by Betty Neels
The doctor didn’t take his eyes off the road. He said evenly, ‘Yes, you did behave badly.’
Clive thrust a friendly face between them. ‘Can’t blame you, really,’ he said. ‘Not like the rest of us are you? I bet you’ve never done a day’s work in your life. Comes hard, doesn’t it?’
He trumpeted into his handkerchief and Sybil shrank back into her seat.
‘Go away, go away!’ she screeched. ‘I’ll catch your cold.’
‘Sorry, I’m sure. Where I come from a cold’s all in a day’s work.’
‘Do something, James.’ She sounded desperate.
‘My dear, I don’t care to stop the car. What do you wish me to do?’
‘Get him out of the car, of course. If I catch a cold I’ll never forgive you.’
‘That’s a risk I shall have to take, Sybil, for I don’t intend to stop until we get to your place.’ He added gently, ‘You will feel better once you have had a night’s rest. Can you not look upon it as an adventure?’
She didn’t reply, and very soon he was threading his way through London streets to stop finally before the terrace of grand houses where Sybil’s parents lived.
He got out, warned Clive to stay where he was and went with her up the steps. He rang the bell and when a manservant opened the door bade her goodnight.
‘Don’t expect to be asked in,’ said Sybil spitefully.
‘Well, no,’ said the Professor cheerfully. ‘In any case I must get Clive to his friends.’
‘I shall expect you to phone tonight,’ said Sybil, and swept past him.
Back in the car, the Professor invited Clive to sit beside him. ‘For I’m not quite sure where you want to go.’
‘Drop me off at a bus stop,’ said Clive, ‘so’s you can get off home.’
‘No question of that. Which end of Hackney do you want? The Bethnal Green end or the Marshes?’
‘Cor, you know your London. Bethnal Green end—Meadow Road. End house on the left.’ He added gruffly, ‘Me and my girl, we’ve got engaged, see? We’re having a bit of a party…’
The doctor drove across the city’s empty Sunday streets and stopped before the end house in a narrow road lined by small brick houses.
They got the bike down off the roof and Clive said, ‘You will come in for a mo? Not quite your style, but a cuppa might be welcome?’
The doctor agreed that it would and spent fifteen minutes or so drinking a strong, dark brown drink which he supposed was tea while he made the acquaintance of Clive’s girl and his family.
It was a pleasant end to a long day, he thought, driving himself home at last.
Home was a ground-floor flat behind the Embankment overlooking the Thames. The doctor parked the car, and before he could put his key in the house door it was opened by a short sturdy man with grizzled hair and a long, mournful face. Jolly—inaptly named, it had to be admitted—was the manservant whom the doctor had inherited with the flat, along with a charming stone cottage in Berkshire and a croft in the Western Highlands.
With the respectful familiarity of an old servant Jolly greeted the doctor with some severity. ‘Got caught in all that snow, did you? Car’s not damaged?’
‘No, no, Jolly, and nor am I. I’m hungry.’
‘I guessed you would be. It’ll be on the table in fifteen minutes.’ He took the doctor’s coat and case from him. ‘Found shelter, did you?’
‘Indeed we did. At a place called Nether Ditchling—at the vicarage. Charming people. There were others caught in the snow as well—a houseful.’ He clapped Jolly on the shoulder. ‘I enjoyed every minute of it.’
‘Not quite Miss West’s cup of tea. She’s not one for the country.’
‘I’m afraid she disliked it, although we were treated with the greatest kindness.’
He picked up his letters and messages from the tray on the console table. ‘Did you ring the cottage?’
‘Yes. Plenty of snow, Mrs Willett says, but she’s snug enough—hopes you’ll be down to see her soon, says George misses you.’
The Professor was going down the hall to this study. ‘I’ll try and go next weekend. George could do with a good walk and so could I.’
Presently he ate the splendid meal Jolly had ready, then went back to his study to consider his week’s work ahead. He had fully intended to phone Sybil, but by the time he remembered to do so it was too late. He would find time in the morning.
It was gone midnight before he went to his bed and he didn’t sleep at once. He had enjoyed his weekend and he had enjoyed meeting Philomena. He smiled at the memory of her small figure bundled in that old hooded cape—and there had been a feeling when they had met—as though they had known each other for a long time…
Miles away, at Nether Ditchling, Philly turned over in bed, shook up the pillow and thought the same thing.
The snow disappeared as quickly as it had come. March came back with chilly blue skies and sunshine, and the banks beside the roads were covered with primroses. The vicarage became once again an orderly household.
There had been thank-you letters from the Downes, and a colourful postcard from Clive, and from Professor Forsyth a basket of fruit, beribboned and sheathed in Cellophane, with a card attached expressing his thanks. It expressed thanks, too, from Sybil—although she had told the doctor pettishly that she saw no reason to thank anyone for such a ghastly weekend.
‘But you do what you like,’ she had told him. Then, seeing his expressionless face, she had instantly become her charming self, coaxing him to forgive her. ‘And take me out to dinner,’ she had begged him. ‘I’ve the loveliest dress, which I’m simply longing to wear…’
He had agreed that he would do that just as soon as he had an evening to spare. She was a woman any man would be proud to take out for the evening; he had no doubt that she would attract men’s glances and he would be looked upon with envy.
The Professor, driving himself to the hospital later, told himself that he must make allowances for Sybil; she neither knew nor wished to know how the other half lived.
It was as though the weather had decided to apologise for that sudden return of winter. The fine weather continued, and even if the sunshine wasn’t very warm it was bright. Philomena dug the garden, saw to the chickens, and ran various errands round the village for her mother. There was always someone who needed help or just a friendly visit.
Rose and Flora left home each morning, sharing a lift to and from the market town where Rose worked in a solicitor’s office and Flora in an estate agent’s firm. Dull jobs, both of them, but since Flora was engaged to the eldest son of a local farmer and Rose was making up her mind about one of the schoolmasters at the local prep school they neither of them complained since they had their futures nicely planned. Lucy was always busy with her friends, and as for Katie—the brightest of the bunch, the vicar always said—she had her sights set on university. It was a good thing, he often remarked to his wife, that Philly was so content to stay at home.
It was Monday morning again. The girls had left already and Philly had put the first load into the washing machine when someone thumped the front door knocker. Her mother was upstairs making beds, and her father was in his study, so she went to the door. It was someone she knew: young Mrs Twist from a small farm a mile outside the village. Philly had been there only a week before because Mrs Twist had needed someone to keep an eye on her twins while she took the baby to the doctor.
Philly swept Mrs Twist into the house. She had been crying and she clutched Philly’s arm. ‘Miss Philly, please help us. The doctor says the baby must go to London to see a specialist—but there isn’t an ambulance and he’s been called away to Mrs Crisp’s first. Rob can’t leave the farm, so if you could watch the baby while I drive…’
‘Give me five minutes. Go and sit by the Aga while I tell Mother and get a coat. What did the doctor say was wrong?’
‘Possible meningitis. And there aren’t any beds nearer than this hospital in London.’
&
nbsp; Philomena raced upstairs and found shoes, coat and gloves, all the while telling her mother about the baby.
‘You’ll need some money. I’ll tell your father…’
The vicar was in the kitchen comforting Mrs Twist and went away to get the money. ‘You may not need it, but it is better to be safe than sorry,’ he said kindly. ‘I’ll go to Mrs Frost and see if she knows of anyone who would go to the farm and give a hand. They had better not have anything much to do with the twins…’
Mrs Twist nodded, ‘Yes, the doctor told me not to let them be with anyone.’
In the car she said, ‘You’re not afraid of catching it, Miss Philly? I shouldn’t have asked you…Rob’s got the baby at home, waiting for me.’
‘Not in the least,’ said Philly. ‘Don’t worry about a thing. Once baby’s in hospital they’ll give him all the right treatment.’
He certainly looked very ill and the small shrill cries he gave were pitiful. Philly sat in the back of the car with him while Mrs Twist drove the seemingly endless route to London.
Since neither of them knew the city well, finding the hospital took time, and although the rush hour was over there seemed endless stop lights and traffic queues. At the hospital at last, Mrs Twist thrust the car keys at Philly. ‘Lock the car,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I’ll take the baby.’
She disappeared into the emergency entrance and Philly got out, locked the car and followed her. Here at least there was speedy help; the doctor’s letter was read, and the baby was borne away to a small couch and expertly undressed. Since Mrs Twist refused to leave him, it fell to Philly’s lot to answer the clerk’s questions. In no time at all there was a doctor there, reading his colleague’s letter and then bending over the couch.
‘Get Professor Forsyth here, will you, Sister? He hasn’t left yet…’
Philly was making herself small against a wall. She supposed that she should find the waiting room, but she didn’t like to leave Mrs Twist. She stood there feeling useless, hoping that she wouldn’t be noticed: very unlikely, she reflected, since it was the baby who had everyone’s attention. She admired the way Sister and the nurses knew exactly what they were doing, and she liked the look of the doctor, bending over the baby and talking quietly to Mrs Twist…
There was a faint stir amongst them as they parted ranks to allow a big man in the long white coat to examine the scrap on the couch.
Philly stared, blinked, and looked again. She had never expected to see him again but here he was, Doctor—no, Professor Forsyth, who had shovelled a path to her father’s chickens wearing an old sweater of the vicar’s and his wellies, looking quite different from this assured-looking man listening to the doctor.
He looked up and straight at her, but there was no sign of him recognising her. She had expected that; the baby had his full attention.
Please, God, let the baby get well again, begged Philly silently.
It seemed a long time before Professor Forsyth straightened his long back and began to give instructions. His patient was borne away in the arms of a nurse. He didn’t go with them, but led Mrs Twist to a chair and leaned against the wall and began to talk to her. She was crying, and he looked across to Philly and said quietly, ‘Will you come here, Miss Selby? I think Mrs Twist would be glad of your company while I explain things to her.’
He did this in a calm reassuring voice; the baby was very ill, but with immediate treatment there was every hope that he would make a good recovery. ‘I shall stay with him for the next hour or so and he will be given every help there is. You will wish to stay here, near him, and that can be arranged. Do you need to go back home?’
‘No, my husband can look after the twins. Can I leave my car here?’
‘Yes. I’ll get someone to see to that for you.’
Mrs Twist dried her eyes. ‘You’re so kind.’ She turned to Philly. ‘You don’t mind? You can get a train, and someone could fetch you from the nearest station. And thank you, Miss Philly. Rob’ll let you know if—if there’s any news.’
‘Good news,’ said Philly bracingly. ‘I’ll go and see Rob as soon as I can.’
The Professor said nothing, but took Mrs Twist with him. Philly sat down to think. She would have to find her way to Waterloo Station, but first she must phone her father, for the nearest station to Nether Ditchling was seven miles away—and had she enough money for the fare?
She was counting it when a stout woman in a pink overall put a tray down on the chair next to her. ‘Professor Forsyth said yer was ter ’ave this and not ter go until ’e’d seen yer.’
‘He did? Well, how kind—and thank you for bringing it. It looks lovely and I’m hungry.’ Philly smiled, prepared to be friendly.
‘Yer welcome, I’m sure. Mind and do as he says.’
Philly ate the sandwiches and drank the tea, then went in search of the Ladies’ and returned to her seat. There was no one else in the waiting room, although there were any number of people going past the open door and the noise of children crying and screaming. She wondered how Baby Twist was faring, and whether she would see Mrs Twist before she left the hospital. She looked at her watch and saw that she had been sitting there for more than an hour. But she had been asked to wait and it was still only mid-afternoon. There was no point in phoning her father until she knew at what time she needed to be fetched from the station. Besides, she was afraid to spend any money until she knew how much the fare would be…
It was another hour before the Professor came, and by then she was getting worried. She had been forgotten, the baby’s condition was worse, and what time did the last train leave?
The Professor folded his length onto the chair beside her.
‘Getting worried? I’m sorry you have had this long wait, but I wanted to make sure that the baby would be all right…’
‘He is? He’ll get better? Oh, I am so glad. And Mrs Twist, is she all right, too?’
‘Yes. How do you intend to get home?’
‘Well, I’ll go to Waterloo Station and get the next train to Warminster, and Father will come for me there.’
‘Have you enough money for the fare?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Philly airily. ‘Father gave me ten pounds.’
He perceived that he was talking to someone who travelled seldom, and then probably not by train. He discarded his intention of a few hours of quiet at his home before going back to the hospital; he could be there and back in five hours at the outside.
He said, ‘I’ll drive you back to Nether Ditchling.’
‘But it’s miles away! Thank you all the same,’ she added quickly.
‘Not in the Bentley,’ he observed gently. ‘I can be back to take another look at Baby Twist later on this evening. He’s in the safe hands of my registrar.’ And when she opened her mouth to protest, he said, ‘No, don’t argue. Wait here for a little longer; I’ll be back.’
She flew to the Ladies’ once more, and was sitting, neat and composed, when he got back.
‘Ready? Mrs Twist has asked me to speak to her husband; perhaps I might phone him from the Vicarage?’
‘Of course you can.’ She trotted beside him out of the hospital and got into the Bentley in the forecourt. She would have liked a cup of tea but she didn’t dwell on that; he was wasting enough of his time as it was.
He had very little to say as he drove, only asked her if she was warm enough and comfortable. She made no attempt to talk; he was probably preoccupied with the baby’s condition—probably regretting, too, his offer to drive her home.
It was a clear dry day, and once clear of the city he drove fast and she sat quietly, thinking her own not very happy thoughts: the poor little baby and his mother—and how would Rob manage with the twins? She would have to go and see him. And how she longed for a cup of tea and something to eat. That was followed by the even sadder thought that the Professor didn’t much like her. Though I like him, she reflected, and it’s a great shame that he’s going to marry that awful Sybil. I wish I were as lovely
to look at as she is…
The Professor turned off into the maze of narrow roads which would lead to Nether Ditchling. He was enjoying the drive, although he wasn’t sure why. Philly, sitting like a mouse beside him and not uttering a word, was nevertheless the ideal companion, not distracting his thoughts with questions and trivial chatter. He slowed the car and turned into the Vicarage drive.
‘You’ll come in for five minutes and have a cup of coffee? We won’t keep you, but you must have a few minutes’ rest before you go back.’
He smiled at the matter-of-fact statement as he got out and opened her door. The Vicarage door was already open and her father stood there, telling them to come in.
‘Come into the kitchen. Your mother’s there, getting things ready for supper, Rose and Flora are upstairs, Lucy’s at choir and Katie’s seeing to the hens.’
He led the way and her mother looked up from her saucepans. ‘Philly and Forsyth. Sit down. Coffee in a minute. Is the baby going to be all right—and why is Forsyth here?’
She put two mugs on the table and smiled at him.
‘He’s a professor,’ said Philly.
‘Is he now? But that doesn’t make him any different,’ said Mrs Selby, and he smiled at her.
‘The baby will, I hope, recover. I work at the hospital where he is being treated. His mother is staying with him and it seemed a good idea, since I had an hour or two to spare, to bring Philly back home.’
Mrs Selby darted a look at Philly. ‘We’re very much in your debt…’
‘No, no. Nothing will repay you for your kindness in the snow.’ He drank some coffee and bit into a slice of cake. ‘May I use your phone and talk to Mr Twist? He’s been kept informed, but he might like a more detailed account of what’s being done for his son.’
‘In my study,’ said the Vicar. ‘Can we offer you a bed for the night?’