by Betty Neels
Her father took off his glasses and gave her a long look. ‘Had a good weekend, love?’
‘No, Father.’ She took off her jacket and the new shoes and curled up in the chair opposite his. ‘I’d love a cup of tea…’
Becky got up at once. ‘I’ll get it, only tell me what you’re going to talk about if I miss anything.’
Eugenia found it difficult to start, but once she had there was no stopping her, and at the end she asked: ‘What am I to do, Father? It won’t work, having Mrs Parsons to live with us. She doesn’t like me, and I’ll be honest and say that I don’t like her— I mean not in the way I should like a mother-in-law.’ She heaved an indignant breath. ‘Besides, why should I save every penny I can spare to furnish a house for her to live in?’ She paused. ‘Well, no—not quite that. She said she’d bring her own furniture with her, but she wants to teach me how to cook…’
‘You cook beautifully,’ protested Bruce, and Becky, pouring the tea, said: ‘Don’t marry Humphrey, Eugenia.’
‘An easy way out,’ agreed Mr Smith, ‘but perhaps not the right one. I agree that the whole thing is most unsatisfactory, but there’s one thing you’ve forgotten, my dear. You don’t plan to get married for another two years, do you? In that time Mrs Parsons might remarry, she might—forgive me for saying so—die. Humphrey might realise that it wouldn’t work, that he wants a home of his own. Do nothing, love, say nothing, let the whole thing fade into vagueness.’
Which Eugenia did, although it cost her something to meet Humphrey the next day and have to behave as though nothing had happened. She had spent a poor night, brooding over the future, so that she was a little pale in the morning, a fact which Mr Grenfell noted without comment. Instead he enquired politely if she had enjoyed her weekend, in exactly the same manner as he had for the last three years, and then gone about the business of the round with his usual calm manner. But unusually, he made no comment about Humphrey as they drank their coffee afterwards; normally he would make some polite reference to him, but today he kept the conversation strictly impersonal, even chilly. Eugenia, who had come to enjoy his more friendly manner, saw him go with peevish regret. It would have been very comforting to have told him all about Mrs Parsons, even asked his advice, but his austere manner had precluded that. She sighed and went into the ward; there was a new student nurse to be shown the ropes. The girl, small and pretty and a little scared of the underwater drainage jars under the beds and the variety of drips scattered around, needed a friendly helping hand until she found her way about.
Eugenia had had to look for Humphrey after she went off duty. From long experience she knew that after a tiff she would have to be the one to make up; once she had done so, then he would be magnanimous and everything would be all right between them. But although she apologised for losing her temper with him, she would say nothing about his mother coming to live with them; let him be the first to bring the subject up, and since it was obvious that he had no intention of doing that for the moment, the subject was pushed into an uneasy background.
All the same, as the days slid by, the uneasiness and uncertainty stayed at the back of her head. If she didn’t talk about it to someone she would burst, and since Mr Grenfell was maintaining his polite indifference, she decided to go home one evening. It was hardly the weather in which to go out; it had been drizzling all day and now the rain was coming down in earnest and a cutting wind had sprung up. London looked muddy and drab, especially the crowded streets round the hospital. Eugenia took her place at the end of a long queue for the bus. It was short-tempered to boot, for apparently, as so often happened, there wasn’t a bus in sight and everyone was becoming wetter by the minute and impatient to the point of ill-temper. Eugenia, at the tail end, shivered. Her raincoat wasn’t quite waterproof any more; if she had been a sensible girl she should have bought a new one instead of squandering her money on a dress she would probably not wear again until it was out of date…
The woman behind her prodded her with her umbrella and uttered a surly ‘Sorry’, and a car, travelling fast, splashed muddy water on to her legs. Perhaps it would be a good idea to call off her evening at home and go back to the hospital to a hot bath and bed. She was summoning the energy to do this when she was aware of a car drawing in to the pavement and its door opening. ‘Get in,’ said Mr Grenfell.
Rain or no rain, she wasn’t in the mood to be ordered about. ‘I’m going home,’ she told him.
‘Get in! I’ll take you.’
‘Oh, get in, do,’ begged the woman behind her. ‘Some of us don’t know a good thing when we see it!’
Eugenia got in. ‘Well, really, Mr Grenfell,’ she began, to be halted by his, ‘Gerard—I thought we’d agreed to that.’ He wormed the car between traffic. ‘Where to—no, don’t tell me…ninety-six, Trafalgar Street, Islington.’
‘How did you know?’ and then: ‘I’m dripping all over your beautiful car!’
‘It is raining,’ he pointed out reasonably. ‘Harry told me.’
‘Well, I must say! Why…?’
‘I really can’t remember.’ His voice was casual. ‘You’ve had a busy day, haven’t you?’
They talked shop comfortably in a friendly way until he stopped in front of her home. Eugenia prepared to get out. ‘Thank you for the lift—I hope I haven’t taken you out of your way?’
It amazed her that a self-assured man could look so utterly lonely. ‘I wasn’t going anywhere,’ he told her, and rather against her better judgment she said:
‘Well, would you like to come in for a cup of coffee?’
The gleam in his eyes was hidden by their lids. ‘Why, yes, that would be very delightful—if I’m not going to be in the way.’
‘Heavens, no!’ said Eugenia cheerfully. ‘The twins have friends walking in and out all the time.’
‘The twins?’
‘Brother and sister, Becky and Bruce.’ She opened her door. ‘They’re not expecting me, so I daresay the place will be in a fearful state.’
He smiled. ‘Oh, do you descend upon them at intervals and put things to rights?’
‘Not really—when I’m at home I cook and so on, but they manage very well.’
She led the way up the short path to the front door and turned the handle. It was warm indoors and there was a smell of toast coming from the kitchen at the back of the narrow hall.
‘It’s me!’ called Eugenia as she peeled off her wet mac and opened the sitting-room door. She was met by the twins, rushing at her with delighted cries. ‘Just in time to help me with my maths!’ cried Bruce, and was pushed aside by Becky. ‘No, me first,’ she cried.
‘There’s this about Charles the First and you were always good at History and Father is busy with a book he found today…’
They slithered to a halt at the sight of Mr Grenfell, towering in the doorway, but before Eugenia could speak, Bruce said; ‘You’re Mr Grenfell—I’d have known you anywhere.’
‘A compliment, I feel sure, but why?’ He offered a large hand.
‘Well, Eugenia’s described you. I’ll take your coat, it’s wet.’
Eugenia’s colour had heightened. ‘Where’s Father, my dears?’
‘In the kitchen. We’ve got our homework to do, so he said he’d get the supper.’
Mr Smith wandered in, spoon in hand. He said happily: ‘Ah, Eugenia, just in time, my dear—I’ve been scrambling eggs, but somehow they don’t look right.’ He peered over his glasses at Mr Grenfell, standing imperturbably behind Eugenia. ‘Ah, Mr Grenfell, is it not? I’m delighted to meet you. Come in and join us for supper. I’m sure Eugenia will be able to find something for us to eat.’
Eugenia cast her parent a look of loving exasperation. ‘I expect Mr Grenfell—’ she began, and was brought to a halt by his voice. ‘I should very much like to have supper with you,’ he observed equably. ‘I have wanted to make your acquaintance, Mr Smith. Eugenia mentioned once that you’re interested in rare books. I have a small library of first editions…
’
Eugenia cast him a look of suspicious enquiry, but he wasn’t looking at her. The twins had drawn up an armchair to the small fire, and he and her father had plunged instantaneously into talk. She went into the kitchen, turned off the grill, removed the burnt toast under it, scraped the contents of a saucepan into the waste bucket and started on the supper. Scrambled eggs, she decided, her pretty nose in and out of the cupboards, buttered toast, baked beans and a small dish of left-over potatoes she could turn into french fries. There would be no pudding, but she would make coffee and there was plenty of cheese. She found some crackers, slapped butter into a dish and went through into the dining room to lay the table.
Becky joined her. ‘I’ll do this,’ she volunteered. ‘I’m stuck with Charles the First anyway. Isn’t he smashing?’
‘Yes, love, quite nice.’ Eugenia looked at her younger sister helplessly. ‘But I never meant him to come to supper.’
‘Why not? I daresay he’s hungry,’ said the practical Becky. ‘When he and Father stop talking I shall ask him to give me a hand with the kings of England.’
Eugenia went back to the kitchen and started to cook. She did it well, and the dishes she put on the table presently looked appetising; she doubted if Mrs Parsons could have done better. She poked her head round the sitting-room door and said: ‘Supper,’ and then: ‘Bring your beer with you, it’ll get cold if you don’t come now.’
It was surprising how easily Mr Grenfell had slipped into the family circle. The Smiths were great talkers and it seemed, to Eugenia’s astonishment, that he was too. The conversation, completely taken up with first editions, the Stuart Kings, and Pythagoras, flowed easily, she had little to do but pile plates with food, pour coffee and utter a word or two when appealed to from time to time.
‘A delightful meal,’ declared Mr Grenfell, finally. ‘Humphrey has got himself a Cordon Bleu cook. I can’t think why,’ he went on deliberately, ‘he hasn’t snapped you up before now,’ and at her outraged look: ‘Oh, I’m aware that you’re saving for the ideal home, whatever that is, but no amount of kitchen gadgets will make up for a well scrambled egg.’ His glance gathered agreement from his companions. ‘Think of the fun you’ll have, dishing up a tasty supper for him when he gets home after a hard day’s work.’
It was Becky who said suddenly: ‘His mother’s going to live with them.’ Mr Grenfell’s eyelids dropped even lower. He appeared not to notice the furious look Eugenia cast at her young sister.
‘Becky, have you finished your homework?’
Becky gave her an innocent look. ‘Oh yes, Eugenia, Mr Grenfell helped me. If you want to talk I’ll wash up and Bruce can dry.’
Mr Grenfell pushed back his chair. ‘Supposing I help you, Becky? I daresay Eugenia would like to talk to her father before we go back.’
‘A very decent sort of chap,’ declared Mr Smith from his chair by the sitting room fire. ‘I daresay he’s never washed a dish in his life.’
‘Probably not,’ agree d Eugenia tartly. ‘Father, whatever possessed Becky to say that? It’s none of Mr Grenfell’s business…’
‘In that case, my dear, there’s no harm done,’ muttered her parent, ‘he’ll probably forget it. He’s going to be married himself, I believe?’
‘Did he tell you that?’ She wondered why she felt so unhappy at the news—after all, she had known about his engagement since before Christmas. ‘She’s like a model; very slim and dresses beautifully…’
Her father ignored this. ‘Is that why you came home, love? To talk to us about Mrs Parsons? I must say I don’t think it will do at all—have you seen Humphrey?’
‘Yes—and I did as you suggested; it wasn’t mentioned. Perhaps it’ll turn out all right.’ She sounded very uncertain. ‘Father, I don’t think I could bear to have her living with us…’
‘That rather depends on how much you love Humphrey, my dear.’
‘Well, of course I love him—we’re engaged…’ She added a little desperately: ‘If only we could get married and not have to wait!’
Her father didn’t say anything to that, and she looked at him enquiringly.
‘Don’t you agree, Father?’
He didn’t answer, because the door opened and the twins and Mr Grenfell came in, obviously on the best of terms. ‘I must be going,’ said Eugenia briskly, ‘and don’t bother to drive me back, Mr Grenfell, there’s a bus stop just down the road.’
He was as bad as her father, ignoring her remarks. ‘Get your coat, then, and we’ll be off.’ He shook Mr Smith’s hand. ‘A delightful evening,’ he observed. ‘I hope you’ll invite me again. I hope you’ve no objection to the twins coming to see me. My dog’s just had pups; I know they can’t have one—Plum wouldn’t like it, would he?’ He put out a finger to tickle the little cat’s head. ‘But they’re charming little creatures at the moment, and Bruce and Becky might like to look them over.’ He glanced across at Eugenia. ‘On your next day off, perhaps?’
Eugenia, feeling cornered, opened her mouth to refuse; her father, closely echoed by the twins, said immediately: ‘What a splendid idea—we can’t keep a dog here, of course; if we’re ever able to live in the country again…’ He didn’t finish the sentence. There was very little hope of that; he wasn’t young any more; soon he would retire on a small pension and it would be harder than ever to keep the twins going until they were educated—decently educated so that they could get jobs in some profession or other. Even with scholarships and grants when available it would take some doing.
Eugenia watched him, knowing exactly what he was thinking. She said cheerfully: ‘What a splendid idea! I shall like that—it’s half term next week, isn’t it?’
‘Wednesday,’ said Bruce. ‘Gerard says you’re free then, and so are we.’
‘We’ll settle the details later,’ murmured Mr Grenfell, not giving her a chance to say a word.
In the car she made an effort to assert herself. ‘I’m not sure about Wednesday,’ she began, and was instantly pounced upon with his:
‘You had other plans? What are they? Can’t they be put off? Humphrey is on call, isn’t he, and since it isn’t pay day for another ten days I don’t imagine you’ll be going shopping.’
‘I don’t have to tell you how I spend my off-duty,’ she declared with a snap.
‘Of course not, but it would be a pity to disappoint Becky and Bruce, wouldn’t it? I’ll pick you up about two o’clock and we can collect them both on the way.’
She made a last feeble effort. ‘I don’t know where you live…’
‘Well, if you come on Wednesday you soon will, won’t you?’ said Mr Grenfell blandly.
Eugenia met Humphrey the next morning, on her way to the Office to ask for a nurse to cover Nurse Sims, who’d gone off sick. He stood in front of her, smiling. ‘And where were you yesterday evening?’ he wanted to know jovially. ‘I had an hour or so to spare and thought we might have had a drink.’
‘I went home.’ She had blushed quite guiltily and he looked at her with approval, thinking she was blushing at meeting him unexpectedly.
‘They’re all well?’ he asked. Eugenia had known since their engagement that he was ill at ease with her father, and had very little time for the twins so she didn’t enlarge on her: ‘Fine, thanks. Are you busy?’
‘My dear girl, I’m always up to my eyes. What about you, taking a stroll before your coffee break?’
Why had she never found it irritating until now—the way he pretended she did no work? And yet he must know that she did—she held down an exacting job, and without being conceited about it, she was aware that she gave full value for her salary. She said lightly: ‘I had coffee hours ago and I’m on my way to the Office.’ She smiled at him. ‘See you around.’
He caught her arm as she turned to go. ‘Hey, not so fast! I’m free for a couple of hours on Wednesday afternoon—it’s your day off…’
‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry, Humphrey, I promised I’d take the twins out—it’s half term, yo
u know.’
‘Oh, well,’ he was irritated because he couldn’t have his own way, ‘we’ll get together some time.’
She hurried away with a quick backward smile, feeling quite guilty again; although there was no reason why she shouldn’t tell him that she would be seeing Mr Grenfell—after all, the twins would be there.
It rained on and off for the next few days, and Eugenia had resigned herself to wearing her raincoat and sensible shoes; not that it mattered in the least what she would wear, she reminded herself. It was, after all, only Mr Grenfell, who actually never looked at her. At least, she amended, not often.
But on Wednesday morning when she woke up, it was to see the sun shining from a blue sky—splendid April weather and all the more delightful because it came so seldom. She would be able to wear the blue jacket and skirt after all, and her new shoes. Heaven send an uneventful morning so that she would get off duty promptly.
Heaven, it seemed, was on her side. She left the ward barely ten minutes late, skipped her dinner, made tea in the home while she showered and changed and presented herself, nicely made up and not a hair out of place only five minutes after two o’clock in the car park, where Mr Grenfell lounged in the Bentley.
He got out long before she reached him and opened the door for her. His, ‘Hullo, Eugenia,’ was urbane, as was his careless, ‘A quiet morning?’
‘Oh, yes—very.’ She hopped into the car and glowed at his pleasant, ‘That’s a nice thing you’re wearing.’ His gaze swept down to her feet. ‘You should wear high heels more often.’
‘If I did, I’d have to lean over everyone to talk to them!’
‘Not me, you wouldn’t,’ he said cheerfully. ‘You’ve had lunch?’
She said far too quickly: ‘Yes, thanks,’ and thought of the half-eaten biscuit and the mug of tea. But what did lunch matter at the moment? It struck her forcibly that when she went out with Humphrey he usually suggested that she should have a meal first, for, as she jokingly put it, it was a pity to miss a meal she had paid for, and half an hour, more or less didn’t really matter. But now it was a glorious day and the sun was shining, she was sitting in a super car, and she had to admit that Mr Grenfell’s company was always stimulating.