by Betty Neels
She thought it was rather nice of him, but the idea of him being ashamed of anything he did was so amusing that she smiled and then straightened her face to gravity because she had discovered that whenever she smiled he seemed to dislike her more.
They were to leave at three o’clock, the professor informed her after Doctor Diaz had gone. They would spend the first night some two hundred and twenty miles away, midway between Biarritz and Limoges, and they would leave early on the following morning again, provided that Nina was well enough, and get as far as possible; if necessary he would drive on to Amsterdam, a matter of seven hundred miles, but only if it was advisable because of Nina. As it was he considered that they should be able to do the journey in two days. ‘Indeed,’ he went on, ‘we must, for I have a number of engagements I cannot miss. I rely upon you, Nurse Trent, to take such good care of Nina that I shall be free to devote my attention entirely to driving, nor do I want any display of nerves, as I intend to drive fast when it is safe to do so.’
‘I’m not given to nerves.’ Abigail’s voice was tart even while she wondered just how fast a Rolls-Royce went when pushed.
She lunched with Odilia and her husband and, of course, the professor, who when he did speak to her at all, engaged in the detached conversation of someone who had met her for the first time and didn’t much care if he never saw her again. But Odilia was nice, Abigail liked her and she believed the liking was reciprocated. Abigail went back to her small charge after that and prepared her for the journey, and at the last minute Nina burst into loud sobs, shrieking her intention of staying with her mama in the three languages at her command. It was her uncle who picked her up out of her bed, whispering something or other as he did so, causing the shrieks to turn to an occasional snivel. Her mother, almost in tears herself, demanded, half laughing:
‘Dominic, what are you saying—what are you promising, something wildly extravagant?’
‘A bicycle—a Dutch bicycle, and I’ll come down in the summer and watch her ride it.’ He smiled very kindly at her. ‘Don’t worry, lieveling, everything will be all right, she will be safe with us. Abigail is a splendid nurse—I trust her, so can you. I didn’t bring her all this way without good reason, you know. I’ll telephone you this evening and again tomorrow and as soon as she’s well enough I’ll have her home with me and Dirk can come up to Amsterdam and fetch her back.’
Odilia smiled then and kissed him, then went over to where Abigail was standing, holding blankets and thermos flasks and all the impedimenta of a long journey. ‘I’m so glad it’s you,’ she said, and kissed Abigail too. ‘We shall see each other again. Have a good trip.’
‘We will, I’m sure, and I’ll take care of Nina for you. Good luck with the baby.’
The two girls smiled at each other and Abigail said goodbye to Dirk, got into the car, and the professor arranged his niece on her lap. When he had tucked the child around with a variety of wraps, he asked:
‘Anything else?’
‘The bowl and that packet of Kleenex tissues,’ Abigail begged him, still practical even though he was so close that his cheek brushed hers. She wasn’t sure what the journey was going to be like; perhaps Nina would get worse, perhaps the professor would be bad-tempered for the whole way, she didn’t really mind; a thousand miles, or nearly that, her heart sang, as he got in beside her, even if he didn’t speak more than a dozen words in those two days, he would be there, beside her. She smiled out of the window at Odilia and held Nina close as the professor waved too, then began a headlong dive down the road towards the gate and the road back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ABIGAIL’S VAGUE FEARS about the road were justified; it looked a great deal worse too by reason of the angry black clouds racing towards them from the sea. It was barely three o’clock, but the day was already darkening, the road reeled from one bend to the next and the professor drove along it as though it were a motorway with no traffic in sight. Presently the road turned inland, following the river, with its wide, peaceful mouth ringed by a picturesque village before it changed to a turbulent stream tumbling between the rocks below them. ‘Guernica,’ said the professor briefly. ‘We cross the bridge in the centre of the town and turn back to the coast.’ A piece of news Abigail took with resignation; probably, she consoled herself, the coast road wasn’t half as bad as the roads through the mountains crowding in on them as they approached the town—if there were any roads. They hadn’t gone very far when the rain started, a fierce, heavy downpour which washed away any views there might have been. They passed through several villages, dismal in the wetness and with not a soul to be seen in their single streets, and streaked up towards the mountains Abigail sensed were in front of them.
‘Lovely scenery here on a fine day,’ observed her companion laconically. ‘Is Nina all right?’
‘Dozing,’ said Abigail, ‘worn out with excitement, I fancy. You know this road, Professor?’
‘Yes—it’s a good one—rather a lot of bends, but we’re not likely to meet much traffic in this weather.’
He sent the Rolls swooping round a curve at the top of a small ravine running down to the sea on their left. ‘We reach Lequeito shortly. There is a thirteenth-century basilica there—it is also famous for the tuna fishing championships each summer.’
He offered her these titbits of information rather impatiently, as though he found it a nuisance to say anything at all and her answer was a little cool in consequence.
‘You have no need to talk if you don’t wish to. I can read it up in a guide book when I get back,’ and was disconcerted by his low laugh. He didn’t bother to answer her, though.
He was driving very fast and, she suspected, in an ill-humour despite the laugh when, in response to Nina’s urgent and plaintive whisper, Abigail asked him to stop. He shot her a baleful glance and she met it firmly.
‘It is awkward, isn’t it? but Nina’s the one to consider, I imagine. Perhaps there’s somewhere where we could pull in …?’
She said it with more hope than certainty, for it wasn’t that sort of a road; it snaked in breathtaking curves, mountains on one side, plunging ravines tumbling down to the sea on the other. Nevertheless the professor slid to a stop between one bend and the next. He got out, saying, ‘Make it as quick as you can,’ as he made for the side of the road in the pouring rain, adding as an afterthought, ‘Do you need any help?’
‘No, thank you. Give us three minutes.’ She was already busy unwrapping Nina.
He gave them five, which, in view of the weather, was generous of him.
‘You’re very wet.’ Abigail’s soft voice sounded almost motherly as he got in beside her again. She went pink under the ferocity of his look.
‘A singularly apt remark,’ he commented. His voice had a bite in it, but as his glance fell upon Nina his face softened and Abigail felt a pang of envy that he would never look at her like that.
‘She’s all right?’
‘Yes, she was a little sick as well, but she’s had a drink. I’ll cuddle her up and perhaps she’ll go to sleep again.’
‘Yes—you’re all right until we can find somewhere where we can get tea?’
‘Yes, thanks.’ She spoke cheerfully and smiled at him, but all she got was a frowning glance as he started the car.
They came to an hotel on the side of the road, perched rather uneasily on the side of the cliffs above the sea, and although it looked deserted there was a light burning dimly from somewhere inside, despite its closed shutters.
‘This will do,’ said the professor, and drew up before its door. ‘I’ll carry Nina inside, you follow me in.’
She did so, pausing to catch a glimpse of the bay directly below them, fringed with rocks and the grey sea boiling past them to reach the sand. Inside she found herself in a small dark room, half café, half bar, rather smoky and smelling of the day’s meal. But it was pleasant enough, with little tables scattered around, covered with red and white checked cloths. She sat down and took Nina into h
er arms while the professor went over to the bar. He came back after a minute.
‘There’s only coffee—do you mind?’
‘Not a bit,’ she answered readily, and longed for tea.
‘What about Nina?’
‘I’ve got milk and water for her. I brought the thermos with me.’
‘Sensible girl!’
They drank their coffee in almost total silence; it was warm in the room and after a little while one didn’t notice the smell of food.
Refreshed and warmed, they set off again; the road seemed even worse than before; now and again the clouds would lift just long enough for Abigail to glimpse the spectacular scenery on either side of them, but the rain still fell steadily, forcing the professor to slow his pace. He slowed even more as they went through Deva’s narrow streets, with its harbour full of fishing boats and the sea breaking against the grim, grey cliffs. The road climbed out of the little town and wound its way towards San Sebastian, the sea still in view and the foothills of the Pyrenees ahead of them. Only in Zarauz did they leave the sea briefly as they passed through the town’s main street, lined with a mixture of picturesque old houses, ornate villas and modern hotels. The professor hadn’t spoken for a long time, and although Nina was awake she was content to lie quietly in Abigail’s arms. She looked pale and listless, and Abigail, thinking of the long journey ahead of them, hoped that she would get no worse. She offered the child a drink, speaking in her clumsy Dutch, and Nina rewarded her with a weak giggle. ‘Do you want me to stop?’ The professor spoke without taking his eyes off the road, and when she answered that no, she thought she could manage, he didn’t speak again, not until they reached San Sebastian, where, he told her, he would stop for a few minutes. ‘For I don’t intend to stop again until we reach Marmande,’ he advised her, ‘and that’s just over a hundred miles away.’
It was a bare ten minutes before they were on their way again. As Abigail settled herself in the car once more and put out her arms to take Nina, the professor gave her a long searching glance, as though he had expected her to say something, and when she didn’t he turned away and got into his own seat. As he started the car he said, ‘There’s chocolate in the pocket beside you—I imagine you must be getting hungry.’
‘I’m perfectly all right, thank you, and so will Nina be until we reach Marmande,’ her eyes searched around her and she nodded to herself, ‘and if she’s not, we’ve everything we need within reach. I rather think she’ll go to sleep for a while, sir.’
He muttered a reply which she scarcely heard, but she did hear him when he said suddenly: ‘Be good enough not to address me as sir at every other breath, Abigail,’ and she spent the next five minutes or so wondering what she should call him. All in all, Oom Dominic seemed both suitable and blameless.
They crossed into France with hardly a pause, and Abigail, who had been considering that they had been travelling quite fast, discovered how wrong she was. The road was a good one, and the Rolls, as though aware that speed was essential, tore, silent and powerful, along it, with the professor, just as silent, at the wheel. And when Nina piped up that she felt sick Abigail said at once, ‘Don’t slacken speed, we’re perfectly able to manage.’ And manage she did.
They reached Marmande just after seven o’clock, to Abigail’s relief, for Nina had been awake for the last hour of the journey, lying silent—too silent for a moppet of three. The professor had barely opened his lips and she, for her part, was heartily sick of her own thoughts, for they had been far from happy. From the comfort of the big car she had looked ahead into a future which, in its very uncertainty, was unsatisfactory. It was a good thing they had arrived, she told herself bracingly, for now she would have something to do other than think.
The hotel wasn’t a large one; it looked old and very clean, though, and the foyer was comfortably furnished. Abigail sat down once more and took Nina from the professor and listened to him talking to the reception clerk. Her French was quite good; the boarding school had taken care of that. It amused her to hear the professor, in glacial, perfect French, refusing a double room and explaining that she was the nurse, that the child was his niece and that it was necessary for them to have two rooms, each with a bathroom. The clerk smiled and shrugged and beckoned the porter, apologising as he did so. On their way upstairs, Abigail, just behind the professor with Nina in his arms, said soberly, ‘It would have been better if I had worn uniform, you know—I never thought …’
‘You have a knowledge of French?’
‘Quite a good one, as it happens.’ She heard the tartness of her voice and was disconcerted by his chuckle.
The room she was shown into was well furnished and warm and the bathroom was more than adequate. She got Nina ready for bed, gave her a drink she didn’t want, took her temperature, which was quite high, and tucked her up for the night. A few minutes later the professor tapped on the door to spend ten minutes with his small niece, studying her carefully as he laughed and joked with her. Presently, he asked Abigail: ‘You’re comfortable?’
‘Yes, thank you. Perhaps I might have something here on a tray …’
‘Certainly not. I have arranged for the chambermaid, a sensible woman, to sit with Nina while we have dinner. You will have it with me downstairs.’
‘An invitation or an order?’ she wanted to know quietly, and saw his unwilling smile.
‘An invitation.’
‘On the assumption that any company is better than none?’
The smile had gone; perhaps she had imagined it. ‘If you wish, Nurse Trent.’ He turned away. ‘I’ll be back to see Nina in half an hour, I will bring the maid with me.’
He was as good as his word. He walked in with a middle-aged woman with a kind, sensible face, and such was the strength of his niece’s affection for him that she closed her eyes and promised to go to sleep at once when he bade her to do so.
They dined in an empty restaurant, which on a summer’s evening must have been a very pleasant place. Abigail was hungry. She chose the soup, which the waiter assured her had been made in the hotel’s kitchen—the asparagus tips and herbs, thickened with tapioca and piping hot, followed by cutlets with an orange sauce, and while the professor contented himself with cheese she allowed herself to be tempted by the little something the chef had whipped up for her; a delicious concoction of Chantilly cream, fruit, nuts and liqueur brandy, which, combined with the dry white wine the professor had chosen, had the effect of combining with the table lamps to give everything around her a rosy hue. Not that the professor made much effort to entertain her; he talked, it was true, at great length and with great attention to detail, of the local customs, and when he had exhausted those, he embarked on the customs of the Basque country. Abigail, listening politely, was strongly put in mind of her student days, when with rows of other nurses she had sat listening to lectures delivered by the various honoraries of the hospital. The professor’s manner was exactly similar.
They had their coffee at the table and when they had finished she suggested that she should return upstairs and went scarlet in the face when he asked, ‘Dear me, was I so dull?’
‘Of course not,’ she said hastily, ‘I enjoyed it very much, but I don’t like to leave Nina too long.’ She frowned. ‘She’s … it will be a good thing when she’s safely in hospital.’
His smile was mocking, and the scarlet, which had just faded, flamed anew. ‘I didn’t mean—that is …’ She paused and added carefully, ‘She’s in safe hands with you, but we’re an awful long way from home.’
‘You think that she will get worse?’
‘I don’t know—it’s just an idea, a feeling …’ She looked at him helplessly. How could she explain the premonitions all nurses had from time to time? As it turned out there was no need for her to explain, for the waiter came hurrying over to their table to ask if they would go upstairs immediately.
Nina was being sick again. The maid had coped without worrying overmuch to begin with, but the child seemed una
ble to stop. The professor thanked her calmly, tipped her with discretion and sent her away, then went over to the bed where Abigail was doing all the necessary things which had to be done with a complete absence of fuss, and even though the child couldn’t have understood the half of what she was saying, her gentle, placid talk and unhurried movements, which nevertheless got things done, calmed the child, so that she stopped crying and listened to what her uncle was telling her. He made it sound amusing; he fetched his case from his room, took off his jacket, and made preparations for putting up a saline infusion. He did it without haste, talking all the time, so that presently Nina laughed a little and laughed a little more when Abigail, swathed in a towel to protect her blue dress, joined in the conversation in her own halting Dutch, not minding at all when the little girl giggled at her comic way of pronouncing the words. The drip was up and running with a minimum of fuss, for the professor had shamelessly used all his powers of persuasion upon his small niece as well as promising her a bell to go on the bicycle and a little gold chain with a pearl on the end of it for her birthday, as well as ice-cream every day as soon as she could eat again. ‘And heaven alone knows what your mother will say to me when she’s told,’ he observed in English.
‘She won’t care a fig,’ Abigail assured him as she cleared away his mess and tidied things away in his case. ‘She’ll be so glad to have Nina well and home again.’ She shut the case on an unconscious sigh. ‘How fast is this to run in? There’s to be a second vacolitre, isn’t there?’
He nodded. ‘If she has a good night’s sleep, I think we had better press on tomorrow.’ He handed her a bottle. ‘Largactil syrup. Give her a dose, will you?’
Abigail did as she was bid, tidied the room, pulled up a chair to the side of the bed and was on the point of sitting in it when his hand hauled her to her feet again.
‘No,’ he said firmly, ‘go and have your bath and get into bed—use my room. I’ll call you about three, have a bath myself and an hour or two’s sleep; that way we’ll both be rested. I’ll get them to send breakfast up here at eight o’clock and if everything’s all right we’ll get away soon after. It rather depends on Nina.’