Off With The Old Love

by Betty Neels

  ‘I doubt if we’ll learn anything new,’ said the woman who had stopped her. ‘And I don’t care for this hotel; it’s far too crowded and noisy.’

  It seemed a good idea not to answer that. Instead Rachel said, ‘I’m going for a walk, it’s such a lovely day. I expect I’ll see you this evening.’

  ‘Oh, yes we should keep together—there are a great many foreigners.’

  Another remark best left unanswered. ‘I won’t keep you from your breakfast,’ said Rachel and made her escape.

  She enjoyed her morning. It was a pleasant five minutes’ walk to the main shopping street and she spent an hour looking in windows looking for small presents to take home. Everything was expensive and she hadn’t brought a great deal of money with her. Chocolates were the obvious choice, and something special for her mother. She strolled back presently, enjoying the sunshine and the strangeness of it all, stopping to study the price list in the window of an elegant tea-room. The cakes looked mouthwatering but after some mental arithmetic she decided that it was wildly expensive. Perhaps her last day she would go there as a farewell treat.

  The foyer of the hotel was full of people arriving and departing; there were piles of luggage around and porters darting about, and the hubbub was considerable. Rachel went up to her room, tidied herself and went down again to look for lunch.

  It was in the same room where they had gathered the evening before, another buffet, and, with an appetite sharpened by her walk, Rachel filled a plate with salad and cold meat and looked for a table. The Canadian nurse she had met already was sitting at a small corner table and she beckoned Rachel over. ‘Sadie will be here in a minute.’ Sadie, Rachel guessed, would be the American. ‘Have you been out?’

  They exchanged views of the city, the hotel and the cost of everything and presently when Sadie joined them, began, inevitably, to discuss their jobs. But not too seriously; they laughed a good deal and her three colleagues from home, sitting close by, sent disapproving looks towards their table.

  They all had their day’s programme by now and began to drift into one of the conference rooms where the lectures were to be held. It was like being back at training school, thought Rachel, sitting with her two companions well to the back. It occurred to her that she had never heard the Professor give a lecture—this one was to be on organ transplants and was going to last an hour with questions afterwards. No power on earth, she told herself, would make her ask a question.

  He was introduced by a Swiss Professor of Surgery and he came on to the small stage looking completely at ease and elegant. The Canadian girl dug her elbow into Rachel and hissed, ‘I say, he’s just not true—look at him. Every girl’s dream, I’d say. Am I glad I came.’ And Sadie on the other side whispered, ‘What wouldn’t I give for a chance to get to know him.’ She glanced at her programme. ‘Dutch, Professor of Surgery in Leiden and London.’ She glanced at Rachel, sitting poker-faced between them. ‘Have you seen him before, Rachel?’

  ‘Well, yes, he does work in London.’

  It was a good thing that there was no more chance to ask questions. He began his lecture. It was a learned lecture, well thought out and delivered with assurance, but Rachel doubted if many of the women there were concentrating on it; the Professor, she had to admit, was quite something. She studied him carefully, and rather to her surprise realised that she had never really looked at him before.

  There was an avalanche of questions when he had finished. Rachel, making herself small between her two companions, kept quiet. Any questions she might have could wait until she got back to London.

  He went at last after a protracted period of questions and answers and they all went back downstairs again for tea. She was unfortunate enough to bump into the women from home as she stood, teacup in hand, cake balanced on a plate, looking for a seat. They had enjoyed the lecture, they told her; indeed they had all asked a great number of questions afterwards and found the Professor most helpful. ‘He would be a pleasure to work for,’ observed one of them. ‘If possible it would be interesting to meet any theatre staff who have had that privilege.’

  Rachel agreed demurely.

  It wasn’t worth going out again before dinner; Rachel went to her room, lay in the bath for a long time reading an English newspaper and got into a white crêpe blouse and a rose-patterned skirt before going down to her dinner. This time they were seated at long tables for soup, rather small portions of fish with boiled potatoes and no vegetables, and vanilla ice-cream with coffee after. Rachel’s shapely person rose from the table, still hungry.

  The evening lecture was interesting and ended just as the Professor had indicated, sharp at nine o’clock. There was a general exodus to the coffee shop and the bar, but Rachel went to the foyer. She saw the Professor at once, sitting in a deep easy chair; he looked thoroughly at ease, as though he were on holiday, and for no reason at all she was glad that she was wearing something that she knew suited her.

  He came to meet her, smiling pleasantly. ‘You look nice,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been sitting here watching a succession of stunning outfits going to and fro, and I mean stunning in the correct sense of the word. You’re very restful on the eye, Rachel. Was it a good lecture?’

  ‘Yes, I enjoyed it. I enjoyed yours, too.’ She was puzzled to feel shy with him, a quite new feeling. Perhaps it was because they were away from their familiar background.

  ‘Thank you. I was pleased at the number of questions at the end of it.’ She saw that he had no idea that the questions were asked by an audience who, almost to a girl, would have liked the chance to get to know him. He must know that he was the answer to a girl’s prayer, but she doubted if he ever thought about it. There were a lot of people in the foyer by now; some of them had been in the audience recently and they were frankly staring.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ asked the Professor. ‘I do hope so, I’m famished—I went to a drinks party, for my sins, and there were bits and pieces on little plates—not at all satisfying.’

  She laughed and he took her arm as they went out of the hotel. ‘There’s a charming little restaurant not too far away…’ He nodded to the doorman to get him a taxi. ‘What have you got on the agenda tomorrow?’

  ‘Instruments in the morning, open heart surgery in the afternoon…’

  ‘Evening free?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. I’ll get hold of a car and we’ll see something of the country.’ They got into the taxi and Rachel said, ‘That would be lovely, but you must have other things you’d like to do.’

  ‘Not on my own. We are two foreigners here; we should join forces.’

  He told the driver where to go and sat back beside her.

  It was still quite light and there were a lot of people about. Somewhere between the hotel and Marktplatz they took a turning off Freiestrasse and stopped in front of a small restaurant and went inside. The Professor had booked a table, tucked away in a windowed corner of the crowded room, and they sat, talking little, sipping their drinks and deciding what to eat. The restaurant was French, and Rachel opted for lobster Cardinal and a salad while the professor chose sole Colbert and salade Niçoise.

  The food was delicious. Rachel popped the last morsel of lobster into her mouth and said, ‘What a heavenly meal. However shall I be able to face fish fingers and chips when I get back?’

  ‘Don’t think about it. Let us make hay while the sun shines and dine here each evening.’

  She blushed. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean that—that is, I wasn’t fishing for another meal, I really wasn’t.’

  ‘My dear Rachel, surely we know each other well enough not to consider anything so absurd.’

  Which, when she thought about it, made good sense. ‘Well, it would be nice to discuss the day’s work. Have we been a good audience? I haven’t met very many of the other girls yet, but those I have are very keen.’

  ‘Dedicated theatre sisters? It makes a nice change from theatre, though.’

  She answered him seriou
sly. ‘Well, yes, and some of them have come a long way.’ She passed him his coffee cup. ‘You’re lecturing each day, aren’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘And don’t forget the visits to the hospitals. I won’t be there, but I know them both; I’m sure you’ll find them interesting.’

  He went on to talk about Basle after that, and presently, when she said that she should be going back to the hotel, he made no demur but paid the bill and took her back by taxi, wishing her a friendly goodnight in the foyer and waiting there until she had got into a lift.

  It had been a delightful evening, she thought sleepily, getting ready for bed. She went to sleep at once without a single thought of Melville.

  She was wakened by the phone ringing at half past seven.

  ‘Good morning, Rachel.’ The Professor’s voice was quiet in her ear. ‘I’ll be in the foyer this evening—the lecture should be over by half-past seven.’ And when she said, ‘Yes, all right,’ he went on, ‘Tomorrow you’re free in the morning. I shall be round after breakfast so don’t go out.’ She said, ‘Very well,’ because it seemed the natural thing to say, and before he rang off he said, ‘I’ve got a car for this evening. Bring a jacket or something with you, it might get chilly.’

  She gave her full attention to the lectures during the day, taking notes and discussing them during the breaks. There were quite a few instruments for her to follow up, although she doubted if the hospital committee would stand the expense of getting them. And the open heart surgery had been interesting although she hadn’t learnt anything new from it; the Professor had been using the techniques talked about for some time.

  His own lecture was at half-past six. Peritonitis and how to deal with it. She sat quietly, listening to his calm voice, and found the hour too short. There was a buzz of talk when he had gone and she sat for a moment listening to her companions on either side of her. ‘I wonder where he goes?’ Sadie wanted to know. ‘Do you suppose he’s married? Perhaps he’s got his wife here—if she is, I wouldn’t let him out of my sight if I were her.’ She got up and Rachel with her. ‘Ah, well, let’s see what’s for dinner. I shan’t bother to change this evening.’

  Rachel escaped without appearing to do so. The Professor had said that he would wait for her in the foyer and she simply had to change into another dress. She had brought a stone-coloured jersey dress with a matching jacket with her; she got into it, did her face, tidied her hair and shot down to the foyer.

  There weren’t many people there; it was getting on for eight o’clock and dinner was in full swing. They went out to the car he had hired and he drove away without delay. They went out of the city through the tree-lined streets and Rachel asked where they were going.

  ‘We’ll cross the river and drive to Freiburg—it’s on the edge of the Black Forest and the scenery is rather special. There’s a good restaurant in a village just beyond; we’ll have a meal there. I think you’ll like it.’

  ‘I’m sure I shall. It’s such a heavenly evening, too—it’s nice to be out of doors. Have you had a busy day, Professor?’

  ‘My name’s Radmer…’

  ‘Oh, is it? It’s Dutch, of course.’

  ‘Certainly not—it’s a Friese name. My home is in Friesland; I was born there. We are as touchy about being called Dutchmen as a Scotsman would be if one called him an Englishman, and yet we are united with the rest of Holland, just as Scotland is to England.’

  ‘You don’t mind living in England?’

  ‘No, I’ve made it my second home for a number of years and I can go to Friesland easily enough.’

  ‘But when you marry—you said you were going to—will you stay in England?’

  ‘Yes, for the foreseeable future.’

  They had left the last houses behind and he went on, ‘I’m going to take an inner road. It will take a little longer but it is much quieter.’

  A hint nicely put for her to mind her own business. She said brightly, ‘That sounds nice,’ and fell to thinking about Melville. If he had been beside her instead of the Professor he would have been telling her outrageous stories about the famous people he rubbed shoulders with—he could be an amusing companion. The Professor wasn’t amusing, although he had a sense of humour. He was restful, she decided and returned to her thoughts of Melville. He might not like so much peace and quiet—the road ran through wooded country with here and there a glimpse of a castle crowning a hill, and infrequent villages tucked cosily around steepled churches. She said, speaking her thoughts out loud without meaning to, ‘I don’t think Melville would like this,’ and she felt awful the minute she had said it. ‘I don’t know why I said that…’

  ‘Because he is on your mind—at the back of your head, whatever else you are thinking or saying.’ The Professor sounded matter-of-fact and not in the least put out. ‘I think you must miss him: the excitement of being taken to dinner at fashionable restaurants, meeting show people, finding flowers waiting for you when you go on duty, living on the heights and then plummeting down to the depths. Have you told him where you are?’

  She didn’t pause to think how strange it was that she could confide so easily in her companion. ‘No, I took your advice and made myself unavailable. It worked before.’

  ‘And will again.’ His voice was kind. ‘We are almost at Freiburg. We shall not stop there but go on to the restaurant; it’s just this side of Emmendingen.’

  He knew the area fairly well, he told her, but didn’t enlarge on that, only pointed out the minster as they drove through Freiburg and shortly afterwards stopped at a restaurant tucked in among the trees well away from the road.

  The restaurant was a charming place and well patronised. Rachel, feeling adventurous, chose sweet wine soup, river trout from the Black Forest with a lettuce and bean salad, and finished with savarin with strawberries and whipped cream.

  They ate leisurely, enjoying the warm, light evening and talking comfortably about nothing in particular, drinking the rather dry wine the Professor had ordered and then when they had finished, lingering over their coffee.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to live here, but it would be a heavenly place to stay for a while.’

  The Professor passed his cup. ‘A honeymoon, perhaps? You said that Melville might not like so much peace and quiet, but Basle isn’t far away, you know, and Strasbourg is almost as close. There’s plenty of night life in both places if one is so inclined.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about—about honeymoons,’ said Rachel, who had thought of very little else for weeks—ever since she had met Melville. And then, at his look, she blushed. ‘Well, yes, I have, but there’s nothing definite… He’s so busy, you see, Professor.’

  ‘Radmer. Of course.’ His voice was dry.

  He drove her back along the road bordering the Rhine and crossed the river by the Dreirosenbrucke, through the outskirts of Basle, past the main hospital and Spelentor because he said that it was something she could see, if only briefly.

  The foyer was full when they reached the hotel; he bade her goodnight in the entrance, reminded her that they were to spend the morning together, and drove away. On her way to the lifts she encountered Sadie.

  ‘You didn’t come to dinner, honey.’

  ‘No, I went out…’

  ‘Fast worker, aren’t you?’ Sadie grinned. ‘Anyone I know?’

  Before she could reply she exclaimed, ‘Hey, you’re from London; so is that dream man who gave the lecture this evening. It’s him!’

  ‘Well, yes. You see, I’m his theatre sister, but it’s not what you’re thinking. I’m hoping to marry someone—he’s something in television, and Professor van Teule is going to get married shortly. It’s just pure chance that we happened to meet.’

  Sadie considered this. ‘Do you mean to say that you work for him and he never even hinted that he’d be here? He must have known that you’d be one of the crowd.’

  ‘I dare say he forgot. We get on well, but only on a professional footing.’ Which wasn’t quite true. ‘Don’t sp
read it around, will you, Sadie?’

  ‘Not me, honey. I’m no bigmouth. What’s your man like?’

  Rachel spent the next ten minutes describing Melville in loving detail.

  The Professor called for her directly after breakfast the next morning. ‘Strasbourg would be the obvious place but I don’t think we can do it in the time we’ve got and in this car. We’ll go to Kolmar. It will be packed with tourists but we’ll take the road by the river and then cross over and come back on the other side.’

  He started the car. ‘It’s the visit to the hospital this afternoon, isn’t it? And my lecture this evening. Only an hour—there’s a meeting I have to attend at eight o’clock. I should have liked to have taken you out for dinner but I can’t get out of this particular gathering. Will you dine with me tomorrow and on Saturday?’

  They were running beside the river and she stared at the splendid scenery. ‘Thank you, I’d like to. We go home on Sunday—there’s a midday flight.’

  ‘Yes, I’m flying to Schiphol, having a couple of days at my home.’

  To see the girl you are going to marry? wondered Rachel. Perhaps she is staying with his family. She wondered if she would phone Melville when she got back; after all, he must have wondered where she had got to. If he was free they might go out for the evening; she wasn’t on duty until one o’clock the next day.

  ‘A penny for them?’ murmured the Professor.

  It didn’t enter her head to dissemble. ‘I was wondering if I’d ring Melville when I get back.’

  He shook his head. ‘You’ll never learn, Rachel.’ His voice was gently mocking. ‘But I should think that there will be a letter waiting for you, or at least a bouquet and a phone message.’

  They parked the car in Kolmar, attractively mediaeval with vineyards all around it, had coffee and wandered round the market, looked inside the church and then crossed the river and drove back along the highway until the Professor turned off to go inland. ‘There’s time for a sandwich,’ he told her. ‘There’s a place where we can get something to eat in Baden-weiler.’