by Betty Neels
They were waiting for him, with Mrs Twigg peering from the kitchen, anxious not to miss a moment. He kissed Aunt Florence’s cheek, kissed Margo’s too, bent to pat Plato, complimented them on their punctuality and ushered them into the car.
Margo, he reflected, looked better. There was colour in her cheeks and her eyes shone—with the expectancy of a day’s outing, he supposed. Her hat, he decided, was unbecoming—bought to last, as a mere covering for the head with no pretensions to fashion. It would be interesting to see what the right clothes would do for her when they were married.
To make up for his thoughts, he gave her a warm smile as he started the car.
They didn’t talk much as they went. Margo sensed that he needed to get back as quickly as possible, and indeed he drove fast. The road was comparatively empty until they reached the outskirts of London, and even there the early morning rush-hour was over and there were no major hold-ups.
He set them down at Marble Arch. ‘Take a taxi to the hospital—be there by six o’clock and wait for me in the reception hall. Have a good day!’
He opened her door and got out to help Aunt Florence.
‘Have you enough money?’
‘Yes, thank you, Gijs. We’ll see you at six o’clock.’
They watched the Rolls slip back into the traffic. ‘What a thoughtful man he is,’ said Aunt Flo, and took Margo’s arm. ‘Let’s find a place for coffee and then get down to the shopping.’
It wasn’t too difficult to find a skirt and woollies, and Margo soon found the evening skirt she wanted. She found the blouse too, and a rather more elaborate top in a delicate apricot. They stopped for a sandwich and then began to hunt for the dress and jacket.
They found it at last in a boutique in Regent Street—just the shade of blue Margo had wished for—and, urged by the sales lady, she bought a hat to go with it. A small velvet affair which perched charmingly on her pale brown hair.
Aunt Flo, not to be outdone, bought her slippers for the evening—black satin with dainty heels. ‘You’ll both get a wedding present when you get back to London,’ she said gruffly. ‘And now I could do with a cup of tea.’
After their tea, mindful of the rush-hour, they hailed a taxi to take them to the hospital, where the head porter ushered them to seats against the wall, away from the constant flow of people going in and out.
They sat for some time, surrounded by their parcels and packages, until Margo, incurably inquisitive, got to her feet and wandered off with the whisper that she was only going to look down the various corridors which had aroused her curiosity.
The first one ended in a staircase she didn’t quite dare to go up, so she retraced her steps, saw that Aunt Florence was still sitting there alone, and tried the next. This was much more promising, with doors on either side and leading to another even wider corridor. She peered round a corner and looked straight at the professor, standing with two other men only yards from her. He looked quite different in his long white coat, with a pile of papers under one arm: remote and a stranger.
He was looking directly at her; his faint smile was barely perceptible and his slight shake of the head allowed her to release a held breath as she melted back round the corner and sped back to Aunt Flo.
‘And what did you find?’
‘Well, Gijs is at the end of that corridor, talking to two men. He saw me.’ Margo sounded a little doubtful.
‘Annoyed, was he?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m not sure.’
‘Well, here he comes, so you’ll soon know,’ said Aunt Flo briskly.
Beyond apologising for keeping them waiting, he had nothing more to say—only enquired about their day’s shopping and ushered them out into the forecourt and into the Rolls.
Presently, sitting beside him as he drove through the city, Margo asked, ‘Are you annoyed with me? I wasn’t snooping around looking for you; I just wanted to see where the corridor went.’
‘I’m disappointed—I’d hoped you were looking for me—and of course I’m not annoyed. Don’t be a silly goose!’
Reassuring, perhaps, but she wasn’t sure if he was joking. She rather thought that he was. She must take care not to encroach on his work and to leave him alone until, hopefully, they settled down together.
Mrs Twigg had not only dusted and polished, she had also cooked supper, and had it waiting for them when they arrived.
‘One of my steak and kidney pies,’ she told Margo, tucking her wages into a shabby purse, ‘and an apple crumble to follow. Had a good day’s shopping, have you, Miss Margo?’
‘Lovely, Mrs Twigg. I got all I needed to buy.’
She was conscious of Gijs standing at her elbow, and then Mrs Twigg said cheerfully, ‘Well, she’ll make a pretty little bride, I’m sure, sir.’
‘Indeed she will, Mrs Twigg. I’ll take you home if you’re ready.’
‘Lor’, sir, that’s not necessary. It’s but ten minutes’ walk...’
‘Two minutes in the car.’
He was longer than two minutes. Margo took off her outdoor things, laid the table and cast an eye into the oven while Aunt Florence sat by the sitting-room fire. With just one table-lamp on and the firelight the room didn’t look too bad.
Margo, poking her head round the door, said, ‘When Gijs gets back I’ll see if there’s any sherry left...’
He came in a few minutes later, a bottle under his arm.
‘Mrs Twigg’s pie smells delicious,’ he said, and strolled into the kitchen to look for a corkscrew to open the bottle.
Margo, poking the sprouts to see if they were cooked, turned to look. ‘Champagne...’
‘We have all had a hard day. Where are the glasses, Margo?’
Supper was a cheerful meal; there was plenty to talk about and it was getting late when Gijs got up to go. Margo, about to worry aloud about the brief night’s sleep ahead of him, bit the words back, told him mildly to drive carefully and thanked him for taking them to London. ‘It was a really lovely day.’ She smiled brightly, but he saw the sadness in her eyes.
‘I’m going to be busy for a few days. When do you leave here?’
‘In two days’ time. I sold the car to the garage, but Jim Potts, who owns it, will drive us and the animals and luggage.’
He nodded. ‘Splendid—otherwise I would have arranged a car...’
‘Thank you for thinking of it,’ she told him gravely, ‘but everyone in the village has been so kind. I’ve had so much help.’
He smiled at her and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Don’t be too sad, Margo; we will make a happy life together.’ He took her hand. ‘Ah—I had almost forgotten.’
He searched around in a pocket and took out a small plush case and opened it. There was a ring inside—a splendid sapphire surrounded by diamonds.
‘It is old and has been in the family for many years. I hope it fits—my mother had small hands very like yours.’
She held out her hand and he slipped it onto her finger.
‘Oh, it’s so beautiful,’ said Margo. ‘And it fits exactly. I hope your mother would have liked me to have it.’ She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you, Gijs; I’m very proud to wear it.’
He touched her cheek with a gentle finger. ‘I’ll phone,’ he told her, ‘and see you again as soon as possible. I have a backlog of work to deal with.’
‘I understand. You’ve already done too much for me. Please forget me until the wedding. I’m quite all right, really I am.’ She added matter-of-factly, ‘I don’t intend to interfere with your work; I know it’s important to you. Mother never stood in Father’s way when it came to his parish work, and I won’t stand in yours.’
He looked down at her earnest face and suddenly smiled. ‘I believe I have found a treasure,’ he told her, and the next minute he was gone.
MARGO, BUSY WITH her final packing and goodbyes and then transporting herself, her aunt and the animals and luggage to Sunningfield, none the less wondered from time to time if Gijs would phone. She had told him not to worry about her, but surely, she reflected, it would take only a few minutes to ring up. He couldn’t be working all day—and what about the evenings?
* * *
THE PROFESSOR WAS doing just that: working a long day, seeing his private patients in the evenings and catching up on the paperwork before he went to bed. He hadn’t forgotten Margo, but he had tidied her away to the back of his mind for the time being—although he had found time to arrange to rent a small house in a quiet street close to Wimpole Street, where he had his consulting rooms. It was furnished and had a tiny walled garden; it would serve its purpose until they had a house of their own.
Late one evening he phoned his home in Holland and, well satisfied with the result, took himself off to bed...
* * *
AS FOR MARGO, she saw to a bewildered Plato and Caesar, unpacked her few clothes and set to with a will to put Aunt Flo’s house to rights again. She also opened the various parcels she had been given from well-wishers in the village.
Sir William and Lady Frost had given her a charming painting of flowers, several people in the village had clubbed together and given her a cut-glass fruit bowl, and George and his mother had sent a pair of book-ends—bronze pigs, which somehow seemed suitable since George bred them.
Lord and Lady Trueman sent over a splendid porcelain vase, and Helen a charming small silver clock, and by the morning’s post there came a shower of gifts from friends and relatives.
Margo begged a large, stout box from the village shop and packed everything away and then sat down to write thank-you letters. It was a pity Gijs wasn’t there to see their gifts; she supposed that they would help to furnish wherever they were going to live.
The thought brought her up short; it was something she hadn’t really thought about. Would they live in London or Holland or both? Perhaps they would make their home in Holland and Gijs would travel to and fro, just as he did now? Where would they go to live when they came back after Christmas? Unless he planned to leave her there. The idea was a bit daunting...
It was two days after she had moved to her aunt’s when he phoned, quite late in the evening.
‘I shall be free tomorrow after midday—may I fetch you to spend the rest of the day with me in town? There are several things to see to... Is everything all right? You’ve settled in with Aunt Florence?’
‘I’m fine; we both are. What time will you come?’
‘Some time after twelve o’clock. We’ll talk then.’
She heard him speaking to someone, and then he said, ‘I have to go, Margo. Tomorrow.’
When she told her aunt, that lady said, ‘What will you wear?’
‘My winter coat and the jersey dress. I don’t suppose we’ll go anywhere very fashionable, do you?’
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING was clear and cold; Margo got into the jersey dress, found her good gloves and shoes and handbag, and did her hair with more care than usual. Even so her sensible hat didn’t look anything other than dowdy, but it was far too cold to go without anything on her head. She hoped that Gijs wouldn’t notice...
He did, of course, but it didn’t matter. He greeted her with a kiss, spent five minutes asking after Aunt Florence’s health, then popped Margo into the car and drove back to London.
‘Why do you want me to come with you?’ asked Margo, never one to mince her words.
‘We have to buy the wedding rings. Let us do that first.’
He took her to Garrard’s, where, in the quiet surroundings, she chose a plain gold ring for herself and then, at his smiling nod, one for him. She hoped that they didn’t cost too much, for no price was mentioned; presumably Gijs was satisfied, as he got out his chequebook. She wandered away to look at the magnificent jewels on display, and was contemplating a brooch—a true lover’s knot in diamonds—when he joined her.
He asked casually if she liked it. ‘Well, of course I do—it’s magnificent. But I wouldn’t want it...’
‘Why not?’
‘Me and diamonds don’t go together,’ said Margo ungrammatically. ‘They don’t, do they? Be honest.’
She felt unreasonably disappointed when he agreed with her.
She was a sensible girl; she had asked for an honest answer and she had got it, and in a way she was glad that he liked her enough not to pretend to something he didn’t feel. She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you for my ring. What do you want to do next?’
‘Coffee while I tell you.’
He turned down a side-street and ushered her into a small café. When the coffee came he told her about the house. ‘I hope you will like it,’ he finished. ‘It is the best that I can do at short notice. We’ll go there next, and after we’ve had lunch we will go and look at houses...’
‘Houses?’ echoed Margo. ‘But haven’t we got one? You just said...’
‘Well, we have to have a home of sorts until we get one of our own. The agent has several lined up for us to look at.’
‘You mean to buy a house?’
‘I come over to England several times a year; we shall need a home to come to.’ He smiled at her. ‘Am I rushing you along too fast? Shall we go? The meter will have almost run out.’
He drove with no sign of impatience through the heavy traffic, and then they were in comparative quiet.
‘Wimpole Street,’ said Margo, looking out of the window. ‘Don’t doctors have their rooms here?’
‘Yes, and Harley Street. If you look on the right you’ll see a green-painted door with a brass plate beside it. I’ve my rooms there. The house I have rented is down this side-street.’
Margo found it quite perfect. It had a glossy black-painted door, with tubs on either side, and inside there was a narrow hall with a sitting room on one side and a dining room on the other, both furnished comfortably. The kitchen was modern and small, there was a tiny cloakroom under the circular stairs, and a door leading to the garden and another small room, which she supposed Gijs would use as a study.
Two bedrooms faced the street, with a bathroom between them, and a third room overlooked the garden. There was a short passage with a door on one side of it, opening onto a quite large room furnished as a bed-sitting-room, with an alcove holding a shower and a large window.
‘The housekeeper’s room,’ said Gijs, consulting the leaflet in his hand.
‘Well, I suppose so—but we don’t need one, do we? I’m quite a good cook and it’s a very small house.’
‘We shall need someone in to do the cleaning. Would you be happy here for a short time while we find our own home?’
‘Oh, yes. It’s delightful and very quiet. Can we come straight here when we come back from Holland?’
‘Yes. I’ve the keys already.’ He led the way downstairs and out to the car. ‘When we have had lunch we will take a look at the houses I thought might suit us. I’ve arranged to meet the agent.’
He took her to the Ritz, and Margo prudently left her coat and the regrettable hat in the cloakroom. Her clothes were all wrong, but since Gijs didn’t seem to mind she decided that she wouldn’t either. She looked around her at the magnificent room as they sat down at a table overlooking the gardens.
‘It’s truly splendid, isn’t it?’ she observed. ‘Just being here without eating would be a treat...’
He laughed. ‘I know what you mean, but I for one am hungry.’
So was Margo. She ate Galia melon, Dover sole with Dauphin potatoes and braised chicory and, while Gijs pondered the cheeseboard, she chose orange crême soufflé.
Over coffee, she asked, ‘Do you have a lot of friends in England, Gijs?’
‘Yes. Most of them people I work with. There are several Dutch friends living over here too. You will meet them all, of course. Gijs van der Eekerk and his wife Beatrice have a flat near Green Park, but, just as I do, he goes back to Holland from time to time.’ He put down his coffee-cup. ‘Shall we go and see what the estate agent has lined up for us?’
He was waiting for them at the first house, a handsome Georgian residence, one of a row lining a quiet street close to Cavendish Square. ‘Opulent’ was the only way to describe it, reflected Margo, and it wasn’t even furnished. Asked if she liked it, she firmly said no. She said no to the second house too, a three-story Regency house with a semi-basement. The third house she fell in love with instantly. Just as Gijs had hoped she would.
It was at the end of a row of mews cottages, and it was as delightful inside as out. A good deal larger than she’d expected, too, with a long, low room on one side of the door, two smaller rooms on the other side of the hall, and a good-sized kitchen at the back, beside which was a pleasant room with its own shower room.
Upstairs—reached by a graceful little staircase—there were three bedrooms, another shower room and a large bathroom, and through a door at the back of the landing was a short staircase leading to a large attic.
The professor, leaning against a door, watching her, asked, ‘Do you like it, Margo?’
‘Yes, oh, yes, I do. It’s...’ She paused to think. ‘It’s like a home,’ she finished lamely. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Yes, I do.’ He smiled and crossed the room to stand in front of her. ‘Shall we buy it?’
‘Oh, could we? It won’t be too expensive? This is rather a splendid part of London, isn’t it?’
‘It’s so convenient for my rooms,’ he reminded her. ‘About ten minutes’ walk. Hyde Park and Green Park are both within easy walking distance; so are Bond Street and Regent Street. I think it will suit us both admirably.’