by Betty Neels
It was the woman who spoke—Connie someone or other. She had a strident voice in which she was doing her best to make conciliatory talk. ‘How marvellous our Claudia looks, nurse—you’re to be congratulated. We just had to see how she was getting on—we’re staying a couple of nights at the Norge. You’ll let her come out to dinner this evening, won’t you? We’ll take great care of her.’
It was obvious to Louisa that it wouldn’t matter what she said. Miss Savage would go if she had a mind to. She said briskly: ‘Of course I don’t mind, only don’t be too late back, please.’ She saw them exchange glances and knew exactly what they were thinking: that she was a bossy young woman who liked ordering people about. If she had said that on a hospital ward they would have accepted it without a murmur. ‘And don’t wait up,’ said Miss Savage. ‘Be an angel and run a bath for me, will you? I simply must change.’
Eva brought everyone coffee while they were waiting and presently Louisa excused herself on the plea of consulting with Eva about the next day’s meals, and from the kitchen she was called to help Miss Savage fasten her dress, a curiously quiet Miss Savage, hardly speaking and then in a hesitant fashion.
‘Do you feel all right?’ asked Louisa in a casual voice. ‘If you’d rather not go, I’m sure Eva and I can get a meal for you all here.’
Miss Savage was busy pinning a brooch in place. ‘Of course I’m all right—don’t fuss, for God’s sake.’ She caught up the mink coat. ‘I get little enough fun.’
The flat was gloriously peaceful when they had gone, and presently, when Eva had left for the day, Louisa went along to the kitchen and got her supper, then carried it through to the sitting room and ate it in front of the TV, not really watching it, but it was company. Not that she was lonely; she had plenty to occupy her thoughts, and at the back of her mind a nasty nagging worry that there was something wrong about Miss Savage. Looking back over the days, Louisa realised that her behaviour wasn’t consistent; as bright as a button for an hour or so and then listless; bursting into tears for no reason at all and at other times so irritable. She worried round the puzzle like a dog with a bone and came no nearer the answer.
It was almost ten o’clock when the phone rang and she hurried to answer it. Miss Savage in the throes of dyspepsia, or suffering a violent headache. She lifted the receiver and the very last voice she wanted to hear spoke.
‘Nurse Evans? I should like to speak to my sister.’
Louisa readjusted her thoughts. ‘Good evening, Mr Savage. I’m afraid Miss Savage isn’t here—she’s out with friends.’
His voice was sharp. ‘You know these friends, Nurse?’
She said thankfully: ‘Oh, yes—they’re from England,’ and then wished she hadn’t spoken. Miss Savage hadn’t wanted him to know about their trip over with her, probably she wouldn’t want him to know that they had come again, but it was too late now. The voice, no longer sharp but definitely unpleasant, went on: ‘When did they arrive?’
‘While I was out this afternoon.’ She could have cut through the heavy silence with her scissors.
‘You say you know these friends?’ It was like being cross-examined.
‘I met them in London at Miss Savage’s hotel.’
His voice had become silky. ‘Ah, yes, just so. Connie, Willy and Steve—I’m right?’
Louisa gave a great sigh of relief. ‘Oh, good, you know them, so that’s all right.’
‘I know them, Nurse Evans, and it is not all right. These friends are one of the reasons why I wanted Claudia to come to Norway—you must have seen how unsuitable they are for someone in her…’ he hesitated, ‘state of convalescence, and why did you not go with her?’ He was coldly condemning.
‘Because I wasn’t asked,’ snapped Louisa. ‘I’m not your sister’s keeper, you know.’
He said, ‘I beg your pardon,’ with cool insincerity. ‘You don’t know how long they’re staying in Bergen?’
‘They mentioned two nights at the Norge—that’s a hotel…’
‘I’m well aware of that, Nurse. You will endeavour to stay with her as much as possible until they leave. I’m unable to get away from here at the moment, so I must rely on you.’ His tone implied that he was expecting the impossible.
She said stiffly: ‘I’ll do what I can, Mr Savage,’ and was rewarded by a disbelieving grunt and the click of the receiver.
Louisa marvelled at his rudeness. ‘Almost as bad as Frank in quite a different way,’ she observed out loud, and sat down to wait for Miss Savage to come home.
It was almost midnight when she did and even then her friends seemed to think that they should come in for a last drink, but Louisa, standing at the door, wished them a firm goodnight and shut it equally firmly. Miss Savage had had a splendid evening, she told Louisa, the food had been delicious and she had drunk only one glass of white wine. ‘You see how good I am,’ she observed as Louisa helped her to bed. ‘I’m going to have lunch there tomorrow and drive out to Troldhaugen to see Grieg’s house. You won’t want to come, of course?’
‘I should like to come very much,’ said Louisa quickly, aware as she said it that it was the last thing Miss Savage wanted. ‘It’s kind of you to ask me.’
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Miss Savage’s face screwed up with temper.
There was, Louisa decided at the end of the next day, nothing worse than being an unwanted guest. The expressions on the faces of Miss Savage’s friends when they called for her in the morning were bad enough, but Miss Savage’s ill temper was even worse. Louisa, mindful of Mr Savage’s orders, resolutely ignored the cold shoulders, the snide remarks and the sidelong glances—indeed, being a sensible girl, she ate her lunch with pleasure: lobster soup, cod cooked in a delicious sauce with crisp little potatoes and a sea of vegetables, followed by ice cream heaped with honey, fudge and lashings of whipped cream were things to be enjoyed in any circumstances. And afterwards she sat in the back of the hired car, squashed into a window and totally ignored, until they reached Grieg’s cottage home on the shore. The house was shut now that it was winter, but it was quite beautiful by the fjord. Miss Savage, her arm in Connie’s, wandered off with the two men behind them, calling to Louisa over her shoulder: ‘There’s a grave somewhere, if you’re interested, Louisa, and a stave church in those woods—it’s only a few minutes’ walk, so I’m told,’ she added mockingly. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t go without you.’
So Louisa went off on her own, walking fast because even in the new quilted jacket it was cold. She found the composer’s grave, and his wife’s beside it, and then followed the path to the church. Its strange pointed roof reminded her of an Eastern temple without the trimmings and she would have liked to see the inside too, but there again the season was over; it would stay quiet and solitary until May when the tourists would come again. She was glad she had seen it in winter, though. If she had the chance, she would come again, preferably when the snow had fallen. And that wouldn’t be long now, judging by the thick grey sky, already darkening into an early evening.
Louisa was surprised when Miss Savage refused to spend the evening with her friends. She was, she declared, tired and intended to go to bed early—and indeed, when they had gone she asked, quite nicely too, if Louisa would bring her some tea, and settled on the sofa where she presently fell asleep, leaving Louisa to drink her tea sitting by the window, watching the first of the snow falling. And when she woke up an hour later, she was still pleasant. ‘I think I’ll go to bed before supper,’ she declared, and yawned prettily. ‘It’s been quite a day—but fun. They’re going back tomorrow. Louisa, I want you to go to that wine shop and get another bottle of sherry—I know we don’t get many visitors, but there’s none in the place now and probably the doctor will have a glass next time he comes.’ She got up and stretched her arms above her head. ‘I’ll have a bath now.’ She strolled to the door. ‘Was my brother angry when he phoned yesterday?’ Her voice was very casual.
Louisa considered. Mr Savage always
sounded angry, in her opinion. ‘Surprised,’ she essayed, ‘anxious that you wouldn’t get tired or spoil your good progress—no, I don’t think he was particularly angry. I’m sorry I mentioned your friends. He asked me where you were, you see, and I had to answer.’
Miss Savage darted a sidelong glance at her. ‘Of course,’ she smiled. ‘You don’t have to worry about it—you did tell him they were leaving tomorrow, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’ Louisa had got to her feet too. ‘I’ll get your bath going, shall I? Is there anything special you’d like Eva to cook for your supper?’
‘I’m not hungry—we had an enormous lunch, lots of coffee and an omelette.’
Butter wouldn’t have melted in Miss Savage’s mouth for the rest of that evening, and it was the same next morning, which she spent lying in bed reading. It was after an early lunch which she took in her bed that she urged Louisa to go and get the sherry. ‘It’ll be dark soon,’ she pointed out, ‘and it’s going to snow again—you’d better go while you can.’
So Louisa buttoned herself into her thick jacket, pulled her woolly cap well down over her ears and set out happily enough. It was nice to be out in the clear icy air after the centrally heated flat, and the snow, crisp and white, made the whole town sparkle under leaden skies. There would be more snow and Louisa looked forward to it. The shop was on the other side of the harbour and she walked briskly through the main streets, their shops already lighted, pausing here and there to take a look in the windows. Miss Savage had told her not to hurry back, had even urged her to go and have a cup of coffee on her way back, and there was time enough before tea. Louisa was glad that Miss Savage had elected to stay in bed after the excitement of her friends’ visit. They hadn’t stayed long enough to do any harm, but on the other hand they hadn’t been all that good for her—besides, Mr Savage didn’t approve of them. Probably he didn’t approve of anything much, only bridges.
The shop was only open for a short time each day. She bought the sherry and started back again, stopping on the way to buy an English newspaper and post some letters. It was still only mid-afternoon and already almost dark, but the streets were alive with people and there was plenty of traffic. She turned down past the Hotel Norge and crossed the little garden in the centre of the square and went into Riemers. It was full and cheerful. Louisa ordered a tray of tea instead of the coffee she usually had, and chose a large cream cake to go with it, eating it slowly while she scanned the headlines of the paper. It was quite dark by the time she went into the streets again and she hurried her steps for the short walk to the flat. Miss Savage’s light was on, she saw with relief as she opened the door; probably she was still having her afternoon nap. She went in quietly and peered round the half open door.
Miss Savage was fast asleep, breathing rather thickly, her face flushed. Louisa went close to the bed and bent down to look at her closely and was greeted by a heavy waft of some cloying perfume she didn’t like. Disconcertingly, Miss Savage opened her eyes.
‘Snooping?’ she asked sharply. ‘Did my dear stepbrother put you on to that?’
Louisa straightened up. ‘Certainly not! He suggested no such thing. You were sleeping so heavily and you looked flushed, I thought you might have a feverish cold.’
Miss Savage replaced the scowl on her face by a sugary smile. ‘You really do look after me well, Louisa. I’m just tired and I suppose I’ve lain in bed too long. I’ll get up.’
She was amiability itself for the rest of the evening, praising their meal although she ate almost none of it, and full of more plans for the days ahead, and afterwards as they sat, Louisa with her knitting and she leafing through a magazine, she said something suddenly. ‘I forgot something today—you’ll have to go to the bank tomorrow morning and get some money for me. You won’t need a cheque—they’ve got instructions to pay the miserable pittance Simon allows me.’ She nodded carelessly. ‘And isn’t it time you had some wages?’
‘Next week,’ said Louisa, frowning over a difficult bit of pattern.
Presently Miss Savage tossed her magazine down. ‘How fast you knit.’
‘It’s not difficult and very soothing. Would you like to try—or do some of that gorgeous embroidery everyone seems to do here?’
‘Lord no—I’d be bored in minutes.’ Miss Savage yawned. ‘I’m going to bed. You know, the thought of a whole winter here sends me round the bend. I could kill Simon!’ She floated away, saying over her shoulder: ‘Don’t come near me until ten o’clock tomorrow, that’s time enough for my coffee.’ She didn’t say good-night, but then she wasn’t one for the small courtesies of life.
She was bright-eyed and in a splendid mood when Louisa took her coffee in the morning. ‘I feel marvellous,’ she declared. ‘Go and put on your things and go to the bank, will you? I must pay Eva and there are a lot of food bills…’
It had been snowing again and it wasn’t really light yet, but Louisa found it exciting crunching through the snow in her new boots and despite the winter weather the town looked bright and bustling. The Bergen Bank was an imposing building even from the outside. She climbed the wide steps to its enormous doors and went in, to find it even more so on the inside. It was vast with a lofty ceiling, a great many bright lights, and heavy furnishings. She approached the friendliest-looking clerk at the counter and handed him Miss Savage’s note, and was rewarded by an instant smile.
‘You need to see Mr Helgesen,’ he told her, and pinged a bell beside him, and she was led away down a wide corridor to another lofty room, much smaller this time and furnished with a large desk with a youngish man sitting behind it. He got up as she was ushered in and shook hands, which gave her a chance to study him. A nice face, rugged and good-natured, with blue eyes and close cropped hair. He was stoutly built and a little above middle height, and she took to him at once, and even more so at his friendly voice.
‘Miss Evans? Simon Savage told me of you.’ He glanced at the note the porter had given him. ‘You need money for Miss Savage?’
‘Please, she wants to pay her household bills.’
There was a little pause before he said: ‘Of course. I’ll arrange for you to collect the money she requires. Now sit down for a minute and tell me what you think of Bergen.’
He was the easiest man to talk to. Louisa hadn’t realised how much she had missed being able to talk to someone—one couldn’t count Miss Savage, who never wanted to talk about anything but clothes and her own discontent… She had been talking for several minutes before she stopped herself with an apologetic: ‘I’m sorry, I’m wasting your time and Miss Savage will wonder where I’ve got to.’
They walked to the door together and shook hands, and she felt a small thrill of pleasure when he observed: ‘I’ve enjoyed meeting you, Miss Evans. I hope we shall meet again soon. If you need help of any sort please don’t hesitate to call upon me.’
She beamed back at him. ‘You’re very kind. I’ll remember that.’
The money safely in her purse, she went out into the cold again, not noticing it because she was wrapped in a warm glow of pleasure. To stay in Bergen for the entire winter was suddenly inviting.
She was crossing the street in front of Sundt’s store, the pavement crowded with shoppers, when she thought she glimpsed the young woman Connie ahead of her, but the traffic lights changed and by the time she was on the opposite side of the pavement there was no sign of her. It couldn’t possibly be her, anyway; she and the two men with her had gone back to England several days ago. Louisa, walking happily through the snow back to the flat, didn’t think any more about her.
CHAPTER FOUR
LOUISA REMEMBERED her mistaken view of Connie later that day. Miss Savage had been remarkably quiet, even drowsy all the afternoon, and over their cups of tea Louisa tried to rouse her interest with undemanding conversation. She was completely taken aback by Miss Savage’s reaction to her casual remark that she had imagined that she had seen her friend that morning. Miss Savage’s eyes had glittered with rage
and she had put her tea cup down so suddenly that most of the tea spilled into the saucer. ‘What utter rubbish!’ she exclaimed. ‘How could you have possibly seen Connie? They’re all back home—why can’t you mind your own business instead of imagining things which aren’t any of your business anyway? Just because you don’t like my friends…’
Louisa, soothing her companion as best she could, found her remarks quite uncalled-for and wondered why she had made them; perhaps she was homesick for London and its life and mentioning Connie had triggered it off. Presently Miss Savage had begun to talk, rather feverishly and about nothing in particular, and Louisa had followed her lead.
The next day or two were passed in a peace and quiet Louisa found surprising and unexpected. Miss Savage was amenable to any conversation made to her and even, when urged, made an effort to eat her meals. The only thing she steadfastly refused to do was to go out. She argued that the snow upset her, that it was far too cold, and that she had no reason to go out anyway. But she insisted that Louisa should go out each day, usually directly after she had taken in her patient’s breakfast, ‘Because,’ as Miss Savage observed, ‘it’s the one time of day when I don’t need anyone—I never get up before eleven o’clock and I like to lie and doze or read.’ So Louisa formed the habit of spending the mornings in the town, getting back to the flat round about noon when Miss Savage was usually up and on the point of exchanging her bed for the sofa in the sitting room.
Winter or no, there was a great deal to do, and Louisa happily explored the town in all directions, delighted to find another, not quite as fashionable shopping centre on the farther side of the harbour.
It was a pity that most of the museums were only open in the early afternoons during the winter, but the Bryggens Museum was open for a few hours each day; she went twice to examine the remains of some of the oldest buildings in Bergen. She went to the Historical Museum at Sydneshaugen too, which meant a bus ride to the other side of the town, but she was beginning to feel so at home now that she planned several longer excursions if the weather allowed and Miss Savage would agree to her having a day off. She had broached the subject once or twice and met with evasive answers, and since she had little to do except act as a companion and see that her patient took her pills, ate a sufficient amount and led a quiet life, she felt that she could hardly complain.