by Betty Neels
‘Good morning—nice of you to get up so early. Shall it be coffee?’
She nodded and said good morning, following it up with the observation that it was snowing and he would be advised to leave in good time if he wished to reach London in time to get any work done. She was pouring coffee from the small Georgian coffee pot as she spoke, and so failed to see the amusement on his face, but when he thanked her for her solicitude, it was with such meekness that she looked at him with sudden suspicion, to encounter a mild stare which betrayed no inkling of his thoughts.
When he spoke it was with unwonted briskness. ‘Cor’s legs—excellent, you’ll be pleased to hear—a first class union of both femurs. If there’s no hitch, he should be up on his feet by the first week in February. How do the lessons go?’
She answered earnestly, ‘Very well. He and Beatrix have both worked hard—Mr Coppin won’t be coming again until the first week in January. He’s got too much church work to do.’ She hesitated. ‘I expect you know that already.’
‘We discussed it before I went away. I told him to make his own arrangements and tell you.’ He buttered a finger of toast and heaped it with marmalade. ‘What about you?’ he asked.
She looked at him stupidly. ‘Me?’
He sighed. ‘Christmas, my dear girl. Don’t you want extra days off?’
She looked down at her cup. ‘Of course, you would like me to go away for Christmas,’ she stated flatly.
He gazed at her in some astonishment, his coffee cup half way to his lips. ‘Now why in the name of thunder do you say that?’ he wanted to know. ‘Of course we didn’t want you to go away for Christmas, but it hardly seems fair to keep you when you may have long-cherished plans of your own.’
‘Well, I haven’t,’ said Georgina shortly. ‘Ever since I’ve worked in hospital, Great-Aunt Polly has spent the day with friends at Elmdon. It’s rather difficult to get Christmas free in hospital,’ she added, just in case he didn’t know.
‘In that case, Nurse, I should be glad if you would stay. But please feel free to go to your home during the holidays. We shall all be here; it would be a poor set-up if we can’t contrive to look after Cor for a few hours.’
But she still hesitated, uncertain as to whether he was being kind or whether he really wanted her. Her thoughts were reflected in her face, for he said, his voice at its most placid:
‘The children are very fond of you; and I mean all four of them. Karel is half inclined to fall in love with you, and I consider you an excellent nurse. What more do you want?’
What more indeed? Georgina preferred not to answer that question, not even to herself. ‘Nothing,’ she replied mendaciously.
He nodded. ‘That’s settled, then. How is Cor’s appetite?’
They were on safe ground again. She answered the rest of his questions in a brisk, pleasant voice, mindful that she was the nurse, on duty, as that was evidently how he thought of her. If he ever did think of her.
The Professor pushed back his chair and stretched out his long legs before him. ‘When is your next day off?’
‘The day after tomorrow…’ she broke off as he opened another letter and allowed its envelope to flutter to the carpet. ‘Why are you so untidy?’ she asked in a vexed fashion. ‘You only have to put the waste paper basket by your chair.’
She got up and did so as she spoke, and picked up the scattered envelopes and pushed them into it rather impatiently.
‘I forget. And Stephens or Milly always clear up the mess and never say a word.’
‘Meaning that I do?’ She was on her knees, picking up cards and letters and bills.
He looked around him. ‘You’re very good at it. I suppose you wouldn’t consider—er—just over Christmas?’
She laughed. ‘Yes, of course. Dimphena answers the cards, doesn’t she? That leaves the invitations and the bills and your private letters.’
She was reducing chaos to four orderly piles as she spoke, and handed him the last pile. He stuffed them into his pocket and got to his feet.
‘Would you put the rest on my desk? Dimphena can see to the cards and I’ll go through the bills this evening.’
‘And the invitations,’ she prompted, and watched his frown. ‘If it helps, you could write Yes or No on the cards and I could fill them in and address the envelopes. Dimphena is awfully busy, and I have plenty of time.’
He stood close to her, looking down without expression into her upturned face. ‘That’s kind of you—but wouldn’t it be transgressing your nursing rules or whatever it is you obey?’
Georgina’s gentle curves took on a militant appearance. ‘We don’t have those kind of rules, Professor. We make ourselves useful. If you don’t wish to accept my offer, you have only to say so.’
She tossed her head, and a few tendrils of hair escaped and floated about her ears. She had opened her mouth to deliver a further crushing remark when he caught her by the shoulders.
‘What a delightful creature you are!’ he remarked with a laugh in his voice, and kissed her fleetingly on her mouth.
‘Remind me to invite you for next Christmas; you can help me with my correspondence again.’
He went away without another word, leaving her standing in the middle of the lovely old room. He was quite out of hearing when she said in a forlorn voice, ‘You won’t need me next Christmas; you’ll have a wife.’
Chapter Seven
Georgina got up earlier than usual on her day off. She had looked out of her window when she got out of bed and had seen the first few desultory snowflakes falling from the black early-morning sky. She had intended taking the Mini over to Aunt Polly’s, but now she wasn’t so sure. There was a bus from the village, though; she could go to Thaxted and change there. It would take much longer, but if she didn’t go Aunt Polly and Mrs Mogg wouldn’t get their presents. She went downstairs and had the post half sorted by the time the Professor came down, with Robby at his heels. He wished good morning, and went over to the sideboard, saying as he went:
‘Finished? Good. You had better have breakfast now, then you can make an early start for Chickney.’
He came back to the table with a bowl of porridge in each hand, and said firmly, ‘Sit down, Nurse. You shouldn’t be here anyway, you know. It’s your day off…’ he broke off. ‘You’re in uniform. Why?’
Georgina spooned brown sugar on to her porridge and replied in a composed voice, ‘I remember very clearly your wishes that I should wear uniform at all times while I was here. I’m going by bus today. It doesn’t leave the village until almost ten o’clock. I shall have plenty of time to see to Cor’s breakfast and still have leisure to catch the bus, dressed, I hope, like any other woman of my age. As I am still—on duty, I am wearing uniform, as you requested.’
She began to eat her breakfast, watching him through her long lashes. He would have to make some sort of a reply. He didn’t. Instead he said blandly, ‘You’re being ridiculous about the bus. I apprehend that you are not taking the Mini because it is mine and you might skid or something of that sort. In that case, Karel shall take you, and bring you back when you wish.’
She stared at him. ‘Indeed he won’t. Whatever next? I expect he’s got his day planned; why should he waste half of it taking me when there’s a perfectly good bus service…’
‘Three buses a day, I believe?’ he queried silkily. A corner of his mouth twitched and she saw it, so that her hand shook a little with temper as she poured the coffee. He took the pot from her and said infuriatingly, ‘Tut-tut, Miss Rodman, you are being what my old nanny would call a crosspatch. Karel will be delighted to take you and well you know it. Had it not entered your head to ask him?’
He passed her the coffee, offered her sugar and cream, and asked,
‘Eggs and bacon?’ and went over to the sideboard again to peer under the lids of the dishes set out on the hotplate.
She surveyed his back with a kindling eye and said somewhat belatedly:
‘No, of course I didn’t
. I should no more dream of asking him than…’ She stopped, went red, drank coffee far too hot and choked.
He put a plate down before her, patted her absentmindedly on the back and took his own seat again. ‘Me?’ he asked. ‘No, I don’t imagine you would—but then I’m not Karel, am I?’ He picked up his knife and fork. ‘I must congratulate you on teaching Cor to play a very creditable game of chess.’
She replied suitably, most of her mind occupied with his previous remark. Just what had he meant, or hadn’t he meant anything at all? His voice broke into her seething thoughts.
‘You’re not attending, Miss Rodman.’
She raised her eyes to his and asked, not in the least meaning to:
‘How did you—that is—St Nicholaas know that I wanted that china figure—the girl with the dog?’
He took a slice of toast and then pointed it accusingly at her.
‘Why must you always have an answer for everything? Can you not, just for once, believe in fairy-tales?’
He buttered his toast and she refilled his cup and answered seriously:
‘I should like to very much—only there aren’t many fairy-tales in hospital, you know, and after a while you forget about them.’
‘Then don’t,’ said the Professor. He picked up the pile of cards before him. ‘These aren’t all invitations, are they? Can I get out of any of them? Phena likes to go to them all, but Karel’s home now, he can take her—I can only bear a certain amount of this modern dancing. I get lonely dancing by myself,’ he added plaintively, and Georgina laughed.
‘How ridiculous you are,’ she chuckled. ‘It’s the fashion. But I know what you mean—I’d rather dance with someone too.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Miss Rodman, do not tell me that at last we agree wholeheartedly about something outside our own small world of hospital?’
He grinned at her and got to his feet. ‘You had better go and transform yourself into—what was it—a normal woman of your age, because I am going up to see Karel before I go.’
He was right, of course. Karel was delighted to take her. They bundled her packages into the back of the Morgan and he added a large square box of his own, which, when Georgina queried it, she was told was none of her business. The roads were bad, but passable, and Karel drove well. They enjoyed the trip and arrived at the cottage in the highest possible spirits. Karel got out and started to unload the parcels. ‘You go on in,’ he suggested, ‘and I’ll bring these along.’
He followed her into the warmth of the little hall, put his burden down and went back for the square box, and after introductions had been made, presented it to Great-Aunt Polly. ‘From Julius,’ he explained. ‘There’s a card inside somewhere.’
Aunt Polly went a delicate pink. ‘How very kind!’ she breathed. ‘Georgina, undo it, dear, will you?’
Georgina did as she was asked, revealing half a dozen bottles of champagne. They looked festive and luxurious and although the name on the bottles meant nothing to her, she was sure that the Professor would have sent only the best that was to be had.
Karel stayed for coffee and showed no disposition to hurry away. In the end he went, promising to return about eight o’clock that evening. When he had gone, Aunt Polly poured herself a second cup and remarked:
‘What a nice boy—let’s hope that he grows into just such a man as his cousin. He seems very fond of you, dear.’ Her guileless eye met Georgina’s and she smiled. ‘He’s rather young,’ she observed.
Georgina selected a chocolate biscuit. ‘Yes, Aunt dear. He’s twenty-two, and he is, as you say, very young. He’s also a perfect dear, but a bit hasty and impulsive. He’s clever—he intends to be an orthopaedic surgeon. He and Julius…’
‘Julius?’
She blushed and frowned at her carelessness. She would have to guard her tongue. ‘Everyone calls the Professor Julius, and I’m afraid I’ve got into the habit of doing it myself.’
‘I can’t think why you don’t,’ said her aunt surprisingly. ‘It’s very—er—stuffy to keep on with Professor this and Doctor that.’
Georgina felt shocked; she was about to demolish another biscuit, but held it arrested in mid-air while she tried to explain to her aunt.
‘Well, I daresay if the Professor and I had met in an office or in someone’s house or something like that, we should call each other…’ she paused. ‘It’s no use, Aunt Polly. He always calls me Nurse or Miss Rodman—he wouldn’t call a nurse by her Christian name in hospital, you see. It just isn’t done—at least, not often, and he wants to keep our—our relationship the same as though we were working on a ward, or Cas.’ She added helplessly, ‘He’s very anxious that I should be a nurse and not a girl.’ She remembered the night he had returned from Holland and had kissed her; she had been a girl all right then, just for a few minutes, but it wasn’t much use brooding over that.
She gave her aunt a brilliant smile and plunged into a colourful account of life at Dalmers Place. It was lunch time by the time she had finished and she went into the kitchen to help Moggy dish up and to make sure that all the arrangements had been made for her aunt to go to Elmdon on Christmas Day. They opened one of the bottles of champagne and got a little festive, and presently Aunt Polly went to sleep and Georgina bundled Mrs Moggs up to her room to take a nap too, before going into the kitchen to wash up and get the tea tray ready before going back to sit by the fire and read the Christmas cards and the letters, and presently, to dream a little.
Karel arrived very punctually and stayed for half an hour, drinking Moggy’s hot chocolate and eating mince pies. He got up at length, saying:
‘If I stay any longer, you won’t have a pie left in the house. I ate an excellent dinner too, though only the kids were there. Phena has gone off with some fellow or other to the Peachems’ party, and Julius has his own stamping ground in town.’
He bade Great-Aunt Polly goodbye, and Mrs Moggs too, then waited patiently while Georgina made her somewhat more protracted ones. On the way back he said, ‘A pity we can’t have an evening out ourselves. I don’t suppose you’d like to go anywhere?’ he added hopefully.
She smiled at him in the darkness of the car. ‘How nice of you to ask me, Karel. I should have loved it, but I can’t really, can I? I haven’t spoilt your evening, have I? I mean you could have gone off to a party or dinner or something if you hadn’t had to come for me.’
‘Much rather come for you, Georgina,’ he answered gruffly. ‘I like your aunt—perhaps I could take you over next time you go?’
‘Yes, of course, if you’re home—and stay to lunch if you’ve nothing better to do.’
‘I say—rather not! I shall keep you to that.’
He cheered up after that, and they arrived back in great spirits and went straight to Cor’s room. The little boy was still awake and inclined to be peevish. Georgina took one look at him.
‘Gosh, I’m tired. I think I shall go to bed early, because we’ve got to decorate this room tomorrow, and the rest of the house too.’
She gave Karel a speaking glance and he responded manfully, observing that he was dog-tired himself, and how about them all making an early night of it. It did the trick; Cor allowed himself to be settled, and within ten minutes the room was quiet, with only the small table lamp with its dark shade to cast a comfortable glow on the ceiling. But Cor was still wide awake. Georgina undressed, put on her dressing gown and padded back to his bedside, a small plate piled with some of Mrs Moggs’ mince pies in her hand. She sat down on the side of his bed and offered him one. ‘They’re delicious,’ she said. ‘I know Mrs Stephens makes marvelous pastry too, but no two people ever make them the same.’ They munched together, while she regaled him with the day’s small doings.
‘Now tell me what you did,’ she suggested. He began in his turn, getting sleepier and sleepier, so that presently she was able to tuck him up, drop a kiss on his forehead, and go back to her room. She had begun to run the bath when she bethought herself of Beatrix. It was long pas
t the child’s bedtime, but the children were excited now that Christmas was so close. She picked up the mince pies once more and made her way to Beatrix’s room. She wasn’t asleep either, for Georgina could hear her rather shrill little voice talking. She knocked and said softly: ‘It’s me—Georgina,’ and went inside. Beatrix was in bed; so were both the cats and Robby. The little girl rolled enormous blue eyes at her.
‘George, I thought you would never come. We’ve all been so lonely.’ She caught sight of the plate in Georgina’s hand. ‘What have you got there?’
Georgina told her, and went and sat on the bed, which comes it rather crowded. She asked doubtfully, ‘Are these three going to stay the night?’
Beatrix bit into her pastry. ‘Oh, no. When Cousin Julius comes in to tuck me up he’ll take them downstairs. He doesn’t mind—he calls them my nightlights.’ She smiled endearingly. ‘Their eyes shine in the dark, you know.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Georgina gravely, ‘I know. Will you go to sleep now? We’ve a lot to do in the morning—it’ll be Christmas Eve.’
She tucked Beatrix up, somewhat impeded by the sleeping animals, responded suitably to the little girl’s hug, and returned to her room. It was very late by the time she got into her own bed. She lay awake listening for the sound of the Professor’s car, but he still hadn’t got home when she finally got to sleep.
When she reached the dining-room the next morning, he was on the point of leaving. He wished her good morning briefly, adding mildly that it was just his bad luck to have work to do as early as nine o’clock in the morning.
‘Very bad luck,’ said Georgina austerely. She hadn’t slept well, and the knowledge that she wasn’t looking her best did nothing to improve her feelings. She looked pointedly at the splendid room, with its bright fire and well appointed table, and then at the Professor’s own large, immaculate person. Bad luck it might be, but it was nicely cushioned. She was preparing to voice her thoughts out loud when he said:
‘No, don’t say it, I can see by your face that you’re about to tell me to give my money to the poor and go and work as a bus conductor and see how I should like that.’ He looked at the untidy mess he had made of his mail. ‘Be an angel and sort out the letters while I get my coat, will you? I’m expecting something from Holland.’