by Betty Neels
‘And what can I do for you, Sister Proudfoot? I also have several matters to attend to…’
She said quite crossly: ‘No doubt. I shan’t keep you a moment longer than I need to, but I must thank you for saving me this afternoon; I think that I should have died out there if you hadn’t come. I—I would have thanked you sooner, but you didn’t give me the chance.’
‘I wonder why you went in the first place?’ he enquired in a surprisingly mild voice. ‘I remember telling you most distinctly not to go too far away on your own—or are you so pig-headed a young woman that you decided that you knew best? Not so young either,’ he added suavely.
Eliza had braced herself to take his reprimand with suitable meekness, but now she forgot all about that. ‘Don’t you know that it’s rude to say things like that?’ she demanded in a strong voice. ‘How dare you remind me that I’m—I’m…’
‘Past your first youth?’ He was laughing at her. ‘My dear good girl, much you would care what opinion I have of you, you must be well aware that you could pass for an eighteen-year-old girl.’
She forgot for the moment that they were quarrelling. ‘Oh, do you really think so?’ she asked him. ‘Other people have said that to me sometimes, but I’ve never really believed them.’
‘By other people I presume you mean other men, and should I be flattered that you believe me?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she answered him seriously. ‘You see, you don’t like me, so it’s not flattery.’
He stared at her, his eyes very black. ‘What a child you are!’
She frowned. ‘Don’t be silly, you’ve just been reminding me that I’m getting on a bit.’
‘Age has nothing to do with it,’ he told her, and his voice had become austere, ‘but you will oblige me, Eliza, by not trailing off on your own in that irresponsible fashion. Supposing no one had seen you?’
‘Why were you watching me?’
She thought he was never going to answer. ‘I was standing by my window,’ he said at length. His voice became quite level and brisk. ‘And now if you have nothing more to say, I will see you back to the cottage.’
She was on her feet and making for the door, where she paused long enough to exclaim: ‘Anyone would think that you were trying to make me dislike you even more than I do already—and I don’t want your company.’ Two palpable lies uttered with such fierceness that they sounded true.
He took no notice of her at all; by the time Eliza had caught up her cloak from the chair in the hall, he was beside her, opening the door and ushering her out into the cold dark, his torch casting a cheerful beam on the sodden path beneath their feet. And at the cottage door, when he had unlocked it and given the key back into her hand, he stood aside to let her go in and went on standing there, letting in large quantities of icy wind and swirling mist. Despite his size and self-assurance, he looked lonely. Risking a snub, she asked: ‘Shall we bury the hatchet long enough for me to make us some tea?’
His sombre face broke into a smile whose charm sent her heart thudding. ‘I do like a sporting enemy,’ he told her, then came in and shut the door. She left him to mend the fire while she went to put the kettle on, thinking as she did so that she would give anything in the world for him not to think of her as his enemy. She carried the tray back to the sitting room and found him by the fire, with Cat and the kittens, wrapped in their blanket, in a somnolent heap on his knee. Eliza filled a mug and put it handy for him. ‘Do you have cats of your own?’ she asked.
‘Two, and Magda, my housekeeper, has one of her own. I have a dog too, an Alsatian.’
Eliza sipped her tea. ‘We had a black retriever, but he died last year—of old age. Father would like another dog, but he and Mother can’t bear the thought of it just yet. I like animals round the house, don’t you?’
‘Indeed yes, I intended to have a second dog, but Estelle, my fiancée, doesn’t care for animals, so it hardly seems fair to add to those I already have.’
She remembered Estelle’s calm photographed face; no, she wouldn’t like animals. She wouldn’t be unkind to them, just indifferent. In fact, thought Eliza, the girl wouldn’t like anything which made a mess or needed looking after—not even children. Her home would be perfection itself, with not a cushion out of place and all the meals cooked to a high standard, and poor Christian would have no legitimate target for his bad temper, because that calm would never be shaken. They weren’t suited, the pair of them. The thought struck her blindingly that not only did she love Christian more than anyone else in the world, but if she could bring it about, she would marry him herself.
‘I wonder what you are thinking.’ Professor van Duyl’s voice was quiet, but she jumped all the same and said almost guiltily: ‘Oh, nothing—nothing at all. Is the project here going well?’
‘So far, yes. All ten men are showing a much greater resistance to asthmatic attacks—even Kok. I have discussed this problem of his mother-in-law every day and for the last two days there has been no single wheeze. It’s not conclusive, of course, but I feel that we shall have proved that there is a way to tackle the problem, given time and more knowledge.’
Eliza poured them each more tea. ‘Professor Wyllie has kept very well.’
‘Yes, though I should warn you that when he gets an attack it is usually severe, and he is a very bad patient.’
‘I should be too.’ She remembered something. ‘Do you suppose that I might have a half day or a morning off one day soon—just as long as it’s before we go? I want to buy a present for Mrs MacRae.’
‘You will drive yourself?’ He sounded only politely interested. ‘I don’t see why not—arrangements can be made. Ullapool is the nearest shopping town; there is a road of sorts which joins the main road between Ledmore and Ullapool, it’s narrow and has a poor surface, but I don’t imagine that will deter you.’
Eliza didn’t answer; she didn’t relish the idea of driving the Fiat miles and miles along a difficult road, probably full of S-bends, gradients like the back stairs and fearful potholes, but she had no notion of letting him know that. Perhaps she could telephone and get something suitable sent out, but what? She had no idea, and Mrs MacRae, when delicately sounded, had been as informative as a clam. She would have to go to Ullapool and pray for fine weather.
There was no need for her prayers, however; two days later Professor Wyllie, pottering in to breakfast just as she was finishing hers in company with Doctor Berrevoets and Doctor Peters, told her that young Grimshaw would keep an eye on the patients for the day and she was free to go to Ullapool as soon as she wished. ‘But be back by teatime,’ he begged her, ‘so that you can take over for the usual evening duties.’
Eliza looked out of the window; Professor Wyllie had spoken with all the satisfied benevolence of one conferring a great treat, but it was hardly a day on which she would have chosen to go careering round unknown country in the little Fiat; the sky was grey and there was a light drizzle falling, and although the wind had moderated from gale force to a steady blow, it was unpleasant enough. With her unpleasant little adventure still fresh in her memory, she said doubtfully: ‘Well, thank you, sir, but…’
‘Christian has to go to Ullapool to collect some stuff we need, you can go with him.’ He looked at his watch. ‘He said to tell you in ten minutes’ time at the front door.’
She said indignantly: ‘But I’m going with the Fiat, he told me about the road—I…’
‘He’s changed his mind—and so have I. Eliza, this is no weather for you to go traipsing round on your own in that crackpot little car of yours.’ He sounded quite testy.
‘It brought me up from London,’ she reminded him stubbornly.
‘For which we are all deeply thankful. Go and get a coat on, child—you mustn’t keep Christian waiting.’
She was tempted to dispute this high-handed remark, but instead she excused herself nicely and made her way over to the cottage, where she reassured Cat, changed rapidly into a skirt and sweater, topped them with her ma
tching tweed coat, tied a scarf over her hair, caught up handbag and gloves, and flew up to the Lodge, all within the space of the ten minutes allotted to her. She stopped by the kitchen as she went through the hall to ask Hub to keep an eye on Cat.
‘Indeed I will, miss.’ He was his usual paternal self. ‘And I’ll see that there’s a nice fire burning, too—and is there anything else I can do?’
‘No, thanks, Hub, you’re an angel. Do you want anything from Ullapool?’
‘Well, miss, me and Fred are partial to toffees, if you should have the time.’
‘Of course. ‘Bye for now.’ She skipped through the hall, noticing as she went how nice the stairs looked now that they shone with polish, and out the front door. There was a Range Rover parked on the muddy sweep before the door with Christian behind its wheel. He got out when he saw her, wished her good morning and opened the car door for her to get in. As he settled himself beside her, she said with a trace of resentment: ‘I could have quite well gone on my own.’
He was at his most bland. ‘But of course—if the weather had been good.’
‘But you told me—you even explained about the road.’
‘Ah, yes.’ The blandness had a silky note now. ‘Do you not feel, Eliza, that surprise when dealing with the enemy is of the utmost importance?’
If she hadn’t loved him so much, she would have been furious, but all she felt was sadness that he was so determined not to like her. She agreed with him so soberly that he asked: ‘Not sulking about it, I hope?’
Her voice was nicely composed. ‘Of course not. I think I’m glad not to be going on my own. Is the road very awful?’
‘Not too bad, and this goes anywhere.’ He patted the wheel under his gloved hands as he drove down the track from the Lodge and on to the road which would lead them eventually to the main road to Ullapool.
Perhaps the bad road didn’t seem so bad in the Range Rover; in the Fiat it would have been unspeakable. She sat contentedly beside him, looking at the different landmarks he pointed out as they went along. Even on such a dull grey morning as this was, the country was beautiful in a wild and grand fashion, and when they reached the road running beside Loch Lurgain, with Stac Polly towering on one side and the steel grey water on the other, she begged him to stop. ‘I may never come this way again,’ she pointed out, ‘and it’s quite breathtaking. Are there no villages at all?”
He shook his head. ‘None. You could have come this way when you travelled up from London, you know, for it’s quite a few miles further going round through Inchnadamph, even though it is a much better road. This one is lonely, especially after dark.’
They were standing together, watching the water. The wind was rustling through the rough grass and the bare trees, and made little waves on the loch. The drizzle had ceased now and the mountains on the other side of the water loomed forbiddingly. Eliza asked idly: ‘Do you find it strange here? Isn’t Holland flat?’
‘Very, and of course it’s hard to find an area as large as this where there is literally no one—the odd shepherd, I suppose, and foresters, but one seldom sees them.’
‘Do you come here often?’
‘I haven’t been for several years. I came regularly at one time.’
‘But it’s so beautiful—and grand, too. You should bring your fiancée here.’
‘She doesn’t care for this type of country.’ So that was why he didn’t come any more. She sensed his withdrawal again and wondered about it. Surely it would have been natural enough for a man to talk about the girl he was going to marry, even if his listener wasn’t amongst his friends—after all, they had worked together for three weeks now and although they quarrelled almost every time they met, they had a certain respect for each other’s work. The idea that he didn’t love Estelle returned with full force, but she pushed it resolutely to the back of her mind, and said lightly: ‘I daresay I should dislike Holland.’ She was thunderstruck when he said in a bitter voice: ‘Because you dislike me, I suppose?’ His mouth curled in a sneer. ‘How illogical women are!’
‘I am not…’ she began, and then added lamely, ‘It’s so silly to quarrel.’
‘Isn’t bickering a better term? And since we seem unable to enjoy a pleasant conversation, we might as well go on.’
She fumed silently as he drove on; of all the unfair remarks, and she had only been trying to be friendly! Perhaps she had asked too many questions—well, that was easily remedied; she closed her pretty mouth firmly and stayed silent, an attitude which lost much of its value because he showed no disposition to talk anyway. It wasn’t until they were approaching Ullapool that he said: ‘My business will take about an hour. I suggest that we meet for coffee and then you can finish your shopping before lunch—there will be time for that before we need to go back.’
Eliza was still smarting from his unkind remarks. ‘I should prefer to be on my own,’ she told him haughtily. ‘If you will tell me at what time we shall be returning I’ll meet you then.’
Christian shrugged enormous shoulders. ‘Just as you like.’ His voice was annoyingly nonchalant. ‘Three o’clock, then.’
They were in the main street by now and he drew up half way down it. ‘Here,’ he added, and scarcely looked at her as she got out. She walked away briskly, feeling hard done by, although she had to admit that it had been largely her fault; she could have had coffee with him at least. She took out her shopping list and studied it. She would find somewhere to have coffee, buy the small necessities on her list, and after lunch, look around for something suitable for Mrs MacRae. But the hotel she came upon was closed until the season started and she could see no café, so she gave up the idea of coffee, did her shopping and found her way easily enough to the shores of the loch. The water was still wild from the recent storms, the wind was blowing strongly still. Eliza enjoyed the exercise and felt her appetite sharpen. It prompted her to make for the centre of the town again; there must be a restaurant somewhere where she could get a meal; the hotels she had passed on her walk were all closed, but probably she hadn’t explored enough. She was on the point of crossing the road to turn into the main street once more when she became aware of the man standing beside her.
‘And what’s a pretty little girl like you doing in this godforsaken hole?’
The voice was jovial, but the face, when she looked at it in some surprise, was thin and ratlike, and she disliked the smile. She didn’t bother to answer him, but crossed the road, only to have him cross it with her and lay a hand on her arm as they reached the other side. ‘What about a meal, girlie?’
She frowned at being called girlie. ‘I don’t know you,’ she told him icily, ‘and I don’t want to. Kindly leave me alone.’ She made to pass him, but his hand tightened. ‘Not so fast, my dear…’ He winced as she kicked him smartly on the shin and then burst into a roar of laughter.
‘You little vixen,’ he declared. ‘I like a bit of spirit.’
There was no one in sight at all; just round the corner there were shops and people, but here, on the deserted road by the loch, there was no one. Which made it all the more remarkable that Christian should be suddenly there, between them. The rat-faced man was pushed away with one hand, while Eliza felt the other catch her comfortably round the waist.
‘Get out,’ said the Professor very quietly, ‘and fast. I am a man of violent temper.’ He didn’t bother to watch the man turn and hurry away, but took his arm from Eliza’s waist and tucked it under her arm and walked her away too, in the opposite direction.
‘You see what comes of being pig-headed?’ he demanded of her in a furious voice. ‘Miss High-and-Mighty has to go off on her own and sulk. You deserve the unwelcome attentions of all the rat-faced commercial travellers you meet!’
Eliza had been buoyed up by indignation, fright and then the sudden relief and delight at Christian’s opportune arrival, but now the desire to have a good cry had overcome those feelings. She trotted along beside her irate companion, who was walking much too fast
for her, and the tears rolled silently down her cheeks. Perhaps it was the fact that she hadn’t made her usual spirited rejoinder to any remark of his which made him glance down at her. He stopped so suddenly that she almost fell over, and swung her round to face him, his hands on her shoulders.
‘Eliza,’ and he sounded quite shocked, ‘my dear girl, you’re crying!’
She found her voice. ‘Well, so would you if you were me.’ She sniffed. ‘You’re quite beastly—anyone would think that I went out looking for r-rat-faced men, and all I wanted was my d-dinner.’
He made a small sound which might have been a laugh. ‘Eliza, I’m sorry—I was worse than the rat-faced man, wasn’t I? I think I was angry and didn’t stop to think what I was saying.’
He wiped her tears away in a kindly, detached way and said: ‘Better now? There’s a small inn along here where we can get a meal, come along.’
It was close by, a whitewashed, low-built pub, very neat as to windows, its solid door freshly painted. Eliza, who would have liked to have finished her crying in peace, found herself ushered into its bar and then out of it again into the snuggery at the back, where there was a brisk fire burning and a small table covered with a checked tablecloth and laid for a meal. The Professor came to a halt in this comfortable apartment, unbuttoned her coat and took it from her and offered her a seat by the fire.
‘Stay there,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be back.’
He was as good as his word; she barely had the time to peer at her tear-stained face in her compact mirror before he was back again with two glasses. He handed one to her. ‘Brandy,’ he offered, ‘it will do you good.’
‘I never drink brandy.’
‘I should hope not. But this is a medicinal dose, ordered by a doctor, so drink up.’
It would be useless to argue, so Eliza drank and felt its warmth at once; it also gave her the feeling that life wasn’t so bad after all, and when Christian suggested that she might like to go and tidy her hair and do her face, she agreed quite meekly, and when she got back, very neat about the head and with a slightly heightened colour, the landlord was at the table with a loaded tray, and instead of going back to the fire she was invited to sit at table. She took her place opposite her companion, smiling a little uncertainly at him.