by Betty Neels
‘And what’s he doing here?’ interrupted Miss Creed, looking past Jenny’s shoulder.
The Professor had loomed up beside Jenny. He said now in his calm way: ‘I’ve come to give you your injection, Miss Creed—your niece has explained why you should have it.’ He nodded to Jenny to hold her Aunt’s arm firmly and slid the needle in without further ado.
‘I’m not accustomed to being treated in this manner,’ his patient began angrily. ‘I like my own way…’
‘And so do I,’ agreed the Professor pleasantly. ‘You will feel much more yourself when you wake up—tired and not inclined to do much, but much more comfortable in your head.’
‘Bah…’ began Aunt Bess, the lids falling over her tired eyes, ‘I don’t believe…’
Jenny heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Poor dear, she must be feeling ghastly,’ she said softly, and went on sitting where she was, overcome by tiredness once more. She yawned hugely, pushed up the sleeves of the ridiculous dressing gown and lifted her arms to sweep back her tide of hair, hanging all over the place. She would have gone to sleep then and there if the Professor hadn’t said in a cold voice, ‘Go back to your bed, Miss Wren. I see that you are still in need of sleep.’ His tone was so very icy that she opened her eyes to take a look at him. His face looked icy too, the brows drawn together in a frown.
‘Fallen down on the job, have I?’ she asked pertly, tiredness forgotten for the moment in a wish to annoy him. He had been up most of the night too, but he didn’t look as though he had; he was probably one of those iron-willed men who didn’t allow himself to feel tired or happy or sad or anything else… She opened her mouth to tell him so, but yawned instead and fell asleep, sitting upright, swaying a little.
The Professor looked more annoyed than ever. ‘Will you open the door, Nurse?’ he asked the student left to sit with Miss Creed, and swept Jenny up into his arms as though she were a tiresome child and carried her back down the covered passage, to put her gently on her bed and pull the blanket over her. Jenny, dead to the world, rolled over. If she had been awake to hear his: ‘Troublesome girl, to plague me so,’ uttered in a cold voice, she would most certainly have answered him with spirit. As it was she gave a delicate snore.
CHAPTER THREE
JENNT DIDN’T WAKE until almost four o’clock and then lay for a few minutes gathering her still sleepy wits. She supposed she should get up; she had had another three hours’ sleep and possibly, if her aunt was better, she would be able to go back to Dimworth later on in the evening.
But when she found her way to Aunt Bess’s room presently, she found Sister there once more, and as she stood in the doorway, wondering if she should go in or not, she was lifted neatly out of the way by the Professor, who took no notice of her at all, but went straight to the bedside, where he bent over Miss Creed, murmuring to Sister with an infuriating softness, so that Jenny, very worried by now, couldn’t hear a word. She was on the point of asking what was the matter when he spoke without turning his head. ‘Come in, Miss Wren. I have something to say to you.’
She went to stand by him, looking first at his face and then at her aunt’s, calm and unconscious. The look on her face caused him to say quickly: ‘No need to get alarmed; your aunt has had a relapse. We’re going to give her some more blood and change the electrolytes—I think that should put things right. She hasn’t been as quiet as she should.’
‘No danger?’ asked Jenny anxiously.
‘I think not.’ He gave her a considered look and she said at once:
‘May I stay here with her? I’ve had a good sleep, perhaps if I’m here when she comes round, I could persuade her to take things easy for a few days. She’s rather strong-willed.’
He smiled faintly. ‘Sister has had quite a difficult time of it this afternoon, I’m sure she will be glad of your help.’ He glanced across the bed to where Sister stood. ‘Perhaps Miss Wren could have a meal now and relieve you and nurse? I see no reason why she shouldn’t sit up with her aunt, she has had a good rest.’
Jenny’s charming bosom swelled with indignation. A good rest, indeed! Two periods of sleep of barely three hours on top of a night sitting up in a chair after driving down from London—the man wasn’t only made of iron himself, he expected everyone else to be the same. She was willing to stay up for an endless succession of nights for Aunt Bess, she conceded illogically, but he assumed too much. She was in two minds to refuse a meal, just to show her independence, but she would probably be famished if she did. She said, outwardly meek, ‘I’ll be glad to do that, Sister, if you agree to it.’
So she was given her meal and installed in a chair by Aunt Bess’s bed, primed with instructions and with the promise of relief for half an hour round about midnight. There wasn’t much chance to sit down, though, what with half-hourly observations and keeping an eye on the drips. Adjusting them, Jenny thought that when her aunt wakened, she would want to know about those and probably do her best to remove them. Marking up her charts neatly, she sincerely hoped not.
The evening passed quietly. Aunt Bess showed no sign of rousing. The Professor arrived again about nine o’clock, this time with Doctor Toms, examined his patient, nodded distantly to Jenny and went again.
‘And good riddance,’ declared Jenny as the door shut quietly behind him, and then jumped visibly as it opened again. ‘I heard that,’ declared the Professor in his turn.
The hospital was quiet; the nights usually were, for casualties went to Yeovil and the patients, for the most part, slept for the greater part of the night. The night staff, small but efficient, managed very well, calling up the day nurses if anything dire occurred. About midnight Night Sister put her head round the door. ‘Everything OK?’ She smiled in acknowledgement of Jenny’s nod and whispered: ‘Someone will relieve you in a few minutes,’ and went her soft-footed way, to be followed almost at once by a student nurse. Jenny ate a hurried meal and went back once more and the nurse, whispering that the patient hadn’t stirred, crept away.
It was two o’clock in the morning, just as Jenny was changing a drip, that her aunt opened her eyes and said in a normal voice ‘You should be in bed,’ and then: ‘I feel a great deal better.’
‘Good,’ said Jenny, ‘and so you will if you stay very quiet, Aunt Bess. And I’ve been to bed, so don’t bother about me.’ She smiled down at her aunt, trying to be matter-of-fact and casual, because Aunt Bess hated tears or a display of emotion. ‘How about a drink?’
She was giving it when the Professor came silently into the room, smiled at his patient and put out a hand for the charts.
He studied them carefully, grunted his approval and gave them back to Jenny without looking at her. ‘You’re better,’ he told Aunt Bess, ‘well enough for me to explain why you must lie quiet for a little longer.’ And he explained very simply, in a quiet voice before adding: ‘I should like you to go to sleep again now, but if you find that impossible will you lie still and relax, then there will be no need to give you another injection at present. Your niece will prop you up a little more, I think…’
‘Don’t you go to bed either?’ asked Aunt Bess.
‘Oh, certainly.’ He smiled again and strolled to the door. ‘I’ll be in to see you again after breakfast.’ His hand was on the door handle when he said: ‘Miss Wren, will you hand me the charts? There are one or two things I should like to alter. Sister will return them presently.’ He barely glanced at her and she supposed that she deserved it.
Aunt Bess went to sleep after that, remarking with some of her old tartness that Jenny and the Professor didn’t seem to be on the best of terms, and Jenny, sitting in her chair once more, trying to keep awake for the last hours of the night, couldn’t help but agree with her.
She was in bed and asleep very soon after the day staff came on duty, so that she missed Professor van Draak’s visits in the morning, and in the afternoon he brought Sister with him, just as though Jenny were a visitor, and waited pointedly until she had gone out of the room before he exami
ned her aunt. However, he joined her presently in the corridor, reassured her as to her aunt’s condition, gave it as his opinion that she was now out of danger, and suggested that there was no need for Jenny to stay the night. ‘I shall be passing Dimworth as I return to Doctor Toms,’ he remarked without much warmth. ‘I could give you a lift.’
It would have been nice to have refused him, but she hadn’t much choice; there would be no one free at Dimworth to fetch her and she had no intention of telephoning Toby. She thanked him with a chilliness to equal his own and went back to sit with Aunt Bess.
Her aunt didn’t seem to mind her going—indeed, she began to give a great number of messages, repeated several times in a muddled fashion, and added a list as long as her arm of tasks to be done at Dimworth, falling asleep in the middle of it. Jenny kissed the tired, still determined face and went out to where the Professor would be waiting for her. He got out and opened the car door for her and she had barely settled in her seat before he was driving away.
Jenny, having difficulty with her safety belt, said crossly: ‘You don’t like me at all, do you, Professor?’ and was furious at his laugh.
It was a nasty laugh, full of mockery and the wrong kind of amusement, and his: ‘My dear girl, you flatter yourself, and me too—I have no interest in you at all, although to be quite honest I must admit that I haven’t much time for tart young women with red hair.’
‘I expect you pride yourself on being plain-spoken,’ said Jenny sweetly. ‘I call it rude. Just by way of interest, what kind of girl do you like?’
He allowed the car to slow and shot a sidelong glance at her. ‘Tall, calm, sweet-tempered—with good looks, of course; fair hair, blue eyes, a pleasant voice…’
‘A cardboard creature,’ cried Jenny, ‘and even if you did find her, she’d be a dead bore as a wife.’A thought struck her. ‘Have you found her? Perhaps you’re married.’
‘What an impertinent girl you are.’ He spoke quite pleasantly. ‘No, I am not married. When do you intend to visit your aunt again?’
A neat snub, if ever there was one. ‘I’ll drive over after breakfast. When do you return to Holland?’
‘Wishful thinking?’ he enquired. ‘When your aunt is recovered.’
Jenny shifted in her seat, uncomfortably aware that she hadn’t expressed nearly enough gratitude. ‘Oh no…well, I’d like to thank you for what you’ve done for Aunt Bess. I know you saved her life and I’m deeply grateful—I hope it hasn’t spoilt your holiday here.’
It was a nice little speech which he completely ruined. ‘I get paid for it, you know,’ he reminded her smoothly, ‘and I haven’t been on holiday.’
Jenny exploded with temper. ‘You’re impossible! We’re right back where we started, aren’t we? I’ve never met…You have no need to…’ She drew a deep breath and swallowed the temper. ‘What a lovely day it is,’ she observed brightly.
The Professor’s eyes gleamed momentarily and a muscle twitched at the corner of his firm mouth as he agreed suavely before launching into a businesslike discussion upon Miss Creed’s illness. And at the house he refused her polite invitation to come in for a drink, and without pretending an excuse either.
She dismissed him from her thoughts the moment she was in the house, and indeed forgot about him entirely while she listened to Florrie’s account of what had been happening during her absence—nothing much, it seemed. A good attendance on both days; they had run out of homemade jam; Mrs Thorpe had been far too bossy and annoyed Grimshaw…
Jenny lent a sympathetic ear, made a few tactful suggestions, praised Florrie, gave an expurgated account of her aunt’s illness and went round the house. The rooms which were open to the public were exactly as they should be; she checked the burglar alarm and then went along to her aunt’s room to collect a few more things she might require while she was in hospital, then went out of the side door, to take a short cut through the gardens and park to the vicarage. Mrs Thorpe might have been bossy, but she was kindhearted and well-meaning. Jenny found her at home, said all that was necessary, thanked her with charm and set off to the house once more. Supper and bed would be nice.
Aunt Bess was better in the morning. Jenny, herself rested after a good night’s sleep, viewed her relative’s still pale face with satisfaction. The relapse had been overcome: it was now just a question of the patient doing exactly as she was told to do. And for the next few days that was just what she did, much to Jenny’s surprise, mildly accepting what she described to her niece as slops—served up daintily on a tray, but still slops—and allowing the nurses to get her out of and into her bed with the minimum of fuss. Jenny was completely mystified as to her aunt’s change of manner until several days after the operation when she happened to be in the room when the Professor paid his visit.
‘It’s the sixth day tomorrow,’ her aunt pointed out when he had finished examining her. ‘I’ve won.’
He leaned against the foot of the bed, laughing down at her. ‘Not until tomorrow morning—noon, I think we decided? And how about a further three days? You suggest the amount.’
Miss Creed chuckled. ‘You come here tomorrow and pay up and I’ll let you know then.’
Jenny waited until he had gone, smiling charmingly at his patient and giving her nothing but a brief nod. ‘What was all that about?’
Aunt Bess grinned at her. ‘We had a little bet.’
Jenny’s eyes opened wide. ‘A bet? Aunt Bess…’
‘Fifty pounds that I couldn’t hold out until tomorrow on the revolting food I’m forced to eat and twenty on the side that I wouldn’t do exactly as I was told about getting up and all the other tiresome things I’m forced to do.’
Jenny let out a breath. ‘You mean to say he betted…he couldn’t, it’s not professional…he’s…’
‘Huh,’ Aunt Bess was positively smirking, ‘what’s to stop him?’ She said gleefully: ‘I shall make it a hundred tomorrow and buy you a pretty dress with the winnings.’
It would be exactly the same as if he marched her into a shop and chose a dress off the peg and gave it to her. ‘No—it’s sweet of you, Aunt Bess, but I’ve heaps of clothes. Why don’t you put it towards that dear little chest we saw in that shop in Sherbourne a few weeks ago? You said you wanted it for Oliver…’
‘So I did. Clever girl—that’s what I’ll do. Telephone the shop tomorrow, Jenny, and tell them to send it to Dimworth. When is Oliver coming? I’ve forgotten.’
‘Next week. Margaret telephoned this morning early. She wanted to know if they should come because you hadn’t been well—Oliver’s a bit noisy, she thinks.’
‘What a silly young woman she is; he’ll be a tonic about the place. Besides, I shall be away for part of his stay. Professor van Draak says that I should have a change—a week or two away—we’ll discuss that later. Now run along, child, and see about that chest.’
So Jenny ran along, saw to the chest, kept an eye on the day’s visitors, did her share of the polishing and tidying up when they had gone, and went back to the hospital in the evening. Her aunt was asleep and doing very well, Sister told her. She would be fit to go home soon, provided she did as she was told to do. Professor van Draak would decide exactly when. Jenny nodded, dropped a kiss on the sleeping Miss Creed’s cheek and went out to where the Morgan was parked.
It was overshadowed by the Panther de Ville, with the Professor at its wheel, looking disagreeable. ‘I don’t seem to have seen you for some time,’ he commented as he got out to stand beside her.
‘Nice for you,’ observed Jenny flippantly. ‘Aunt Bess is much better, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
She waited for him to say something else, but evidently he wasn’t wasting his breath. ‘You’ve been betting with her,’ she said severely. ‘I’ve never heard such nonsense.’
His smile made her wish that they liked each other. ‘But it worked, did it not, Jenny Wren? Your aunt is a splendid woman but a shockingly bad patient—it was necessary to use guile.’
Jenny laughed—she hadn’t done that for days. It bubbled up in a delicious trill, and the Professor stared at her as though he had only just seen her, his eyes hooded.
‘When may she come home?’ she asked.
‘Another week, provided everything goes well. You will continue to look after her?’
‘Yes.’
He nodded. ‘I understand that her small nephew will be coming to stay at Dimworth. You do realise that there must be no untoward noise—no shouting—nothing to disturb her.’
‘Oliver is six, but he’s a very sensible little boy,’ Jenny defended her nephew. ‘If I explain why he has to be quiet, then he’ll be quiet.’
‘He has no mother?’
She thought of Margaret, who from one point of view wasn’t a mother at all. ‘Oh, yes, he has—she’ll be coming with him.’
He stood back a little. ‘Don’t let me keep you. I’m sure you want to get back. Goodnight.’ His voice was coolly polite.
She got into the Morgan without a word and drove away very neatly, not looking at him at all. Two can be rude, she reminded herself.
The Panther overtook her five minutes later, creeping up behind and then tearing past, giving her no more than a glimpse of an arrogant nose in a profile which ignored her. She said ‘Phoo!’ loudly to relieve her feelings and resisted a useless urge to overtake him in her turn.
And her temper wasn’t improved at all when she found Toby waiting for her at Dimworth. He was full of helpful offers to do this and that, warnings as to her health if she didn’t get enough sleep or eat enough and rounded off his remarks by reminding her that she hadn’t answered any of his letters and had she thought any more about marrying him.
‘No, I have not,’ snapped Jenny. ‘With Aunt Bess so ill and so much to do, I’ve had not time to think at all, and anyway, I don’t want to marry you, Toby.’ She added a polite ‘Thank you.’
He was like a rubber ball, bouncing back whatever was said or done to him. ‘Oh, well—I daresay you’re tired. Is there anything I can do?’