by Betty Neels
A remark they all accepted without demur. She went back to her ward relieved to think that even if her heart was broken, and she supposed that it was, no one need know. It was a pity that this comforting thought was shattered by the professor, coming the other way and stopping in front of her.
‘What is the matter with you?’ he demanded in his quiet voice.
‘Nothing, sir,’ she snapped. ‘Just a cold…’
‘Don’t talk nonsense.’
It was too much, her lip quivered and she sniffed back tears and glared at him. ‘It’s not nonsense.’
He stood looking down at her, considering. ‘You are off duty this evening? We will have dinner together and you shall tell me about it.’
‘I must see Oscar.’ She remembered her manners. ‘But thank you for asking me.’
‘There is no point in seeing Oscar in your present frame of mind. We will dine together and you will tell me about this obvious disaster which has turned you into a whey-faced, heavy-eyed young woman not fit to run her ward.’
‘Of course I can run my ward,’ she told him furiously, ‘and you have no business interfering with my—my life.’
‘No, no, you are mistaken; I merely offer my services as a father confessor, a shoulder to weep on, or, if you prefer, the disinterest of a stranger.’
She was thinking how to answer this when he said, briskly, ‘Well, I can’t stand around gossiping. I will call for you at half-past seven this evening.’
He was yards away before she found her tongue.
She was an excellent ward sister but that afternoon she excelled herself. Not fit to run a ward, indeed, she reflected crossly, casting an eye over her well-cared-for patients. He had no idea what he was talking about.
She went off duty half an hour late, sorely tempted to phone Oscar; indeed, if she had seen him on her way through the hospital she might very well have demanded that they should have a talk there and then, but there was no sign of him and she went to the flat to make herself a pot of tea, feed Meredith and search her wardrobe for something to wear. She did it all mechanically, her mind on Oscar, willing him to ring her up while she changed into a dark green taffeta skirt and white crêpe blouse with long full sleeves, the kind of outfit which would look right wherever the professor was taking her. She covered it with a three-quarter-length wool coat with a swing back in the same green as the skirt, found black court shoes and a small hand bag and on an impulse lifted the receiver to phone Oscar’s number at Regent’s.
She was dialling the number when the door was thumped and she put it down again, feeling guilty. The professor came in, without speaking, adjusted the receiver, which she had failed to put back properly, and remarked gently, ‘Just in time, am I?’ His eyes searched her face. ‘Well, go ahead and phone him if you wish to. There’s plenty of time.’ He sighed. ‘I can always cancel our table.’
‘No. No, don’t do that.’ She was aware suddenly that she was hungry as well as unhappy. ‘I’m quite ready.’
He had picked up Meredith. ‘This little chap’s turned into a fine fellow. He does you credit, Megan.’ He put the cat down and opened the door and she went past him, aware of window curtains twitching all around her. Nothing much happened in the drab little street; a Rolls-Royce was an event to be discussed on the doorsteps in the morning. She got into the car and he shut her door and got in beside her.
‘Are your neighbours friendly?’ he asked.
‘Well, I don’t see much of them except good morning and good evening; they—they are interested if I go out…’
‘Naturally.’ He drove away. ‘You could have waved.’
She laughed. ‘They wouldn’t have liked that; they think I can’t see them peeping.’
They didn’t actually talk much; just a little about the weather, odds and ends of hospital news, the chance of a fine summer. By the time he stopped in Charlotte Street she had lost the shyness she had felt when he had arrived. The restaurant was French and famous and they were shown to a table nicely secluded but in an excellent position in the glamorous room. Megan, looking around her, was glad that she was dressed to suit her opulent surroundings. As for the professor, he had hardly glanced around him but sat, very much at his ease, elegant in his dark grey suit and silk tie. He was no stranger to the place, thought Megan as the maître d’ bent to murmur in his ear.
Over their drinks she studied the menu. Even an unhappy girl had to eat and she was hungry. She chose lobster mousse, lamb cutlets with basil and Madeira sauce with Auvergne potato purée; the professor chose the lobster and a tournedos cooked in red wine with shallots, and ordered wine without fuss or reference to the wine-list before beginning a conversation which needed very little reply on her part. She ate her dinner with a good appetite, drank two glasses of the wine she was offered, and only when coffee was set before them did he say, ‘Now, what is all this about?’
‘Aren’t you afraid that I might burst into tears?’ It was amazing what two glasses of wine could do to boost one’s ego.
‘No, if I had thought that I would not have brought you here.’ He spoke casually, which made it seem easier to start.
‘It’s Oscar. He’s fallen in love with Melanie and I’m sure she’s in love with him only I don’t think she’s realised it. He—he told me that he was going home to see his people yesterday, but instead he spent the day at my home and he didn’t tell me. I haven’t seen him since he got back, and I haven’t phoned him either. I—I don’t know how I feel. Melanie is a darling, and I’d like her to be happy.’ She poured them each more coffee. ‘I thought Oscar loved me; he’s not a demonstrative man but all the same…I expected we would be happy together. I’m sure he’s fond of me but that’s not quite the same as being passionately in love, is it?’
‘And you, Megan, are you passionately in love with him?’
She went pink. ‘I suppose I thought that our affection for each other was enough, I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as passionate love in real life. Perhaps now and again, like Oscar and Melanie, I mean when you can’t help yourself even if it upsets everything.’
She fell silent and when he didn’t speak she said, ‘I feel rather as though I’ve come up against a blank wall. I’ve no idea what to do.’
‘It surprises me that a young woman of normal intelligence can allow her common sense to be swamped in sentiment—’
‘Well, really—’ began Megan.
‘A singularly pointless interruption,’ observed the professor. ‘I seldom give advice but if I might suggest—go home and talk to your sister, make sure that she really loves Oscar before you break with him. Unlikely though it seems, it may be a flash in the pan.’
‘But I haven’t got days off due until the weekend after next.’
‘So much the better. You will have the time to simmer down and be able to discuss the matter in a logical manner.’
‘What about Oscar? I see him quite often.’
‘I feel sure that you can find excuses for not seeing him, although it would make good sense to see something of him and—er—form your own opinion of the situation.’
‘Where did you learn to speak such good English?’ asked Megan, who had been wondering that but hadn’t meant to voice the thought. She blushed and he smiled a little.
‘We had an English nanny—we still have her—and I spent several years at Cambridge.’
‘Oh, well, that’s why. I didn’t mean to be inquisitive; it just popped out.’ She added, �
�Thank you for being so kind. I didn’t mean to tell anyone… I’ll do as you say, and thank you for your advice.’ She hesitated. ‘I’m not really whey-faced, am I?’
He answered her seriously, although there was a gleam in his eyes.
‘It seemed to me that drastic means were needed to prevent you bursting into tears in a corridor frequented by almost everyone in the hospital.’
‘Oh, I see. That was very thoughtful of you.’
He smiled. ‘I have long ago learned how to discourage threatened tears.’
Did his wife cry a great deal, she wondered, or was he thinking of small daughters? She very much wanted to know but probably he had learned how to deflect unwelcome questions, too.
They went back presently and when he stopped at her flat she didn’t ask him in. He got out with her and opened her door and switched on the light just as he had done before, giving the kitchen a quick look and the window and then listening a little impatiently to her thanks before going to the door, wishing her goodnight and driving himself away before she had shut the door. ‘He didn’t want to be asked in anyway,’ she assured Meredith.
She didn’t see him after that for several days and she wasn’t sure if she was pleased about that or not. She met Oscar on her way to X-Ray and behaved as she always did towards him although it cost an effort and he was quite obviously labouring under a feeling of guilt. It would have been nice if she could have told the professor how well she had acquitted herself, but there was no sign of him, only on the evening before she was going home as she and Oscar walked across to the pub he passed them in his car, going into the hospital forecourt. He lifted a hand as he went by and Megan, catching a fleeting glimpse of his face, imagined that he was smiling.
The professor had been quite right, of course; by the time she got home she had calmed down sufficiently to be able to tackle the problem of herself and Oscar without wishing to burst into tears at the least mention of it. She took her bag and Meredith out of her car and went indoors, to be met by her mother coming from the kitchen.
‘Hello, love. How nice to see you again.’ Mrs Rodner spoke cheerfully and looked uneasy. ‘Melanie had to go over to Cobb’s Farm, but she’ll be back presently.’
Megan gave her mother a hug. ‘It’s all right, Mother. I do know about her and Oscar and you don’t need to worry, only I want to talk to her first before I say anything to him.’
‘Darling, your father and I saw it happening and we did hope you would too, and then Oscar and his coming here on his own and them going off together. Melanie feels terrible…’
‘Oh, poor thing. There’s no need, only I must be quite sure that she loves him and he loves her. What do you think, Mother?’
Mrs Rodner said simply, ‘They saw each other and fell in love—not infatuation, dear, they can’t help themselves. Did you feel like that with Oscar? A kind of blinding flash and you know you’ll never be happy with anyone else.’
Megan had followed her back into the kitchen, freed Meredith and poured coffee for them both. Facing her mother across the table she said, ‘No, Mother, I didn’t feel like that—I was happy and content to be with Oscar and I thought life with him would be pleasant—he’s such a good-natured man.’
‘My dear child, love doesn’t take into account good nature or being pleasant. A woman can fall in love with—and love deeply—a bad-tempered, impatient man who leaves towels all over the bathroom floor and forgets her birthday and still adores her.’
For a surprised moment Megan found herself wondering if the professor left towels all over the bathroom floor. ‘I’ve got to make Melanie see that my heart isn’t broken. It cracked a little but I know I shall get over it and it was a shock, but I’ve had time to get used to the idea and the sooner he and I call it off and he gets engaged and married to Melanie the better.’
‘Does anyone know? At the hospital, I mean?’
Megan was annoyed with herself for blushing. ‘Professor van Belfeld knows. He—he met me in one of the hospital corridors and wormed it out of me.’
Mrs Rodner gazed intently into her mug. ‘I dare say he gave you some good advice,’ she suggested.
‘Well, yes, he did. He told me to do what I am doing—make sure that Melanie really loves Oscar.’
‘What a sensible man, and very understanding. Married, I dare say, and with children of his own.’
‘He never talks about himself but from one or two things he has said I think he must be.’
‘Well, he’s not a young man,’ commented her mother.
‘He’s not all that old, forty at the outside.’ Megan spoke quite sharply and her mother gave her a thoughtful glance, aware that her pretty daughter wasn’t telling her everything. She still thought that the professor harboured an interest in Megan and of course there was always the danger that a man working for long weeks away from his home might fall in love with any pretty girl he met. She didn’t believe that he was such a man. He could be a widower, of course, or she could be mistaken and he was merely giving advice to a colleague who seemed in need of it. He hadn’t looked at Megan as though she were a colleague, though, he had looked at her as though he loved her. Mrs Rodner was quite sure about that. Moreover Megan had not the faintest idea…
She glanced at the clock. ‘It’s still early. Do you want to talk to Melanie right away? Because if you do you could go to meet her. Walking along together makes talking much easier than sitting facing each other in a room.’
Despite Megan’s brave words, Mrs Rodner was worried to see her daughter’s pale, drained face and the shadows under her eyes. The sooner things were sorted out, the better.
Megan got into a pair of old shoes, made sure that the cat was safely sleeping in the kitchen and went off in search of her sister.
Their mother was putting lunch on the table by the time they got back to the house, arm-in-arm. Megan was dry-eyed with a cheerful face which looked as though it might crack at any moment, but Melanie had wept buckets, although no amount of weeping could spoil her pretty little face. Mr Rodner had come in for his lunch but, well primed by his wife, made no comment, only greeted Megan with his usual affection and with his usual concern enquired after her work. ‘I’m glad you’re home,’ he observed. ‘The garden’s in a shambles and I was hoping to get the sweet peas in and stake the beans. I’m going to try my hand at salsify, if I can get the seedlings transplanted, and I’ve some asparagus crowns, the ground is ready for planting…’
It was exactly what Megan wanted; she had had her talk with Melanie and now knew for certain that she loved Oscar and that he loved her but at the same time felt guilty about it. She managed to make Melanie understand that she had no need to feel any guilt. ‘These things happen, love,’ she had told her sobbing sister, ‘but think how awful it would have been if you had discovered how much you loved each other after Oscar and I had got married. There’s no harm done and my heart isn’t broken, you see, I don’t think I love—loved Oscar in the same way as you do and I shall get over it very quickly.’ She had made her promise not to say anything to Oscar, though, not until she had had a chance to talk to him herself. She dreaded having to do that but in the meantime she could spend the weekend grubbing around in the garden, a soothing occupation which would do much to get her over an awkward few days. All the same, tired after her planting and weeding, she cried herself to sleep. Being cheerful when she wanted above all things to throw things around and scream loudly when her feelings got too much for her was quite exhausting.
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Her mother and father made things as easy as possible for her; beyond listening quietly while she told them and observing that she was doing the right thing, they gave her no advice, nor did they overwhelm her with sympathy.
‘An awkward situation which we shall get over,’ her father had told her. ‘These things happen. I’m only glad that it happened before you and Oscar got married or even had begun to talk seriously about it.’
Which, come to think of it, reflected Megan, they never had. They actually had settled down into a pleasant engagement with only the vaguest of vague mention of marrying. There had seemed no hurry; Oscar’s future was all-important and she had realised that it might be some time before his mother was prepared to get to know her and even like her. She reminded herself of these facts several times a day and they dulled her hurt but didn’t dispel the thought of an empty future.
Driving herself back on Sunday evening, she rehearsed what she would say to Oscar; she would be very calm and sensible and not let him see how humiliated she felt, and even when she had done that she would have to tell her friends at Regent’s, and that wouldn’t be easy. She was liked at the hospital, but, all the same, there would be a good deal of gossip. It wouldn’t last long, thank heaven, and she would have to bear with it until some other interesting titbit of news crept into the grapevine.
Upon reflection she decided not to wait until Oscar rang her, as he did from time to time when he knew that he would have an hour to spare in the evening, so it wasn’t until Tuesday at noon that the porter’s lodge gave her a message to say that he was free after six that evening. ‘No time for a meal,’ his note read, ‘but we might have a drink.’
Tuesday seemed endless. Not only was she longing for the evening, but the day was full of small mishaps—notes mislaid, X-Ray cancelling a barium meal, one of the student nurses cutting her hand on a glass she had broken… As she went off duty at last she found herself wishing that the wretched day could have gone on forever; all her carefully thought-out speeches had flown out of her head and she had the terrible feeling that she would burst into tears the moment she set eyes on Oscar’s face. To make matters worse, she met the professor as she was leaving the hospital. He was coming in and held the door for her, planting himself in her path so that she was forced to stop.