by Betty Neels
They stopped for coffee after they had crossed the second ferry, at Olderdalen, where the inn was surprisingly modern and comfortable, but they didn’t waste time there but kept steadily on through a morning which, as it slid into afternoon, became increasingly grey. Indeed, by four o’clock with Burfjord and lunch behind them, it was almost dark. Gideon stopped the car presently and twisted round in his seat to look at Amelia.
‘Do you feel like going on?’ he asked. ‘It isn’t all that distance now and I imagine the hotel at Alta will be more comfortable than any wayside inn we may pass. There are no more villages or towns before Alta now.’
‘Let’s go on,’ she declared. She was tired now, although the journey had been wonderful; she had never expected to see such breathtaking scenery, but a comfortable bed and a good dinner were tempting, even if they were still some way off.
Gideon started up the car without saying anything and she was left wondering what he would have said if she had declared that she wanted to stop at the very next inn, whatever it was like. He would have talked her out of it, she had no doubt of that.
Alta was a pleasant surprise when they arrived. It was dark by now, but Amelia was already used to the generous use of electricity even in the tiniest of communities, and Alta was no exception. And the hotel was surprisingly large and comfortable. She surveyed her room with pleasure and only stopping long enough to tidy herself went straight down for their late dinner. They ate magnificently—a creamy soup, followed by salmon, which after all was to be expected, and a large tiered cream cake to round them off. The two men drank an akvavit and beer, but Amelia, although she longed to try the fiery spirit, accepted a ladylike white wine with a good grace, and after coffee and half an hour’s desultory talk, she said good-night; it was clear to her that the men wanted to discuss their plans for the next day and she suspected that they were pleased enough to see her go.
It was a splendid morning with a blue sky and a cold wind which hinted at an icy winter not far off. They left the hotel directly after breakfast to go aboard the boat the doctor had hired. It was small and fast and held all the basic comforts, and Amelia, prowling round its tiny galley, nodded a satisfied head; she would be able to make coffee as often as it was needed, heat soup and wash up in comfort. They wasted no time. Almost before she had stowed their lunch away tidily they were off and she was being called on deck to take the tiller while the men got their rods ready.
The river was wide for the first few miles, but presently, when they had passed Gargia, the only other village for miles, it narrowed, and seemed more so by reason of the mountains nudging themselves to the very shores of it. But it wasn’t lonely; there were other boats from time to time and great herds of reindeer being driven down to their winter pastures. Amelia stood for a long time watching them through binoculars and only her father’s demands for coffee sent her to the cabin.
There was salmon enough; they returned back to the hotel in the gathering dusk, the men well pleased with themselves and Amelia agreeably surprised at the pleasure she had got out of the day’s outing. It was later over dinner that the doctor suggested that they should go further the following day; there was an island, it seemed, where one could land and fish from its rocky shore. His, ‘I daresay you might be bored, Amelia,’ was uttered in such a tone of certainty that she immediately said that there was nothing she would rather do...
The island was easily found, although it was a good deal further than she had expected. They found a narrow shelf of ground, made fast to the stout pole someone had caused to be put there, and scrambled ashore. The island was only a few hundred yards across, bare rock for the most part, but here and there were small hollows scooped out by wind and weather over the years, lined with lichen. The two men brought the food ashore and Amelia busied herself getting a meal while they wandered off, deep in discussion as to the best place from where to do their fishing. Indeed, they forgot all about lunch. Amelia watched resignedly while they climbed down to the water’s edge and cast their lines. It wasn’t until they had each caught a salmon that they remembered, rather sheepishly, that she was waiting for them.
They had almost finished their picnic when Amelia turned her face to the suddenly darkening sky, scrambled to her splendid height, and exclaimed: ‘Rain!’ in a gloomy voice and then bent to gather up the remains of the picnic tidily into the basket.
‘Splendid,’ declared Mr Crosbie; his voice held real pleasure. ‘Just what we need, eh, Gideon?’
He got up too and started for the boat, anxious to be off.
The doctor didn’t answer but after a quick look at the sky, swept the rest of the plates and mugs pellmell into the basket. He did it quickly and not very tidily and Amelia made a disapproving sound.
‘Yes, I know—not quite up to your standard, am I, dear girl? But better an untidy basket than a sopping wet one.’ His tone was vaguely mocking and she curled her lip at him.
‘I like things done properly,’ she told him tartly, and then decided to say nothing more; the rain was suddenly coming down in earnest now and she hurried to fasten her jacket and pull up the hood. By the time she had done it he had flung everything into the basket and tossed it into the boat and come back to give her a hand over the slippery rocks.
But she disdained his help, took two steps and stumbled, to be hauled to her feet without him saying a word. It wasn’t until they were on board that he paused to murmur: ‘Pride comes before a fall, Amelia.’
She gave him a look to cut a lesser man to the bone, and: ‘Don’t say it,’ he counselled kindly.
The rain settled down to a steady downpour from a sky which Amelia privately decided would deluge them with snow at any minute, but her companions hardly noticed; it was another two hours before they pronounced themselves satisfied with a splendid catch and ready to go home. She gave them mugs of scalding coffee, tidied the cabin and went to the tiller. But this time Gideon sent her back into the comparative warmth of the cabin, declaring that her father could deal with the gear while he sent the boat tearing down the river back to the hotel.
So there was nothing for Amelia to do but sit and think. Glancing outside into the murky afternoon, she wondered why she had ever come on this holiday with her father; it hadn’t turned out at all as she had expected it to. True, she and Tom had had a very pleasant week together, although surely it should have been more than that? But she hadn’t bargained for Gideon van der Tolck. He was, she told herself, the very last man she would have chosen to spend a holiday with—an hour, for that matter. He was always laughing silently at her, for a start, and making nasty remarks in that cool voice of his. Tom was a hundred times nicer. She concentrated fiercely on Tom and was disconcerted to find that his face had become curiously blurred in her memory; it was even more disconcerting to find that the doctor’s handsome features wouldn’t go away from her mind’s eye. She got up and poked her head out into the wet in the hope that the rain would wash his face away, a process considerably helped by his harsh: ‘Get inside, unless you want to be wet to your skin.’
If it would have been light enough for him to see her properly, she would have tossed her head at him, but it hardly seemed worth it. Back at last, she skipped on to the quay, disdaining his hand, and hurried into the hotel, where she spent the next hour or so lying in a hot bath and washing her hair. It was a pity that she hadn’t brought more clothes with her, she thought, putting on the burgundy dress once more. All the same, she collected all eyes as she went into the bar, crowded with fishermen telling each other tall stories. Almost to a man they paused to look at her—all except Doctor van der Tolck, who although he got politely to his feet as she joined him and her father, gave her the briefest possible glance, like a man glancing at a clock and with just as much interest. Amelia’s charming bosom swelled with annoyance.
But it was hard to remain aloof for more than a moment or so. The day had to be discussed from ev
ery angle, and the weights of the various fish gloated over, and it was inevitable that a number of those in the bar should gravitate to their corner. The talk was all of the day’s sport, while Amelia, thankful to find a sprinkling of wives, exchanged pleasant gossip with them.
They broke up presently to go in to dinner and as they sat down Mr Crosbie said happily: ‘There’s an American here—had no luck at all.’ He chuckled. ‘He wanted to know if I’d show him the best places to go.’
Gideon interrupted smoothly: ‘Why not do just that? Take my boat tomorrow.’
Mr Crosbie hesitated. ‘But what about you? We’re your guests.’
The doctor glanced at Amelia. ‘It might be a good opportunity to fly down to Tromso. I’m sure Amelia wants to do some shopping and there are one or two enquiries I want to make.’
Amelia, her soup spoon half way to her mouth, stared at him, stopping herself just in time from asking what enquiries. ‘We’ve only just got here,’ she stated flatly.
He smiled. ‘The weather could worsen any day now—we might not get another chance.’
‘Yes, well—but I could shop on the way back.’
The two men exchanged glances. It was Mr Crosbie who spoke. ‘Now, we’ve had a little chat about that—it seems a good idea if we fly back to Trondheim and then pick up the Coastal Steamer as far as Bergen—variety of scene,’ he added airily. ‘We shall see much more of the country.’
‘But won’t that take ages?’
‘About three hours flying and a day at sea.’ It was the doctor who answered her. ‘You’ll enjoy the coastline scenery.’
‘It sounds very nice. And then we fly back from Bergen?’ She wasn’t looking at him but watching the waiter transfer a salmon steak on to her plate.
‘If you have no objection,’ observed the doctor in the smooth voice she was beginning to distrust, ‘I have asked your father if you would both care to fly to Holland with me and spend a night at my home.’
Amelia put down her knife and fork very deliberately. ‘But I have to get back to St Ansell’s.’
‘Naturally; there is no reason why you shouldn’t. We can spend another four or five days here, and take another three days to reach my home and still have a couple of days in hand.’
She looked at her father who most provokingly beamed at her, just as though he considered she had been offered a rare treat. ‘Rather a splendid idea, don’t you think, my dear? Very kind of Gideon to ask us. I knew you’d like the idea.’
She was strongly of a mind to tell him that she didn’t like the idea at all, although she wasn’t sure why, but how could she without being rude and disappointing him?
‘It sounds delightful,’ she said woodenly, and caught the doctor’s eye. He was laughing at her again even though he looked as bland as a judge.
‘And what about tomorrow?’ he persisted gently, ‘unless of course you don’t fancy flying?’
She ate some salmon and didn’t answer him at once. ‘If by that you mean am I frightened of flying—no, not particularly. I shall enjoy a day’s shopping on my own.’
His blue eyes gleamed under their heavy lids. ‘Splendid—the plane leaves about nine o’clock and there’s one back in the afternoon, so we should be back here in time for dinner. Does that suit you?’
Amelia helped herself to some more shrimp sauce. ‘Very nicely, thanks. You’ll be all right, Father?’
‘My dear girl, of course—I’ll have this American chap with me. Bring back some papers, will you? They might be a day earlier in Tromso.’
They began to talk about something else then and Amelia ate her apple cake wreathed in a pile of whipped cream and didn’t take much part in the conversation. She felt peculiar—perhaps she shouldn’t have had two sherries before dinner. She prudently refused a second glass of the excellent white burgundy they were drinking and decided that the feeling had nothing to do with drinking sherry; she wasn’t sure what it was.
The feeling was still there when she went up to bed two hours later. She pooh-poohed the idea of excitement—what had she to be excited about? Certainly not the prospect of a journey with the tiresome doctor. She got into bed and wrote a long letter to Tom.
There was a letter from him in the morning, forwarded from Stokmarknes. She had no time to read it though, for they left after an early breakfast to drive to the airport so she slipped it into her pocket to read later.
Which she did presently, sitting rather squashed by the doctor’s bulk. The plane was full and everyone was talking to everyone else. Gideon, when he saw her take out the envelope, turned away to join in a conversation with two passengers across the aisle. Indeed, he left her in peace until the stewardess brought round the coffee and then enquired casually: ‘Good news, I hope?’
Amelia hesitated. Tom’s letter was hardly that; it was rather a bald account of his journey back and the variety of cases which had awaited him, and he finished with the statement that it had been a pleasant little interlude but he was glad to get back to work, although he was looking forward to seeing her soon.
‘Well, just news,’ she told him slowly, and put the letter away. Just for a moment she felt like telling him about Tom and herself, the future they had planned together, and over and above that, the small doubts and fears which she had been holding at bay for some time now, although she had never admitted it. She said, hardly knowing what she was saying: ‘I love him very much.’
‘Of course you do.’ Gideon sounded cheerfully matter-of-fact. ‘He’s a lucky chap. Have one of these little biscuits—we’ll be there very shortly.’
She was grateful to him for accepting her remark so placidly. She had been silly to have made it; perhaps he wasn’t so bad after all.
She followed him out of the airport happily enough, got into the taxi he had hailed and found herself very shortly in the heart of Tromso.
‘You’d rather be on your own?’ asked the doctor kindly. ‘We have six or seven hours, so there’s no hurry. The shopping centre isn’t large, but it’s quite a good one. Shall we meet at the SAS Royal for lunch?’
Amelia remembered then that she had told him that she had wanted to be on her own. ‘That’ll be nice,’ she said a little too brightly, and made off purposefully towards a department store across the street where she wandered around feeling lonely. But presently she set about the task of finding presents to take back home, something for Bonny and small gifts for her friends at St Ansell’s. She’d have to buy sweets and chocolates for the nurses in theatre too, and while she was about it, something for the patients. And Tom...?
She couldn’t see anything she really liked in the store, but there were other shops. She spent the next half hour in an arts and crafts shop, emerging at last with a gaily patterned cardigan for Bonny, a sweater for herself and some exquisite porcelain figures for various of her friends. It was already past the time she had arranged to meet Gideon, so that she had to hurry and arrived a little flustered, to find him standing patiently outside the hotel, and when she apologised he waved it aside with placid good humour, took her parcels from her and ushered her into the restaurant.
‘I haven’t quite finished,’ she explained, ‘there’s sweets for the ward and the nurses and something for Tom.’
Over the meal they discussed the afternoon. ‘I had wondered,’ said Gideon casually, ‘if you would care to take a trip in the cable car to the top of the mountain just across the river—there’s a splendid view of Tromso—but if you haven’t finished your shopping...?’
‘The sweets won’t take a minute to buy.’ Amelia had quite forgotten for the moment that she had made up her mind not to like him. ‘And if I could find a tobacconist I thought I’d buy Tom a pipe. I’m not sure what to buy, though.’
‘In that case perhaps I could be of some help? There’s a good shop just across the street and a confectioner’s a little f
urther down.’
‘Would we have time to go to the cathedral?’
He watched her idly while she chose an elaborate creamy pudding from the trolley. ‘Plenty of time—we can have a taxi.’
They spent a little time buying chocolates, two large boxes which Gideon obligingly added to his other parcels, and then went into a neighbouring tobacconist, where with his tactful help, Amelia chose a pipe for Tom. Getting into the taxi again, he said: ‘We’ve three hours, so we’ll keep this taxi, and he can drive us to the airport.’ It seemed a sensible arrangement although a bit extravagant, but Amelia was beginning to enjoy herself. Gideon was surprisingly good company.
They crossed the bridge over the fjord and went into the hilly suburbs on the further side, where charming wooden houses lined pleasant tree-lined roads. The trees were bare now, of course, but all the same it looked cosy. Amelia would have liked to have lingered there when they got out of the taxi, but the doctor, after a brief conversation with the driver, marched her into the small building at the bottom of the mountain, bought their tickets and bustled her into the cable car.
She didn’t much enjoy the trip, it was almost perpendicular and alarmingly lonely, but she obediently looked at the view and once at the top, stepped on to the balcony into the icy wind and gazed obediently at the various features of Tromso, spread out below like a map. Apparently Gideon didn’t mind heights; he walked her from one side to the other, anxious for her to miss nothing, and she was beginning to feel decidedly queasy when he observed that if they were to visit the cathedral they should go back. In the cable car she sat with her eyes shut, not daring to look out as they dropped at what seemed a terrifying speed to the bottom of the mountain once more. What was more, she couldn’t have cared less if Gideon noticed or not.
But he did. A large arm was suddenly flung across her shoulders. ‘My dear girl, you didn’t like it! What a fool I am—I should have asked you. I’m so sorry.’