by Betty Neels
It was after the professor had eaten the dinner that Fred had set before him that he picked up the phone by his chair and dialled a number in Holland.
‘Ilsa? Thank you for your letter. I should have answered your other letters, but letter-writing is rather a luxury. I missed you last time I was home—Pleane is coming to stay with me shortly; I wondered if you would care to come with her. You would be company for each other during the day. She wants to do some shopping and you might be able to keep her from being too extravagant.’
‘Roel, what a lovely idea! I’d love to come. Could you give me some dates? Perhaps Pleane has it all arranged. I’ll go round and see her tomorrow to see if she likes the idea. You’re sure I won’t be a nuisance?’
He frowned. He had forgotten how sugary-sweet Ilsa’s voice was—or perhaps he was comparing it, against his better judgement, with Mary’s sensible, unaffected voice. He said quickly, ‘Of course not, Ilsa; it will be nice to see you again.’ They talked for a few minutes before he rang off with the plea of urgent reports to write.
Not that he did them. He sat in his chair, thinking. It had been a good idea to invite Ilsa. His youngest sister, still in her early twenties, was a darling girl but impulsive; with Ilsa’s company she might be induced to get less carried away by whatever caught her fancy at that moment.
As for Ilsa, he had been aware for some time now that he had only to ask her to marry him to be accepted at once. She had made her feelings almost embarrassingly plain on several occasions. And she was, after all, just the wife he needed—socially acceptable and beautifully dressed, charming, anxious to please. He would see how things turned out when she came. They were old friends, after all; they liked each other, and perhaps liking might deepen into love or at least affection.
He went upstairs to his bed and dreamed of Mary.
‘The girl’s getting tiresome,’ he told Richard as the pair of them went for their early morning walk. He turned his thoughts to planning some kind of entertainment for his two guests when they came, and presently went off to his consulting-rooms.
Fred, watching him go from his semi-basement kitchen, wondered out loud what was up. ‘Having a lady-friend, is he?’ he asked Richard. ‘An old friend, he says. Thinking of taking a wife, is he? She’d better be an angel—nothing less is good enough for him. Got his head in his books half the time and she’ll catch him unawares.’ Fred shook his head. ‘I don’t like it for an idea, that I don’t.’
Ilsa van Hoeven had put the phone down and gone to study her face in the enormous mirror on her bedroom wall. Her reflection smiled back at her and she nodded approvingly, studying her flawless make-up and elegant hairstyle. She didn’t look her age, thanks to the time and money she spent on keeping it at bay. She was still strikingly good-looking, as slim as a wand and always faultlessly turned out.
And she had made up her mind to marry Roel van Rakesma. Her first husband had been a mistake; he had bored her, besides which there had never been enough money. Roel was wealthy, highly thought of in his profession, and had good looks; besides, considering the way he indulged his youngest sister, she would have no trouble in having everything she wanted.
She would go and see Pleane and suggest that she went with her to England for a short visit. She wasn’t overfond of the girl, but once she was in Roel’s house...
They travelled a week later, and the professor drove to Heathrow to meet their plane. He watched them crossing the reception area, unaware of him, and smiled a little at the sight of Pleane. He was fond of his three sisters but Pleane was his favourite—the youngest, and spoilt, but with a sunny nature and given to doing things on the spur of the moment. It was a pity that he was so busy at the hospital, but Ilsa would keep her company.
He went to meet them then, and Pleane flew into his arms. ‘Roel, isn’t this fun? There’s such a lot I want to do and I must have some new clothes.’
He laughed down at her and turned to Ilsa. ‘Nice to see you again, Ilsa.’ He sounded friendly but that was all, and although he bent to kiss her too it was merely the social peck—first on one cheek and then the other and then back to the first. It meant nothing and she had to check her irritation; he wasn’t a man to demonstrate his feelings in public, and there were ten days ahead of her.
She smiled charmingly at him. ‘Nice to see you too, Roel; it seems a long time.’
She hadn’t changed, he decided as they went out to the car. She was a woman whom men turned to look at—a woman most men would be delighted to be seen with—so why did he feel no quickening of his pulses? What had he expected? he wondered, and had to admit to himself that he didn’t know.
Back at his house, they lunched together before he went back to the hospital. ‘I’ll be free this evening; if you’re not too tired I’ve tickets for the theatre.’
He forgot all about them once he was sitting in his consulting-room in Outpatients. There were more patients than ever but he worked unhurriedly, giving his attention to each as though he or she were the only one who had come to see him. It was long after five o’clock by the time the last one had gone, and Sister and her nurses began to collect up the papers and forms while he sat on at his desk, making careful notes, phoning and arranging for admissions.
He finished at last and drove himself home; there would be time for him to change, have dinner and get to the theatre.
They were waiting for him, sitting in the drawing-room, and Pleane at least was bubbling over with excitement.
‘We thought you’d never get here. I took Richard for a walk to save time.’
‘Good girl. Give me fifteen minutes; tell Fred, will you?’
He was as good as his word, joining them in less than that time, immaculate in black tie, looking as though he had had nothing to do all day.
Dinner was enjoyable; Pleane was amusing and happy, and Ilsa took care to be the kind of woman he would like best—serene and pleasant and not drawing attention to herself. A pity, she reflected, that she wasn’t young enough to assume an aura of shyness.
They were actually on the point of leaving when Professor van Rakesma was halted by his phone. He took it from his pocket with a glance at his companions and stood listening silently. Presently he said, ‘I’ll be over in twenty minutes,’ and then gave some instructions before he tucked it away again.
‘I’ll have to go,’ he told them. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll get Jim Crosby to go with you. I’ll have to take the car but I’ll tell him to get a taxi and come here for you. He is my junior registrar and you’ll like him.’
He was busy with the phone again as he spoke and then he said, ‘He’ll be here in ten minutes—he’s got rooms five minutes from here.’ He looked at them both. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Pleane at once. ‘At least, I’d have liked you to be with us but I’m sure we’ll enjoy ourselves.’
‘Someone important I expect,’ said Ilsa. ‘He must be, to call you out at this time of the evening.’
The professor glanced at her. ‘An elderly down-and-out found in the park,’ he told her evenly. ‘And yes, he’s important to me as a patient.’
She made a pretty little face. ‘Oh, Roel, you’re far too important to go out at all hours just for a tramp.’ She smiled at him. ‘Now, if it had been a member of the royal family... Surely you have registrars and house doctors to see to the hospital patients?’
‘Yes, indeed we do. Forgive me if I go. Jim will be here in a few minutes.’
Driving to the hospital, he found himself wondering if Ilsa would be impatient of the interruptions that were bound to occur when they were married. He found that he was thinking of Mary and brushed the thought angrily aside. The girl was becoming a nuisance, popping in and out of his head when he had other and much more important things to think about...
He got home very late and found Fred waiting with hot coffee and sandwiches.
‘Can’t sleep on an empty stomach,’ he said. ‘Had a success I hope, sir.’
<
br /> ‘I hope so, Fred. Touch and go—he’s undernourished and worn out and out of work...’
‘Too many of them. He could do with a nice quiet job in the country, I dare say.’
Professor van Rakesma smiled. ‘Fred, are you telling me that it would be a good idea if I had a caretaker at the cottage?’
‘Well, now you mention it, sir, yes.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind.’ He got up. ‘I must be at the hospital by nine o’clock. Breakfast at eight o‘clock? I don’t know if the ladies will be down.’
‘They said they would, but I can take a tray up easy enough.’
Mary found plenty to do now that she was at home again—meals to arrange and cook, washing and ironing, shopping. She enjoyed that now that she could pay for everything, although she had to be very careful how she spent it.
She had seen her father frowning over his post at breakfast. The gas bill, she surmised; the electricity bill would be due soon too, and a few more tiles had fallen off the roof. Luckily they were at the back of the house, where they didn’t show easily, but if it rained then one corner of the kitchen would be damp... One thing at a time, she told herself, and sat down at the kitchen table to plan the meals for the days when she wouldn’t be there.
Mrs Blackett, coming into the kitchen looking crosser than ever, banged her broom down and flung a duster after it. ‘That bathroom tap’s leaking something awful; if you don’t get a plumber to deal with it soon it’ll cost I don’t know what.’
Mary said soothingly, ‘Yes, I know Mrs Blackett.’ The dear soul throve on bad news. ‘I’ll see about it when I go to the shops presently. Shall we have a cup of tea before you start in here? I’ll take one to Mother.’
‘Nice to have you at home, darling,’ said Mrs Pagett. ‘Have you met any nice men at the bookshop?’
‘No, Mother; they are mostly elderly and learned, if you see what I mean. Will Father be home for lunch; he didn’t say...?’
‘It depends, Mary; he was going to see his publishers about something or other. If it’s cold it doesn’t matter, does it? What are we eating for supper, dear?’
Mary went back presently and drank her cooling tea while Mrs Blackett grumbled her way through a second cup and half a packet of digestive biscuits. She listened with half an ear to her companion’s diatribe concerning the Government and did her anxious sums.
It would work very well, she decided, on her way to work again on Thursday morning; it was a scramble, and there would never be quite enough money, but they would manage until her father’s book was finished. Even then they would have to wait for it to be published—months, perhaps—but if she could keep the job everything would come right later on.
She began her day’s work under Mr Bell’s friendly eye, looking, outwardly at least, perfectly content with her life. She thought of Professor van Rakesma constantly, of course, but since she couldn’t help doing that she did her best to think of him as a passing acquaintance, It didn’t always work but she did her best.
Not far away as the crow flew, Pleane and Ilsa were spending their days shopping. Neither of them lacked money and they spent it freely, and when they tired of that they visited art galleries and strolled around St James’s Park while they decided what to do next.
They had enjoyed the theatre, and Pleane at least had found Jim Crosby very much to her liking. They were going out to dinner that evening, not just the three of them, but with several of Roel’s friends at the River Room at the Savoy, and they would dance afterwards.
Ilsa, listening to Pleane’s chatter, wondered if she would be able to get Roel alone. So far she had seen very little of him—at breakfast, and that was tiresome, for at home she always breakfasted in bed, and anyway Pleane chattered unceasingly, and in the evenings—but never alone.
She had her chance that evening. The dinner had been most successful; now everyone was dancing, and as they left the table she said, ‘Come on, Roel, the exercise will do you good.’
He hadn’t wanted to dance; he had had a long day and he would have been content to sit quietly, but good manners prevailed; besides, she was looking particularly handsome in the soft lights, and her dress was exquisite. She gave him a sympathetic little smile. ‘You’re tired; how selfish I am. Let’s sit here and talk.’
She could be very charming when she wanted, and she was charming now. She had him to herself for some time while the others danced. She went to bed that night well satisfied.
There were still five or six days of their stay left, and she began to plan how she could get him to drive her down to his cottage without Pleane. If she hinted to young Jim Crosby that Pleane would like to see more of the London sights... She went to sleep with a satisfied smile on her face.
She wouldn’t have smiled if she had known that Roel was thinking of Mary. Not willingly, though, but somehow it seemed impossible for him to drag his thoughts away from her.
Ilsa was secretly furious when he, in the nicest possible way, told her that it was impossible for him to take her to the cottage. ‘I have a consultation on Saturday morning which may well last for some time and possibly take up a good part of the afternoon. Unavoidable, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, what about Sunday?’ she persisted, pouting prettily. ‘I’ve seen almost nothing of you, Roel, and I’m sure we have a great deal to talk about.’
That was a stupid mistake on her part; Professor van Rakesma, experienced in avoiding various ladies wishing to marry him, said suavely, ‘You forget that I promised to take you both to Westminster Abbey on Sunday morning.’ He added kindly, for he had known her for a long time, ‘We must keep a trip to the cottage for a future date.’
Ilsa, usually so coolly calculating, lost her head. ‘We’re not going back to Holland till Wednesday. Surely you could spare half a day?’
She contrived to look so wistful that he said with secret reluctance, ‘I’ll see what I can do; I’m afraid I’ve been a very poor host.’
She was quick to deny that. ‘No, no—we’ve had a lovely time and I have enjoyed being here in your home. Fred is splendid, isn’t he? Although I think you need a woman here as well.’ She trilled with laughter. ‘It’s a real bachelor establishment, isn’t it?’
Her hopes were raised quite erroneously when he said, ‘At present, yes.’ This time she was wise enough to say nothing more.
It was on Saturday morning that Pleane decided that she wanted to explore. ‘We’ve got all the morning,’ she observed. ‘I don’t want to go to the shops, just poke around. I’ll tell Fred that we don’t want lunch—we can have it out somewhere. Roel won’t be back until the early afternoon. Let’s go.’
Ilsa had no wish to explore—she was wearing a new outfit not suitable for showery weather—but it was important for Pleane to like her.
‘We could take a taxi,’ she suggested.
‘I’m sick of taxis; I’d like to walk. You’d better wear some sensible shoes.’
Ilsa had no idea where they were going, but Pleane had. There were people living in cardboard boxes down by the river and she intended to see them for herself. She was impetuous and very extravagant, but she was kind too, always willing to help where help was needed. She had money in her purse and she was bent on giving it away.
It was obvious within a short time that Ilsa wouldn’t get far in her high heels; besides, she was sulking. ‘We’ll take a bus,’ said Pleane, oblivious of her companion’s ill humour, and boarded one going to Waterloo, standing squashed and happy until they reached the station.
‘Down here,’ she said breathlessly, and led the way down a dingy side-street.
‘Where are you going? You must be mad...’
‘I want to see those people I read about who live on the streets—in cardboard boxes, Ilsa, just imagine...’
Ilsa stopped. ‘Then if you want to behave like an idiot, go ahead; I’m not coming. I shall go home and have lunch like a decent human being.’ She walked away without looking back and Pleane let her go.
&n
bsp; CHAPTER SIX
THE clocks were striking five as Professor van Rakesma let himself into the flat. He had been on the point of leaving the hospital earlier in the afternoon but there had been a cardiac arrest in the accident room and he had stayed to do what he could for the man. He wasn’t tired, but he was concerned that the man had died despite all his efforts.
Now, as he went in to the hall, he shook himself free from the afternoon’s happening; he would take his guests out later on—to dine, perhaps, or to a show if he could get tickets. He was crossing the hall to his study with his bag when Fred joined him. ‘You’re late, sir; I thought you might have Miss Pleane with you.’
‘Pleane? No, she isn’t with me, Fred. What has happened?’
‘Best talk to Mrs van Hoeven, sir. She’s in the drawing-room. I’ll bring your tea.’
Ilsa was sitting in one of the comfortable chairs, leafing through a magazine. She had heard Roel come in but she gave a realistic start of surprise as he entered. ‘Roel, how late you are. Really, you work too hard; you need someone to make you slow down...’
He had crossed the room to stand by her chair while Richard frisked at his feet. ‘Ilsa, where is Pleane? How long has she been away?’
‘Oh, so silly, Roel; she wanted to explore so we took a bus to some awful station and started to walk. I said I didn’t think it was very interesting, and she said something about going to see the people who live in cardboard boxes by the river. She absolutely refused to come back with me.’ She shrugged prettily. ‘I didn’t know what to do—I mean, what is there to do for such people? And they are bound to be dirty and diseased.’
‘So you came back here?’ His voice was quiet.
‘Yes. I quite thought she’d come to her senses and be back by now.’ She gave him a sweet smile. ‘I’m sure it’s horrid, wherever it is she’s gone to—it began to rain and I had on the wrong shoes...’
‘What was the name of the station?’