Two Weeks to Remember

by Betty Neels

  And the next time he came from his room it was to leave for the airport.

  He was only to be away for two days, but they stretched before her like eternity. Even the pleasant evening out with Guy Kemble didn’t help, although she did her best to be an amusing companion and a good listener to his plans. He had a great many of those and she bent a sympathetic ear to them, while he reiterated his future wife’s charms and talents.

  He took her home in a taxi and when she thanked him for a delightful evening, rather solemnly shook her hand.

  ‘I’ll pop into Wigmore Street tomorrow if I may,’ he suggested. ‘I’ve still a couple of books to return; I’d like to do that before Christmas. I’m going to stay with Nathaniel’—the professor’s registrar. ‘Jolly decent of him and his wife to ask me.’

  ‘I’ve only spoken to him once or twice but I thought he was nice. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time.’

  They had parted at her door, much to Aunt Emily’s disappointment. ‘I had coffee all ready and stayed up,’ she complained mildly. ‘Why didn’t you ask him in?’

  Charity was mooning round the kitchen, wondering what the professor was doing, picturing him in some fashionable restaurant or at the theatre; perhaps Brenda was with him. ‘I didn’t think of it,’ she said absently. ‘Anyway, he is due for some lectures tomorrow morning; he wouldn’t want to be kept up late.’

  She glanced at her Aunt’s downcast face and added bracingly, ‘Look, love, he’s going to be married the moment he gets back to New Zealand—he asks me out because he wants to talk to someone about her.’

  Aunt Emily almost wrung her hands. ‘Aren’t there any unmarried men left?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, yes, but nowadays if they’re not married they are having meaningful relationships, which as far as I can see are very much the same thing as long as they last.’

  Aunt Emily, easily shockable, looked shocked now. Charity watched her prim, kind, elderly face and guessed what she was about to ask. She got up from her chair at the kitchen table and took her mug to the sink. ‘Well, I must go to bed, I’ve plenty of work to do tomorrow and the professor will be back in the office the day after that.’ She kissed her aunt good night. ‘And I’ll have to be ready for him, with pencil poised; he’ll be rattling off memos and notes and letters full of long words and expect them ready for him at the drop of a hat.’

  ‘You do like working for him?’ Aunt Emily sounded anxious.

  ‘Oh, rather; besides, I get a marvellous salary, don’t I?’

  She had reached the stairs when her aunt followed her out of the kitchen. ‘Charity, you’re not staying there just because of the money? I know I’m no good at housekeeping and you are very generous. But if you’re not happy, never mind that; I’ll manage better…’

  Charity turned round to kiss her aunt once more. ‘Dear Aunt, I’m very happy. I like the work, it’s interesting. Besides, I’m to travel after Christmas, aren’t I? We must put our heads together about clothes.’

  The elderly face brightened and she went up to bed, to lie awake and daydream foolishly until at length common sense took over and she went to sleep.

  The following day it snowed. Seasonal weather, said everyone, and in the country it would be marvellous, but here the streets were quickly covered in slush and after a time the snow turned to icy sleet. Charity nipped round to the coffee shop for her midday snack and was glad to get back again. The rooms looked cheerful and welcoming with the lights on and she had almost nothing more to do. She would go home early and spend the evening wrapping Christmas presents. She made herself some tea and took it into the professor’s room and sat in his chair and stared at Brenda’s photo.

  After a moment she said loudly, ‘I don’t like you—in fact I hate you, Brenda Cornwallis, and I don’t believe you love Jake. If you did he’d look happy and he doesn’t.’ She was childish enough to pull a face at the lovely smiling one in the silver frame and then lay it face downwards on the desk while she thought about the professor. She missed his calm unhurried presence. What will it be like, she mused forlornly—if I feel like this now, when he’s only gone away for a few days, how am I going to feel when I never see him again? For it will come to that…

  She took her mug back to the cloakroom and tidied the little place and sat down at her desk to deal with the afternoon post, and that done, she sat back, allowing her thoughts to wander. Bones, the dog—the professor had mentioned him several times; he had settled down well and was fast returning to health and strength but there had been no suggestion that she should see the beast again. Indeed, after the unpleasantness at his house she very much doubted if the idea had even once entered his head. Anyway wild horses wouldn’t drag her to his home again…

  The telephone interrupted her thoughts then, and just as well. It was Patty reminding her that the wedding was on Saturday. ‘I know you said you’d come but I just wanted to be sure. I expect Professor Wyllie-Lyon will give you a lift.’

  ‘Well no,’ said Charity carefully. ‘It’s a Saturday, Patty, we’ll not be here. But I’ll be at the church—I’m looking forward to it; I’ve even bought a new hat…’

  ‘Super. See you then, and Mrs Kemp, of course.’

  It still lacked twenty minutes before she could go home. It wasn’t likely that anyone would phone so late in the afternoon but one couldn’t be sure. She might as well make another cup of tea…

  The kettle was boiling when she went to answer the doorbell. Guy Kemble stood outside and she beamed at him, glad of company even for a few minutes.

  ‘Those papers I told you about; I’ve got them here, and the books.’

  She held the door wide. ‘Come in, I’ve just made myself some tea.’

  They sat chatting comfortably; he had had letters from home and was eager to talk about them and she gave him her full attention so that neither of them heard the slight sound of a key in the lock and quiet footsteps on the carpeted floors. It was only when the professor opened his door and stood there, smiling at them, that they broke off their talk.

  Charity got to her feet, not quite quick enough to suppress the delight in her face, although her, ‘Good evening, sir,’ was staid enough. But even as she uttered it she remembered with awful clarity that Brenda’s photo was still on its face on his desk.

  The professor watched the tell-tale expressions of her face with interest, although he said nothing. ‘Guy, the very man I want to see,’ he said easily. ‘Can you spare me ten minutes? A most interesting case.’ He paused and added, ‘Unless I’m interrupting anything? Charity has finished for the day—perhaps you had something planned together?’

  ‘Oh, Lord, no,’ said Guy with an unflattering haste, so that the professor’s fine mouth twitched. ‘I’m entirely at your disposal. Charity and I had a night out together a couple of days ago; we’ll have another one before Christmas.’

  He was half-way to the professor’s room and turned to wave a friendly careless hand at her; he didn’t notice her frosty response, but the professor did. He wished her good night gravely. ‘And if you could be here at eight o’clock?’ he added. ‘There’s a mass of work.’ Polite dismissal.

  Her agreement to this was added in a wooden voice, as was her good night.

  The rest of the evening reflected her waspish mood—she had to wait for a bus and then stand all the way and Aunt Emily had forgotten to put the shepherd’s pie in the oven. Charity, much put out, munched bread and cheese while she laid the table and waited for the pie to cook and had great difficulty in keeping her temper when her aunt wanted to know if she was sickening for something. ‘You look peaky, dear,’ said her well-meaning relation. ‘I dare say you work too hard; you need a nice little break.’

  ‘Well, I shall have one on Saturday—it’s Patty’s wedding.’ And that was an unfortunate remark, for her aunt wanted to know if she was going with the professor.

  She was in the office by five to eight the following morning but the professor was already at his desk.
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br />   Even if she had wanted to, there was no time for anything but work; he kept her hard at it until after five o’clock and it was only as he finally gathered up his papers that he said, ‘Can you be ready by half past ten on Saturday? I’ll pick you up at your home.’

  She said in a flurry, ‘Oh, there’s no need—I’ll—That is, you will…’

  ‘Is Guy giving you a lift?’ His question was gently put.

  ‘Guy? No. Is he invited? I didn’t know he knew Patty. I can catch a bus…’

  ‘My dear girl, you can’t possibly go to a wedding by bus. Besides, being on your own isn’t much fun.’

  ‘No, but I thought Miss Cornwallis…’

  He interrupted her firmly, ‘Won’t be going.’ He locked his door and stood waiting for her. ‘Which reminds me, I’m taking her out to dinner tonight.’

  ‘How nice,’ said Charity inanely. ‘To tell her all about your trip?’

  ‘Lord, no, she has no interest in my work; hospitals and so forth make her feel ill.’

  They went through the door together and she asked brightly, ‘Was it successful and interesting?’

  ‘Yes to both. Thank you for asking.’

  He had shut the house door behind him and they were standing on the pavement. ‘But… That is, I’m not being inquisitive, I’m interested.’

  That made her sound like a prig and she blushed in the dark.

  ‘A good thing, as you are my secretary,’ he observed placidly, then added, ‘Oh, by the way, Charity, when you see Mrs Weekes when she next comes to clean, ask her to put things back in their right places on my desk, will you? She left Brenda’s photo on its face.’

  Charity said at once, ‘It wasn’t Mrs Weekes, it was me.’

  His glance flickered over her red face, and she went on quickly, ‘If you’d rather not give me a lift tomorrow it won’t matter.’

  ‘Now why on earth do you say that?’ he wanted to know. And when she didn’t answer, he said easily, ‘Mind you don’t keep me waiting.’

  She was ready and waiting for him long before she needed to be. She had put on a fine wool dress in a pleasing shade of green and topped it with a darker green coat, last year’s but well cut and elegant, and to go with these she had perched a little velvet hat on her dark curls. It had cost a lot of money, more than she could afford, but it had been exactly right, just as her plain court shoes and gloves were right. Perhaps rather unimaginative, she thought, studiously looking at herself in the long mirror in her aunt’s room, but there would be a great many people there and she wasn’t an important guest.

  The professor arrived at exactly half past ten, declined coffee offered by Aunt Emily, observed in his kindly way that Charity looked very nice, stuffed her into the car and began the drive back to Patty’s part of the world. Charity, beyond saying hallo, had little to say; the sight of him in a morning coat had rather taken her breath. His elegance made her feel dowdy and she began to wish that she hadn’t accepted Patty’s invitation.

  At the church she said a little breathlessly, ‘Thank you very much; I’ll look for Mrs Kemp…’

  ‘You’ll never find her.’ He got out of the car and opened her door and held her fast with one hand, beaming down at her. ‘Besides, weddings terrify me.’

  She found herself in the church beside him, surrounded by mink coats and fantastic hats and whiffs of wildly expensive perfume. Just for a moment she felt out of her depth and she cast an unconsciously imploring look at the professor. His smile was kind and he took her hand in his and held it and bent to whisper, ‘I’d rather be on the ward, or at my desk.’ She smiled then, not believing him but grateful for his understanding.

  Patty came swanning down the aisle presently, looking angelic, and everyone sang ‘The voice that breathed o’er Eden’ and then settled down with a rustle of silk and the swish of furs until finally the ceremony was over and Patty came back down the aisle, this time with her groom. She was smiling and nodding to friends and when they reached the pew where Charity was she winked at her.

  It took some time to leave the church; Charity was surprised that Patty had so many friends and all a bit upper crust, too. She followed the professor meekly enough out to his car and got in beside him. She must really make it clear that she would make her own way home from the reception.

  They were in a queue of cars, waiting hopefully to park, before she found the right words, only to meet with a mild, ‘Do you object to me taking you home?’

  ‘Of course not—I’m merely pointing out that it’s a frightful waste of your time to drive back to St John’s Wood when you live in the other direction.’

  ‘There’ll be champagne and those awful sandwiches which come apart the moment you start eating them. Perhaps your aunt would give us tea? We can leave once the happy pair have gone and I happen to know that they are catching a plane in a couple of hours.’

  She had no chance to answer him; they had joined the line of well-wishers and Charity, not knowing anyone there other than Patty, murmured and mumbled and smiled while the Professor beside her seemed to know almost everyone there. And certainly he appeared to be enjoying himself.

  Nevertheless, the bride and groom having been seen off, he edged her over to Patty’s parents, pleaded work waiting for him, waited while she made her goodbyes, and popped her back into the car.

  Aunt Emily offered tea the moment she opened the door to them. ‘Hot buttered toast, scones and a nice fruit cake. So refreshing after champagne and caviare!’ she remarked. ‘How very nice you look, Professor Wyllie-Lyon. There’s nothing like a top hat, I always say.’

  Tea eaten, the professor showed no signs of going home; he accompanied his host to his study and didn’t come out again until Charity went to tell them that supper was on the table.

  It had been a lovely day, she thought sleepily, hours later. Jake was the most wonderful man she had ever or would ever meet; she loved him to distraction and just thinking of Brenda made her feel sick. It was a pity that she found it impossible to guess at his feelings, but he kept them so well hidden. He was always unfailingly kind and courteous towards her, although sometimes cool, and never once had he dropped his placid mask. She rolled herself into a ball, hugging her hot water bottle. It rather boiled down to the fact that he doted on his Brenda; after all, why should he display his private life to all and sundry? She was his secretary and she mustn’t forget it. She had to do with his working life and that was the side of him she saw. The tiny glimpse she had had of him that day, so obviously knowing, and known by, almost everyone at the reception, only served to make the gulf between them wider. A tear or two trickled down her cheeks and she wiped them away impatiently. As far as she knew, no one had ever got the moon by crying for it.

  She was to have a week’s holiday at Christmas; the professor would go to the hospital as usual but he wasn’t seeing private patients for those few days. Nothing more had been said about his trip to Norway; perhaps he had decided that he could manage without her, and somehow she couldn’t summon the courage to ask. The few days before Christmas were busy ones and, beyond a casual remark about Bones, now turning into a splendid if vaguely bred dog, he had nothing to say to her. On Christmas Eve, the last patient ushered out, she and Mrs Kemp exchanged presents and produced small packages for the professor. ‘I’ll take mine in when I say good night,’ said Mrs Kemp. ‘I’m off now my dear, there is a mass of work at home…’

  She disappeared into the professor’s room and emerged presently looking pleased with herself, clutching a square parcel with an envelope tucked into it. She made the thumbs up as she went out of the door. ‘See you in a week,’ she said happily.

  Charity covered her typewriter, tidied her desk and then fetched her coat. She supposed that she would have to do what Mrs Kemp had done; the possibility that the envelope contained a cheque disquieted her; to take money from him other than her salary was something she wasn’t prepared to do. She stood dully fidgeting with the small box which contained his present—a
leather-bound pocket book—and was relieved when his door opened and he came into the room.

  He began without preamble. ‘We go to Norway in three weeks’ time. I’ll give you the details later, but you’ll need to get some warm clothing together in the meantime. You have a passport? Good. I’ll take care of expenses, of course; you’ll need spending money, though I must warn you that you will not have very much free time.’ He smiled suddenly and her heart turned over. ‘A happy Christmas, Charity.’ He bent and kissed her cheek and put a thin flat package into her hands.

  She thanked him with hard-won composure: ‘And a happy Christmas to you, Professor.’

  She wondered, as she said it, what he would be doing. His house packed with guests? Or perhaps he would be staying with Brenda? She had no idea and she would never know; his private life was so very private.

  They went out together and said goodbye on the step. Christmas or no Christmas, a week without seeing him was going to be hard to bear. The minute she got home she opened his present: a Hermes scarf, a lovely thing of muted colours. She smoothed its silken folds and laid it away in a drawer with the unhappy thought that it was more than likely that Brenda had chosen it for him.

  Christmas was quiet; church and turkey and Christmas pudding and opening presents. She had given Aunt Emily a little fur hat, something she had yearned for, and her father a gift token for an antiquarian shop he frequented. There were small presents from uncles and aunts and an odd cousin or two, people she hadn’t seen for years but who always remembered Christmas. Her father had given her gloves and a cheque, and Aunt Emily had knitted her a sweater, a bulky one in dark blue which would come in very nicely for Norway.

  The few friends who came in for drinks were elderly; they sat around drinking sherry and smiling at her kindly. They had all thought that she was going to marry Sidney and their sympathy for the supposed disappointment was palpable. She did her best to disillusion them but when she saw that it was hopeless received their attempts to condole with her as nicely as she knew how. And all the while she hugged to herself the delightful thought that in a very short time she would be going to Norway with Jake.