by Betty Neels
She had kept her voice steady but at any moment she was going to burst into tears. ‘I’ve got my name down at a very good agency…’
‘I’ve just come from there. The old harpy who runs it wasn’t too sure about giving me your address. I told her that we were going to be married.’
Cordelia choked. ‘Now I’ll never get a job,’ she mumbled and sniffed back the first of the tears, then looked up sharply at the doctor’s crack of laughter.
‘This,’ he told her ‘is the most ridiculous conversation,’ and left the door and swept her into his arms. ‘Who cares a damn how I found you or why you’re here—I’ve found you and I’m not letting you go again, my darling. I must have been mad to let you go.’ He bent and kissed her slowly and with delight. It was impossible not to kiss him back.
‘Then why did you?’ asked Cordelia.
His arms tightened round her in a most satisfactory manner.
‘Young Salfinger—I was jealous—I couldn’t think sensibly. And then when you had gone he told me that you had given him the snub of his young life…I knew then that I’d been a fool… I’ve been almost out of my mind hunting you down.’ He kissed her again, in a masterful fashion which pleased her very much. ‘Forgive me my dear love and marry me. I think I’ve been in love with you from the first moment I saw you; I didn’t know it until the night Eileen went to hospital. Very sharp you were because I’d forgotten you were waiting. I wanted to pick you up and kiss you.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘You snapped my head off.’ He loosened his hold so that he could see her face. ‘Are you going to marry me, my dearest?’
‘Yes, of course—yes, Charles.’ She smiled in a watery fashion. ‘I love you more than I can say.’ She put her arms round his neck and kissed him gently. ‘Later on you shall tell me how you found me—you’re very tired, aren’t you? Could we go somewhere quiet and you could sleep a little and then we could have a meal.’ She added like a child. ‘I’m hungry—I expect you are too.’
‘My darling practical Miss Gibson, when did you eat last, by the way?’
‘I had a poached egg on toast and a pot of tea yesterday evening. And a cup of tea this morning. And when did you sleep last, dear Charles?’
He grinned tiredly. ‘I’m not sure. We’ll go to my flat where I’m sure the Thompsons will take the greatest care of us. And tomorrow we’ll go down to Wiltshire while I see about a Licence.’ He let her go reluctantly.
‘Toss your things into your bag, darling and we’ll go.’
She opened a drawer and started to take out her scant wardrobe. ‘I don’t want to go to my home, Charles.’
‘You need never go again, dear love. I was there this morning. Which reminds me, I met a nice elderly soul there who said she’d had a letter from you. I suggested that she might like to come to us…’
Cordelia, flinging things pell mell into her case turned to kiss him. ‘Oh, Charles you dear.’ A gesture which needed suitable reward. But presently she was ready and followed him down to the front door where Mrs Dyson joined them. The doctor’s magnificent nose twitched at the malodorous air which met them from the open kitchen door, but he bade her a courteous if brisk farewell, and shoved Cordelia gently into the Jaguar.
‘Where are we going?’ asked Cordelia. She was by now in a lovely dreamy state, and if he had said Timbuctoo or the Tower of London she would have accepted it and happily.
‘Home—our home, close to Wigmore Street, tomorrow we’ll go to Wiltshire.’ He gave her a quick smiling glance. ‘I told you that already—you weren’t listening.’
‘Oh, I was; I just can’t believe it.’
Presently he stopped the car again and she got out and she looked at the elegant row of houses. ‘Here?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘Here.’ Charles took her arm and went up the steps to the dignified door, past the porter and into the oasis of carpeted calm that was the entrance lobby. ‘First floor,’ he told her and started up the staircase.
‘It’s grand,’ said Cordelia doubtfully. He stopped and put a great arm round her shoulders. ‘You’ll get used to it,’ he assured her and kissed the top of her head. ‘Nothing is too grand for you, darling.’
They went on up the stairs slowly, his arm still around her, to where Thompson stood at the open door. At the sight of them he let out a soundless sigh of pleasure; he and Mabel could look forward to a bit of bustle now; the doctor would come out of that shell of his and later on there would be children. The future looked decidedly promising.
But the two people on the stairs weren’t bothered about the future; the present was all they needed.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3965-4
MAGIC IN VIENNA
Copyright © 1985 by Betty Neels.
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