by Betty Neels
But not yours, Paul, she thought, and added out loud, ‘Och, who’d want to look at a great lass like me?’
She went over to the fire to show herself to Mevrouw Doelsma, who pronounced herself more than satisfied with Maggy’s appearance.
‘I’ll get my coat,’ said Maggy, but before she could take more than a couple of steps, Paul stopped her.
‘It will be quite chilly later on—it’s a long drive.’ He took no notice of her look of surprise, but went on, ‘I wondered if you would like to borrow Cousin Marthe’s coat—it’s only gathering dust in a closet upstairs.’ He lifted an armful of superb cashmere coat from the back of one of the chairs, and stood holding it out.
Maggy put out a hand and touched it. ‘It’s beautiful!’ she breathed. ‘It looks like cashmere.’
‘It is cashmere,’ he answered.
‘But I can’t wear it; what would your cousin say?’
The doctor looked at her, his head a little on one side.
‘Nothing at all,’ he said, with perfect truth. He strode forward and wrapped it around Maggy. ‘It fits you very well, too,’ he said, avoiding his mother’s eye.
Maggy walked slowly over to the large gilt-framed mirror on one wall, and stood in front of it, stroking the coat gently. ‘I’ve never had a cashmere coat,’ she murmured. She looked anxiously at the doctor over one shoulder. ‘Is it not impertinent to wear something so costly? I mean—’ she sought for words—‘I would never be able to buy a coat like this one in my whole life.’
Paul was getting into his own coat and replied easily,
‘Well, if it were an old coat, you’d not think twice about it, would you? But we haven’t an old tweed coat to fit you, so you’ll have to do with this one.’ He didn’t give Maggy time to think too deeply about this, but he had spoken in such a matter-of-fact voice that her face cleared and she walked over to Mevrouw Doelsma with her doubt dispelled, and said goodnight before going out to the car with the doctor.
It was barely half-past six. Paul allowed the Rolls to idle along the narrow road to Heerenveen, but once on the main road to the south he allowed the needle to creep up to the hundred mark and steady itself there. He settled himself so that he could watch her face, and said,
‘Do you like travelling fast, Maggy?’
‘Aye, I like it fine, Doctor.’ She gave him a fleeting smile. ‘Though I’d not dare myself,’ she added truthfully. ‘I’d not feel safe.’
‘I trust you feel safe with me?’
She laughed. ‘You know I do, Doctor.’
He sighed loudly. ‘Maggy, must we have this formality? If my memory serves me aright, you’ve called me Paul on previous occasions.’
She said, with rather a heightened colour, ‘Well, I was a wee bit fashed…’
‘Is it only when you’re fashed that you forget to guard your tongue, Maggy?’
She made a fierce little sound; the weak ghostling of some old Gaelic word. ‘I shall not say, Doc…’
‘Paul,’ he said.
‘Paul,’ she finished.
He chuckled and gentled the Rolls back to a ladylike pace as they went through Amersfoort, so that he could point out some of the more interesting aspects of the pleasant town. ‘We’re almost there,’ he said.
Maggy gave him a questioning look. ‘It’s a long way to come for dinner,’ she said. ‘Wasn’t there anything nearer Oudehof?’
The doctor’s lips twitched as he thought of the numbers of young ladies who had been only too glad to travel for an hour in his company.
‘Is my company so irksome?’ he asked. ‘I thought you would like the ride; I’m sorry if you have found it boring.’
He kept his attention on the road as they passed an articulated lorry, travelling hell-for-leather from Germany to the coast; he was trying not to laugh.
Maggy gave a gasp, and put a hand on his knee, ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she uttered. ‘You must know I didn’t, I wanted to go out with you.’ She took a sharp breath—she hadn’t meant to say quite that—and made haste to modify it. ‘I mean,’ she said carefully, ‘you’ve gone to so much trouble to arrange the evening, even finding a coat for me—and there must be any number of hotels near Leeuwarden where we could have gone, and you need not have spent the entire evening…’ She stopped. He had steered the car into the slow traffic lane, and now he took a hand off the wheel and covered hers with it. He wasn’t laughing any more.
‘Maggy, stop! Why do you suppose I asked you out this evening?’
‘Well, Doc… Paul,’ she explained, ‘I think it’s a…a kind of treat because my job is finished and I’ll be leaving…’
‘A sweet after the medicine?’ he asked quietly.
‘Aye, that’s it.’
He pulled into the side of the motorway and stopped the car, then turned deliberately in his seat so that he could see her.
‘I asked you out because I wanted to spend an evening with you, Maggy—I enjoy your company. I am not giving you a treat—I am the one who is having that. You could have easily refused to come.’
She looked back at him steadily. ‘I never thought to do that,’ she replied honestly.
He switched on the engine again. ‘Having cleared up that knotty little problem, let’s dine. I hope you’re hungry, for I’m famished. Years ago, I took a girl out to dinner at this same place. She was very small and dainty and had an appetite to match. She refused almost all solid food, and I spent a dreadful evening, dancing on an empty stomach.’ They laughed together and fell into a comfortable discussion about food, until he drew up outside the imposing doors of the Hotel Kasteel Hooge Vuursche. Maggy found its splendid magnificence rather overpowering, but she suffered the cashmere coat to be taken from her, and followed the waiter to a table on the edge of the dance floor. Paul following her, nodded to several acquaintances, and watched the interested glances cast at Maggy. She didn’t seem to notice them, but sat down with charming dignity, as though she were in the habit of dining there every evening. She studied the menu card, and Paul picked up his own and waited, not sure if her schoolgirl French could cope with it. Presently he said, ‘Is there anything particular you would like, or will you leave it to me?’
She gave him a grateful glance. ‘Please will you choose? Though I would very much like to try the caneton à la Rouennaise’—she pronounced it beautifully.
The doctor wondered where she had got her knowledge of the famous dish, but was far too well-mannered to ask; but she seemed to think that an explanation was due to him.
‘I’ve never eaten it—I’ve never been to a restaurant grand enough to serve it—but the laird—my father is his factor—used to walk with me sometimes and talk about food, and it was one of the dishes he told me I must try if ever I had the opportunity.’
‘It’s an excellent choice, Maggy. Shall we have consommé first and then Sole Normande, and finish with a bombe bouché aux fruits?’
‘It sounds lovely.’ She looked around her while he conferred with the waiter. This done, he sat back in his chair and said,
‘And now I’ll answer the questions I can see trembling on your lips. You want to know what the place is and how old it is and who lived here, don’t you?’
Maggy looked surprised. ‘Yes, I do, but how did you know?’
‘You have an expressive face; besides, I can read your thoughts.’ He spoke lightly and plunged into the hotel’s history until he was interrupted by the wine waiter. Maggy allowed her gaze to wander once more—it really was delightful, and very smart. She had never been to anything quite like it before, and, she reminded herself soberly, was very unlikely to do so again. She was glad she had on a pretty dress. Would they dance? she wondered. The band seemed good. She turned back to Paul, to find him watching her.
‘We’ll have a drink, then perhaps you would like to dance?’
The drinks were brought, and she wasn’t quite sure what they were.
The doctor raised his glass. ‘Champagne cocktail,’ he explained, ‘t
o put wings on our feet.’
Maggy didn’t need wings. She was a good dancer and as light as a feather despite her size. They were well matched, and circled the floor, not speaking; it didn’t seem necessary.
They went back to their table and started a leisurely dinner, and when the waiter removed the remains of the Sole Normande, Paul stretched out a hand. ‘Let’s dance again, shall we?’
Maggy got up at once, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks pink with excitement and the excellent champagne he had chosen. The band was playing a Viennese waltz and they drifted around, scarcely talking. His arm tightened around her and she raised her face to his, smiling, and said, ‘I could dance for hours—it’s wonderful!’
‘You’re a beautiful dancer, Maggy.’ He was staring down at her.
‘And you’re a beautiful woman too.’ He spoke quietly, without smiling.
Her eyes widened. ‘Thank you,’ she stammered a little. ‘I’ve never been called beautiful before, it makes a wonderful evening even more wonderful.’
‘Don’t you believe me?’
She smiled and shook her head. ‘No, not really, but it’s nice all the same.’
The duckling was everything it should have been, so that it seemed sacrilege to follow it with anything else, but the bombe bouché aux fruits was perfection of its kind. When she had eaten the last morsel, Maggy said, ‘I’ll never forget this dinner, or any moment of this evening.’
‘Nor I,’ he replied. ‘I have seldom enjoyed myself so much. What shall we do, talk or dance?’
‘Both,’ she answered promptly. ‘I should like to know more about the hospital at Leiden.’
He obliged her with a great many interesting details, and she listened absorbed, until he said suddenly,
‘You know, it’s a great waste of time to talk about work when we could be dancing.’ They danced for an hour or more, and if they talked Maggy had no idea what the conversation was about. They were standing waiting for the band to play an encore, when she asked,
‘I wonder what the time is?’
Paul looked at his watch. ‘Almost twelve.’
‘It can’t be! We must go home; you have to be in Utrecht by ten tomorrow—you said so.’
The band started up again. He scooped her up neatly, and they were half way round the room before he answered her.
‘Plenty of time if I leave Oudehof by eight o’clock.’
‘But we’re not there yet.’
‘What a fearful bully you are, Maggy! We’ll go after this dance, provided you promise not to say another word.’
They finished their dance in a companionable silence, and went outside to the car. The night air was cool, and there was plenty of wind, but the sky was clear. Maggy was glad of the soft warmth of the sable coat, despite the warmth of the car. She sat quietly beside Paul, and he didn’t speak until they were clear of Baarn.
‘Tired?’ he asked.
‘No, not a bit. It’s just so restful sitting here while you drive; and my head’s buzzing with the wonderful evening I’ve had.’
He said he was delighted to hear it, and led the conversation round to her family and home, but while she answered his apparently guileless questions readily enough, she gave him no clue as to where her home actually was. She had told him that it was in the Highlands; but that was a vast, sparsely populated area. He tried again now, but she changed the subject gently but firmly enough for him to be unable to continue with his questions without being guilty of bad manners. He followed her lead, and Maggy sighed with relief. She had made up her mind that when she left Oudehof it would be with no trace of herself left behind.
There was a light in the hall when they returned, Paul got out of the car and opened the big door for her, then said, ‘There’ll be hot coffee in the kitchen. I’ll put the car away while you fill the mugs.’
Maggy waited for the doctor, sitting on the kitchen table, swinging her long shapely legs. She was in a dreamlike state of happiness which she was well aware was only temporary; but the future seemed a long way off at that moment. Paul came in and closed the door quietly behind him, and Maggy slid off the table and poured the coffee, then went and sat sedately in the comfortable old Windsor chair near the stove. The doctor, mug in hand, leaned against the table, watching her. Presently he spoke. ‘Shall we go riding before breakfast, Maggy?’
Maggy looked at the old wall clock; it was already three—she didn’t feel in the least tired. She agreed happily.
‘About seven? Just a quick gallop before you go? I’d like that fine.’
Their eyes met and held and she felt the pink creeping into her cheeks, and hoped he wouldn’t see it by the single light she had switched on; she found it impossible to look away.
‘Why do you stare so?’ she asked at length.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I was remembering the night you came down here armed with the poker…’
‘Stien was here.’ Maggy spoke before she had thought, and then went on, deliberately giving herself the hurt. ‘She is the loveliest girl I have ever seen.’
A look of faint surprise crossed the doctor’s face as he answered coolly. ‘Yes, she is, isn’t she? She will make a most decorative wife.’
Maggy stared down at her mug, the pretty colour fading from her cheeks. She had read a number of novels in which the heroine fell in love with an unresponsive hero, and she now knew exactly how the poor girl felt—only, unlike the girl in the novel, she saw little chance of falling into his arms on the last page.
‘You’re not listening,’ his voice interrupted her unhappy thoughts, and she looked up and said in a bright little voice, unlike hers.
‘I’m so sorry.’ The change was so sudden that his eyebrows rose in surprise, but before he could comment upon it she stood up.
‘I think I’ll go to bed. Thank you again for a lovely evening.’ Even in her own ears this sounded rather bald, and she cast around for something else to say. ‘I expect you go there quite often.’
The doctor was looking at her with narrowed eyes, and answered slowly.
‘I think I’ll must have taken every girl I ever knew there at some time or other.’
Maggy said, ‘Oh!’ and scrutinised her nails with care. ‘It’s a wonderful way to spend an evening.’ Her voice was still dreadfully bright.
He agreed, lounging on the table, his eyes on her face.
‘Does it surprise you to know that I cannot remember a single girl I took there?’
‘Not even Stien?’ she asked.
Paul looked puzzled. ‘Stien?’ He stood up. ‘Yes, of course—she being the last of a long line of girls.’ He started walking towards Maggy. ‘It’s strange how, when you meet the woman of your dreams, no one and nothing else matters.’
Maggy listened to his deep voice; he was telling her, very tactfully, that he was going to marry Stien. She would have to go quickly, before she made a fool of herself. She swept the mugs into the sink with the briskness of an early morning east wind, and turned a determinedly cheerful face to him.
‘Now I really am going to bed—and I don’t think I’ll ride in the morning after all. It’s so very late, isn’t it?’ She smiled woodenly and said goodnight and thank you like a well-brought-up child, then went to the door.
Paul was there before her, standing in front of it, searching her face. He looked more arrogant than ever and rather angry as well.
‘Ah!’ he said softly. ‘Maggy is annoyed, and I wonder why, I know of no reason, but I can provide you with one…’
He bent his head, and his mouth came down on hers. His kiss was hard, and without tenderness. She saw the half mocking smile on his lips and ran from the room without a word, scarlet with mortification, trying not to cry.
She didn’t sleep. At six o’clock she heard his steps on the drive outside, and a little later, the sound of Cobber’s hooves. She got up and dressed, waited until she heard the Rolls stealing away, and then went downstairs to her breakfast. She wondered if there would be
a note…then decided that Paul wasn’t the sort of man to leave notes. All the same she looked carefully in all the most likely places, before going sadly upstairs again to re-do her face and put on a bright smile, before going along to Mevrouw Doelsma’s room to regale her with a detailed account of her evening out.
CHAPTER NINE
MATRON’S LETTER arrived the next morning, like an answer to Maggy’s rather muddled prayers.
It was kind, to the point and brief. Matron wrote to say that if Sister MacFergus could return to duty as soon as possible it would be most convenient, as a number of the nursing staff were off sick… She was hers sincerely, Agatha Humble.
Maggy, that strictly reared member of the Scottish Kirk, was also a true daughter of the Highlands; she could see that Matron’s letter was an omen. Without allowing herself more than a few moments’ thought of Paul, she sat down at the charming writing desk in her room and answered the letter, assuring Matron that she would return at the earliest time convenient to her patient. Then she went in search of Mevrouw Doelsma and showed her Matron’s missive.
Mevrouw Doelsma read it through, dabbed her eyes, and said tearfully,
‘Of course you must go, Maggy. I know it’s selfish of me to keep you, though I don’t know how I’ll get on without you; you are so kind and sweet. And what will Paul say?’ she went on.
Maggy was half turned away from her, looking out of the windows, across the pleasant gardens. ‘I think the doctor knows that I will be returning to England soon.’
‘Yes, of course, dear; but surely not as soon as this? When do you suppose you should go?’ She looked at her watch. ‘Not today, surely? Oh, dear! He will be vexed—he went to Munich to lecture for two days.’
Maggy tried to feel pleased at this news. She need not see him again.
‘Then the doctor mustn’t be bothered,’ she said firmly. ‘We…we more or less said goodbye last night. Perhaps I could get a flight tomorrow?’
Mevrouw Doelsma looked at her, began to say something, thought better of it and said, ‘Yes, Maggy, of course. Pratt shall ring through to Schiphol and see if they can get you on to a flight. He’ll take you down in the car.’ She raised a sudden authoritative hand as Maggy started to protest. ‘No, I insist. If Paul were here, he would have driven you himself. Now ring for Pratt, please, dear.’