Читать книгу The Silver Thaw - Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

THEY WERE TO spend the night at the Norge hotel and leave the following morning by an air taxi Mr Crosbie had booked previously. Amelia would have preferred to have travelled to Stokmarknes by boat or road, but her father had come to fish and that as soon as possible. However, they had the rest of the day in which to explore Bergen and once settled into their rooms, she declared her intention of seeing as much of the town as she could.

‘It’s raining,’ objected her father.

‘I’ve got my anorak,’ she pointed out reasonably. ‘Besides, you know quite well that you’ll not mind in the least if it rains every day once you get a rod in your hands.’ She smiled at him and made for the door with Tom close behind her. ‘We’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.’

They set off, walking the few yards down Ole Bulls Plass into the main shopping street, Torgalm, a wide thoroughfare with broad pavements and trees bordering them, only now there were few leaves and those that were left were limp with the rain. But the shops were splendid, their lights welcome in the early gloom of the afternoon. Amelia strolled along, 27 her arm tucked into Tom’s, pausing to look at everything until presently she suggested that they found somewhere for tea. ‘Just a cup,’ she begged. ‘It’s only four o’clock and it might be fun. I’m going to ask in this shop.’

There was a tea-room close by, the saleslady told her in excellent English, and they found it without difficulty, a little way away from the shops, opposite a small beautifully kept park close to the hotel. Inside it lived up to its name with little tables occupied by smart housewives and uniformed waitresses, and to Amelia’s satisfaction the tea was delicious and brought in a tea-pot, nicely set out with cups and saucers, and with it they ate enormous creamy cakes which Tom warned her would spoil her appetite for dinner later on.

‘Oh, pooh,’ she told him robustly, ‘I’m a big girl and I get hungry.’

They wandered back presently and spent the rest of the evening in the hotel, eating deliciously in a beautifully appointed restaurant. Amelia went to bed very contented, sure that the holiday was going to be one of the best she had ever spent.

They flew to Ardenes by air taxi the next morning and then went by hired car down to Stokmarknes. Amelia, who had heard of the Lofoten Islands but never been near them before, was struck dumb by the awe-inspiring scenery. The mountains loomed majestically almost to the edge of the fjords already deeply snow-capped, only here and there small green patches, each with its tiny community, clung to their skirts. Sitting behind the Norwegian driver as he followed the one road across the islands, she began to wonder what Stokmarknes would be like.

It was a delightful surprise. True, there was the inevitable fish oil refinery down by the small quay, but the little town itself, strung out along the fjord for perhaps a mile, was charming; its wooden houses, brightly painted and surrounded by birch trees, already orange and red-leafed, bordered each side of the road which ran on through the cluster of houses and small shops, towards Melbu and the Ferry. The hotel, close to the quay, was a square wooden building and Amelia’s heart sank a little when she got out of the car before its door; it looked lonely and uninviting from where she stood. But inside she saw how wrong she had been; it was cosily warm for a start, bright with cheerful lights and comfortable modern furniture, and moreover they were welcomed by a smiling manager whose English was almost as good as theirs. There were, he told them cheerfully, very few visitors, but it was hardly the time of year, although to a keen fisherman that would make no difference, and, he went on, glancing at Amelia, there were some delightful walks in the neighbourhood and a daily bus service. Sortland or Svolvaer were no distance away by road. Meanwhile he would show them to their rooms and doubtless they would enjoy a cup of tea or coffee.

It was going to be great fun after all, she decided, looking with approval round her bedroom. It faced the fjord, so that she could see the constant coming and going on the water, and its furniture, though simple, was very much to her taste. She made short work of tidying herself and went downstairs to find the two men were already in the lounge, deep in discussion with the manager about the hiring of a boat. She heard her father’s satisfied grunt when he was told that the vessel was ready and waiting for him.

‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ he promised Amelia, ‘we’ll take her out and see what we can get.’ He glanced at Tom. ‘You’ll come, of course, Tom?’

‘I’ll be delighted, though I’m not much good with boats, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, never mind that,’ said Crosbie in high good humour. ‘Amelia is a first class crew, she’ll tell you what to do. I understand the weather’s likely to be good for a few days at least—they’ve had one or two snow showers further north, but they haven’t reached these parts, although it’ll probably rain.’

Amelia caught Tom’s eye and smiled and was a little disconcerted to see that although he smiled back, he didn’t look quite happy.

‘Tom and I are going to do a bit of exploring once you’ve got your eye in, Father,’ she said quickly. ‘You’re bound to find several enthusiasts before long, and I daresay they’ll crew for you—besides, when Tom goes back I’ll come out with you every day.’

She turned away to pour out the tea and her father answered her vaguely, his mind already busy with the question of how to get the most out of his stay.

Amelia and Tom went for a walk before dinner. It was already dusk, but the little place was well lighted, and they went from one end of the town to the other, admiring the houses, dotted haphazardly on either side of the road, creeping as far as they could go to the very edge of the fjord on one side, and on the other, tucking themselves against the base of the massive mountains.

‘I could live here,’ declared Amelia. ‘It’s peaceful and cosy and…’

‘A bit isolated,’ finished Tom. ‘Nowhere to go in the evenings, is there?’

‘Ah, I’d sit at home and embroider those lovely tapestries we saw in Bergen, and knit.’

He laughed at her. ‘What? No dinners out, no cinemas, no theatre—you’d get bored.’

‘No.’ She suddenly felt a little irritated with him. ‘I don’t believe the people who live here are bored, I think they’re content and satisfied with their lives—how could you be anything else with all this glorious scenery around?’ She added a shade defiantly, ‘I like it.’

Tom took her arm and turned her round to go back to the hotel. ‘Well, so do I,’ he said placatingly. ‘I’m looking forward to tomorrow.’

It was a splendid morning; blue sky and a cold sun with almost no wind. They breakfasted together and then went down to the boat, not as early as Mr Crosbie would have liked, but Amelia had wanted to sample the variety of breads and rolls arranged on the long table in the restaurant, and try the contents of the great number of dishes laid upon it. She had never had herrings in an onion sauce for breakfast, nor beetroot and cucumber. The cold meats and cheese seemed more like home as well as the great bowl of marmalade, flanked by cranberry jam. She tried as many of them as possible and declared that she would get up earlier in future so that she might have a go at the rest.

But there was little fear of them going hungry, judging by the size of the picnic box they had been given to take with them. Amelia arranging things just so in the small cabin, found it all very satisfactory and great fun. It was going to be choppy later on, they had been warned, but she didn’t mind that; she was wearing slacks stuffed into wellingtons, a bright yellow anorak and a wool cap pulled well down over her ears and thick gloves.

They cast off and her father started the outboard motor before leaving it to Tom’s care while he went off to check his rods and bait. Today, he had assured them, was merely a trial run; they would go north through the fjord towards Sortland and see if there were any fish.

There were a great many. Presently Tom left Amelia to steer in the little cockpit while he joined her father, and presently she stopped the motor and they anchored while the two men reeled in trout, herring, flounders and a couple of salmon. It was past midday by then and she gave them their lunch, made soup and coffee on the stove and joined them on deck to listen patiently to their enthusiastic discussions as to which rod and what bait were the best to use. It was nice to see her father so happy and Tom too. She looked around her and could find no fault in her morning.

It began to rain a little by mid-afternoon and they turned for home, slowed by a sharp wind. Mr Crosbie was at the wheel now, thoroughly enjoying himself, not minding the change in the weather, although Tom looked a little uneasy. It was getting dark already and it was no use trying to use the binoculars Amelia had brought with her. They stood side by side watching the lights of Stokmarknes getting nearer. The little quay, when they reached it, was almost deserted. The coastal steamer had come and gone and the little school was empty of children; only the shops were still open as they walked the short distance to the hotel. Amelia paused to buy a yesterday’s Telegraph at the little kiosk close to the quay; the woman who served her was friendly and spoke a little English and she would have liked to have stayed a few minutes and talked, but the men were impatient now and hurried her along the road and in through the hotel door.

They ate their dinner with splendid appetites and Amelia went early to bed. The hotel manager had told them that a short walk in the morning would take them behind the little town and up the lower slopes of the mountains where the view of the fjord was something worth seeing, and Amelia persuaded her father to delay his fishing trip for an hour so that she and Tom might go. Her father hadn’t minded; he had the rest of the short day to look forward to and there was a man who worked down on the quay who would tell him just where he could go for salmon.

Amelia, getting sleepily ready for bed, yawned widely and decided that she was enjoying herself hugely.

The morning walk was all that she had hoped for. They had turned off the road and taken a rocky lane leading up to the houses clinging so precariously to the lower slopes of the mountains. There were no roads here, only paths leading from one house to the next, and they had been built in haphazard charm between the birch trees. They left them behind presently, climbing over the rough ground, and then stopped to admire the view. It was cold, too, with a sky filled with clouds which every now and then allowed the sun to shine through. Amelia had brought the binoculars with her and used them now, picking out isolated houses along the shore. ‘It’s cold enough for snow,’ she declared.

‘A bit early for that,’ observed Tom, ‘though I must say it’s rather wintry.’ He smiled at her. ‘Rather different from St Ansell’s.’

She said impulsively: ‘Tom, let’s come here on our honeymoon,’ and was chilled by his careless:

‘Isn’t it a bit too early to make plans?’

She said tonelessly: ‘Yes, of course, I was only joking. We’d better get back or Father will get impatient.’

Walking back briskly, she kept the conversation cheerful and impersonal. Tom didn’t want to talk about their future together, that was obvious. Perhaps she was too impatient, she must remember that; perhaps, she thought uneasily, she wanted her own way too much.

Her father was sitting on the rough stone wall bordering the road, his back to them, looking out to the fjord and talking to someone—a man who when he saw them, got to his feet, unfolding his great height slowly. He was broad-shouldered and heavily built as well as tall, with a handsome face whose eyes were heavy-lidded above an imposing nose. His hair was dark, as far as she could see, and his eyes as he frankly appraised Amelia were very blue.

She didn’t like his stare. She lifted her chin and looked down her straight little nose, at the same time taking in the fact that he was wearing corduroy slacks stuffed into boots and a fisherman’s waterproof jacket. Another fisherman, she thought, and how like Father to find him! He’s probably the only one for miles around and they had to meet—and I don’t like him, she told herself.

Her parent was in high good humour. ‘Hullo, my dear,’ he beamed at her. ‘You see I’ve found another enthusiast. This is Doctor van der Tolck from Holland, like us, on holiday. My daughter Amelia and her fiancé, Doctor Tom Crouch.’ He stood back smiling while they shook hands and murmured politely, and Amelia, meeting the Dutchman’s sleepy gaze, had a sudden strange feeling, as though everything had changed; that nothing would ever be the same again; that there was no one else there, only herself and this giant of a man, still staring at her. She put out a hand and caught Tom’s sleeve in a fierce grip which made him glance at her in surprise. Tom was there, right beside her, and she was going to marry him…

The man smiled faintly, just as though he read her thoughts and mocked them, and made some remark to Tom. She told herself, seconds later, that she had imagined the whole puzzling thing.

‘Doctor van der Tolck has a boat here too,’ observed Mr Crosbie with satisfaction. ‘He’s staying at the hotel, got here last night on the coastal express. We might go out together—he tells me that the Raftsund is a good area for cod.’

‘What are we going to do with the catch?’ asked Amelia.

‘Oh, let the hotel people have it,’ declared her parent carelessly. ‘Well, how about moving off?’

She took a quick peep at the Dutchman, who was standing quietly, saying nothing, apparently waiting for the rest of them.

‘We’ll go and pick up the food,’ she offered, and gave Tom’s sleeve a tug. ‘Tom?’

‘Do that, my dear, and ask them to let you have Doctor van der Tolck’s sandwiches at the same time.’

‘I have to go back to the hotel,’ he had a slow deep voice, ‘I’ll pick my food up then.’ He smiled at Mr Crosbie. ‘Shall I come down to the quay with you—you were going to show me that rod of yours.’

Amelia turned away with Tom beside her. On the way to the hotel she said with a touch of pettishness: ‘Why on earth does Father have to dig up these chance acquaintances—I expect he’ll stick like a leech now!’

‘You don’t like him?’

‘No, I do not,’ she said a little too sharply, ‘butting in like that.’

‘Probably your father suggested that we should join forces—rather difficult to refuse in the circumstances.’

‘Rubbish, Tom—he could have made some excuse.’

He gave her a long considered look. ‘You do dislike him, don’t you?’

She bounced through the hotel door. ‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘I shall keep out of his way.’

A decision which Doctor van der Tolck had apparently made too, for he had little or nothing to say to her when she and Tom rejoined him and her father presently—polite enough, but she mistrusted the wicked gleam in his eyes and the faint smile when he spoke to her, which he did only when politeness made it imperative.

He left them presently, agreeing easily with Mr Crosbie that he would join them in his own boat within ten minutes. He was as good as his word, manoeuvring it alongside their own vessel while he exchanged opinions with Mr Crosbie as to the best area in which to fish. They settled the important question at last, working their way down towards the Raftsund and presently they anchored, not too far apart, and settled down to the serious business in hand. The clouds had strengthened and the sun no longer shone even fitfully, the mountains around them were grey and cold and Amelia secretly found them a little frightening. She went into the cabin and made coffee and sat there in comparative warmth, drinking it after handing out mugs to her father and Tom. The doctor, she saw out of the corner of her eye, had a thermos flask and even at a distance was a picture of contentment.

The weather worsened as the day went on and by three o’clock it was disagreeably cold and windy. Mr Crosbie reluctantly conceded the wisdom of returning to dry land before the rain, falling gently so far, became torrential. But he had had a good day; he and Tom sorted their catch while Amelia took the wheel. She was good at it. She passed their new acquaintance within a few feet, sending the boat tearing through the dark water before he had even got his engine going. It was galling, half way there, to be overtaken. He was making fast as she approached the quay and without speaking to her, performed the same service for her, and when she thanked him, rather haughtily, he grunted.

She left the three men there, telling each other fishy tales while they gloated over their catches, and went up to the hotel, where she ordered tea in her room and had a bath, far too hot.

It was difficult to avoid Doctor van der Tolck. The hotel wasn’t large and except for a couple of commercial travellers and a rather subdued family—on their way, the manager confided, to a funeral on the outskirts of the town—they were the only guests. True, by the time she had joined her father and Tom in the bar, a trickle of young men with their girls came in, but they kept to themselves although they were friendly enough. Amelia, sipping her sherry, made idle conversation and kept an eye on the door. Doctor van der Tolck was just the kind of man to join them for the evening unasked.

She was mistaken. He sauntered in presently, nodded pleasantly and joined the two Norwegians at the bar and either he spoke their language or they spoke Dutch, because they entered into a lengthy conversation and Amelia, her ears stretched, was sure that it wasn’t English they were speaking. It was annoying when he looked up suddenly and caught her looking at them, and still more annoying that he didn’t smile.

He dined at a table alone too, and she was a little surprised that her father hadn’t asked him to join them. She didn’t say anything, but when her father said casually: ‘I didn’t ask van der Tolck to join us—I hear from Tom that you don’t like him,’ she went pink and shot Tom a peevish look which in the circumstances was quite unjustified.

But he was there in the morning. She had gone out before breakfast to inspect the high slender bridge which joined Stokmarknes with the neighbouring island of Langoya. It was a bit too far to walk to, she saw with regret, but perhaps she and Tom would get a chance to reach it later in the day. She had supposed that it was much nearer, but appearances were deceptive, and even though she hurried to where the houses began to peter out against the base of the mountains, the bridge seemed as far away as ever. She turned round with regret and started back to the hotel, picking her way carefully along the uneven road. She hadn’t gone a quarter of the distance when a Saab swept past her and then stopped. Doctor van der Tolck was driving and Amelia said good morning in a cool voice as she drew abreast of him. He held the door open. ‘Like a lift?’ he enquired in a voice which suggested that he couldn’t care less either way. ‘I’m going back for breakfast.’

‘Thank you.’ She got in without argument. She had vowed to avoid him, but he was exactly the kind of man to demand to know why she refused if she did. He leaned across to slam the door shut and drove on without saying a word. What a good thing, she thought sourly, that the drive was a short one, for she couldn’t think of anything to say even if he had been disposed to make conversation. She peeped at him from under her lashes. He looked inscrutable—a silly, novelish word but it did describe the expression of his profile. A rather splendid profile too; a pity she didn’t like him. If he had been friendly it would have been nice to have talked… She had Tom, she reminded herself happily, and smiled quite nicely at her companion as they stopped at the hotel and he opened the door for her.

‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I daresay we shall be seeing each other very shortly.’

He agreed politely, but his smile disconcerted her; it was for all the world as though he had a secret joke which amused him very much and that after she had held out the olive branch—well not exactly held it out, but… She let the thought slide away; it was a great pity that she couldn’t opt out of the day’s fishing trip.

She did indeed suggest to Tom that they should take the bus to Sortland and have a look round, and they were arguing gently about it when Doctor van der Tolck came over to their table to speak to her father and he, despite a heavy frown from his daughter, at once suggested that the two of them should join forces for the day. ‘For Amelia is dead set on going to Sortland and of course Tom will go with her. There’s a bus…’

‘A splendid idea,’ agreed the doctor, so promptly that she suspected that he would be glad to see the back of her. He turned to Tom. ‘I’ve a Saab outside—rented it for my stay—why not borrow it? The road runs alongside the fjord and is pretty good going. There’s a bridge at Sortland and you can cross over to Hinney Island and visit Harstad; it’s quite a sizeable place and a military headquarters.’ He added, glancing at Amelia, ‘A street of shops, too.’

The faintly mocking glance he gave her from under his lids instantly made her change her mind. ‘Perhaps another day,’ she said coolly, to be overruled by Tom’s:

‘That’s jolly decent of you, if the weather changes we might not get another chance, and I’ll be going back in three days’ time.’

Amelia poured herself some more coffee which she didn’t want, but it was something to do while she argued. ‘Yes, but what about you, Father?’

Her parent was of no help at all. ‘Oh, we’ll manage very well, my dear—you and Tom go off and enjoy yourselves together.’

‘Yes, but you can’t manage the boat alone,’ she persisted.

‘Who said I was going to? We’ll use mine and share a picnic lunch. If the weather holds we shan’t come back before four o’clock, so don’t hurry on our account.’

The day had not been a qualified success. Amelia, soaking herself in a hot bath that evening, mulled it over at leisure and tried to decide where it had gone wrong. They had started off well enough—indeed, the drive to Sortland had been pleasant. The road, just as the doctor had told them, had followed the fjord the whole way and Sortland, when they reached it, was charming. They had coffee there, walked around the village, and then decided to go on to Harstad, so they drove over the bridge to the neighbouring island, Hinney, and took the only road, at first following the fjord and then going inland and taking a ferry once again. It proved to be a longer journey than they had expected and when they got to Harstad it was raining. They lunched at the Viking Nordic and then walked along the main street, looking at the shops, and Amelia, determined to take back some token of their trip, spent far too long in a rather splendid bookshop where she bought a couple of paperbacks, some writing paper and a pen she didn’t really need. Tom bought nothing at all, waiting patiently while she pottered round the shelves, and it was almost three o’clock when he suggested mildly that they should think about getting back to Stokmarknes.

And none too soon. The rain had settled down to a steady drizzle and the sky was an unrelieved grey, merging with the mountains, their snowy tops completely hidden by cloud. ‘We’ll have tea in Sortland,’ suggested Tom as they started back, but by the time they had reached it, it was dark, Tom was quietly apprehensive and Amelia becoming shorttempered. The day had been a waste. They hadn’t talked about themselves at all; her secret hopes that with time on their hands they could have got their future settled were coming to nothing. Tom was in no mood to talk about weddings—indeed, he had never been less romantic, advising her somewhat tersely to keep a sharp eye on the road, which, now that it was dark, wasn’t nearly as easy as it had been that morning.

They arrived back at the hotel at six o’clock, relieved to be there but unable to be lighthearted about it and meeting the doctor in the foyer didn’t help matters. He was sitting comfortably reading a Dutch newspaper, a drink at his elbow, but he got up as they went in, enquired kindly if they had enjoyed their day, expressed regret at the weather and invited them to have a drink. Tom, after a glance at Amelia, accepted, but she refused, declaring she wanted a cup of tea before she did anything else.

The doctor obligingly pressed the bell for her. ‘No tea?’ he asked with what she decided was quite false sympathy. ‘There’s a good hotel in Sortland.’

‘We left Harstad rather late,’ she explained stiffly, and when a waitress came asked for tea to be brought to her room, to drink it under the doctor’s amused eye was more than she could manage.

But tea and the bath soothed her, so that by the time she got downstairs she was feeling quite cheerful again. Tom was already there, so she went across the bar to him and tucked her hand into his arm. ‘Sorry if I was a bit snappy,’ she said softly. ‘It was disappointing, wasn’t it—all that rain.’

He agreed placidly and ordered her a drink, moving a little way away so that she had to take her hand away, and she frowned a little. Tom hated any form of affectionate display in public and just for the moment she had forgotten that. Amelia perched herself on a stool at the bar and began a rather banal conversation with the barman and Tom and they were presently joined by her father and Doctor van der Tolck, both with the air of men who had enjoyed every minute of their day and were now prepared to enjoy their evening just as much. And strangely enough, the evening was so pleasant that she had gone reluctantly to bed, much later than usual. Doctor van der Tolck had joined them for dinner and proved himself to be an amusing companion without attempting to hog the conversation—indeed, his aptitude for listening with interest to whatever was being said contributed to the success of the evening and even Amelia, wary of his friendly manner, found herself telling him about St Ansell’s. She only just stopped herself in time from telling him that she intended continuing to work there after she and Tom were married. She had told him too much already…

She stopped almost in mid-sentence and asked: ‘Are you married, Doctor van der Tolck?’

He had dropped his lids so that she couldn’t see his eyes. He said evenly: ‘No, I am not. Shall you be going fishing tomorrow?’

It was a palpable snub and she flushed a little, admitting to herself that she had deserved it. All the same, thinking about it afterwards, she came to the conclusion that while he had extracted quite a lot of information about her, he had said precious little about himself. Not that she was in the least interested.

She avoided him as much as possible for the next two days, although he shared their table now, to her father’s pleasure and to her own unease, but she had Tom to talk to, although not for much longer now, since he would be leaving the next day, and she wondered once or twice if it would be a good idea if she went back with him. She even suggested it, to be met with a very natural surprise on Tom’s part. ‘What on earth for?’ he wanted to know. ‘Your father would be left on his own and you know he wanted you to go with him in the first place.’

‘Yes, well—there’s Doctor van der Tolck to keep him company.’

Tom shook his head. ‘He told me that he was going further north after salmon.’

She told herself that she was delighted at the news. ‘Oh, well, then I’ll stay.’

‘You won’t be bored?’

She shook her head. ‘We’ll be out for most of the day and I’m going to buy some of that lovely embroidery to do—I should have got some in Harstad. I’ll persuade Father to take the ferry and we’ll spend a day there—a change from fishing will do him good.’ She added, trying not to sound too eager: ‘Will you miss me, Tom?’

‘I’ll be up to my eyes in work,’ he told her, which wasn’t a very satisfactory answer. ‘There’s that team of Australian physicians coming over at the end of the week, it’ll be interesting to work with them. I heard that there’s a strong chance that they’ll offer jobs to any of us who are interested.’ He glanced at her, ‘How do you like the idea of Australia, Amelia?’

She shook her head. ‘Me? Not at all—so far away.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Tom, you’re not serious, are you?’

‘Why not? There are marvellous opportunities out there. We’ll discuss it when you get back.’

They were in the lounge waiting for her father and Doctor van der Tolck.

‘Why not now?’ she asked.

‘Oh, plenty of time for that,’ Tom said easily.

They almost never quarrelled, but now Amelia felt herself on the verge of it.

‘But there’s not, Tom—you’re thirty and I’m twenty-seven and we haven’t even made any plans…’

‘Oh, come on, old girl—you know I can’t make plans until I’ve got a really good job. Another year or two—that’s not long, especially as we’re both working—no time to brood.’

‘I’ll be nudging thirty,’ said Amelia in a voice which held faint despair. She would have said more, only her father came in then, rubbing his hands and declaring that it was getting decidedly chilly and how about coffee before they started out. ‘We’re going down beyond the bridge,’ he told them enthusiastically, ‘they say there’s any amount of cod there.’

They were joined a moment later by the doctor, who drank his coffee with them but hadn’t much to say for himself, and presently they all trooped out and went down to the boats. It was getting colder, thought Amelia, glad of her quilted jacket and hood, and she prayed for clear skies. Bad weather wouldn’t keep her father indoors, and although he was cheerfully impervious to wind and rain, the idea of sitting in a smallish boat for hours on end in anything less than moderately fine weather daunted her.

But they were lucky for the moment. The sun came out and the mountains, with the gold and red of the birch trees wreathed around their lower slopes, didn’t look so forbidding, and the sun turned their snowy tops to a glistening fairyland, at least from a distance. The water was calm, dark and cold, but the three men didn’t notice that. They fished with enthusiasm, accepting hot drinks and food when Amelia proffered them, although she had the strong suspicion that they had quite forgotten that she was there. But not quite, apparently; it was the early afternoon when Doctor van der Tolck put his head round the cabin door where she was washing cups in the minute sink to ask her if she was all right. ‘We’ll have to get back fairly soon,’ he told her, ‘the light’s going and it’s getting cold.’

To which moderate remark she gave polite answer. As far as she was concerned it had got cold hours ago.

As it was Tom’s last evening, dinner was something of an event. They ate some of the cod they had caught with a rich creamy soup to precede it and reindeer steaks to follow, and rounded off the meal with chocolate mousse and coffee. And the doctor insisted on a bottle of wine, which, on top of the sherry she had had before dinner, warmed her very nicely.

They went to sit round the square stove afterwards, but not for long, for the doctor had offered to drive Tom to the airport at Ardenes in the morning and they would have to make an early start.

Amelia went to bed presently with the promise that she would be down in the morning to say goodbye to Tom. She was going to miss him, but two weeks would soon pass. She bade him a rather matter-of-fact goodnight because Doctor van der Tolck was watching them and hoped that he would have the good sense to look the other way when they said goodbye.

And strangely enough, he did. They breakfasted early and she joined them for a cup of coffee. Almost at once he got to his feet with some remark about the car and went away, leaving her and Tom looking at each other.

‘Well, it’s been a lovely week,’ said Amelia.

‘I enjoyed it enormously—I had no idea that fishing could be so absorbing.’ Tom caught her eye and added hastily, ‘It was splendid having you here too.’

‘I’ll be back in two weeks—I wish I were coming with you, or that you could have stayed for the rest of the time.’

‘Well, we knew that before we started, didn’t we?’ Tom got to his feet and went to put on his jacket lying ready. ‘I’d better be off, mustn’t miss the plane.’ He looked around him and then kissed her; there was no one there and there was no need to be so brisk about it, Amelia thought unhappily. She said: ‘Oh, Tom…’ and then at the look of faint unease on his nice face: ‘All right, I’m not going to cry or anything like that.’ She managed a bright smile and saw his relief. She kept it there while he went through the door.