ she told him. ‘The kind of home one longs for.’
Esme had rushed through the gate to circle the cottage, peering in at the windows. ‘Oh, Simon, may we go inside? Don’t you wish you lived here all the time? You could, you know—drive up and down to the hospital each day...’
He opened the door and ushered them inside. ‘Make yourselves at home while I fetch in the food. Does Blotto need a run?’
Esme went with him, and Julie and her mother stood in the tiny hall, looking around them and then at each other. ‘He’s already got that dear little mews house,’ said Julie. ‘And a house in Leiden...’
‘I’m sure he deserves all of them,’ said her mother. She pushed open a door. ‘What’s in here?’
CHAPTER NINE
JULIE AND HER mother were standing in the kitchen, admiring its perfection, when the professor and Esme came in—arms laden and Blotto prancing between them. They put everything on the kitchen table and he said, ‘Shall we have coffee first, or a tour of inspection?’
‘I’ll make the coffee—I can always go round later,’ said Julie. ‘And shall I unpack whatever is in these boxes?’
‘Will you? I left the food to Blossom. I hope there’s enough...’
‘For at least a dozen,’ observed Julie, and opened the first box. Blossom prided himself on doing things properly; there was a Thermos of coffee, cream in a carton, the right kind of sugar and little biscuits. She arranged these on the table, found four mugs, then opened the other boxes.
Soup to be warmed up, and cold chicken, potato salad and a green salad, crisp and colourful, game chips and little balls of forcemeat. There were jellies in pots, thick cream, some chocolate mousse with orange, and caramel puddings packed separately, a selection of cheeses, pats of butter and an assortment of savoury biscuits. She stowed everything neatly into the fridge and peeped into the last box. Teacakes, more butter, tiny sandwiches, a fruit cake. Blossom was indeed a treasure.
The others came back presently, and they sat around the table while her mother and Esme exclaimed over the delights of the cottage. ‘It’s quite perfect,’ declared Mrs Beckworth. ‘How could you want to live anywhere else than here? It must be glorious in the summer.’
‘Have you a boat?’ asked Esme. ‘Do you row?’
‘Yes, there’s a skiff moored at the bottom of the garden. We’ll go and look at it presently, if you like.’ He passed his mug for more coffee. ‘But first Julie must see the cottage...’
He took her presently into the sitting room and stood while she wandered round looking at the pictures and picking up the delicate china and silver lying on the lamp-tables. ‘Come upstairs,’ he invite
d. ‘But take a look at my study first. It’s small, but ample for my needs.’
As indeed it was—furnished with a desk and a big chair, and with rows of books on shelves. It was deliciously warm from the central heating. As they went back into the hall Simon said, ‘There’s a minute cloakroom under the stairs.’ He opened a little door to disclose it. It was small, but it had everything in it, as far as she could see, that was needed.
Upstairs there was a small square landing with four doors. The three bedrooms were furnished in pastel colours with white carpetting underfoot and Regency furniture, and the fourth door opened into the bathroom—surprisingly large and containing every comfort. It was a perfect little paradise and she said so.
‘I can understand how much you must like coming here,’ she told him as they went down the narrow stairs. For the moment she had forgotten her awkwardness with him, delighting in the little place, picturing him there on his own. Well, not for long, she reminded herself, and he watched her happy face cloud over and wondered why.
‘Come and see the garden,’ he suggested, and they all went outside and inspected the bare flowerbeds and admired the plum tree even though there wasn’t a leaf on it.
‘In the summer,’ sighed Mrs Beckworth, ‘I can just imagine everything growing—all those roses. Do you do the pruning yourself?’
They talked gardening for some time and then went indoors to set lunch on the table and warm the soup. The professor opened a little trap door in a corner of the kitchen and disappeared into his cellar to return with two bottles of Australian Chardonnay under one arm. They all had a glass while the soup was warming, and Julie popped the small crusty rolls into the oven to warm too.
She had been reluctant to come; there was no point in making her unhappiness and hurt worse than they already were, but now she forgot that for the moment. The wine was delicious, the little room was cosy, and just to be there with the professor sitting on the other side of the table was heaven.
As they ate and drank the talk was light-hearted with no awkward gaps—the professor, a seasoned host, saw to that. And presently, after they had drunk the delicious coffee Blossom had brewed in yet another Thermos, they tidied away the remains of their lunch and went for a walk beside the river, with Esme racing ahead with Blotto on his lead and Julie between her mother and Simon.
She hadn’t much to say but the other two kept up a rambling conversation—the river, the pleasures of living away from London, the weather, the best places in which to take a holiday. She was astonished at the professor’s capacity for small talk, and at how easy and friendly he was away from the hospital—easy with her mother and Esme, she reflected, but not with her. She was still Miss Beckworth, even if occasionally he addressed her as Julie.
They stayed out until dusk began to creep upon them, and then went back to tea—a leisurely meal, with Esme asking her endless questions and the professor good-naturedly answering them.
‘When can I start training to be a doctor?’ demanded Esme.
‘If you work hard and get your A levels, when you are eighteen. It’s hard work and goes on for years...’
‘How long did you take to be a real doctor—I mean like a registrar?’
‘Well, four years in Leiden, and then I came over to Cambridge and went to a teaching hospital in London—almost eight years.’
‘You have Dutch degrees?’ asked Mrs Beckworth. ‘You must be awfully clever.’
‘No, no. I’m lucky enough to have found the work I want to do and to have been given the opportunity to do it.’
In a little while they packed up, loaded everything into the boot and drove back to London.
The shabby streets around Julie’s home were in cruel contrast to the cottage by the Thames, but Luscombe was waiting for them with a bright fire in the sitting room and the offer of coffee. The professor, when pressed to stay, refused.
‘There is nothing I would enjoy more,’ he assured Mrs Beckworth, and stole a quick glance at Julie, ‘but I have an engagement this evening.’ He took Mrs Beckworth’s hand. ‘Thank you all for coming today. It was most enjoyable.’
She smiled up at him. ‘We’ve all had a lovely time—thank you for asking us. We’ll see you again before you go off to Holland?’
‘Yes, it will be some weeks yet. I’ve a good deal of work to clear up here.’
He submitted to Esme’s kiss, laid a gentle hand on Julie’s shoulder and went away.
‘I don’t want him to go,’ said Esme. ‘I wish he was my brother or uncle or something.’
Julie silently agreed. Only she wished him to be something other than that.
* * *
Monday was much as usual; there he was at his desk, spectacles on his nose, writing furiously in a scrawl she would be obliged to decipher presently.
His good morning was genial but he went back to writing at once, leaving her to see to the post, answer the phone and fill his appointments book. It wasn’t until the evening, as she was tidying her desk preparatory to going home, that he looked up, through the open door to where she was reaching for her coat.
‘I’ll drive you home,’ he told her. ‘It’s a wretched evening.’
She came to the doorway. ‘There’s absolutely no need, thank you, Professor.’
‘Need doesn’t come into it. I should like to drive you home.’
She twiddled the buttons on her coat. ‘I’d much rather not, if you don’t mind.’
He stared across the room at her. ‘I do mind. Do you dislike me so much? Julie?’
‘Dislike you? Of course I don’t dislike you.’ She paused and then rushed on, ‘It’s because I like you that I don’t want to come.’
‘Oh, indeed?’ He settled back in his chair. ‘Could you explain that?’
‘Yes, perhaps I’d better—and it doesn’t matter because you’re going away, aren’t you? You see, I mustn’t like you too much. It wouldn’t be fair to her...’
‘Her?’ His voice was very soft.
‘Yes—I saw you in Groningen, outside the hospital. I wasn’t spying or anything, I just happened to be there...’
‘Go on...’
‘It was so evident that you loved—that you loved each other, and she’s so pretty. I’m sure you love her dearly, but you’re away from her for a lot of the time and sometimes you must feel tempted.’ She looked down at her shoes. ‘And—and...’
The professor, a man with iron self-control, allowed it to slip. He left his desk and folded her into his arms and kissed her. He had been wanting to kiss her for a long time now, and he made the most of his chances.
Julie didn’t try to stop him; it was his bleep that did that. He let her go reluctantly and picked up the phone. He listened, then said, ‘I’ll come at once,’ and strode to the door. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, and gave her a smile to melt her bones.
She went home then, in a blissful dream which lasted until she got off the crowded bus and opened the door of her home, when good sense suddenly took over, leaving her dismayed and furiously angry with herself. How could she have been such a fool? To point out to him in that priggish way that he must feel tempted and then allow him to kiss her—perhaps he had taken it as an invitation on her part. Well, she would put that right—first thing in the morning.
She spent the evening rehearsing what she would say when she saw him, answering her mother’s remarks at random and getting Esme’s maths all wrong, and the next morning, after a wakeful night and no breakfast to speak of, she marched into his office full of good resolves.
The professor was telephoning, which was a drawback, and his good morning was exactly as usual—uttered in a voice devoid of expression. She went to her office, leaving the door open, took off her coat and arranged her desk, and the moment he had put down the phone and before she let her courage slide from her completely she went and
stood in front of him.
‘About yesterday,’ she began. ‘I should like to forget about it completely. That’s if you don’t mind.’ He had looked up as she had spoken, and the expression on his face puzzled her. All the same, she went on, ‘You’ll be going soon, so it won’t be...that is, there’s no need for it to be awkward. I thought I’d like to clear the air before we—well, we might find it a bit awkward.’ She added earnestly, ‘You don’t mind that I’ve said something about it?’
He looked at her over his spectacles. ‘No, I don’t mind, Julie. By all means forget it.’ He sounded more remote than usual, and she supposed that she should be pleased about that. He looked at her, unsmiling, ‘Let me have the post as soon as possible, will you?’
She spent the rest of the day worrying that perhaps she need not have said anything—he must think her a conceited creature to have imagined that a kiss was so important. Well, it had been for her. Her heart raced at the mere thought of it.
The day, like any other, wound to a close and she went home presently.
* * *
The professor went home too, to sit in his chair deep in thought.
‘Your dinner is ready,’ Blossom told him, faintly accusing. ‘Didn’t hear me the first time, I suppose. Got too much on your brain, sir.’
‘I do have a problem, Blossom, but I’m happy to say that I’ve solved it. Something smells delicious.’ As he seated himself at the table and Blossom ladled the soup he said, ‘I may be going over to Holland very shortly. Just for a few days.’
‘It’ll be Christmas in a week or two.’
‘Yes, yes. This isn’t work. I’m going to Groningen to see my family. I shall be taking Miss Beckworth with me.’
Blossom allowed himself to smile. ‘Well, now, that is a bit of good news, sir.’
‘Let us rather say that I hope it will be good news.’
