Damsel in Green

by Betty Neels

  When he came back, coated and gloved, she handed him his letters. She would have liked to have said something—anything—to dispel his opinion of her, but there was a hard lump in her throat which made speech impossible, and anyway, what did it matter? She watched him go in silence, then turned to the remaining post. It reminded her that there had been a number of letters from Holland, several of them in a female handwriting. She sniffed dolefully, and if it hadn’t been for Milly’s appearance at that moment, would undoubtedly have burst into tears.

  It was fortunate that there was so much to do that day, for there was no time to think. As soon as she had seen to Cor, they started to hang the decorations, and as everyone had their own ideas as to what looked best the results were unique and startling; only in the hall and drawing room did Dimphena and Georgina get their way. They had put their heads together days before, and now proceeded to fill the vases with charming arrangements of holly and Christmas roses and coloured baubles and the silvered pine cones they had collected on their walks. They twined holly and evergreens around the great fireplaces, and arranged the elaborate centerpiece they had all had a hand in on the dining table. There was a small tree for Cor’s room, which they had put as close to him as possible, so that he could help with its decoration, and while they did that, Karel and Franz blew up the balloons which they insisted were an indispensable part of the decorations. Karel hung them in great colourful bunches all over the house—he hung the mistletoe as well, and then refused to tell them where. Luncheon was a merry meal; and when it was over, Georgina said:

  ‘Now I’m going to the village—there are one or two last-minute things to get.’

  ‘I’ll take you.’ Karel was eager.

  She smiled at him. ‘I know you would, Karel, but have you forgotten the Sindings are coming over this afternoon?’

  He pulled a face. ‘I’d forgotten.” He turned to his sister. ‘I say, Phena, will they stay to tea?’

  ‘Of course. But we’ll have it early in the small sitting-room, then we can have another tea in Cor’s room after they’ve gone. If Julius comes home early, I daresay we could make our excuses.’ She looked at Georgina. ‘There’s the tree to decorate—we usually do it before Julius comes home.’

  Georgina got up. ‘Wouldn’t you have time to do it before your friends come?’ She smiled at Franz. ‘You’ll sit with Cor, won’t you, Franz, there’s that marvelous jigsaw puzzle you started before lunch.’

  Having organized the afternoon, she lost no time in setting out for the village—it had stopped snowing, but there was plenty underfoot and it showed no signs of melting. She had put on her corduroy coat, leather boots, and the woolly tam with the pompom on top, then wrapped its matching scarf around her throat. The sun would soon be gone; it would be cold walking back. It was indeed early dusk when she left the village at length and started along the narrow, high-hedged lanes that led to Dalmers Place. It was cold now; cold enough to turn her breath into gossamer whorls around her head, and she could feel the first tingle of the night’s frost through her gloves. The sky was clear; violet blue and spangled with stars. There would be a moon presently, but for a little while she would be walking in the gathering dark. She went fast, swinging her basket and feeling suddenly festive. She had passed the last of the outlying cottages; there was nothing on the road; the only sound was that of her boots flattening the snow as she walked. She began to hum softly, then to whistle, and finally to sing. It seemed appropriate to choose something about winter snow, and she sang quite loudly, so that when the Rolls drew slowly to a halt beside her, she was surprised into standing still and staring at it. Its doors opened and the Professor’s quiet voice said, ‘Get in.’

  She felt remarkably foolish, standing there, cut off, as it were, in mid-song with the unexpectedness of it. She made no move at all, and he said again, ‘Get in.’

  She handed him her basket without a word, and got in. They had travelled for perhaps half a minute before he broke the silence.

  ‘Christmas shopping?’ he asked.

  It pleased her that her voice sounded normal. ‘No, not really. Just small things that are always forgotten until the last minute. We needed more tags and wrapping paper and Beatrix wanted some of those bullseyes they sell at the Post Office.’

  He changed gear. ‘Running errands in your free time, Nurse?’

  She controlled her voice to sweet reasonableness. ‘I always go for a walk in the afternoons. Why should I not—run errands, as you say?’

  ‘I’m only surprised to find you alone.’

  ‘There were people coming to tea—otherwise Karel and Dimphena would have come; Beatrix too.’

  He laughed. ‘We don’t give you much time to yourself, between us. Do you mind?’

  ‘Not in the least. I have only to say that I want to be on my own.’

  He brought the car to a gentle halt. ‘Do you want to be on your own now?’ he queried blandly.

  She glanced at his dim profile, wondering if he was serious. She wasn’t sure. ‘No, thank you,’ she said meekly, playing safe.

  ‘Good. Then I take it that we may hope for the pleasure of your company this evening for dinner—there will be a few friends—the children stay up.’

  ‘Thank you. But what about Cor?’

  ‘He’ll have an endless stream of visitors. I’ll make sure that he’s not lonely.’

  ‘He’s very excited about Christmas—it’s helped him to forget about his legs.’

  The Professor said quietly, ‘I think that it is you and not Christmas who have helped him to do that. I have to thank you for your unfailing kindness and devotion.’

  He swept the car between the gates and stopped at the little lodge. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ he said, and was out of the car and up the narrow path, to the little door, a package in his hand. Both Mr and Mrs Legg came to his knock; Georgina could hear them exchanging Christmas greetings and then the Professor’s voice telling them to go indoors out of the cold. When he got back to the car, he handed a neatly wrapped box and said, ‘Hold it carefully, will you? It’s Mrs Legg’s honey. We get a pot every Christmas and it’s something very special.’

  He drove on through the trees to the house, where he said:

  ‘Stay there a minute, will you? There’s a great deal to take indoors.’ He went round to the boot and presently opened her door. ‘Do you mind taking a few things as you go?’ The boot was full of parcels of every shape and size; he filled her arms with the smallest of them and said, ‘Go ahead, will you—Stephens will come out for the rest.’

  It was warm inside, and quiet, with a great fire burning steadily and the lamps casting little shadows on the white walls. She put her parcels tidily on one of the console tables and undid her coat. Outside she could hear the murmur of men’s voices, and presently Stephens returned, followed by the Professor, who dropped an armful of packages into the nearest chair.

  ‘Have they had tea yet, Stephens?’ he enquired. His butler deposited half a dozen large boxes beside her own little pile.

  ‘Ten minutes ago, sir. Milly shall bring up a fresh pot at once—unless you would like tea in your study?’

  The Professor was staring at Georgina, who, aware of it, absorbed herself in the contemplation of a particularly fine arrangement of holly and gilded cones which she herself had thought up only that morning.

  ‘No—no, thank you,’ he said absently, and then, ‘Very attractive.’

  ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ agreed Georgina. She took a couple of steps towards the staircase, trying to think of some suitable way of taking her leave.

  She stopped when he said, ‘You always wear uniform,’ in a tone of voice which suggested that he had explained something. ‘It’s you who are attractive.’

  She went pink. ‘I wear uniform by your wish,’ she reminded him.

  ‘Er—yes, that is so,’ he replied, very mild. ‘May I be allowed to forget that, just for this evening?’ He smiled and her heart bounced against her ribs. ‘Will you
not wear your prettiest dress?’

  Georgina frowned. ‘And supposing I haven’t got a pretty dress here?’ she wanted to know, peevishly.

  He looked taken aback, then looked at his watch. ‘I should have thought of that, shouldn’t I? There’s still plenty of time to run you up to St Athel’s to get whatever you want.’

  ‘It just so happens,’ said Georgina, still peevish, ‘that I have a dress here.’

  Her frown became thunderous when she saw the smile tugging the corners of his mouth. ‘What are you smiling about?’ she demanded. He made no answer at all but walked over to her and kissed her, very lightly, upon one cheek. Thinking about it afterwards, which she did at great length, she was unable to describe it in any other terms than avuncular. Unsatisfactory, but true.

  By the time she had put on the green dress and put the last careful pin into the complicated topknot of her hair, she was in a towering rage, although uncertain as to whether it was with herself or the Professor, and even more uncertain as to its cause. She put on the new velvet slippers, and with a last defiant spray of Rochas’ Femme, over her well-turned-out person, went into Cor’s room. That young gentleman let out an appreciative yell when he saw her—his spontaneous admiration doing much to soothe her ragged nerves. The dress, she was aware, did something for her; she hoped that it would strike Julius in the same light. If so, she would have no regrets about the price she had paid for it, not for the fact that she would be almost penniless until pay day.

  She pirouetted before Cor and asked, ‘Will I do?’

  He eyed her with the extravagant enthusiasm of a small boy.

  ‘George, you’re a smasher—Cor love a duck!’ he added, and cocked a questioning eye.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said repressively. ‘And where did you learn that vulgar term?’

  He looked innocent. ‘Vulgar? Mr Legg often says it.’

  ‘I daresay. But does your guardian?’

  ‘You mean Cousin Julius,’ he repeated patiently. ‘No. At least, I’ve not heard him.’

  ‘I should think not indeed! If you want to grow up like him you must try and speak as he does.’

  Cor wriggled. ‘But Cousin Julius has an accent; sometimes he sounds like a Dutchman.’

  Georgina looked severe. ‘That has nothing to do with it, and well you know it,’ to melt instantly when he said plaintively:

  ‘My left knee hurts.’

  She was by him immediately, saying in a motherly voice, ‘Oh, dearest, you’ve wriggled and wriggled—you’re worse than a worm!’

  They giggled comfortably together while she took out the small pillow under the offending limb and smoothed it and put things to rights once more. She tidied his bed ruthlessly too, for, she said, ‘You will be having visitors—ever so many.’

  ‘Will you come and see me, George dear?’

  She laughed a little and said gently, ‘Cor, how absurd you are! You see me every day and almost all day too—it’ll be a nice change for you to see other people.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I know, but you don’t always look like you do now. Please come, George.’

  She gave his bed a final pat. ‘All right, dear, I’ll come. I won’t be late anyway, because I want to go to church at seven in the morning, then I’ll be back in time to watch you open your presents—that’s if you can wait until then?’

  ‘Rather, will you open your parcels too?’

  ‘If I have any.’

  He looked mysterious. ‘You’ll get some I expect.’

  He looked round as the door opened, and Beatrix, very pleased with herself in a new cherry red dress, came in, followed by Dimphena in a pink velvet trouser suit and the pearl earrings, looking equally pleased. They stopped short inside the door and said in unison:

  ‘George, you look gorgeous,’ and Dimphena went on, ‘You always look nice, but now you look…’

  ‘Smashing,’ supplied Franz, and not to be outdone, Beatrix cried:

  ‘No, she’s beautiful!’ and was echoed by Karel from the door.

  ‘Just wait until Julius sets eyes on her; not a word, any of you. He will have a lovely surprise.’

  He looked at Georgina with admiration in his eyes, and made his way to where she was standing, produced a sprig of mistletoe from a pocket and kissed her. ‘Quite, quite beautiful,’ he said again, and she laughed, a little embarrassed but delighted too at their admiration.

  ‘Go on with the lot of you!’ she cried. ‘You’ll turn me into a horrible conceited creature. I’m sure it’s time we went down. Do go, all of you, I’ll just fix Cor’s table ready for his supper and slip down presently.’

  At the door Karel looked back, laughing. ‘Don’t be long you gorgeous girl—Julius will be speechless!’

  She made some lighthearted reply, thinking that Julius had had three months in which to become speechless at the sight of her without once giving any indication of doing any such thing; it was unlikely that he would be carried away by a pretty dress. She busied herself with Cor, wishing all at once that she wasn’t going downstairs. It had been possible, so far, to maintain the cool friendly attitude towards the Professor which she felt he wished her to have—she had long ago worked out for herself that if he was considering marriage, the last thing he would want to do would be to give his future bride any cause for doubt or jealousy—he was that kind of a man, and because she loved him, she had striven to be exactly as he wanted. She remembered his kisses for a brief moment, and banished the thought. Men kissed girls for a variety of reasons; he could have been lonely, or happy, or unhappy, there was no telling, and she had been the nearest female…all the same, they were becoming good friends, despite their squabbles; a little too good perhaps, and there were still six weeks before she was due to go.

  She sat Cor up before the tempting supper arranged on his bedtable, stayed long enough to make sure that he was going to eat it, and then went to the door, to hesitate on its threshold and go to her room. She had had an idea—a splendid one. She didn’t stop to think about it, but opened the small jewel case on the sofa table, took out a rose diamond ring from its velvet box, and put it on. It had been her mother’s, and was a perfect fit. She twisted it around her finger as she went slowly along the corridor to the staircase, and just as slowly down its broad steps, her left hand on the rail. A few stairs from the bottom, she stopped, looking down at the faces raised to her and feeling unexpectedly shy. She looked uncertainly at Julius, standing a little apart from the rest, and despite her resolution, her heart skipped happily at the look on his face. It was Dimphena who cried, ‘George, I never knew you were engaged—just fancy you being here all these weeks, and none of us ever asked you!’

  She watched the Professor’s face go blank. He said smoothly:

  ‘Considering how delightful Miss Rodman looks, I don’t feel that we should be surprised.’ He looked at her with a half-mocking smile. ‘My felicitations.’

  The others added their good wishes, and she wanted to tell them that it wasn’t true at all, and was on the point of doing so, when he said:

  ‘Shall we go into the drawing room and drink your health before our guests arrive?’ and somehow it became impossible for her to speak, then there was no more opportunity, for people started to arrive. She had been stupidly impetuous again. Gregg was right, after all. She might have a ring upon her finger, but she had, in the heat of the moment, given no thought at all as to her fiancé.

  At dinner, she was glad to find that she was seated between Mr Sawbridge and a rather peppery old gentleman, who looked her over with a colicky eye and thanked heaven rather loudly that she wasn’t one of those disgraceful young women who went about half naked. She surveyed him nonplussed, for it seemed an unpromising opening to conversation, but apparently he approved of her, and, when she asked cautiously if he had been in the army, embarked on a monologue of his life’s history which lasted well into the roast goose. The little bouchées, filled with smoked salmon, which had preceded it had taken up very little of his at
tention, but she saw that the goose, handsomely accompanied by chestnuts and cranberry sauce, haricots verts and potatoes noisettes, was a dish worthy of his appetite. She turned to Mr Sawbridge with some hesitation. She could not remember saying anything previously to him that had not been connected with bones, fractures, extensions or their like. It was a pleasant surprise to find that over and above these things, they had a great deal in common.

  The goose was replaced with something delicious and frothy, which he assured her with a smile was called Zabaglione. It tasted of sherry, or possibly Madeira; she ate it up and hoped uneasily that it would mix with the claret and champagne.

  There was coffee in the drawing room afterwards; the women admired the tree and gossiped about the parties they had been to. They made much of Beatrix, and were nice to Georgina. When the men joined them, her dinner partner made a beeline for her, and her heart warmed to him. She had been feeling a little lonely, due, she had no doubt, to the fact that Julius had not spoken to her since she had come downstairs. Her own silly fault, she admitted to herself, but it made no difference. She listened attentively to her companion, and watched the Professor at the other end of the room, looking handsome without any effort at all and paying marked attention to the eldest of the Sinding daughters, a tall willowy girl, with a face like a well-bred horse. Georgina had disliked her before, now she hated her. It was fortunate for her peace of mind that Stephens came in at that moment with the punch bowl, which was the signal for Beatrix to go to bed. She kissed her guardian goodnight, and made polite adieux to the guests, leaving Georgina till last.

  ‘Are you coming with me?’ she whispered. Georgina stood up, aware that the Professor was watching her as she made her excuses to the old gentleman. She took Beatrix’s hand, smiled uncertainly at Julius across the room, and slipped out of the room. They went at once to Cor, who was already sleepy from an extra large supper and a superfluity of visitors. All the same, he had to be told every small thing which had occurred, together with an account of what everyone wore and ate.