by Betty Neels
Which he did, obligingly pointing out anything of interest before rejoining the motorway once more. The traffic was heavy here and Antwerp, as they approached it, loomed across the horizon. Before they reached the city he turned off onto a ring road and rejoined the motorway to the north of the city. Obviously, she thought, he knew the way—well, of course he would since he went to and fro fairly frequently. A huge road sign informed her that they were forty-eight kilometres from Breda, and after some mental arithmetic she decided on thirty miles. At the rate they were going they would be there in less than half an hour.
Which they were, still on the motorway skirting the town, driving on towards the Moerdijk Bridge and then on towards Rotterdam. Before they reached the bridge the professor stopped by a roadside café, parked the car and ushered her inside. It was a small place, its tables half-filled. ‘I’ll be at that table by the window,’ he told her; he nodded to a door beside the bar. ‘Through there, don’t be long—I’m hungry and I expect you are too.’
She was famished, breakfast had been a meal taken in another world, tea and dinner were as yet uncertain. She was back within five minutes.
‘I’ve ordered for us both; I hope you’ll enjoy my choice. I’m having coffee but they’ll bring you tea—not quite as the English drink it, but at least it’s tea.’
‘Thank you, I’d love a cup. Are you making good time?’
‘Yes. I hope to be at Leiden around teatime. You have a room close to the hospital. I shall want you tomorrow in the afternoon. In the morning I have several people to see so you will have time to look around. You may find the morning service at St Pieterskerk; it’s a magnificent building.’
‘I don’t speak Dutch or understand it.’
‘You don’t need to—the service is similar to your own church, and if you need to ask the way practically everyone will understand you.’
‘Then I’d like that.’ The café owner had brought the coffee and, for her, a glass of hot water on a saucer with a teabag; he came back a moment later with two dishes on which reposed slices of bread covered with slices of ham and two fried eggs.
‘This is an uitsmijter,’ said the professor. ‘If you don’t care for it, say so, and I’ll order something else.’
‘It looks delicious.’ She fell to; it not only looked good, it tasted good too, and, moreover, filled her empty insides up nicely. They ate without much talk; the professor was pleasant, thoughtful of her needs but not disposed to make idle conversation. Reasonable enough, she reflected, polishing off the last bits of ham; she had been wished on him and he didn’t like her, although he concealed his dislike beneath good manners. At least he hadn’t been able to fault her work...
They were back in the car within half an hour, heading towards Dordrecht and Rotterdam. As they left Dordrecht behind them the traffic became thicker, and as the outskirts of Rotterdam closed in on them she wondered how anyone ever found their way in the tangle of traffic, but it appeared to hold no terrors for her companion and presently they joined the long line of cars edging through the Maas Tunnel and then crossed the city and onto the motorway to den Haag. It bypassed the city, but here and there there were fields and copses which became more frequent as they reached the outskirts of Leiden.
As Professor van der Driesma drove through its heart Julie tried to see everything—it looked charming with its lovely old houses and bustling streets—but presently he turned into a wide street with a canal running through its centre. ’Rapenburg,’ the professor told her. ‘The university and medical school are on the right.’
Julie, outwardly calm, felt nervous. ‘Will you be there?’ she asked.
‘No, I shall be at my house.’
She waited for more but it seemed that that was all she was to know. She persevered. ‘Do you live here?’
‘From time to time.’ He wasn’t going to say any more and presently he stopped before a narrow, tall house—one of a row of gabled houses just past the university buildings. ‘I think you will be comfortable here.’
He got out, opened her door, got her case from the boot and thumped the knocker on the solid front door. The woman who opened it was tall and thin and dressed severely in black, but she had a pleasant face and kind smile.
The professor addressed her in Dutch before turning to Julie. ‘This is Mevrouw Schatt. She will show you your room and give you your supper presently.’
He spoke to Mevrouw Schatt again, this time in English. ‘This is Miss Julie Beckworth, mevrouw. I know you’ll take care of her.’ He turned back to Julie. ‘I will call for you here at one o’clock tomorrow. Bring your notebook with you. I’ll tell you what I want you to do when we are there.’
‘Where?’
He looked surprised. ‘Did I not tell you? We shall be at the aula of the medical school—a discussion on various types of anaemia. Mostly questions and answers in English.’
Her ‘very well, sir’ sounded so meek that he gave her a suspicious look, which she returned with a limpid look from her green eyes.
He stood looking at her for a moment and she thought that he was going to say something else, but his ‘Good evening, Miss Beckworth’ was brisk. He shook Mevrouw Schatt’s hand and exchanged a friendly remark. At least, Julie supposed that it was friendly; she couldn’t understand a word.
‘Come, miss,’ said Mevrouw Schatt, and led the way up a steep flight of stairs and into a pleasant room overlooking the canal. It was rather full of furniture and the bed took up a great deal of space, but it was spotless and warm.
They smiled at each other and Mevrouw Schatt said, ‘The bathroom, along this passage. If you want anything you ask, miss.’ She turned to go. ‘I make tea for you, if you will come down soon.’
Left alone, Julie tried the bed, looked out of the window and unpacked what she would need for the night. So far everything had gone smoothly. She only hoped that she would be able to deal with the work. Presently she went downstairs to sit in the living room and have tea with her hostess.
The room was charming, the furniture old and gleaming, and there was a thick carpet underfoot, and heavy velvet curtains at the long windows which overlooked the street. Mevrouw Schatt switched on several little table-lamps so that the room was visible to passers-by. ‘It is the custom,’ she explained. ‘We are pleased to let others see how cosily we live.’
While she drank her tea and ate the little biscuits Julie nodded and smiled and replied suitably, and wondered what the professor was doing. If he had liked her, surely she would have stayed at his house? Would his wife object? She presumed that he had one, for he had never evinced any interest in any of the staff at the hospital, and, if not a wife, a housekeeper...
* * *
Professor van der Driesma had gone straight to the hospital and checked with his colleagues that the arrangements for the following afternoon were satisfactory. It was a pity that the seminar had to be on a Sunday, but he had a tight schedule; he very much doubted if he would have time to go to his home, but at least he could spend the night at his home here in Leiden.
He drove there now, past the university again, over the canal and into a narrow street beside the imposing library. It was quiet here and the houses, narrow and four-storeyed, with their variety of gables, were to outward appearances exactly as they had been built three hundred years ago. He drove to the end and got out, mounted the double steps to the front door with its ornate transom and put his key into the modern lock to be greeted by a deep-throated barking, and as he opened the door a big, shaggy dog hurled himself at him.
The professor bore the onslaught with equanimity. ‘Jason, old fellow; it’s good to see you again.’
He turned to speak to the elderly, stout woman who had followed the dog into the narrow hall. ’Siska—nice to be home, even if only for one night.’ He put an arm round her plump shoulders.
‘I have
an excellent tea ready,’ she told him. ‘It is a shame that you must dine out this evening.’ She added wistfully, ‘Perhaps you will soon spend more time here. You are so often in England.’ She went on, ‘If you would marry—find yourself a good little wife.’
‘I’ll think about it, Siska, if I can find one.’
He had his tea with Jason for company, and then the pair of them went for a long walk along the Rapenburg which led them past Mevrouw Schatt’s house. He could see Julie sitting in the softly lighted room; she had Mevrouw Schatt’s cat on her knee and was laughing.
He stopped to watch her for a moment. A beautiful girl, he reflected, and an excellent secretary; he had been agreeably surprised at her unflurried manner during their journey from England; with no fidgetting or demands to stop on the way, she had been an undemanding companion who didn’t expect to be entertained. He walked on, forgetting her as soon as he started to mull over the next day’s activities.
He was dining with friends that evening. He had known Gijs van der Eekerk since their student days together. Gijs had married young—a pretty girl, Zalia, who had left him and their small daughter when Alicia had still been a baby. She had been killed in a car accident shortly afterwards and now, after six years, he had married again—an English girl. It was a very happy marriage from all accounts, with Alicia devoted to her stepmother Beatrice, who was expecting a baby in the summer.
He drove to a small village some ten miles from Leiden, stopped the car before a solid square house behind high iron railings and got out, opening the door for Jason. His welcome—and Jason’s—was warm, and just for a moment he envied his old friend and his pretty wife and little daughter; they were so obviously in love and little Alicia was so happy. His evening was happy too; they spent an hour or so round the fire in the drawing room after dinner—Alicia had gone to bed—Jason and Fred, the van der Eekerk’s great dog, heaped together before it.
On the way home the professor addressed Jason, sitting beside him. ‘Do you suppose we shall ever find anyone like Beatrice? And if we do shall we snap her up?’
Jason, half-asleep, grumbled gently.
‘You agree? Then we had better start looking.’
* * *
The next morning, however, such thoughts had no place in the professor’s clever head; an early morning walk with Jason was followed by another visit to the hospital, this time to examine patients and give his opinion to his colleagues before going back to his home for lunch.
As for Julie, she had been up early, eaten her breakfast of rolls, slices of cheese, ham and currant bread, drunk a pot of coffee with them, and then, given directions by Mevrouw Schatt, had found her way to St Pieterskerk, where she stayed for the service—not understanding a word, of course. The sermon had gone on for a very long time, but the organ had been magnificent and some of the hymns had sounded very like those at home.
She walked back slowly, looking at the quaint old houses, wishing that she had more time to explore, but the professor had said one o’clock and Mevrouw Schatt had told her that they would eat their lunch at noon.
They got on well together, she and her hostess, who was ready to answer Julie’s string of questions about Leiden and its history. Her husband had been something to do with the university, she explained, and she had lived there all her life. She had a great deal to say about everything, but not a word about Professor van der Driesma.
He came at exactly one o’clock, and Julie was ready and waiting for him.
He bade her good afternoon without a smile, passed the time of day with Mevrouw Schatt and asked Julie if she was ready.
‘Yes, sir. What am I to do about my bag? Shall I take it with me or am I to fetch it later, before we leave?’
‘We shan’t leave until early tomorrow morning.’ He glanced at his watch and ushered her with speed into the car. The drive was very short indeed, thought Julie; they could have walked in five minutes...
He drove across the forecourt of the hospital and under an arch at one side of the building, parked the car, opened her door and closed it behind her with a snap. ‘Through here,’ he said, indicating a door.
Julie stood where she was. ‘Just a minute, Professor. I think there is something which must be said first.’ Her voice shook with rage. ‘You bring me here, drive me for miles, dump me, and now you expect me to go with you to some talk or other of which I know nothing. On top of that you alter your plans without bothering to tell me. I had my bag all packed...’
She paused for breath. ‘You are a very inconsiderate and tiresome man.’ She added coldly, ‘Hadn’t we better go in? It won’t do for you to be late.’
He was standing there looking down at her indignant face. ‘It seems that I owe you an apology, Miss Beckworth. I had not realised that you had suffered any discomfort during our journey. Since it is obvious that you feel the need to know exactly what I am doing hour by hour I will do my best to keep you informed. First, however, if you will allow it, we will proceed to the aula.’
Put in my place, thought Julie, fuming; he’s made me sound like a fussy old woman. I hate him. Without a word she followed him through the door, along a narrow corridor and into the lecture hall, outwardly composed and seething under the composure.
CHAPTER THREE
THE AULA WAS packed and they had to walk the length of it to reach the platform where a semicircle of learned-looking men were already sitting. Julie was given a chair beneath it and someone had considerately placed a desk lamp on a small table beside it. There was a tape recorder there too—just in case she couldn’t keep up, she supposed. There was also a carafe of water and a glass—in case she felt faint? She smiled at the thought and then composed her features into suitable gravity as a stout, elderly man rose to his feet.
He made a lengthy speech in faultless English, most of it in dignified praise of Professor van der Driesma, who presently rose to his feet and began his lecture. His voice, Julie had to admit, after the rather plummy accents of the stout man, was a pleasure to listen to, and, thank heaven, deliberate enough for her to keep up. When he had finished and invited questions they came thick and fast. It was to be hoped that he wouldn’t want the whole lot typed before they left in the morning.
There was an interval then, and someone brought her a cup of tea and a small, feather-light biscuit. She nibbled it slowly and longed for a second cup but it seemed that there weren’t going to be any; there were groups of learned-looking men deep in talk and she supposed that for the time being at least there was nothing for her to do. Was she to sit there twiddling her thumbs until the professor came to fetch her or should she leave? It was less than five minutes’ walk back to Mevrouw Schatt’s house...
Professor van der Driesma detached himself from a group some way away from her and came unhurriedly towards her.
‘We shall be having discussions for another hour or so, Miss Beckworth; I have asked someone to show you to a quiet room so that you can get your notes typed. I understand there is a very efficient computer there.’ He turned as he spoke and a young man joined them. ‘This is Bas Vliet; he’ll show you where to go. I’ll come for you when I’m ready.’
Julie offered a hand. Bas Vliet looked rather nice so she gave him a brilliant smile and he smiled back. She switched off the smile when she looked at the professor. Her ‘Very well, sir’ was uttered in a resigned voice which made him want to shake her. Anyone less like a downtrodden slave would be hard to meet, and here she was, the very picture of stoical servitude. Minx, thought the professor, and walked away.
‘I dare say you have to work hard for the Prof,’ said Bas Vliet sympathetically. ‘He never spares himself and we lesser mortals can’t always keep up.’
He opened a door and showed her into a small office. ‘I hope there’s everything you’ll need here. If there’s anything you want come and find me and I’ll be glad to help.’<
br />
Julie thanked him prettily; at first glance there seemed to be everything she would need. She only hoped that the professor would remember that she was there and not go wandering off without her.
‘I say, you won’t mind if I say that I think you’re very pretty?’ said Bas. ‘The Prof’s a lucky man having someone like you working for him.’
Try telling him that, reflected Julie. ‘Thank you,’ she said demurely. ‘I’d better get started...’
He went reluctantly, hoping that he would see her again.
Alone, Julie settled down to work. There was a great deal to get typed up but she was good at her job. All the same it was two hours later that she gathered the sheets together tidily, arranged them with her pen and notebook on the desk and then sat back.
It was almost six o’clock and she was hungry. She thought about supper—a substantial meal, she hoped, and several cups of coffee afterwards. This was a mistake, of course, because she got hungrier, so that when the professor strolled in half an hour later she said crossly, ‘There you are. I’ve been finished for half an hour or more...’
His brows rose. ‘You are anxious to return to Mevrouw Schatt?’
‘I’m hungry,’ said Julie.
‘You had tea and a biscuit, surely?’
‘Hours ago, and what use is wafer-thin biscuit to someone of my size?’
He said, poker-faced, ‘Of no use at all,’ and stared at her so fixedly that she blushed.
‘We will go now,’ he said at length, and held the door for her. ‘Be ready to leave at eight o’clock in the morning. I have a lecture at half past nine and shall want you with me. Afterwards I have several patients to see. I shall want you there as I shall make observations for my own use which you will take down in English.’ He added impatiently, ‘Now, come along, Miss Beckworth.’
For all the world as though I had kept him waiting, fumed Julie silently.
He left her at Mevrouw Schatt’s house after a brief conversation with that lady and an even briefer goodnight to herself, and she went thankfully to her room to tidy herself and then down to supper. Thank heaven the Dutch had their evening meal early, she thought, supping delicious soup, then savouring a pork chop with apple sauce and fluffy potatoes and making a contented finish with Dutch apple tart and cream.