Winter of Change

by Betty Neels

  The Colonel died a couple of hours later, in his sleep, a satisfied little smile on his old face so that Mary Jane felt that to cry would be almost an insult—besides, had he not told her that she had guts? She did all the things she had to do with a white set face, drank the tea Mrs Body gave her, then had a bath and dressed to join Mr van der Blocq at the breakfast table, where she ate nothing at all but talked brightly about the weather. Afterwards, thinking about it, she had to admit that he had been a veritable tower of strength, organising a tearful Mrs Body and a still more tearful Lily, arranging everything without fuss and a minimum of discussion, telephoning the newspapers, old friends, the rector…

  She came downstairs from making the beds just as he came out of the study and Mrs Body was coming from the kitchen with the coffee tray. He poured her a cup, told her to drink it in a no-nonsense voice, and when she had, marched her off for a walk, Major at their heels. It was a fine morning but cold, and Mary Jane, in her sweater and slacks and an old jacket snatched from the back porch, was aware that she looked plainer than even she thought possible—not that she cared. She walked unwillingly beside her companion, not speaking, but presently the soft air and the quiet peace of the countryside soothed her; she even began to feel grateful to him for arranging her day and making it as easy as he could for her. She felt impelled to tell him this, to be told in a brisk impersonal way that as her guardian it was his moral obligation to do so.

  He went on: ‘We need to talk; there is a good deal to be arranged. You will have to leave Pope’s—you realised that already, I imagine. I think it may be best if I wrote to your Matron or whatever she is called nowadays, and explain your circumstances. Your grandfather’s solicitor will come here to see you—and me, but there should be no difficulties there, as everything was left in good order. I think it may be best if you return to Holland with me on the day after the funeral; there’s no point in glooming around the house on your own, and I can assure you that my uncle needs a nurse as soon as possible—his condition is rapidly worsening and extremely difficult.’ He paused to throw a stone for Major. ‘He was a good and clever man, and I am fond of him.’

  Mary Jane stood still and looked at him. ‘You’ve thought of everything,’ she stated, and missed the gleam in his eyes. ‘I only hope I’ll be able to manage him and that he’ll like me, because I promised Grandfather…’

  Her voice petered out and although she gulped and sniffed she was quite unable to stop bursting into tears. She was hardly aware of Mr van der Blocq whisking her into his arms, only of the nice solid feel of his shoulder and his silent sympathy. Presently she raised a ruined face to his. ‘So sorry,’ she said politely. ‘I don’t cry as a general rule—I daresay I’m tired.’

  ‘I daresay you are. We’ll walk back now, and after lunch, which you will eat, you shall lie on the sofa in the study and have a nap while I finish off a few odd jobs.’

  He let her go and strolled down to the water’s edge while she wiped her eyes and blew her nose and re-tied her hair, and when they started back, he took her arm, talking, deliberately, of the Colonel.

  Under his eye she ate her lunch, and still under it, tucked herself up in front of the study fire and fell instantly asleep. She awoke to the clatter of the tea tray as Mrs Body set it on the table beside the sofa and a moment later Doctor Morris came in.

  The two men began at once to talk, and gradually, as she poured the tea and passed the cake, Mary Jane joined in. Before the doctor got up to go she realised with surprise that she had laughed several times. The surprise must have shown on her face, for Mr van der Blocq said with uncanny insight: ‘That’s better—your grandfather liked you to laugh, didn’t he? Now, if you feel up to it, tell me how you stand at Pope’s. A month’s notice is normal, I suppose—have you any holidays due? Any commitments in London?’

  ‘I’ve a week’s holiday before Christmas, that’s all, and I’m supposed to give a month’s notice. There’s nothing to keep me in London, but all my clothes and things are at Pope’s.’

  ‘We will pick them up as we go. What is the name of your matron?’

  ‘Miss Shepherd—she’s called the Principal Nursing Officer now.’

  ‘Presumably in the name of progress, but what a pity. I shall telephone her now.’ Which he did, with a masterly mixture of authority and charm. Mary Jane listened with interest to his exact explanations, which he delivered unembellished by sentiment and without any effort to enlist sympathy. It didn’t surprise her in the least that within five minutes he had secured her resignation as from that moment.

  When he had replaced the receiver, she remarked admiringly, ‘My goodness, however did you manage it? I thought I would have to go back.’

  ‘Manage what?’ he asked coolly. ‘I made a reasonable request and received a reasonable reply to it—I fail to see anything extraordinary in that.’

  He returned to his writing, leaving her feeling snubbed, so that her manner towards him, which had begun to warm a little, cooled. It made her feel cold too, as though he had shut a door that had been ajar and left her outside. She went to the kitchen presently on some excuse or other, and sat talking to Mrs Body, who was glad of the company anyway.

  ‘You’ve not had time to make any plans, Miss Mary Jane?’ she hazarded.

  ‘No, Mrs Body. You know that Grandfather left me this house, don’t you? You will go on living here, won’t you? I don’t think I could bear it if you and Lily went away.’

  The housekeeper gave her a warm smile. ‘Bless you, my dear, of course we’ll stay—it would break my heart to go after all these years, and Lily wouldn’t go, I’m sure. But didn’t I hear Doctor van der Blocq say that you would be going back to Holland with him?’

  Mary Jane explained. ‘It won’t be for long, I imagine—if you wouldn’t mind being here—do you suppose Lily would come and live in so that you’ve got company? I’m not sure about the money yet, but I’m sure there’ll be enough to pay her. Shall I ask her?’

  ‘A good idea, Miss Mary Jane. Supposing I mention it to her first, once everything’s seen to? I must say the doctor gets things done—everything’s going as smooth as silk and he thinks of everything. That reminds me, he told me to move your things back to your old room.

  Mary Jane looked surprised. ‘Oh, did he? How thoughtful of him,’ and then because she was young and healthy even though she was sad: ‘What’s for dinner—I’m hungry.’

  Mrs Body beamed. ‘A nice bit of beef. For a foreign gentleman the doctor isn’t finicky about his food, is he? and I always say there’s nothing to beat a nice roast. There’s baked apples and cream for afters.’

  ‘I’ll lay the table,’ Mary Jane volunteered, and kept herself busy with that until Mr van der Blocq came out of the study, when she offered him a drink, prudently declining one herself before going upstairs to put on the grey dress once more. The sight of her face, puffy with tears and tense with her stored-up feelings, did little to reassure her, and when she joined Mr van der Blocq in the sitting room, the brief careless glance he accorded her deflated what little ego she had left. Sitting at table, watching him carving the beef with a nicety which augured well for his skill at his profession, she found herself wishing that he didn’t regard her with such indifference—not, she told herself sensibly, that his opinion of her mattered one jot. He wasn’t at all the sort of man she… He interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘It seems to me a good idea if you were to call me Fabian. I do not like being addressed as Mr van der Blocq—inaccurately, as it happens. Even Mrs Body manages to address me, erroneously, as Doctor dear.’ He smiled faintly as he looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

  She studied his face. ‘Well, if you want me to,’ her voice was unenthusiastic, ‘only I don’t know you very well, and you’re…’

  ‘A great deal older than you? Indeed I am.’

  It annoyed her that he didn’t tell her how much older, but she went on, ‘I was going to say that I find it a little difficult, because Grandfather told
me that you were an important surgeon and I wouldn’t dream of calling a consultant at Pope’s by his first name.’

  The preposterous idea made her smile, but he remained unamused, only saying in a bored fashion. ‘Well, you are no longer a nurse at Pope’s—you are Miss Pettigrew with a pleasant little property of your own and sufficient income with which to live in comfort.’

  She served him a baked apple and passed the cream. ‘What’s a sufficient income?’ she wanted to know.

  He waved a careless, well kept hand, before telling her.

  She had been on the point of sampling her own apple, but now she laid down her spoon and said sharply, ‘That’s nonsense—that’s a fortune!’

  ‘Not in these days, it will be barely enough. There’s your capital, of course, but I shall be in charge of that.’ His tone implied that he was discussing something not worthy of his full attention, and this nettled her.

  ‘You talk as though it were chicken feed!’

  ‘That was not my intention. I’m sure you are a competent young woman and well able to enjoy life on such a sum. The solicitor will inform you as to the exact money.’

  ‘Then why do I have to have you for a guardian?’

  He put down his fork and said patiently, ‘You heard your grandfather—I shall attend to any business to do with investments and so forth and have complete control of your capital. I shall of course see that your income is paid into your bank until you assume full control over your affairs when you are thirty. It will also be necessary for me to give my consent to your marriage should you wish to marry.’

  She was bereft of words. ‘Your consent—if I should choose’ She almost choked. ‘It’s not true!’

  ‘I am not in the habit of lying. It is perfectly true, set down in black and white by your grandfather, and I intend to carry out his wishes to the letter.’

  ‘You mean that if anyone wants to marry me he’ll have to ask you?’

  He nodded his handsome head.

  ‘But that’s absurd! I never heard such nonsense…how could you possibly know—have any idea…?’

  His voice had been cool, now it was downright cold. ‘My dear good girl, let me assure you that I find my duties just as irksome as you find them unnecessary.’

  This shook her. ‘Oh, will you? I suppose they’ll take up some of your time. I’ll try not to bother you, then—I daresay there’ll be no need for us to see much of each other.’

  His lips twitched. ‘Probably not, although I’m afraid that while you are at my uncle’s house you will see me from time to time—he’s too old to manage his own affairs, and my cousin, who lives with him, isn’t allowed to do more than run the house.’

  They were in the sitting room drinking their coffee when she ventured: ‘Will you tell me a little about your uncle? I don’t know where he lives or anything about him, and since I am to stay there…’

  Mr van der Blocq frowned. ‘Why should I object?’ he wanted to know testily. ‘But I must be brief; I’m expecting one or two telephone calls presently. He lives in Friesland, a small village called Midwoude. It is in fact on the border between Friesland and Groningen. The country is charming and there is a lake close by. The city of Groningen is only a few miles away; Leeuwarden is less than an hour by car. You may find it a little lonely, but I think not, for you are happy here, aren’t you? My uncle, I have already told you, is difficult, but my cousin Emma will be only too glad to make a friend of you.’

  ‘And you—you live somewhere else?’

  ‘I live and work in Groningen.’ He spoke pleasantly and with the quite obvious intention of saying nothing more. She had to be content with that, and shortly after that, when he went to answer his telephone call, Mary Jane went into the kitchen, helped Mrs Body around the place, laid the table for breakfast and went up to bed.

  Now if I were a gorgeous creature with golden hair and long eyelashes, she mused as she wandered up the staircase, we might be spending the evening together—probably he had some flaxen-haired beauty waiting for him in Groningen. For lack of anything better to do and to keep her thoughts in a cheerful channel, she concocted a tale about Mr van der Blocq in which the blonde played a leading part, and he for once smiled frequently and never once addressed the creature as ‘my dear good girl’.

  The next few days passed quickly; there was a good deal to attend to and Major had to be taken for his walk, and time had to be spent with the Colonel’s friends who called in unexpected numbers. The lawyer came too and spent long hours in the study with her guardian, although he had very little to say to her.

  It wasn’t until after the funeral, when the last of the neighbours and friends had gone, that old Mr North asked her to join him in the study and bring Mrs Body and Lily with her. Mary Jane half listened while he read the legacies which had been left to them both, it wasn’t until they had gone and she was sitting by the fire with Fabian at the other end of the room that Mr North gave her the details of her own inheritance. The money seemed a vast sum to her; she had had no idea that her grandfather had had so much, even the income she was to receive seemed a lot of money. Mr North rambled on rather, talking about stocks and shares and securities and ended by saying:

  ‘But you won’t need to worry your head about this, Mary Jane, Mr van der Blocq will see to everything for you. I understand that you will be travelling to Holland tomorrow. That will make a nice change and you will return here ready to take your place in local society. I take it that Mrs Body will remain?’

  She told him that yes, she would, and moreover Lily had agreed to live in as well, so that the problem of having someone to look after the house and Major was solved.

  ‘You have no idea how long you will be away?’ asked Mr North.

  ‘None,’ she glanced at Fabian, who took no notice at all, ‘but I’m sure that Mrs Body will look after everything beautifully.’

  The old gentleman nodded. ‘And you? You will be sorry to leave your work at the hospital, I expect.’

  She remembered Sister Thompson. ‘Yes, though I was thinking of changing to another hospital.’ She smiled at him. ‘Now I shan’t need to.’

  He went shortly afterwards and she spent the rest of the day packing what clothes she had with her and making final arrangements with Mrs Body before taking Major for a walk by the lake. It was a clear evening with the moon shining. Mary Jane shivered a little despite her coat, not so much with cold as the knowledge that she would miss the peace and quiet even though she had it to come back to.

  She went indoors presently and into the study to wish Fabian good night. He stood by her grandfather’s desk while she made a few remarks about their journey and then said a little shyly, ‘You’ve been very kind and—and efficient. I don’t know what we should have done without your help. I’m very grateful.’

  He rustled the papers in his hand and thanked her stiffly, and she went to her room, wondering if he would ever unbend, or was he going to remain coldly polite and a little scornful of her for the rest of their relationship? Eight years, she told herself as she got into bed, seemed a long time. She would be thirty and quite old, and Fabian would be…she started to guess and fell asleep, still guessing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  MARY JANE HAD never travelled in a Rolls-Royce—she found it quite an experience. Fabian was a good driver and although he spoke seldom he was quite relaxed, she sat silently beside him, thinking about the last two weeks—such a lot had happened and there had been so much to plan and arrange; she hoped she had forgotten nothing—not that it would matter very much, for her companion would not have overlooked the smallest detail. He had told her very little about the journey, beyond asking her to be ready to start at eight o’clock in the morning.

  They were on the motorway now, doing a steady seventy, and would be in London by early afternoon, giving her ample time in which to pack her things at the hospital before they left for the midnight ferry.

  ‘Anything you haven’t time to see to you can leave,’ he had told
her, ‘and arrange to send on the things you don’t want—Mrs Body can sort them out later. You can buy all you need when we get to Holland.’

  ‘Oh no, I can’t, I’ve only a few pounds.’

  ‘I will advance you any reasonable sum—do you need any money now?’

  ‘No, thank you, but what about my fare?’

  ‘Mr North and I will take care of such details.’

  They had settled into silence after that. Mary Jane stared through the window as the Rolls crept up behind each car in turn and passed it. Presently she closed her eyes against the boredom of the road, the better to think. But her thoughts were muddled and hazy; she hadn’t slept very well the night before, and fought a desire to doze off, induced by the extreme comfort of the car, and had just succeeded in reducing her mind to tolerable clarity when her efforts were shattered by her companion’s laconic, ‘We’ll stop for coffee.’

  She glanced at her watch; they had been on the road for just two hours and Stafford wasn’t far away. ‘That would be nice,’ she agreed pleasantly, and was a little surprised when he left the motorway, taking the car unhurriedly down side roads which led at last to a small village.

  ‘Stableford,’ read Mary Jane from the signpost. ‘Why do we come here?’

  ‘To get away from the motorway for half an hour. There’s a place called The Cocks—ah, there it is.’ He pulled up as he spoke.

  The coffee was excellent and hot, and Mary Jane ate a bun because breakfast seemed a long time ago, indeed, a meal in another life.

  ‘What time shall we get to London?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘A couple of hours, I suppose. We will have a late lunch before I take you to Pope’s. I’ll call for you there at seven o’clock.’

  ‘The boat doesn’t go until midnight, does it?’

  ‘We shall dine on the way.’

  ‘Oh.’ She felt somehow deflated; if he had said something nice about dining together, or even asked her—obviously he was performing a courteous duty with due regard to her comfort and absolutely no pleasure on his part. She followed him meekly out to the car and for the remainder of the journey only spoke when she was spoken to and that not very often. Only when they were driving through London’s northern suburbs did he remark: ‘We’ll go to Carrier’s, it’s an easy run to Pope’s from there.’