The Silver Thaw

by Betty Neels

  The doctor obligingly pressed the bell for her. ‘No tea?’ he asked with what she decided was quite false sympathy. ‘There’s a good hotel in Sortland.’

  ‘We left Harstad rather late,’ she explained stiffly, and when a waitress came, asked for tea to be brought to her room, to drink it under the doctor’s amused eye was more than she could manage.

  But tea and the bath soothed her, so that by the time she got downstairs she was feeling quite cheerful again. Tom was already there, so she went across the bar to him and tucked her hand into his arm. ‘Sorry if I was a bit snappy,’ she said softly. ‘It was disappointing, wasn’t it—all that rain.’

  He agreed placidly and ordered her a drink, moving a little way away so that she had to take her hand away, and she frowned a little. Tom hated any form of affectionate display in public and just for the moment she had forgotten that. Amelia perched herself on a stool at the bar and began a rather banal conversation with the barman and Tom and they were presently joined by her father and Doctor van der Tolck, both with the air of men who had enjoyed every minute of their day and were now prepared to enjoy their evening just as much. And strangely enough, the evening was so pleasant that she had gone reluctantly to bed, much later than usual. Doctor van der Tolck had joined them for dinner and proved himself to be an amusing companion without attempting to hog the conversation—indeed, his aptitude for listening with interest to whatever was being said contributed to the success of the evening and even Amelia, wary of his friendly manner, found herself telling him about St Ansell’s. She only just stopped herself in time from telling him that she intended continuing to work there after she and Tom were married. She had told him too much already...

  She stopped almost in mid-sentence and asked: ‘Are you married, Doctor van der Tolck?’

  He had dropped his lids so that she couldn’t see his eyes. He said evenly: ‘No, I am not. Shall you be going fishing tomorrow?’

  It was a palpable snub and she flushed a little, admitting to herself that she had deserved it. All the same, thinking about it afterwards, she came to the conclusion that while he had extracted quite a lot of information about her, he had said precious little about himself. Not that she was in the least interested.

  She avoided him as much as possible for the next two days, although he shared their table now, to her father’s pleasure and to her own unease, but she had Tom to talk to, although not for much longer now, since he would be leaving the next day, and she wondered once or twice if it would be a good idea if she went back with him. She even suggested it, to be met with a very natural surprise on Tom’s part. ‘What on earth for?’ he wanted to know. ‘Your father would be left on his own and you know he wanted you to go with him in the first place.’

  ‘Yes, well—there’s Doctor van der Tolck to keep him company.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘He told me that he was going further north after salmon.’

  She told herself that she was delighted at the news. ‘Oh, well, then I’ll stay.’

  ‘You won’t be bored?’

  She shook her head. ‘We’ll be out for most of the day and I’m going to buy some of that lovely embroidery to do—I should have got some in Harstad. I’ll persuade Father to take the ferry and we’ll spend a day there—a change from fishing will do him good.’ She added, trying not to sound too eager: ‘Will you miss me, Tom?’

  ‘I’ll be up to my eyes in work,’ he told her, which wasn’t a very satisfactory answer. ‘There’s that team of Australian physicians coming over at the end of the week, it’ll be interesting to work with them. I heard that there’s a strong chance that they’ll offer jobs to any of us who are interested.’ He glanced at her, ‘How do you like the idea of Australia, Amelia?’

  She shook her head. ‘Me? Not at all—so far away.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Tom, you’re not serious, are you?’

  ‘Why not? There are marvellous opportunities out there. We’ll discuss it when you get back.’

  They were in the lounge waiting for her father and Doctor van der Tolck.

  ‘Why not now?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, plenty of time for that,’ Tom said easily.

  They almost never quarrelled, but now Amelia felt herself on the verge of it.

  ‘But there’s not, Tom—you’re thirty and I’m twenty-seven and we haven’t even made any plans...’

  ‘Oh, come on, old girl—you know I can’t make plans until I’ve got a really good job. Another year or two—that’s not long, especially as we’re both working—no time to brood.’

  ‘I’ll be nudging thirty,’ said Amelia in a voice which held faint despair. She would have said more, only her father came in then, rubbing his hands and declaring that it was getting decidedly chilly and how about coffee before they started out. ‘We’re going down beyond the bridge,’ he told them enthusiastically, ‘they say there’s any amount of cod there.’

  They were joined a moment later by the doctor, who drank his coffee with them but hadn’t much to say for himself, and presently they all trooped out and went down to the boats. It was getting colder, thought Amelia, glad of her quilted jacket and hood, and she prayed for clear skies. Bad weather wouldn’t keep her father indoors, and although he was cheerfully impervious to wind and rain, the idea of sitting in a smallish boat for hours on end in anything less than moderately fine weather daunted her.

  But they were lucky for the moment. The sun came out and the mountains, with the gold and red of the birch trees wreathed around their lower slopes, didn’t look so forbidding, and the sun turned their snowy tops to a glistening fairyland, at least from a distance. The water was calm, dark and cold, but the three men didn’t notice that. They fished with enthusiasm, accepting hot drinks and food when Amelia proffered them, although she had the strong suspicion that they had quite forgotten that she was there. But not quite, apparently; it was the early afternoon when Doctor van der Tolck put his head round the cabin door where she was washing cups in the minute sink to ask her if she was all right. ‘We’ll have to get back fairly soon,’ he told her, ‘the light’s going and it’s getting cold.’

  To which moderate remark she gave polite answer. As far as she was concerned it had got cold hours ago.

  As it was Tom’s last evening, dinner was something of an event. They ate some of the cod they had caught with a rich creamy soup to precede it and reindeer steaks to follow, and rounded off the meal with chocolate mousse and coffee. And the doctor insisted on a bottle of wine, which, on top of the sherry she had had before dinner, warmed her very nicely.

  They went to sit round the square stove afterwards, but not for long, for the doctor had offered to drive Tom to the airport at Ardenes in the morning and they would have to make an early start.

  Amelia went to bed presently with the promise that she would be down in the morning to say goodbye to Tom. She was going to miss him, but two weeks would soon pass. She bade him a rather matter-of-fact goodnight because Doctor van der Tolck was watching them and hoped that he would have the good sense to look the other way when they said goodbye.

  And strangely enough, he did. They breakfasted early and she joined them for a cup of coffee. Almost at once he got to his feet with some remark about the car and went away, leaving her and Tom looking at each other.

  ‘Well, it’s been a lovely week,’ said Amelia.

  ‘I enjoyed it enormously—I had no idea that fishing could be so absorbing.’ Tom caught her eye and added hastily, ‘It was splendid having you here too.’

  ‘I’ll be back in two weeks—I wish I were coming with you, or that you could have stayed for the rest of the time.’

  ‘Well, we knew that before we started, didn’t we?’ Tom got to his feet and went to put on his jacket lying ready. ‘I’d better be off, mustn’t miss the plane.’ He looked around him and then kissed her; there was no one there and th
ere was no need to be so brisk about it, Amelia thought unhappily. She said: ‘Oh, Tom...’ and then at the look of faint unease on his nice face: ‘All right, I’m not going to cry or anything like that.’ She managed a bright smile and saw his relief. She kept it there while he went through the door.

  Chapter THREE

  HER FATHER TOOK one look at her rather set face, declared that they might just as well get their lunch basket and be on their way, and bustled off to get his fishing gear, which gave Amelia time to get her pretty face back into its usual serene lines, and when he appeared presently she was able to give enthusiastic answers to his remarks about the day’s sport. ‘A pity van der Tolck won’t be back—still, we should get a good day’s fishing before the light changes. We won’t be back too late—the manager tells me that there’s a dance this evening, and I daresay you’ll like to go.’

  She tried to sound cheerful. ‘But, Father, you hate dancing, and Tom’s not here.’

  ‘Well, I daresay van der Tolck won’t mind waltzing you round a couple of times.’

  ‘Waltzing is old-fashioned,’ said Amelia tartly. ‘Besides, I shall probably go to bed early.’

  A remark which she repeated to the doctor when they returned to the hotel. After an inevitable résumé of the day’s activities, he had asked her pleasantly enough if she cared to go to the dance after dinner and she had been a little vexed at his placid acceptance of her refusal. Indeed, she had the strong impression that having done his duty in asking her, he was relieved at her answer. She waited for ten minutes, half listening to their earnest talk as they bent over a map, and when they paused, said sweetly: ‘I think I’ll change my mind. It might be fun to dance for half an hour or so.’

  His ‘Splendid’, sounded to her critical ears half-hearted.

  She wore the burgundy jersey dress and thanked heaven that she had remembered to pack a pair of high-heeled shoes. The dress was plain but beautifully cut and she took pains with her face and hair and found herself looking forward to the evening after all. Probably the doctor danced badly; he must be all of fifteen stone and she hadn’t seen him hurry even once, probably he was lazy. She had to admit to herself that that wasn’t true. Lazy men didn’t get up at first light and spend the day in a small boat, and presumably if he had a practice, he would need the energy to run it. She would ask him during the evening just what he did do. There were doctors and doctors.

  She had no chance to find out anything. He countered her carefully put questions with a faintly amused ease which was distinctly annoying and surprised her very much by being easily the best dancer in the room, and most of them were good. Amelia danced well herself and presently, despite her feelings, she began to enjoy herself. The place was full. Obviously dancing was a favourite pastime in Stokmarknes; moreover there was a band, not a tape recorder, and they swung easily from waltzes and foxtrots to jive, and finally to the local dances which they were persuaded to join in.

  ‘Oh, what fun!’ Amelia’s face was flushed and her eyes bright and her neat head was ruffled. Her companion gave her a long look. ‘Yes—such a pity that Tom isn’t here to share it with you.’

  His voice told her nothing, but her flush deepened. ‘Yes,’ she added defiantly. ‘We go dancing quite a bit—it’s a pity he missed those last dances.’ And her companion didn’t answer: ‘Thank you for a pleasant evening. I’m rather tired, I’ll get to bed, I think.’

  ‘So soon?’ He glanced at the clock and she saw with a shock that they had been dancing for more than two hours. She said lightly: ‘How time passes when one is...’ She had been going to say enjoying oneself, but how could she have when she didn’t like him?

  ‘Dancing?’ he supplied blandly.

  She nodded and wished him good-night. Truth to tell, she could have danced for the rest of the night, but not, she told herself firmly, with him. As she got ready for bed she went over her evening. She had learned exactly nothing about the doctor, the vague answers he had given her had left her as much in the dark as she ever had been. She would have to ask her father.

  But when she went down to breakfast the next morning it was to find her parent far too busy with his own affairs to take any interest in her questions. ‘It’s simply splendid,’ he observed after wishing her a hasty good morning. ‘Van der Tolck tells me he’s rented a boat for fishing the Alta river. He’s moving up there in two days’ time and suggested that we might like to go with him. Best fishing in the world, my dear, I can hardly believe my luck.’

  Amelia thought of a great deal to say to this but prudently thought better of it. ‘Where is the Alta river?’ she asked.

  ‘A good bit further north, but of course we’d go in his car. There’s a good road, you know, the E6. It’ll take a day or two to get there, of course, but we’ve still got two weeks and the idea is to fly back from Alta.’ He beamed at her. ‘Salmon, my dear, just about the best...’

  ‘Did Doctor van der Tolck actually ask us to go with him?’

  Her father looked surprised. ‘Haven’t I just said so, my dear? Ah, here he is now. Van der Tolck, Amelia seems to think that your invitation wasn’t a genuine one.’ He beamed at her over his glasses. ‘Pour the doctor some coffee, Amelia.’

  The doctor sat down opposite her, took his cup, wished them good morning and chose a roll. ‘Perfectly genuine,’ he observed placidly, ‘and I hope that you will agree to come with us.’ He glanced at her as he spoke, and Amelia was sure that he was laughing to himself again; he knew as well as she that there was nothing else that she could do. Stokmarknes was a dear little place, but just what would she do with herself if she elected to stay behind? Besides, if she did that it would amuse him still more to know that she was avoiding him. And she had no reason to do that, none at all, only of course she did dislike him, from the first moment she had set eyes upon him, and she had had that strange feeling...

  ‘There is quite a good hotel at Alta,’ said the doctor’s voice quietly.

  ‘Yes—well, of course I’ll come. When exactly do you plan to go, Doctor?’

  ‘My name is Gideon,’ he told her. ‘I had suggested two days’ time, but I wondered if we might make it tomorrow? We can drive to Narvik and join the E6 highway and press on as far as possible; there are good inns along the Arctic Highway and with luck we should be able to stay at one of those. Provided that we leave in good time after a night’s stop, we should get to Alta the following day. It isn’t a town, you know, but a group of villages strung together, but there is, as I have said, a good hotel there. I’ll telephone presently and see if they can give us rooms.’

  He had it all organised, she realised, and he must have known about it days ago. Her father had remarked before they left England that the Alta river was one of the best fishing rivers in Norway and wildly expensive; too much even for his relatively deep pocket. She glanced at her parent, looking so pleased with life that she hadn’t the heart to do more than fall in with a show of enthusiasm with their plans.

  They left directly after breakfast on the following morning, the fishing gear loaded lovingly into the boot and overflowing into the back of the car where Amelia had elected to sit. The weather was bright and cold, but in the distance the snow-capped mountains were already hiding their tops in cloud. Probably they would meet bad weather as they went north, but the doctor shrugged this off carelessly, merely saying that they could always stop when they wanted to and wait for the weather to clear.

  He drove well, Amelia decided, very fast when he could but taking hairpin bends and narrow stretches with calculated caution. The thought crept unwillingly into her head that Tom had been nothing like as good.

  They stopped at Harstad for coffee, but they didn’t waste time, pressing on to Narvik where they stopped for a rather late lunch at the Grand Hotel. Amelia would have liked to have stopped for a few hours and explored the town, but the two men were intent on getting as far as
possible before dark. She was tucked up once more with a variety of fishing clobber and they set off, with, rather surprisingly, Tromso as their goal.

  ‘I thought we were going to spend the night at an inn,’ ventured Amelia.

  ‘Well, it takes a day by bus to Tromso from Narvik, but of course the bus stops a good deal—the road’s pretty good, but there are a number of ferries, which may hold us up.’

  They made good time, although it was late and dark by the time they reached Tromso. It wasn’t until they were sitting comfortably in the delightful lounge of the SAS Royal Hotel, having drinks before dinner, that Mr Crosbie, taking advantage of the doctor’s absence for a moment, remarked, ‘Gideon thought you might like a comfortable night and a good meal. Tromso is a little out of our way.’

  Amelia felt surprise. ‘How very kind of him—I shouldn’t have thought... Well, never mind. I must say that this is pretty nice—I’ve got a very nice room too. Do we reach Alta tomorrow?’

  Mr Crosbie laughed. ‘I imagine so. It’s been a long day today, hasn’t it? We’ve been lucky with the weather, though, and Gideon knows how to drive.’

  The doctor rejoined them then and presently they dined together, sitting over their coffee until Amelia went reluctantly to bed. She might not like Gideon, but she had to admit that he was an entertaining companion. She thought about him sleepily as she got ready for bed; it was only as she was on the verge of sleep that she remembered to give Tom a thought.

  They left early the next morning before the shops had opened and Amelia stared with regret at the quiet streets. She would dearly have loved to have spent a day exploring them and browsing round the silversmiths and the tempting woollies on display. Perhaps on the way back...

  ‘Do we have to fly back?’ she asked presently.

  It was Gideon who answered her. ‘I should imagine so, but if you hanker for a day’s shopping, we could fly down from Alta.’

  She answered him tartly. ‘It seems such a pity to come all this way and see nothing but fish!’