A Betty Neels Christmas: A Christmas ProposalWinter Wedding

by Betty Neels

  She improvised hastily. ‘Oh, I wanted to go along to Fenwick’s and there’s an exhibition at the National Gallery I wanted to see.’

  ‘I don’t know about Fenwick’s,’ he told her, ‘but I should like to see the exhibition. I’m free tomorrow; I’ll fetch you after breakfast.’

  She gazed at him with a transparent horror which set the corners of his fine mouth quivering. ‘It’s very kind of you, Professor, but I couldn’t think of taking up your time…’

  He waved away her excuses. ‘I don’t leave for Holland until the evening; I shall be delighted.’

  ‘You go,’ encouraged Dolly kindly. ‘Personally I can only bear exhibitions if Peter’s with me.’

  Emily had to say yes after that, and presently they said goodnight and she accompanied her kind new friends back to their flat and after half an hour’s desultory talk, went to bed. She had meant to lie in bed and worry about spending the morning with the Professor, but she went to sleep at once.

  As she got into his car the next morning, she wondered where on earth he was going to park. It wasn’t until he was in Brook Street preparatory to turning into New Bond Street that she mumbled: ‘I don’t really want to go to Fenwick’s—it was all I could think of…’

  The Professor gave a great rumble of laughter. ‘I wondered if you meant it. And what about the exhibition? Did you think that up on the spur of the moment, too?’

  ‘There isn’t. Let’s go to the Tower and look at the Crown Jewels, instead.’

  They spent a delightful morning. Emily forgot about being shy, she forgot too that her companion was probably just being kind and filling in an odd hour or so of his free time. She gazed with awe at the Regalia, stared at the Yeoman Warders, peered into dungeons and shuddered over the block, ably seconded by her companion, who seemed to be enjoying himself as much as she was. She was surprised when he reminded her that it was almost one o’clock and what about lunch.

  ‘I’d forgotten—oh, dear, and I didn’t ask Dolly what time she wanted me back.’

  ‘I told her you’d be lunching with me.’

  They drove back the way they had come while she wondered where they would go. When he stopped outside the Connaught Hotel’s dignified entrance, she exclaimed: ‘Not here? I’m not in the right clothes…’

  He turned to look her slowly over. ‘The clothes seem just right to me, Emily.’ He smiled at her and her heart, which she had thought she had well guarded against foolish ideas, flipped over and left her without breath. ‘Besides, I can park the car here…’

  A reasoning which was undeniable.

  And once inside she forgot about her clothes and her probably shiny nose; it was grand and elegant, but the Restaurant Manager who showed them to a table was attentive and knew the Professor well enough to address him by name. Emily sipped a glass of sherry and worked her way through a menu which left nothing to be desired. She took so long that her companion suggested in an amused voice: ‘How about smoked salmon to start with, duckling to follow and a bottle of claret to go with it?’

  He was an easy person to be with, she had discovered that. Right at the back of her head was the unwelcome memory of his conversation with Mr Spencer, but she slammed a lid on it for the moment. Under his gentle conversation she blossomed, and by the time they had reached the sherry trifle she had forgotten everything but the delight of the moment.

  It was while they were drinking their coffee that he suggested that she might like to accompany him to Liberty’s and help him choose a gift for his grandmother. ‘Like you, I have no parents, Emily—a brother and a sister and my grandmother, a very tart old lady whom we all adore.’

  ‘But I don’t know her tastes,’ began Emily, her eyes shining at the idea of another hour or two in his company.

  ‘I thought if we walked round we might see something.’

  They decided on a frivolous chintz-covered cushion, beribboned and lace-edged, smelling delightfully of the lavender and rose leaves with which it was stuffed and by then, having wasted a great deal of time in almost every department, it was teatime. The Professor took her to the Ritz this time, where they ate cucumber sandwiches, buttery muffins and tiny, sugary cakes.

  ‘When do you have to go?’ asked Emily as she poured second cups.

  ‘Oh, about half past six—seven o’clock.’

  ‘But it’s five o’clock now—you’ll never be ready.’

  ‘Willy will have everything waiting for me; I only have to throw my case into the boot. I’ve enjoyed my day, Emily.’

  She looked at him across the table and just as though he were speaking out loud she heard his voice telling Mr Spencer: ‘Am I to be fobbed off with that prim miss…?’ She went red and then a little pale, unable to take her eyes from his thoughtful stare. ‘I’ve enjoyed it too,’ she told him in a quiet voice devoid of expression, and then, terrified that he would think her even more prim than he supposed, plunged into small talk. It lasted her until they reached his flat again and she fell thankfully silent as they went upstairs together. In a minute they would say goodbye, although she reminded herself she would be seeing him again in a few days, but it might not be the same; he would be in his home with guests and his family around him and probably they wouldn’t be alone together at all. She stopped outside his door and held out a hand. ‘Thank you for my day, Professor.’

  He took the hand and kept a tight hold of it. ‘I’m hoping to pluck up sufficient courage to ask you to call me Renier,’ he told her, half laughing. ‘Each time you address me as Professor I age a year, but I do have enough courage for this.’ He bent and kissed her on her surprised mouth and then straightened up to ring the bell. Dolly came to the door, said hullo to Emily, offered a cheek for his goodbye kiss, wished him a pleasant journey and ushered Emily inside. It was all done so quickly that Emily had no time to say anything. Thinking about it afterwards, she concluded that she had had nothing to say anyway. Social kissing was quite the done thing, she was aware of that, but she found it hard to forget that the Professor was someone she worked for and someone, moreover, who thought nothing of going to a place like the Ritz for his tea. What he must have thought of that wretched little house she shuddered to think.

  It seemed very lonely without him, although Dolly and Peter were kindness itself, taking her out on the remaining two days, and she and Dolly spent the last morning shopping while Peter was at his office. Emily didn’t buy anything; she still had some money left over from her salary and George’s cheque, but she wasn’t sure if she would need to spend it in Holland. But Dolly made up for them both, trying on dresses for the parties they were bound to attend at Christmas. They arrived back happily tired and after dinner Emily telephoned Louisa to say goodbye.

  Louisa wasn’t in, the girl who answered the telephone told her; she was spending the evening at the theatre with friends, so Emily could do no more than leave a message and hope that she would get it. Before she went to bed that night she wrote to Louisa, to tell her that she would let her have her address once she was in Holland. She wrote to Mary too, saying the same thing and apologising for being so foolish as not to have found out just exactly where she was going. Being in love was making her addle-pated!

  Peter insisted on driving her to Doctor Wright’s house in the morning and when she protested, told her that Renier had asked him to do so: ‘Though I’ll make haste to say that I should have done it anyway.’

  He bade her a friendly goodbye, just as Dolly had done, refusing to wait and meet Doctor Wright with the excuse that he had to get some work done before lunch, and drove away as soon as he saw the door of the doctor’s house open. It was a pleasant Victorian residence, very solid, with a small garden and screened by shrubs and trees, and inside it was more than comfortable, albeit a little gloomy by reason of the narrow sash windows. Emily was touched and surprised at the welcome she received from the doctor and his wife and a little alarmed to see that her erstwhile patient wasn’t looking very well. He declared that he was feeling splen
did, though, and looking forward to his visit. ‘We’ve been before, several times,’ he explained. ‘I suppose Renier gave you a map and told you how to get there?’

  They spent the next half hour poring over it and arranging their journey. They were to go on the night ferry from Harwich, but the doctor declared that he didn’t want to be rushed; they would leave with plenty of time to spare; they could always go on board early. Which pleased Emily, feeling a touch of last-minute nerves at the idea of driving so far and on a strange route.

  ‘It’s a piece of cake,’ declared Doctor Wright, and beamed at her when she congratulated him on the way he had mastered his speech in such a short time. ‘Not bad, eh?’ he asked, delighted with himself. ‘I shall start thinking of going back to work after Christmas.’

  He rested after lunch while Emily and Mrs Wright gossiped in the sitting room and presently, after tea, Emily fetched the car from the garage, helped the elderly maid to put the luggage in the boot, settled her two passengers comfortably, and with her fingers metaphorically crossed, drove carefully out of the short drive and set the Rover’s nose Harwich-wards.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE FIRST PART of the journey went very well. Emily, once she had recovered from her initial fright, found that she wasn’t scared at all. She wove her way through London’s traffic and drove smoothly towards Colchester and Harwich. The car went well, Doctor Wright seemed comfortable enough in the back with his wife beside him and there was plenty of time. They embarked without waste of time and went straight to their cabins, and before they parted for the night Emily, feeling that it was expected of her, checked the doctor’s pulse, made sure that he was comfortable and arranged for a light meal to be brought to them. The doctor was tired and when he was tired, his speech, never easy, became almost impossible to understand; she could see that he would be grateful to go to bed.

  Mrs Wright sat next to her when they disembarked at the Hoek and Emily discovered quickly enough that she wouldn’t have liked it otherwise; she could concentrate on her driving, leaving it to her companion to direct her. Rotterdam was a nightmare and once or twice she felt like taking her hands off the wheel and screaming, but Mrs Wright was a calm person. She remained unflustered, even when they took a wrong turning, and rather later than sooner they found themselves on Rotterdam’s outskirts, on the motorway to Utrecht and safe in the knowledge that they could stay on it until they reached the roundabout on the outskirts of that city.

  They had landed early in the morning and even though Emily had had to slow up in Rotterdam, it was still only mid-morning. She slowed, obedient to Mrs Wright’s instructions, at the roundabout, and turned on to the Amsterdam motorway, then turned again presently, this time into a side road which would take them to Breukelen. They crossed the river here, to take a narrow country lane, running beside the river and empty of traffic. As Mrs Wright explained, the road on the opposite side was used for that; it went all the way to Weesp, near Amsterdam, hugging the river Vecht all the way, but not as closely as the road they were now travelling on.

  Emily would dearly have loved to have stopped and looked around her. She hadn’t seen much yet; Rotterdam she never wanted to see again, not if she had to drive through it, and the motorways, although splendid, hardly afforded opportunities to look at the view. But here it was different. Breukelen was small and quaint and as they went along she caught glimpses of charming old houses set amidst green lawns sweeping down to the river’s edge, and even, now in winter, with the frost still on the ground, it all looked beautiful. She was wondering where exactly the Professor lived when Mrs Wright said: ‘Turn left, dear, and in through the gates.’

  The gates, wrought iron and wide open between stone pillars, led on to a sanded drive, curving through shrubs and trees, bare now, but thick enough to hide the house from view. It came into sight round the next bend, a solid, white-painted square mansion, its front door approached by wide steps, its enormous windows twinkling in the pale sun. The drive ended in a wide sweep and then continued round the side of the house, where Emily glimpsed outbuildings. It rather took her breath; the Professor’s London flat had seemed the height of luxury to her, but it was entirely over-shadowed by this dignified edifice. ‘Well,’ said Emily in a surprised voice, ‘I didn’t expect this. It’s—it’s like a stately home!’

  Doctor Wright grinned at her. He was looking almost his old self now that the journey was over and Mrs Wright gave her a grateful little smile.

  ‘Well, here we are, dear, and how wonderfully you drove. When I think that we might not have been able to come but for you…’ She broke off because the front door had opened and the Professor was running down the steps towards them. He greeted them with warmth, kissing Mrs Wright on a cheek, shaking the doctor by the hand and then turning to Emily, whom he neither kissed nor shook hands with; all she received was a placid: ‘Well, it wasn’t too bad, was it? And you had Mrs Wright to map-read for you.’

  He was standing with his hands in his pockets, staring at her, frowning a little, and she felt suddenly dejected and wishful that she hadn’t come. Surely he could have smiled?

  ‘It was a very pleasant trip,’ she told him coolly. ‘Doctor Wright’s a little tired, though.’

  He nodded carelessly before turning away to walk with his friend back up the steps into the house. Emily, following with Mrs Wright, was still wondering why he seemed vaguely annoyed at the sight of her, when they reached the vestibule and went inside.

  She hadn’t known what to expect and she found it beautiful; panelled walls and thin silk rugs on the black and white marble floor and a staircase rising at the end of the hall, its branches turning left and right to reach the gallery running round the hall. There was a man waiting by the door, a round, elderly person with a jolly face, the very antithesis of the man in the London flat. The Professor introduced him as Hans to Emily, after the Wrights had greeted him like an old friend, then led the way through the double doors Hans had opened into a lofty room with two great windows at one end and a carved fireplace of great splendour. Here they were welcomed by a brindled bull terrier and a large dog with a shaggy coat and a long feathery tail, witness to a variety of ancestors. It pleased Emily to see a small nondescript cat curled up in one of the handsome velvet-covered armchairs which were arranged around the room; it gave its stateliness a homely look. She felt a little overcome by the unexpectedness of it all and the Professor’s politely cool greeting had left her uncertain; perhaps he was regretting the arrangement already. In her mind’s eye she reviewed her wardrobe and wondered if it would quite live up to its surroundings. She sat down on an enormous button-backed sofa and watched Hans disappearing with the coats. Presumably they were to drink their coffee and pass the time of day before being shown to their rooms. Coffee, she hoped, would revive her.

  It did, but only in part. The Professor did the rest by coming to sit near her presently and enquire after the journey. He seemed so interested that she quite enjoyed telling him about it, and presently the talk became general until their host said: ‘I thought we’d have lunch on our own today; there are one or two people coming in for drinks this evening, so we’ll dine a little later than usual.’ He included them all in his smile. ‘I expect you would like to go to your rooms—Bep shall take you up. Maud, you’ve got your usual room and I’ve put Emily just across the passage within call.’

  Bep, it appeared, was Hans’ wife, a very large, stout woman with a red cheerful face who without speaking a word of English nonetheless conveyed her pleasure at their coming as she swept up the staircase with Mrs Wright while Doctor Wright and Emily followed at a more leisurely pace.

  The gallery on to which they emerged was, if anything, rather more magnificent than the hall below. The walls were white wood here, and the ceiling was painted; cherubs, scantily draped ladies on what Emily took to be clouds, and a great many wreaths of flowers, the whole gathered up, as it were, into one glorious crowd encircling the domed ceiling above the hall. She was so busy
craning her neck to see it all that Doctor Wright had to tap her on the arm to remind her that Bep had sailed away from the gallery and was negotiating a corridor leading to the back of the house. Their rooms were at the end, their doors one each side of a narrow window looking out on to the wintry formal garden laid out below. Emily waited until the Wrights had gone into their room and then, invited by the smiling housekeeper, went into her own. That too had a window, a large one this time, with the same view, and was furnished with great good taste with simple mahogany pieces; a canopied bed, draped in white muslin, a sofa table with a gilded triple mirror in the window, a great tallboy and a small writing desk and chair. There was a small fire burning in the marble grate which to Emily seemed the height of luxury, and drawn up to it, an armchair with a table beside it. She was still gaping at it all when Bep crossed the room to open a door and disclose a small bathroom. Emily stood surveying its pink tiles and mirrors, the piles of pastel towels, the jar of matching soaps, quite bereft of words. If only Louisa were here to see it all! Emily, catching sight of her ordinary person in one of the mirrors, felt that she didn’t quite match her surroundings. Bep went away and Emily went to her case on the chest against the wall and opened it. Someone had unpacked for her; she opened the second door and found that it was a clothes closet, her few things hanging forlorn at one end. She remembered that there were people coming in for drinks and wondered what she should wear. She would have to ask Mrs Wright.

  That good lady, as though she had heard Emily’s unspoken thoughts, knocked and came in, expressed delight at the room, examined the view from the window and suggested that they went downstairs as soon as they were ready.

  ‘What do we wear tonight?’ demanded Emily worriedly. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t enough clothes with me…’