A Christmas Romance

by Betty Neels

  He was on the doorstep, talking to Mrs Towzer, who had a head crammed with pink plastic curlers and a feather duster in one hand. When she saw Theodosia she said, ‘There you are, ducks; I was just telling your gentleman friend here that you was a good tenant. A real lady—don’t leave the landing lights on all night and leaves the bath clean …’

  Theodosia tried to think of something clever to say. She would have been grateful if the floor had opened and swallowed her. She said, ‘Good morning, Mrs Towzer—Professor.’

  ‘Professor, are you?’ asked the irrepressible Mrs Towzer. ‘Well, I never …’

  Theodosia had to admire the way he handled Mrs Towzer with a grave courtesy which left that lady preening herself and allowed him to stuff Theodosia into the car, put her bag in the boot, settle Gustavus on the back seat with a speed which took her breath and then drive off with a wave of the hand to her landlady.

  Theodosia said tartly, ‘It would have been much better if I had gone to the hospital and met you there.’

  He said gently, ‘You are ashamed of your landlady?’

  ‘Heavens, no! She’s kind-hearted and good-natured, only there really wasn’t any need to tell you about turning off the lights …’

  ‘And cleaning the bath!’ To his credit the professor adopted a matter-of-fact manner. ‘I believe she was paying you a compliment.’

  Theodosia laughed, then said, ‘Perhaps you are right. This is a very comfortable car.’

  It was a Bentley, dark grey, with its leather upholstery a shade lighter.

  ‘I expect you need a comfortable car,’ she went on chattily. ‘I mean, you can’t have much time to catch buses and things.’

  ‘A car is a necessity for my job. You’re warm enough? I thought we might stop for coffee presently. At what time do your great-aunts expect you?’

  ‘If I don’t miss the bus at Braintree I’m there in time for lunch. But I’ll catch it today; I don’t expect it takes long to drive there.’

  He was driving north-east out of the city. ‘If you will direct me I will take you to Finchingfield; it is only a few miles out of my way.’

  She looked at his calm profile uncertainly; without his specs he was really very handsome … ‘You’re very kind but I’m putting you out.’

  ‘If that were the case I would not have suggested it,’ he told her. A remark which she felt had put her in her place. She said meekly, ‘Thank you,’ and didn’t see him smile.

  Clear out of the city at last, he drove to Bishop’s Stortford and turned off for Great Dunmow, and stopped there for coffee. They had made good time and Theodosia, enjoying his company, wished that their journey were not almost at an end. Finchingfield was only a few miles away and all too soon he stopped in front of the great-aunts’ house.

  It stood a little way from the centre of the village, in a narrow lane with no other houses nearby; it was a red-brick house, too large to be called a cottage, with a plain face and a narrow brick path leading from the gate to its front door. The professor got out, opened Theodosia’s door, collected her bag and Gustavus in his basket and opened the gate and followed her up the path. He put the bag and the basket down. ‘I’ll call for you at about half past six tomorrow, if that isn’t too early for you?’

  ‘You’ll drive me back? You’re sure it’s not disturbing your weekend?’

  ‘Quite sure. I hope you enjoy your visit, Theodosia.’

  He went back to the car and got in, and sat waiting until she had banged the door knocker and the door was opened. And then he had gone.

  Mrs Trickey, the aunt’s daily housekeeper, opened the door. She was a tall, thin woman, middle-aged, with a weather-beaten face, wearing an old-fashioned pinny and a battered hat.

  ‘You’re early.’ She craned her neck around Theodosia and watched the tail-end of the car disappear down the lane. “Oo’s that, then?’

  Mrs Trickey had been looking after the aunts for as long as Theodosia could remember and considered herself one of the household. Theodosia said cheerfully, ‘Hello, Mrs Trickey; how nice to see you. I was given a lift by someone from the hospital.’

  The housekeeper stood aside to let her enter and then went ahead of her down the narrow, rather dark hall. She opened a door at its end, saying, ‘Go on in; your aunts are expecting you.’

  The room was quite large, with a big window overlooking the garden at the back of the house. It was lofty-ceilinged, with a rather hideous wallpaper, and the furniture was mostly heavy and dark, mid-Victorian, and there was far too much of it. Rather surprisingly, here and there, were delicate Regency pieces, very beautiful and quite out of place.

  The two old ladies got up from their places as Theodosia went in. They were tall and thin with ramrod backs and white-haired, but there the resemblance ended.

  Great-Aunt Jessica was the elder, a once handsome woman with a sweet smile, her hair arranged in what looked like a bird’s nest and wearing a high-necked blouse under a cardigan and a skirt which would have been fashionable at the turn of the century. It was of good material and well made and Theodosia couldn’t imagine her aunt wearing anything else.

  Great-Aunt Mary bore little resemblance to her elder sister; her hair was drawn back from her face into a neat coil on top of her head and although she must have been pretty when she was young her narrow face, with its thin nose and thin mouth, held little warmth.

  Theodosia kissed their proffered cheeks, explained that she had been driven from London by an acquaintance at the hospital and would be called for on the following evening, and then enquired about the old ladies’ health.

  They were well, they told her, and who exactly was this acquaintance?

  Theodosia explained a little more, just enough to satisfy them and nip any idea that Mrs Trickey might have had in the bud. The fact that the professor was a professor helped; her aunts had had a brother, be-whiskered and stern, who had been a professor of something or other and it was obvious that the title conferred respectability onto anyone who possessed it. She was sent away to go to her room and tidy herself and Gustavus was settled in the kitchen in his basket. He didn’t like the aunts’ house; no one was unkind to him but no one talked to him except Theodosia. Only at night, when everyone was in bed, she crept down and carried him back to spend the night with her.

  Lunch was eaten in the dining room, smaller than the drawing room and gloomy by nature of the one small window shrouded in dark red curtains and the massive mahogany sideboard which took up too much space. The old ladies still maintained the style of their youth; the table was covered with a starched white linen cloth, the silver was old and well polished and the meal was served on china which had belonged to their parents. The food didn’t live up to the table appointments, however; the aunts didn’t cook and Mrs Trickey’s culinary skill was limited. Theodosia ate underdone beef, potatoes and cabbage, and Stilton cheese and biscuits, and answered her aunts’ questions …

  After lunch, sitting in the drawing room between them, she did her best to tell them of her days. Aunt Jessica’s questions were always kind but Aunt Mary sometimes had a sharp tongue. She was fond of them both; they had always been kind although she felt that it was from a sense of duty. At length their questions came to an end and the subject of Christmas was introduced.

  ‘Of course, you will spend it here with us, my dear,’ said Great-Aunt Jessica. ‘Mrs Trickey will prepare everything for us on Christmas Eve as she usually does and I have ordered the turkey from Mr Greenhorn. We shall make the puddings next week …’

  ‘We are so fortunate,’ observed Great-Aunt Mary. ‘When one thinks of the many young girls who are forced to spend Christmas alone …’ Which Theodosia rightly deduced was a remark intended to remind her how lucky she was to have the festive season in the bosom of her family.

  At half past four exactly she helped Mrs Trickey bring in the tea tray and the three of them sat at a small table and ate cake and drank tea from delicate china teacups. After the table had been cleared, they played th
ree-handed whist, with an interval so that they could listen to the news. There was no television; the aunts did not approve of it.

  After Mrs Trickey had gone home, Theodosia went into the kitchen and got supper. A cold supper, of course, since the aunts had no wish to cook, and once that was eaten she was told quite kindly that she should go to bed; she had had a long journey and needed her rest. It was chilly upstairs, and the bathroom, converted years ago from one of the bedrooms, was far too large, with a bath in the middle of the room. The water wasn’t quite hot so she didn’t waste time there but jumped into bed, reminding herself that when she came at Christmas she must bring her hot-water bottle with her …

  She lay awake for a while, listening to the old ladies going to their beds and thinking about the professor. What was he doing? she wondered. Did he live somewhere near Finchingfield? Did he have a wife and children with whom he would spend Christmas? She enlarged upon the idea; he would have a pretty wife, always beautifully dressed, and two or three charming children. She nodded off as she added a dog and a couple of cats to his household and woke several hours later with cold feet and thoughts of Gustavus, lonely in the kitchen.

  She crept downstairs and found him sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, looking resigned. He was more than willing to return to her room with her and curl up on the bed. He was better than a hot-water bottle and she slept again until early morning, just in time to take him back downstairs before she heard her aunts stirring.

  Sunday formed a well-remembered pattern: breakfast with Mrs Trickey, still in a hat, cooking scrambled eggs, and then church. The aunts wore beautifully tailored coats and skirts, made exactly as they had been for the last fifty years or so, and felt hats, identical in shape and colour, crowning their heads. Theodosia was in her winter coat and wearing the small velvet hat she kept especially for her visits to Finchingfield.

  The church was beautiful and the flowers decorating it scented the chilly air. Although the congregation wasn’t large, it sang the hymns tunefully. And after the service there was the slow progress to the church porch, greeting neighbours and friends and finally the rector, and then the walk back to the house.

  Lunch, with the exception of the boiled vegetables, was cold. Mrs Trickey went home after breakfast on Sundays, and the afternoon was spent sitting in the drawing room reading the Sunday Times and commenting on the various activities in the village. Theodosia got the tea and presently cleared it away and washed the china in the great stone sink in the scullery, then laid the table for the aunts’ supper. It was cold again so, unasked, she found a can of soup and put it ready to heat up.

  She filled their hot-water bottles, too, and popped them into their beds. Neither of them approved of what they called the soft modern way of living—indeed, they seemed to enjoy their spartan way of living—but Theodosia’s warm heart wished them to be warm at least.

  The professor arrived at exactly half past six and Theodosia, admitting him, asked rather shyly if he would care to meet her aunts, and led the way to the drawing room.

  Great-Aunt Jessica greeted him graciously and Great-Aunt Mary less so; there was no beard, though she could find no fault with his beautiful manners. He was offered refreshment, which he declined with the right amount of regret, then he assured the old ladies that he would drive carefully, expressed pleasure at having met them, picked up Gustavus’s basket and Theodosia’s bag and took his leave, sweeping her effortlessly before him.

  The aunts, in total approval of him, accompanied them to the door with the wish, given in Great-Aunt Jessica’s rather commanding voice, that he might visit them again. ‘You will be most welcome when you come again with Theodosia,’ she told him.

  Theodosia wished herself anywhere but where she was, sitting beside him in his car again. After a silence which lasted too long she said, ‘My aunts are getting old. I did explain that I had accepted a lift from you, that I didn’t actually know you, but that you are at the hospital …’

  The professor had left the village behind, making for the main road. He said impassively, ‘It is only natural that they should wish to know who I am. And who knows? I might have the occasion to come this way again.’

  Which somehow made everything all right again. In any case she had discovered it was hard to feel shy or awkward with him. ‘Did you enjoy your weekend?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Very much. And you? A couple of quiet days away from the hospital can be just what one needs from time to time.’

  Perhaps not quite as quiet as two days with the great-aunts, reflected Theodosia, and felt ashamed for thinking it for they must find her visits tiresome, upsetting their quiet lives.

  ‘Shall we stop for a meal?’ asked the professor. ‘Unless you’re anxious to get back? There is a good place at Great Dunmow. I’ll have to go straight to the hospital and won’t have time to eat.’

  ‘You don’t have to work on a Sunday evening?’ asked Theodosia, quite shocked.

  ‘No, no, but I want to check on a patient—Mrs Bennett. It will probably be late by the time I get home.’

  ‘Well, of course we must stop,’ said Theodosia. ‘You can’t go without your meals, especially when you work all hours.’ She added honestly, ‘I’m quite hungry, too.’

  ‘Splendid. I could hardly eat a steak while you nibbled at a lettuce leaf.’

  He stopped in the market place at Great Dunmow and ushered her into the Starr restaurant. It was a pleasing place, warm and very welcoming, and the food was splendid. While the professor ate his steak, Theodosia enjoyed a grilled sole, and they both agreed that the bread and butter pudding which followed was perfection. They lingered over coffee until Theodosia said, ‘We really ought to go or you’ll never get to bed tonight, not if you are going to see your patient when we get back. It’s after nine o’clock …’

  The professor ignored the time for he was enjoying himself; Theodosia was good company. She was outspoken, which amused him, and, unlike other girls in his acquaintance, she was content with her lot and happy. And she made him laugh. It was a pity that once they got back to London he would probably not see her again; their paths were unlikely to cross.

  The rest of their journey went too swiftly; he listened to Theodosia’s cheerful voice giving her opinion on this, that and the other, and reflected that she hadn’t once talked about herself. When they reached Mrs Towzer’s house, he got out, opened her car door, collected Gustavus in his basket and her bag and followed her up the stairs to her attic. He didn’t go in—she hadn’t invited him anyway—but she offered a hand and thanked him for her supper and the journey. ‘I enjoyed every minute of it,’ she assured him, looking up at him with her gentle grey eyes. ‘And I do hope you won’t be too late going to bed. You need your rest.’

  He smiled then, bade her a quiet goodnight, and went away, back down the stairs.

  CHAPTER TWO

  MONDAY morning again, and a cold one. Theodosia, going shivering to the bathroom on the floor below, envied Gustavus, curled up cosily on the divan. And there was a cold sleet falling as she went to work. A cheerful girl by nature, Theodosia was hard put to view the day ahead with any equanimity. But there was something to look forward to, she reminded herself; the hospital ball was to be held on Saturday and she was going with several of the clerical staff of the hospital.

  She hadn’t expected that she would be asked to go with any of the student doctors or the young men who worked in the wages department. She was on good terms with them all but there were any number of pretty girls from whom they could choose partners. All the same, when she had gone to earlier years’ balls, she had had partners enough for she danced well.

  She would need a new dress; she had worn the only one she had on three successive years. She pondered the problem during the day. She couldn’t afford a new dress—that was quite out of the question—but someone had told her that the Oxfam shops in the more fashionable shopping streets quite often yielded treasures …

  On Tuesday, she skipped her midda
y dinner, begged an extra hour of Miss Prescott and took a bus to Oxford Street.

  The professor, caught in a traffic jam and inured to delays, passed the time glancing idly around him. There was plenty to catch his eye; shoppers thronged the pavement and the shop windows were brilliantly lighted. It was the sight of a gleaming ginger head of hair which caught his attention. There surely weren’t two girls with hair that colour …?

  The Oxfam lights were of the no-nonsense variety; the shopper could see what he or she was buying. Theodosia, plucking a dove-grey dress off the rails, took it to the window to inspect it better and he watched her as she examined it carefully—the label, the price tag, the seams … It was a pity that the traffic moved at last and he drove on, aware of an unexpected concern that she should be forced to buy someone else’s dress.

  Theodosia, happily unaware that she had been seen, took the dress home that evening, tried it on and nipped down to the bathroom where there was a full-length mirror. It would do; she would have to take it in here and there and the neck was too low. She brought out her work basket, found a needle and thread and set to. She was handy with her needle but it took a couple of evenings’ work till she was satisfied that it would pass muster.

  It wasn’t as though she was going with a partner, she reminded herself. There would be a great many people there; no one would notice her. Miss Prescott would be going, of course, but any mention of the ball during working hours was sternly rebuked and when Theodosia had asked her what she would be wearing she’d been told not to be impertinent. Theodosia, who had meant it kindly, felt hurt.

  She dressed carefully on Saturday evening. The grey dress, viewed in the bathroom looking-glass by the low-wattage bulb, looked all right. A pity she couldn’t have afforded a pair of those strappy sandals. Her slippers were silver kid and out of date but at least they were comfortable. She gave Gustavus his supper, made sure that he was warm and comfortable on the divan, and walked to the hospital wrapped in her winter coat and, since it was drizzling, sheltered under her umbrella.