by Betty Neels
Cordelia blushed. ‘Eileen,’ she said awfully, ‘there is nothing clever in making remarks like that…’
‘Well, it’s what I think—why shouldn’t I say what I think?’
‘It sometimes hurts peoples feelings,’ said the doctor placidly ‘and Cordelia asked you to apologise.’
‘Well I’m sorry, but only because I like Cordelia and I quite like you too.’
‘Thank you,’ said her uncle meekly. ‘Did you enjoy your visit to Schonbrunn?’
The next half hour was spent in an exaggerated and not quite truthful account of their afternoon on Eileen’s part. All the same Cordelia was pleased to hear that her pupil had learned a good deal of history as well as forming an opinion of the Palace and it’s furnishings.
‘And you, Cordelia?’ asked the doctor, ‘you enjoyed it too?’
‘Oh, very much. Very grand, just as Eileen says, and not quite to my taste—all that gilding and none of the chairs looked very comfortable, but the paintings were magnificent…I suppose that they felt at home there?’
‘I imagine that if you’ve never lived anywhere different it would be home. I like something much more cosy myself.’ He got up and strolled to the door. ‘I shall be out this evening. Thompson will look after you. I’ll see you at breakfast.’
‘I bet he’s having dinner with that woman,’ said Eileen, and Cordelia rebuking her, agreed silently.
He was at breakfast the next morning, as usual immersed in letters and the daily papers; beyond a brief acknowledgement of their presence, he had nothing to say and he was equally silent at lunch, saying only enough for politeness and then shutting himself in his study. Mindful of his wish for peace and quiet, Cordelia took Eileen for a walk, but the child seemed tired and they found a seat in the park and sat down in the sun. ‘What’s wrong love?’ asked Cordelia, ‘you’re very quiet. Don’t you feel well?’
‘I’m all right—I feel sick and I’ve got a tummy ache.’
‘Then we’ll go back home and you shall have a rest on your bed—you’ll feel better after a sleep. Perhaps you did too much at gym this morning.’
She seemed better after tea although, most unlike her, she showed very little interest in what she should wear that evening, neither did she eat much of her dinner. Cordelia coaxed her to bed early and wondered if she should mention it to the doctor and decided that she would, but when she went downstairs to find him he was gone.
‘Back to hospital, Miss,’ said Thompson comfortably, ‘some patient giving trouble more than like—’ phoned him half an hour ago they did.’
Cordelia went back upstairs. Eileen was already asleep; she looked flushed and she felt warm under Cordelia’s cool hand; her pulse was rather fast but she wasn’t restless. Cordelia went away and had a bath and got ready for bed and then went back to take another look.
Eileen was awake, tossing and turning in a rumpled bed. Cordelia bathed her face and hands, straightened the bedclothes. ‘Where does it hurt, love?’ she asked worriedly.
‘I’m going to be sick,’ said Eileen, and was.
Cordelia mopped her up. ‘Darling, you’ve eaten something…’
‘My tummy hurts.’
‘I’m going to see if your uncle’s home, he’ll take the pain away. Try and lie still, I’ll be quick.’
She flew along the passage and down the stairs and flung open the study door. The doctor was writing at his desk. ‘You’re back,’ declared Cordelia breathlessly: ‘Eileen’s not well, she’s been sick, she’s feverish and she’s got a tummy ache.’
He went past her almost before she had finished speaking and she rushed after him, to stand by Eileen’s bed while he bent over his niece.
‘How long has she been like this?’
‘She had a headache this afternoon and a tummy ache; she had a nap before dinner and then she came to bed early—she’s been asleep…’
He said without looking up: ‘Get Thompson, tell him to get the car and bring it to the front. Get some clothes on and wrap Eileen in a blanket. I’m going to take her to hospital.’ He glanced at her then. ‘Don’t waste time.’
A needless injunction. She roused Thompson, threw on a sweater and slacks and went to wrap Eileen in a light blanket. She was just ready when the doctor came back, picked up his niece and carried her out to the car. No time to pack a bag, thought Cordelia wildly, I’ll have to come back for her things, and nipped smartly after him, and a good thing too, for he told her to get into the back of the car and then settled Eileen beside her. ‘Hold her tightly,’ he said brusquely, ‘I’ve given her something for the pain, but every jolt will hurt.’
She had only a vague idea where the hospital was and even if she had known it would have been hard to see where they were going at that hour of night. She put her arms round the child and held her close, listening to Eileen’s half-conscious moans, praying that someone would do something quickly.
There wasn’t a great deal of traffic; she recognised the Ring as they crossed it, recognised too the Wahringer Strasse before the doctor turned into side streets and then thankfully into the forecourt of the hospital.
He must have telephoned, she thought vaguely, for there were people waiting for them. The doctor lifted Eileen out of the car on to the waiting stretcher and the little group set off through the wide doors with Cordelia, not sure if she was wanted, in hot pursuit. At least she wasn’t entirely forgotten; at the end of a long corridor, just before they disappeared through a swing door the doctor flung ‘Wait here,’ over his shoulder, then disappeared too.
Cordelia looked about her, there was no one in sight; the corridor had widened itself into a kind of waiting room with a few metal framed chairs against the walls and nothing else. She sat down. Catching her breath, wishing that she knew what was happening. Someone would come and tell her presently, she supposed, in the meantime, she must just sit.
There was a clock on the wall and she was surprised to see that it was already after eleven o’clock. She looked away from it and tried to think back over the day, wondering what Eileen could have eaten—or perhaps it was appendicitis? Whatever it was, the child was ill and in pain. The clock ticked on and Cordelia, in a nightmare of worry and pity and uncertainty, watched the hours slip away.
It was almost two o’clock when the swing door at last opened and the doctor came through. He fetched up before her and said in a voice of whispered thunder. ‘What the devil are you doing here? Why haven’t you gone home?’
She shook her hair back over her shoulders and eyed him tiredly. ‘You told me to wait, and I didn’t know how to get home, did I? It’s dark outside and I had no money for a taxi even if I had known where to get one and I would have got lost if I had walked. What have you done with Eileen? Is she all right?’
She looked up at him, standing there, not a hair out of place looking as though he’d not done anything in a hurry in his life.
‘Eileen is in bed asleep. She has had her appendix removed.’
She got to her feet then. ‘Oh, the poor poppet. She’s all right? You’re sure?’
‘Quite sure. I administered the anaesthetic.’ There was no conceit in his voice, merely an assurance that nothing was amiss. ‘She’ll be out of bed later today and home in a week.’
‘Can I see her?’
He shook his head. ‘She’s already asleep—I told you that, besides you’re not in a fit state to see anyone. You’ll go home and go to bed and in the morning I’ll bring you with me—you can pack a few things for her. Come along now.’
They drove back in silence and it wasn’t until they were in the apartment that the doctor said, ‘Come to the kitchen, Thompson will have left some coffee.’
She had only once before been in the kitchen; it was a nice place, very clean and scrubbed, with rows of saucepans on the wall and a very modern electric cooking stove. She sank down on one of the chairs at the table and watched him fetch the coffee pot from the hob and pour the coffee into the mugs set ready on a tray. He added sug
ar and cream and handed her one. ‘Drink it at once, and then go to bed,’ he told her in the kind of voice she had not the least desire to argue with. She did as she was told, wished him good night and took herself off to bed.
‘And don’t lie awake worrying,’ his voice was kind, ‘there is no possible blame attached to you, indeed, you did very well… Eileen will be perfectly all right. I daresay they’ll be glad to have you spend some time with her— I’ll see the sister in the morning. Good night, Cordelia.’
She fell into bed, making a mental list of the things she should take with her to the hospital, and fell asleep in the middle of it.
She got up the moment she was called, showered and dressed and packed a bag for Eileen and presented herself at the breakfast table. Dr Trescombe was already there, exactly as usual, reading his letters and neglecting his breakfast. His good morning was vague and he made no mention of the night’s happenings. To her they had been highly dramatic, but she supposed, upon reflection, that to a doctor they were commonplace enough, even when his own flesh and blood were concerned. She wondered if he had telephoned Eileen’s parents, but decided not to ask; he was glowering over a closely written sheet and she didn’t think he would thank her for interrupting his perusal of it.
She got on with her breakfast and when he said suddenly, ‘Well, are you ready? I want to leave in five minutes,’ she put her cup tidily in the saucer and said composedly, ‘Quite ready, Dr Trescombe’ and went and fetched the bag, a couple of books she thought Eileen might like and her own purse, and presented herself in the hall very neat and calm.
The doctor came out of his study, his bag in his hand and paused to look at her. ‘You are a remarkably sensible young woman Cordelia—I must admit that I am agreeably surprised at your…’
She interrupted him ruthlessly. ‘Should I be flattered? Well, I’m not. Dull young women, with no looks to speak of, don’t expect flattery, nor do they like it, let’s go.’
She marched to the door to have her arm caught in a merciless grip.
‘Well, well,’ said Dr Trescombe softly, ‘not dull at all and quite an eyeful when she’s in a temper. I am surprised, Cordelia.’
‘Let go of me, you—you bookworm…’
His great bellow of laughter shook her.
‘And don’t you dare laugh.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘And I’m leaving here the moment Eileen is better.’
He didn’t answer that, instead he bent his head and kissed her gently. ‘You’re upset,’ he sounded exactly like the family doctor at home, ‘We’ll talk about it when you feel more yourself.’
She opened her mouth to answer him and then decided not to; she could see that he wasn’t going to listen, anyway.
They drove in silence to the hospital and once they were there, the doctor wasn’t Uncle Charles any more, but someone important who wasn’t going to waste time listening to her. She followed him and a bunch of white coated young men along a corridor and in through swing doors. It was very quiet here and the nurses they met hardly made a sound as they passed, only a faint rustle of crisp cotton. So much nicer than those nylon uniforms at home, she thought and was ushered into a small white walled room, sparsely furnished and Eileen sitting up in bed.
Having her appendix out didn’t seem to have made any difference to Eileen; she gave a crow of delight at the sight of her uncle and Cordelia and began to talk. ‘I’ve been out of bed,’ she informed them, ‘and Sister says I’m a brave girl. It hurts a bit but not when I sit up. Wasn’t it exciting? Last night, I mean—I bet you were worried, Cordelia?’
Cordelia bent to kiss a rather pale cheek. ‘I have never been so worried in all my life before, love. It’s marvellous to see you looking so well.’
She smiled rather mistily at the child and retreated from the bed, because the doctor was standing on the other side and she didn’t want to look at him, let alone speak.
She need not have worried, his whole attention was on his niece; he asked her business-like questions, conferred with an elderly man who had slipped into the room just after them, remarked that as far as he could see she would be out and about again in no time at all, bade her be a good girl and went away without so much as glancing at Cordelia.
‘You’re going to stay?’ demanded Eileen, ‘It’s awfully lonely here…’
‘Of course I’ll stay—just as long as they let me. I’ve brought you some pyjamas and a few books and odds and ends you might need. If you feel up to it I’ll give your hair a good brush and then put everything away. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten anything yet?’
Eileen wrinkled her nose. ‘Something sloppy for breakfast but I’m to have a proper lunch.’
Cordelia stayed until she was politely asked to leave about noon so that Eileen could eat her lunch and then rest. ‘Come back Cordelia,’ Eileen suddenly sounded very young.
‘Of course I’m coming back. About six o’clock Sister says. Mind you speak German as much as possible; it’s a splendid chance to improve your vocabulary.’ She kissed Eileen and made her way out of the hospital, glancing at her watch. She could walk back but it might take rather a long time and she didn’t want to be late for lunch; even if she was going to eat it alone from a tray in the little sitting room, Mrs Thompson would have it ready on the dot. She crossed the courtyard quickly; there were trams in the street beyond, one of them would surely go in her direction. She was almost at the gates when the Jaguar crawled to a halt beside her and the doctor opened the door. There was no point in refusing to get in. He hadn’t said a word, so she stayed silent too and sat stiffly beside him and when they reached the apartment, got out quickly and went up to his front door, relieved to find that Thompson, apparently possessed of second sight, had already opened it.
‘Five minutes, please, Thompson,’ said the doctor and swept Cordelia before him into his study, where he dumped her gently into a chair and sat himself behind his desk.
‘Feeling better?’ he wanted to know.
‘I have never felt ill.’ Her voice was cold.
‘Ill? Who said you were ill? You shouldn’t allow your feelings to run away with you, you know.’
Her charming bosom swelled with indignation. ‘My feelings are no concern of yours,’ she told him waspishly. ‘Pray don’t give them another thought.’
He smiled suddenly and she caught her breath. ‘You don’t like me,’ he observed blandly, ‘You think I’m a dull stick, buried in books and examination papers, living in a world of anaesthetic rooms and students and hospitals. It’s true, I was hardly enthusiastic about you and Eileen coming here, I foresaw my peaceful studies being interrupted a dozen times a day. I find, to my surprise that I am left severely alone—sometimes—I have wondered if you were in the house, and strangely enough, I have lost my taste for study—I am no longer a bookworm. How do you account for that, Cordelia?’
She made herself forget the smile. ‘Well,’ she said seriously, ‘I think perhaps…she was very beautiful, the lady who was here the other night. Eileen and I have thought that it would be very nice for you if you were to marry someone beautiful and stylish—like her.’
He was watching her gravely, his eyes alight with laughter. ‘I’m touched that you—both of you—have my welfare to heart. That lady happens to be married.’ He flicked a speck of dust off his sleeve. ‘There are, of course, other ladies.’
A remark which depressed her. She said, ‘Yes, of course. You don’t mind that we—discussed you? Eileen is very fond of you…’
‘I’m flattered. And you, Cordelia?’
She sat up straight. ‘Me? I—you said I didn’t like you?’
‘In the heat of the moment,’ he said gently, ‘I can’t be all that bad? Can I? Supposing I were to give up working on my book for a time and stuff my head with rather less medical matters, would you like me then, and not disappear every time I open a door, and I’ll be firm about not reading my letters at breakfast?’
She studied his face. Quite serious, it was, although she couldn
’t see his eyes under the drooping lids. ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure I’d like you, but that doesn’t really matter does it?’
He stood up. ‘I think perhaps it matters a good deal. Shall we have lunch?’ He opened the door and as she went past him he asked casually: ‘You’re going back to the hospital later on, I expect? I sent some flowers and I wonder if you’d mind going along to the Graben or the Kohlmarkt and getting an armful of books?’
They sat down opposite each other and made polite conversation while she wondered what kind of a man he was. He had been warm and friendly in the study and now he was back in his reserved shell; polite and pleasant and obviously not minding if she were there at all. She remembered how he had kissed her and blushed at the thought, and blushed again when she looked up and found his eyes on her. She looked down at her plate as quickly as she could and missed his smile.
CHAPTER FIVE
EILEEN MADE good progress, but then, as her uncle pointed out, there was no reason why she shouldn’t. The operation had been straightforward, the wound a mere couple of inches and the child in the best of health. She was out of bed by the end of the second day, already a little bored despite the frequent telephone conversations she held, regardless of expense, with her parents and Lady Trescombe. Her room resembled an expensive flower shop and as each visitor called to see her, they brought some trifle with them, so she was well on the way to becoming even more spoiled than ever. Cordelia, who had prided herself on instilling a little common humility into her, took things into her own hands after four days of Eileen’s high flown tantrums. The child had been ill, but she had received every care and attention and now she was rapidly getting better. With luck she would be almost herself by the time her parents returned, which wouldn’t be long now.
It had been a warm day and Eileen had been peevish and rude that morning; Cordelia, paying her usual evening visit took a quick, sympathetic look at her charge’s cross face and said bracingly, ‘Frau Keppel called this afternoon and asked when you would be starting your German lessons again.’