by Betty Neels
The Baron telephoned regularly, sometimes asking to speak to her, but more often or not sending some casual message about Bertie and Pooch. In another week they would be going to Holland and she could hardly wait to see her old friends again, although she felt regret that she had seen so little of Norway. She had loved every minute of it and she had been luckier than she had deserved. The thought of a new job and freedom went to her head like strong drink, so that she bought a knitted top and skirt in a pleasing shade of old rose, just because she found it pretty. She tried it on again that evening when she was getting ready for bed and pranced around her room, her mousey hair done in an elaborate whirl and her best shoes on her feet. Life was fun, she told herself.
It was still fun in the morning; it was glorious weather and she put on her uniform dress and cap with something like regret; a cotton dress would have been so much more suitable, but the Baroness had old-fashioned ideas about nurses; she liked Becky in uniform unless she was free. She perched her cap tidily, made sure that her face was nicely made up and went along the hall as was her custom to get the post for the Baroness and fetch the coffee tray which would be in readiness on the sitting room table. It was still early, barely eight o’clock, and the house was quiet. She whistled softly as she went and, still whistling, opened the sitting-room door.
The last person she had expected to see was standing in the big bay window, hands in the pockets of his beautifully cut trousers, looking out into the street. He turned as she paused in the doorway and gave her a long, considering look. ‘Good morning, Becky,’ said the Baron.
‘Well!’ said Becky, and was annoyed to find herself blushing. ‘Good morning—I didn’t expect to see you…’
‘Why should you?’ he asked coolly. ‘I didn’t tell you I was coming.’ He smiled across the room, not at her but at someone else. He wasn’t alone; there was a tall, graceful girl sitting on the arm of a chair in a corner of the large room. She was wearing slacks and a loosely belted tunic and looked exactly as Becky longed to look and never did. She was pretty too, with strong features and bright blue eyes, and when she turned them on Becky it was very plain to see that she was the Baron’s sister. She smiled now in a friendly way while the Baron contented himself with a brief glance before turning his head to look out of the window again.
‘You’re surprised to see us,’ he commented idly. ‘Tialda, this is Becky, who is looking after Mama.’ He nodded vaguely in his sister’s direction. ‘Becky, this is my sister Tialda.’
Becky said how do you do and pondered her reason for feeling so relieved when she had realised that it was the Baron’s sister and not some girl-friend; she had no reason to feel relief. She frowned a little and the Baron said briskly: ‘We have decided to take a short holiday here.’
‘Oh? Well, that’s nice.’ Becky felt the inadequacy of her words and beamed at them warmly to make up for it.
The girl’s smile deepened. ‘You said she was plain,’ she observed to her brother. ‘A half starved mouse.’
He gave Becky another look. ‘And so she was— it must be the food and the fresh air.’ He gave Becky a bland smile. ‘You filled out very nicely, Becky.’
He was impossible! Becky hated him, although she didn’t hate him in the same way as she hated Basil. There was a difference, like hating a thunderstorm and something nasty under an upturned stone…
‘If you have finished discussing me,’ she said haughtily, ‘I’ll tell the Baroness that you’re here.’ At the door she paused to say: ‘Such manners!’
Tialda crossed the room and tucked an arm under her brother’s. ‘And that puts you in your place, my boy.’ She looked up at him. ‘We were abominably rude, you know—I shall apologise; I think she’s rather a sweetie.’
He smiled down at her. ‘Yes? She would be disappointed if I did. She is grateful—rather touchingly so—because I rescued her, but that doesn’t prevent her having a rather poor opinion of me. I fancy that I’m overbearing as well as rude and too much given to getting my own way.’
‘What a nice change from girls melting all over you, though you’re quite nice really.’
Tialda turned round as the door opened and Becky came in. ‘The Baroness would like you to go in immediately,’ she announced in a cold little voice. ‘It’s the door on the right of the stairs. Would you like your coffee with her or later?’
Tialda had crossed the room to stand before her. ‘I’m sorry I was rude,’ she said gently, ‘it was unforgivable of me; you’ve been so kind to Mama, I hope you’ll not mind too much.’ She held out an exquisitely manicured hand. ‘I should like to be friends.’
Becky took the hand in her own small capable one. She said rather gruffly: ‘I don’t mind a bit, really I don’t, especially as it was true. And it would be nice to be friends.’ She looked up and caught the Baron’s eye fixed on her and saw the mocking light in it.
He threw up a protesting hand and said silkily: ‘Don’t look at me like that, Becky—I have no manners, you know.’
But when she saw him next he wasn’t silky at all, he was impersonally polite, just like a consultant doing a round of a ward; it was ‘If you please, Nurse,’ or ‘Lift the leg, will you, Nurse?’ or ‘Be so good as to hand me that tendon hammer, Nurse.’ Just as though he’d never seen her before in his life! And she for her part behaved exactly as she sensed he expected her to, a quiet, well-trained nurse, only speaking when spoken to, anticipating his wants a split second before he voiced them, waiting ready with the crutches so that his mother could demonstrate her progress, re-bandaging the injured knee with neat speediness… Doctor Iversen was there too, and the two men conferred together, occasionally turning to her for information while the Baroness sat on a chair between them, looking impatient. At length she asked with some asperity:
‘Well, will you not tell me how I progress? All this solemn talk…is it so necessary? I am a little bored.’ She glanced at Becky. ‘I expect Becky is too, but of course she has been trained not to show it.’
Her son laughed at her. ‘Allow us a little self-importance, Mama,’ he begged, ‘and yes, we’re delighted with your progress. You have done very well indeed, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t use your leg normally provided you’re careful—you’ll have to wear a supporting bandage for a little longer, of course, and in a couple of weeks the plaster on the other leg can come off. We’ll see to that when we get home.’ He looked at Becky. ‘I hope you will stay with my mother for a week or so in Holland— just until she can walk with a stick. It will give you time to get another job, too.’
Becky said yes, thank you, relieved that she would have a little time in which to get used to the idea of working in a foreign land and to find herself somewhere to live. She did a few rapid sums in her head and decided that she wouldn’t buy anything else but save every penny. Rent in advance, she thought worriedly, and food and probably bus fares…‘Becky,’ said the Baron softly, and she realised that he had said her name several times. ‘I was only saying,’ he said patiently, ‘that the exercises might be lengthened considerably…’
She was kept busy for the rest of the morning. The Baroness was excited and impatient and wanted to skip her usual routine, which Becky wouldn’t allow, but she recovered her good humour presently when everyone gathered for drinks before lunch and over that meal she dominated the table with her amusing conversation, and afterwards she declared that she would have her rest in the drawing room so that she could gossip with Tialda, and Becky could have an hour off and go to Sundt and match up the embroidery silks. ‘And don’t be long, my dear,’ she added. ‘You said you would massage my shoulders.’
Becky whisked away, changed into one of the cotton dresses and walked to the shops. She would have liked more time; it was exactly the kind of weather in which to take a long walk—she could have gone down to the harbour and watched the coastline express come in, a daily event of which she never tired; it fired her imagination that the miniature liner went to and fro together with its sist
er ships every day of the year, whatever the weather, calling at each small village all the way to Kirkenes on the very border of Russia. One day, she promised herself, she would make the journey, but now she did her errand and hurried back, to thread the Baroness’s needle because the little lady declared that her eyesight was worsening and then go to her room to fetch a shawl she wanted Tialda to see. It was after their afternoon tea, while Becky was encouraging the Baroness to put her weight on the almost sound leg, that her son joined them, and presently, when the exercises were finished and the Baroness was sitting once more and Becky had gone to find Tialda so that her mother could continue their pleasant chat, he asked: ‘Has Becky had any days off, Mama? You have been here two weeks as well as several days on board ship.’
The Baroness looked unhappy. ‘Oh, dear—I did tell you that I would see that she had a day, or was it two—each week, but somehow I forgot, and she is such a sweet little thing and such good company…she has had several hours each day, though, most afternoons, you know.’
‘And have you had to rouse her at night, my dear?’
‘Once or twice—if I have wanted a drink or could not sleep.’ She looked a little shamefaced. ‘Have I been selfish, Tiele?’
He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘No, my dear, but I think we might arrange a few days for her, don’t you agree? I was talking to Iversen, he knows of a nurse who will come in each day and look after you while Becky has her little holiday.’
‘Of course, dear. But where will she go?’
The Baron got to his feet and strolled to the window. ‘Tialda thinks it might be a good idea if we drove over to Molde and took Becky with us. For three—perhaps four days, and when we come back she can get you ready to come back with us. Do you think you could manage the car journey if we spend three nights on the way? We’ll make you comfortable in the back of the car and you’ll have Becky.’
‘I shall enjoy it,’ declared his parent. ‘Is it very far?’
‘Seven hundred miles, perhaps a little more. We’ll stop whenever you’re tired and we can cross from Kristiansand to Hirtshals and drive down from there.’
‘I wonder what Becky will say?’ asked his mother.
‘I’ll let her know this evening,’ he said carelessly. ‘I thought we might go tomorrow—it’s only a hundred and seventy miles or so. We can leave after lunch—I don’t suppose she’ll need much time to put a few things in a bag.’
The Baroness looked at him thoughtfully. ‘No,’ she said at length, ‘the child has pitifully few things to put into a bag, she has bought almost no clothes since we have been here.’
‘Very sensible of her. She’s presumably saving for her future comfort.’
‘Don’t you like her?’
He laughed gently. ‘It depends what you mean by that, Mama. I like Becky, she’s a good nurse, and she’s gone through a nasty patch, but she’s hardly a beauty, is she? and her conversation hardly sparkles. Shall we say that she’s not quite my type—I’m not attracted to thin mice.’
It was a pity that Becky heard him as she came back into the room. The self-confidence she had so painfully built up since she had been with the Baroness oozed out of her sensible shoes and her face went rigid in an effort to compose it to a suitably unaware expression. She was aware that she was being looked at quite searchingly, but her voice was nicely normal as she informed her patient that Tialda would join them in a few minutes. She didn’t look at the Baron at all, but murmured some vague nothing at the Baroness and made for the door. The Baron reached it at the same time, held it open for her and followed her into the hall, shutting the door behind him. ‘A few words with you?’ he suggested, and Becky, boiling with rage and humiliation behind her quiet face, said ‘certainly’ in a voice just as quiet. It seemed likely that he was going to give her the sack or at least express displeasure at something or other. After all, she had just heard him…her face didn’t alter, but her eyes spoke volumes.
‘No, you’re not getting the sack,’ observed the Baron disconcertingly. ‘On the contrary, I am delighted with my mother’s progress and the care you have given her—she never ceases to sing your praises. You have had no days off, I believe? I’m sorry about that, my mother forgot about them, but you shall have them at once. Tialda and I are going to drive over to Molde for a few days tomorrow, and we should like you to come with us. We shall leave after lunch.’
Becky stared at his tie, because that was on a level with her eyes. Nothing, she told herself fiercely, would make her do any such thing—the arrogance of the man, throwing her a holiday with the careless concern of one throwing a bone to a hungry dog! She went bright pink and said: ‘No, thank you,’ in a tight voice.
‘Oh—why not?’ He spoke easily as though he didn’t much mind.
‘You wouldn’t enjoy my company.’
‘Probably not,’ he sounded amused, ‘but Tialda wants you to come, you’ll be company for each other and leave me in peace.’
Becky eyed him thoughtfully. He might have saved her from Basil and her stepmother, but she couldn’t for the life of her think why. She perceived then that she was a convenience to him; his sister had looked considerably younger than he, it was more than likely that he would be glad to share her society with someone else. She couldn’t very well refuse—besides, he had been the means of her starting a new life as well as saving Bertie and Pooch from a horrid fate. ‘When do you want me to be ready?’ she asked.
‘Sensible girl! After lunch tomorrow. Don’t bother with clothes, something to travel in and a dress for the evening.’
Which was about all she had anyhow.
They left immediately after lunch the following day with brother and sister sitting together and Becky, looking small and a little lost, in the back of the Rolls. She had had a busy morning, explaining just how the Baroness liked things done, to the Norwegian nurse who was to take her place while she was away—a very pretty girl with excellent English and dark curly hair. The Baron had talked to her for quite a time and as they drove away from the house he remarked: ‘Margarethe seems a charming girl, Mama will enjoy her company. Come to that, I’d quite enjoy her company myself.’
Tialda laughed and Becky, who had had a glass of claret with her lunch as well as sherry before it and was feeling quite reckless in consequence, observed tartly: ‘Quite your type in fact, Baron Raukema.’
His eye caught and held hers in the mirror above his seat. ‘I wondered if you overheard me yesterday. It seems that you did.’ She stared at him like a mesmerised rabbit and only a sudden spate of traffic saved her, as he had to keep his eyes on the road.
But that was all he said about it. Presently, free of Trondheim and on the road south, he began to tell her about the country they were passing through and with Tialda joining in, the conversation seemed nothing but a rather lighthearted resumé of their holiday, to which Becky added only a guarded remark from time to time. But presently she began to relax. Tialda was full of fun, telling her of their previous holidays in Molde: ‘Winter sports, you know, Becky—we have been several times; last year we came with my husband, Pieter.’ She sighed loudly. ‘He is away in America for a few weeks and I miss him.’ The sigh turned to a laugh. ‘I have to put up with Tiele instead and he is only a brother, you understand.’
They were driving quite fast now through magnificent country, the Rolls making light of the steep road and the hairpin bends. ‘Where shall we stop for tea?’ asked the Baron. ‘I told the hotel we’d get there some time before dinner; we’ve time enough, although the road climbs a bit presently.’
Becky, looking a little nervously out of the window, considered that the road was doing that already. She didn’t fancy heights, but there was so much to see and with Tialda keeping up a continuous chatter, she had no time to worry about that. The Baron’s blue eyes encountered hers once more in the mirror. ‘Enjoying it?’ he wanted to know.
‘Oh, yes, it’s—it’s—I’ve never seen anything like it.’ The words were commonplace enough
, but her eyes shone with excitement and there was a faint colour in her cheeks. She had washed her hair the night before and now, tied back neatly, it hung in a pale brown cloud round her shoulders, making her eyes look darker than they really were and although her cotton dress was ordinary enough, it was a pretty green check which showed up her creamy skin. She looked a very different girl from the waif he had encountered and befriended, thought Tiele; he must remember to see that she got a good job when they got back…
Becky stared out at the towering mountains. She was getting used to the scenery now and she had no reason to feel nervous. The Baron was a superb driver, taking no risks but keeping up a good speed with nonchalant calm while Tialda kept up a ceaseless stream of chatter; what they would do, where they would go, what they would buy. ‘You’ve no idea how glad I am to have you here, Becky,’ she remarked happily. ‘You see, I’ve just started a baby and Tiele wouldn’t have any idea what to do if anything were to go wrong…’
‘But the—the Baron is a doctor,’ exclaimed Becky.