by Betty Neels
‘Is it convenient?—for me to have lunch here, I mean. It doesn’t look as though they…’
‘I telephoned this morning before we left. There’s nothing much open during the winter here, but this place will always give us lunch if we warn them.’
‘Oh, I’m eating yours, then.’
‘You’re eating your own, Eliza. I ordered for both of us.’
She had no answer but to drink her soup, glad of something to do. It was delicious, as was the fish which followed it. By the time they had reached the mouth-watering steamed pudding set before them, she was relaxed enough to reply to his easy talk of this and that, and the Riesling they were drinking, continuing the good work the brandy had begun, made her feel quite her old self, sufficiently so, indeed, to allow her to thank him for coming to her aid. ‘That’s three times,’ she pointed out seriously, ‘if you don’t count Cat. I’ve been rather a nuisance to you.’
He didn’t answer but asked her instead if he might accompany her in her search for a present for Mrs MacRae. Eliza accepted happily; he might disapprove of her, but just now and again he seemed to forget that he didn’t like her and they were like old friends.
She found what she wanted for Mrs MacRae, a quilted dressing gown in a cheerful pink. ‘For,’ she pointed out matter-of-factly to the Professor, ‘it’s no good buying her tweed or woollies—I mean, coals to Newcastle, isn’t it? although there are some lovely things in that handicrafts shop across the street, but they make them in her village, don’t they?’ She nodded her pretty head at him. ‘She needs something impractical because she’s such a practical person, you see. I thought I’d get her the largest box of chocolates I can find.’
But here her companion had something to say. ‘May I suggest that I send down to London and get a really glamorous box?’
‘Oh, lovely—embossed velvet and ribbons and simply enormous and quite quite useless, she’ll love it. That would be simply marvellous.’
She didn’t see him smile as they crossed the road to examine the contents of the handicrafts shop window. ‘You like these tweeds?’ he wanted to know.
She nodded. ‘They’re heavenly—look at that red one—like holly, and that green checked one on the corner. You should buy some for your fiancée, you only need a yard for a skirt.’
She was sorry immediately she had spoken, for he said in a cold voice: ‘Estelle doesn’t care for tweed. She has an excellent and sophisticated taste in clothes.’
Eliza cast an involuntary glance at her own small person, so sensibly tweed-clad. There was nothing sophisticated about her, she was afraid. She glanced up and met the Professor’s eye and lifted her chin at the intentness of his look; probably he was comparing her with his precious Estelle. ‘I must find a sweet shop,’ she said abruptly. ‘I promised that I’d buy Hub and Fred some toffees.’
He gave a rumble of laughter. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t come armed with a list of odds and ends from the patients too. Here’s a shop, let us buy these toffees and make for home. I believe the weather is breaking up again.’
‘But it’s been raining on and off all day,’ she pointed out.
‘Oh, rain—that’s to be expected. But the wind’s rising.’
He was right; by the time they had reached the road by the loch the gale was upon them, beating round the Range Rover, sweeping the rain in torrents against the windscreen. Eliza, profoundly thankful that she wasn’t driving the Fiat, sat quietly beside Christian, who didn’t seem to mind the weather in the least, although keeping the car on the narrow road was a task she didn’t envy him. Once or twice she was tempted to beg him to stop and wait until the worst was over, but it would be dark soon. Besides, he might think that she was frightened, and she wasn’t—not with him, so she clenched her teeth tightly and made no sound, not even when the car lurched into a deeper pothole than most and she thought they were stuck. But they weren’t. Christian, muttering darkly in his own language, reversed, then roared forward into the rain-sodden gloom.
Hardly an enjoyable trip, Eliza thought as he brought the car to a halt at the Lodge front door, and yet it had been wonderful; she had been with him for hours and even if she hadn’t been sure before, she knew now that there wasn’t another man like him—not for her, anyway.
The sweep was a sea of muddy water once more; he came round the bonnet and opened her door and lifted her out to dump her gently in the porch.
‘Go down to the cottage through the house,’ he advised her. ‘I’ll bring the parcels.’
She did as she was told and found the little place warm and lighted and a tea tray laid ready. Cat sat up, purring loudly as she went in, and she paused only long enough to take off her coat before fetching a saucer of milk. She would put the kettle on, she told Cat, and when Christian came they would have a cup of tea; there were little cakes on the tray and she would make some buttered toast, he would be hungry… But when he came, five minutes later, he gave her a bleak refusal when she suggested it, only putting the parcels on the table for her, and pausing briefly to speak to Cat and the kittens. At the door he halted, though, when Eliza said in a level little voice, ‘Thank you for my lunch and for driving me, Professor. It was a lovely day.’
He turned right round and looked at her frowningly. She still had her headscarf on; it was wet and bedraggled and there were a number of damp curls hanging untidily round her face, which no longer showed any signs of make-up. He said almost angrily, ‘A lovely day,’ and then, as though the words were being dragged out of him, ‘And a lovely girl.’
CHAPTER SIX
ELIZA drank her tea thoughtfully. She wasn’t a conceited girl, but the Professor’s words, wrung from him, she felt sure, most unwillingly, had given her food for contemplation; she was well aware that she was a very pretty girl and that men reacted quite naturally to this, but the Professor wasn’t quite the same as most of the men she knew; for one thing he was engaged to be married, and for another, he hadn’t shown any signs of liking her when they had met. Indeed, she wasn’t certain that he liked her even now, although she was aware that she had made an impression upon him, reluctantly received on his part. She poured more tea and fell to thinking about Estelle. It was perhaps a little unsporting to try and take him away from the highly bred, slightly bored girl in the photograph, but Eliza was quite sure that Estelle wasn’t the right girl for him. She wondered if he had discovered that for himself by now. Men, she thought bitterly, could be so very blind, but it was no good wasting time on speculation. There was only a little over a week left before she would return to St Anne’s, not very long a time in which to capture a man’s attention and his heart as well, but at least she would have a good try.
She tidied away the tea things and changed into uniform, talking to Cat while she did so, and then, well wrapped against the weather, went over to the hut. It was disappointing that she didn’t see Professor van Duyl again that evening.
Indeed, she hardly saw him at all during the next few days. True, he came down to the hut when a patient showed signs of starting an attack, and on routine visits, but Eliza was never alone with him. She suspected him of contriving that, and it could only mean one of two things; either he disliked her so much that he avoided her at all costs, or he realized the danger in getting to know her better. She liked to think it was the second reason, and despite the shortness of the time left to her, took heart, especially as a short conversation she had with him at the lunch table confirmed her suspicions about his feelings for his fiancée.
They had been discussing the breaking up of the scheme, now five days away, and she had brought up, rather anxiously, the question of Cat. ‘I think I shall take her with me,’ she told Professor Wyllie. ‘She and the kittens can travel in the car and I’ll have to put them into a cats’ home near the hospital until I go home.’
The old man smiled at her. ‘Your parents won’t object to three pets?’
She hesitated. ‘Well, perhaps at first. I’ll try and find good homes for Primus and
Secundus as soon as I can.’
‘Supposing I were to take them to my home?’ suggested Professor van Duyl suddenly. ‘They will be company for the kitchen cat as well as my own.’
Eliza turned to him impulsively. ‘Oh, that would be nice, they could all live together then.’ She remembered something. ‘But it wouldn’t do—you said that—that you didn’t want any more animals.’
‘I’? His look was bland. He drank the rest of his coffee and sat back in his chair as people began to leave the table and when she made to get up too: ‘No, you are off duty, are you not, therefore in no hurry for a few moments. Why did you say that?’
‘Well, you did say only a little while ago that you weren’t going to have any more animals at your home because your fiancée didn’t much care for them. Besides, three cats—and you’ve got three cats and a dog already, you might not have room, and they’ll cost quite a lot to feed.’
A curious expression passed over his face. ‘Oh, I think I can fit them in, and I must persuade Estelle to accept them. After all, we shall not marry for a month or two; Cat and her kittens will have had time to learn their way around the house.’
Eliza felt doubtful. ‘Yes, but you see, if your fiancée doesn’t like them, she might want them to live outside. You have got a garden?’ she added anxiously.
He smiled a little. ‘Oh, yes. But I will take care to see that that doesn’t happen.’ He went on with a sudden fierceness: ‘I have the impression that you are prepared to dislike Estelle, Sister Proudfoot. I must remind you that she is a well-balanced and intelligent young woman, not in the least impulsive, and I have never known her deviate from her own very high standards of conduct.’
‘She sounds like a crushing bore,’ said Eliza before she could stop herself and then gasped: ‘Oh, Christian, I’m sorry! I—I never meant…’
He had gone a little white around his mouth and his eyes were so dark that they might have been black. ‘How dare you? And I beg of you, make no excuses. I have no idea why you should make such a vulgar remark about someone of whom you know nothing.’ He got up and went and stood by the still smouldering fire, his back towards her. ‘And you of all people,’ he went on, more fiercely than ever, ‘an impulsive, aggravating young woman who should know better.’
Eliza had got to her feet too. She said in a tight voice, ‘I’m not making excuses, I can merely repeat that I’m sorry and very ashamed of myself.’ At the door she couldn’t resist adding: ‘That should make you feel very happy.’
And later, at the end of the day, when she was back in her cottage after an afternoon and evening of avoiding Christian at all costs, she remembered, as she undressed in a storm of angry tears, that she had called him Christian. ‘I’m an utter fool,’ she told Cat, ‘a jealous, meddlesome fool. I deserve his contempt and now I’ve got it.’
Cat yawned cosily, made a small comforting sound and curled up round her kittens. ‘I shall miss you,’ Eliza told her as she put out the light, ‘but it’s nice to think of you with him—and he did say he’d take care of you, so he will.’ She lay awake for a long time, trying to imagine what his home was like; comfortable for certain, for he was a successful man in his profession. He dressed well and his clothes were superbly cut and she was sure that his shirts were of silk. Her thoughts sidetracked; how did he manage to present such a pristine appearance to the world with no laundry in sight; had he paid Mrs MacRae extravagant sums to press his trousers and iron his shirts, or perhaps he did them himself? The idea was so absurd that she giggled rather forlornly and at last went to sleep.
The remaining days passed all too quickly, and then it was the last day and the farewell tea-party for Mrs MacRae. Fred had excelled himself with the making of an iced cake, and Christian, true to his word, presented her with one of the largest, most extravagant boxes of chocolates Eliza had ever seen, and as well as that a bulky envelope the contents of which she guessed was money. Her own gift she had already given, and when she had seen Mrs MacRae’s plain face light up as she had unwrapped it, she was glad that she had chosen something so pink and pretty. ‘It’ll wash and dry like a rag,’ she told Mrs MacRae, ‘so you can wear it every day if you want to.’
Mrs MacRae’s ‘Aye,’ was ecstatic.
And Eliza herself had had an unexpected present too—from the patients; a small painting, done by a local artist, showing the Lodge and the surrounding countryside. ‘So that you will not forget us,’ Mijnheer Kok, voted spokesman, had said with such sincerity that the tears had pricked her eyelids.
But now all that was over and they were on their way; the Range Rover in front with the four doctors, herself following in the Fiat and Hub driving a minibus with the patients and the remainder of the staff. They were to spend the night in Edinburgh, some two hundred and fifty miles away, and luckily the weather had cleared so that this time, in early daylight and with someone ahead to guide her, Eliza enjoyed the journey.
She had decided on a policy of avoiding Christian, which was perhaps a little pointless, for he was quite obviously doing the same, but it was the only way of finding out if he had any interest in her at all. She stayed with the patients when they stopped on the road for meals, and that evening at the hotel she joined them at dinner too, leaving the occupants of the Rover to share a table and entertain themselves, something which they did rather successfully, she reflected, listening to the gusts of laughter. She told Cat about it as she got ready for bed in the pleasant room at the hotel, for Cat, after being fed and suitably dealt with by Hub, had been delegated to her for the night. She sat in her box, quite unworried by the excitements of the journey, the kittens curled close to her, and watched Eliza with her round eyes, making gentle little sounds by way of answer.
‘Do you suppose I’m barking up the wrong tree, Cat?’ Eliza demanded as she got into bed, but all Cat did was to purr.
The Dutch contingent parted from them in the morning, to fly to Holland under the rather absentminded guardianship of Doctor Berrevoets. Eliza, shaking them each by the hand and wishing them goodbye, hoped fervently that none of them would begin to wheeze, for she very much doubted if he knew what would be expected of him, although she had seen Christian in earnest conversation with him before they left. The remainder of the party pushed on to Nottingham, and Eliza, eating her dinner with the five English patients who were left, brooded on the fact that she and Professor van Duyl hadn’t spoken to each other for the entire day, beyond a chilly good morning and such social niceties as offering cups of tea and passing the salt. And the next day was the last on which she would see him, for half way between Northampton and Luton they would part company, she to travel on to London, the rest of them to go their various ways and the two professors to go across country to the small village near Halstead where Professor Wyllie lived. Presumably Christian would go back to his home from there; if she had been on better terms with him she might have asked, and she didn’t like to bother Professor Wyllie who was looking tired and ill, although he had refused to admit that he was either when she taxed him with it. Eliza wished him goodbye after breakfast and he made her a nice little speech before she went to find everyone else and wish them goodbye too. She would miss Hub; she lingered with him, talking about Cat rather wistfully, putting off the moment when she would have to bid goodbye to Christian. She had failed dismally and she had been quite wrong; he didn’t care a cent for her—worse, he was indifferent. She shook Hub’s hand, tickled Cat under her now plump chin, and turned to go.
‘The Professor is in the coffee room,’ Hub said quietly. ‘He came looking for you, miss, but you were with the men. He was afraid of missing you and asked me to mention it—indeed, he said I was to be sure and tell you.’
She thanked him in a voice which didn’t quite conceal her feelings and went back to the hotel. She hadn’t noticed the coffee room when they had arrived the night before, but it didn’t matter, as it turned out, for Christian was waiting for her. ‘In here, Sister Proudfoot,’ he invited, and held the door wid
e.
He shut it firmly behind her and said without preamble: ‘We have been avoiding each other.’
‘Yes. You wanted that, didn’t you?’
His dark eyes gleamed at that, but she didn’t see because for some reason he had put on his glasses. But his next remark surprised her.
‘No, I didn’t want it, Eliza.’ He sighed in an exasperated sort of way. ‘My dear good girl, you must know that you are a very attractive woman—I find you more than that; an amusing companion, kind and thoughtful, high-spirited, tender-hearted—absurdly so—fiercely independent and yet needing to be taken care of.’ He frowned fiercely at her. ‘In fact, you have disrupted my calm life. I am thankful that after today we shan’t meet again. You have caused enough havoc.’
She wondered, in a detached way, what he would say if she told him that she hadn’t really tried…now, if she had made up her mind the moment she had first met him and had had the whole four weeks… She said coldly: ‘You make yourself very plain, but I must point out that if you loved your fiancée you wouldn’t have even noticed me, and as for disrupting your life I’ve done no such thing—and you said it, not I. Anyway, you’ll forget me the moment I’m out of sight.’
There was a good deal she would have liked to have said, but suddenly the tears crowded into her throat, making it impossible. She walked to the door, but he got there first.
‘You’re wrong,’ he sounded goaded. ‘I’ll not forget you, Eliza,’ and kissed her with a ferocity which took her breath, opened the door and pushed her into the foyer. She heard the door close behind her, but she didn’t look round. The Fiat was outside, there was nothing to keep her any longer. Eliza got in, waved unseeingly at the little group standing by the bus, and drove away.