Читать книгу The Fortunes of Francesca - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

THE professor looked at his godmother, whose blood pressure, he felt sure, was at a dangerous level, and then at Franny, composed and cheerful, obviously on the point of leaving.

‘Am I interrupting?’ he asked placidly.

‘No—yes,’ said Lady Trumper. ‘This girl has had the impertinence to criticise my treatment of one of my maids. I have dismissed her.’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t do anything hastily,’ said the professor. ‘This is a free country in which one may express one’s opinion without being flung into prison.’ He turned to Franny.

‘Were you deliberately rude, Miss—Miss…?’

‘Bowen,’ said Franny, and thought what a very large man he was—he would need a large house in which to live… ‘No, I don’t think so, it was just that it was something I had to say.’ She added cheerfully, ‘I should learn to hold my tongue, but I only pointed out that Elsie hadn’t cut herself deliberately. I mean, you wouldn’t, would you?’ She paused. ‘Well, I suppose if one were contemplating suicide… Lady Trumper was rather hard on the poor girl, although I’m sure she didn’t mean to be.’

Franny gave that lady a kindly look and started to tidy the desk. ‘I’ll go.’

The professor crossed the room and laid a large and beautifully cared for hand over hers. ‘No, no. I’m sure Lady Trumper understands now that you spoke with the best intentions.’ He turned to look at his godmother. ‘Is that not so, my dear?’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so…’

‘And Miss…’ he had forgotten her name again ‘…is entirely satisfactory in her work?’

‘Yes,’ said Lady Trumper, gobbling a little.

‘Then in that case is there any need to refine upon the matter? Elsie certainly had quite a severe cut, and it was unfortunate that it should have become infected. I’m sure that you will see that she does nothing to endanger her complete recovery.’

He talks like a professor, thought Franny admiringly, and with an accent, too. I wonder what it sounds like when he talks in Dutch…?

‘I will overlook the matter,’ said Lady Trumper grandly, ‘but I must insist on no more plain speaking from Miss Bowen. My nerves are badly shaken.’

How did one shake nerves? wondered Franny. Not that Lady Trumper had any. The professor, watching her face, allowed himself a smile. He spoke quickly before she could voice her thoughts.

‘I’m sure Miss Bowen will give consideration to your nerves in her future observations.’ He looked at Franny. ‘Is that not so, Miss—er—Bowen?’

‘Oh, I’ll be very careful.’ Franny smiled at them both. ‘I like working for Lady Trumper and I will do my best to keep a still tongue in my head.’

This forthright speech left Lady Trumper with nothing to say and the professor said easily, ‘Well, in that case, perhaps Miss Bowen might be allowed to go on with whatever she was doing while we have a little chat.’

Franny knew a hint when it was uttered. She picked up the invitation cards and went to her little cubbyhole of a room and closed the door. She had been dismissed—kindly, but dismissed, just as Elsie would have been dismissed.

And why should you mind? she asked herself. Remember that you are in a lowly position in this household. Not that it will be for always. Once Finn was a doctor with a splendid practice somewhere she would keep house for him and be respected as his sister. When he was married she would retire to a small bungalow and later live on her old-age pension.

That she had got a bit muddled in her plans for the future didn’t worry her. She spent a good deal of time making plans, most of them utter rubbish and highly improbable.

She wrote another half-dozen cards and paused, struck by the thought that it would be nice to marry someone like the professor. He had everything: good looks, a successful profession—at least, she supposed that he had—and a splendid motor car. Was he married? she wondered. And what exactly did he do? Professor of what? And why was he here in England when he had a perfectly good country of his own?

Inquisitive by nature, Franny decided to find out. Franny being Franny, if she had the opportunity to ask him she would, but that wasn’t likely. However a few casual questions in the kitchen over dinner tomorrow might prove fruitful…

She had finished the cards when she heard Lady Trumper’s raised voice, so she opened the door and said, ‘Yes, Lady Trumper?’

‘You have finished the cards? Stamp the envelopes and take them to the letter box and then come back here. I want you to take some documents to my solicitor. I do not trust the post. Hand them to the senior partner, Mr Augustus Ruskin, personally, and get a receipt for them. You are to take a taxi there. You may bus back.’

‘Your solicitor, Lady Trumper? Is his office close by?’

‘In the City. Please don’t waste any more time, Miss Bowen.’

‘It will probably be after five o’clock by the time I find a bus to bring me back here. Shall I go home, Lady Trumper? Of course, if I can get back here before then I’ll do so.’

Lady Trumper, who was conveyed by car whenever she wished to go out and had no idea how long a bus journey took, said severely, ‘Very well. I believe that I can trust you to be honest.’

Franny said nothing. There was a great deal she would have liked to say, but she wanted to keep the job. She stamped the invitations, then wrapped in her old mac since it was raining again, posted them and went back to collect the large envelope Lady Trumper had ready for her.

‘Barker tells me that taxi fares have been considerably increased. You will take ten pounds for the fare and for your bus ticket.’

Franny was soon getting into the taxi Barker had summoned and prepared to enjoy the ride. She considered that it was a lot of fuss about some papers or other; anyone else would have sent them by registered post. But since it allowed her an hour or two of freedom she wasn’t going to quibble about it. The driver was a cheerful Cockney, and they enjoyed a friendly chat as he took her into London’s heart. The evening rush hadn’t started but the City pavements were crowded, lights shining from the vast grey buildings.

‘This is where the money is,’ said the cabby. ‘Talking in millions behind them walls, I dare say. Pity they can’t use some of it ter do a bit of work on the ’ospital. Up that lane there, St Giles’. ’Ad me appendix out there—looked after me a treat, they did.’

Franny said with real sympathy, ‘Oh, poor you. Are you all right now?’

‘Right as rain. ’Ere’s yer office. Going back ter where I picked yer up?’

‘No, I’m to go home. I work there, but I live near Waterloo Station.’

She got out and paid him and gave him a handsome tip. ‘Thank you for a nice ride.’

‘A pleasure—enjoyed it meself. Mind ’ow yer go. Waterloo ain’t all that nice for a young lady.’

The solicitor’s office was in a large grey building with an imposing entrance and a porter guarding it. ‘Take the lift,’ he advised her. ‘Third floor—Ruskin, Ruskin and Ruskin.’

Brothers? wondered Franny, stepping gingerly into the lift and pressing a button anxiously. Or grandfather, son and grandson? Cousins…?

The lift bore her upwards smoothly and she nipped out smartly. She disliked lifts, so going back she would use the stairs.

The office was large, thickly carpeted and furnished with heavy chairs and a great many portraits—presumably of dead and gone Ruskins—on its walls. Franny made herself known to the severe lady sitting behind a desk facing the door and was asked to sit. But only for a moment, for after a word into the intercom she was bidden to go through the door behind the desk. It had MR AUGUSTUS RUSKIN in gold letters on it and when she peered round the door she saw him behind a vast desk. He must be a grandfather, even a great-grandfather, she thought. He stood up politely and she saw that he was quite shaky. But there was nothing shaky about his manner or his voice.

‘Miss Bowen? You have an envelope for me? Lady Trumper informed me of it.’

He sat down again and held out a hand.

‘You are Mr Augustus Ruskin?’ Franny asked. ‘I’m to give it only to him. Lady Trumper’s orders.’

He fixed her with a sharp old eye. ‘I am indeed he. You do quite right to query my identity, Miss Bowen.’

‘That’s all right, then,’ said Franny, and handed the envelope over. ‘Do I have to take any messages back?’

‘Thank you. No.’ He stood up again and Franny bade him a hasty goodbye, fearful that all the getting up and sitting down wouldn’t do someone of his age much good. The severe lady inclined her head without looking up as Franny went past her and ran down the stairs and out into the street.

It was well past five o’clock now, and the pavements were packed with people hurrying home. She didn’t know the City well and made for the nearest bus stop. There was a long queue already there and the bus timetable was miles away. If she attempted to go and look at it, the people in the queue would think that she was trying to get on first. She walked on, intent on finding someone who could tell her which bus to take, but there were no shops and no policemen. She stood on the edge of the pavement on a corner, waiting to cross the side street. She would have to take the Underground.

There was a steady stream of cars filtering from the side street into the main street, and she waited patiently for a gap so that she could dart across, thinking longingly of her tea. Finn would be hungry, he always was, and Auntie wouldn’t have bothered to eat much during the day. She would make a cheese pudding, she decided, filling, tasting and economical…

Professor van der Kettener saw her as he edged his car down the lane, away from the hospital. There she was, this very ordinary girl in her shabby mac, obviously intent on getting across the street. She looked remarkably cheerful, too. As he drew level with her, he leaned over and opened the car door.

‘Jump in quickly,’ he told her. ‘I can’t stop.’

Franny did as she was told, settled in her seat, fastened her safety belt and turned to look at him. ‘How very kind. I was beginning to think that I would be there for ever. If you would put me down at the next bus stop? You don’t happen to know which bus goes to Waterloo, I suppose?’

‘I’m afraid not. Why do you want to go to Waterloo?’

‘Well, I live fairly near the station.’

He drove smoothly past a bus stop. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Oh, I had to take some papers to Mr Augustus Ruskin, Lady Trumper’s solicitor. Such a dear old man; he ought to have retired years ago. There’s a bus stop.’

The professor said impatiently, ‘I can’t pull up here. I’ll drive you home.’

‘No, I don’t think so, thank you. You sound cross. I expect you’ve had a busy day and you’re tired. The last thing you would want to do would be to drive miles out of your way. I’m quite able to get on a bus, you know.’ She sounded motherly. ‘Look, there’s a bus stop—if you’ll stop just for a minute.’

‘Certainly not. Kindly tell me where you live, Miss Bowen.’

‘Twenty-nine Fish Street, just off Waterloo Road. You have to turn off into Lower Marsh. You can go over Waterloo Bridge.’ She turned to smile at his severe profile. ‘You can call me Franny, if you like.’

‘Tell me, Miss Bowen, are you so free with your friendship with everyone you meet?’

‘Goodness me, no,’ said Franny chattily. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t dare be friendly with Barker.’

‘Ah, you don’t count butlers among your friends?’ observed the professor nastily.

She refused to be put out. ‘I don’t know any, only him. At least…’

‘At least what?’ He was crossing Waterloo Bridge, and when she didn’t answer, he asked, ‘Well?’

‘Nothing,’ said Franny. ‘It’s the next turning on the right and then the third street on the right.’

Fish Street, even with the evening dark masking its shabbiness, all the same looked depressing in the light from the street lamps.

‘Left or right?’ asked the professor.

‘The left, halfway down—here.’

He drew up smoothly, got out and opened her door. She got out too, to stand looking up into his face. ‘It was very kind of you to bring me home,’ said Franny. ‘You need not have done it, you know, especially as you didn’t want to.’ She gave him a sunny smile. ‘Your good deed for the day!’ she told him. ‘Goodnight, Professor. Go home quickly and have a good dinner; it will make you feel better.’

He towered over her. ‘I have never met anyone like you before,’ he said slowly. ‘I trust Lady Trumper doesn’t have to listen to your chatter?’

‘No. No, she doesn’t, I only speak when spoken to. I’m sorry if I bored you, only I thought—well, I thought you looked the kind of person one could chat with.’ She crossed the narrow pavement and took out her key.

‘Goodnight, Professor.’ The door closed softly behind her.

The professor drove himself back over Westminster Bridge, along Whitehall, into Trafalgar Square and so into Pall Mall, going north until he reached Wimpole Street. He had a flat here, over his consulting room, for he spent a fair amount of time in London. He drove the car round to the mews behind the row of tall houses, walked back to his front door and let himself in.

The hall was narrow with the waiting room and his consulting room on one side of it. An elegant staircase led to the floor above and he took these two at a time to his own front door, just as it was opened by a rotund little man with a thatch of grey hair and a round, merry face.

He answered the professor’s greeting merrily. ‘A bit on the late side, aren’t you, sir? But dinner’s waiting for you when you want it. You’re going out later—I was to remind you…’

The professor had thrown down his coat and was crossing the hall to one of the doors leading from it, his bag and a pile of letters in his hand.

‘Thanks, Crisp. Dinner in ten minutes.’

His study was a comfortable room lined with bookshelves, with a fire burning in the small fireplace and a desk loaded with papers, a computer, telephone and reference books. He sat down behind it with a sigh of pleasure. This was where he would have liked to have spent his evening, writing learned articles for the medical journals, reading, going over his notes concerning his patients. If it hadn’t been for that girl he would have been home an hour earlier and would have had time to finish notes for a lecture he was to give later that week. He wondered briefly why he had stopped to give her a lift. She hadn’t been particularly grateful…

He dined presently, changed and went out again, this time to an evening party given by one of his colleagues. He knew many of the guests there. All of them were pleasant people, leading pleasant lives—the men in one or other of the professions, the women well-dressed, amusing, able to carry on a witty conversation. He didn’t know any of them well and was unaware that he was liked. He got on well with the men and was charming to the women, but the charm hid a reserve none of them, so far, had been able to penetrate.

He left early with the plea that he needed to go back to St Giles’ to check his latest patient—something which disappointed several of the women there who had made up their minds to beg him for a lift to their home.

He thought about them as he drove back towards the City. They were all delightful companions, and a delight to the eye, so why were their elegant images dimmed by the tiresome Franny with her dowdy mac and damp, untidy hair? He supposed that he must feel sorry for her. He smiled to himself; she wouldn’t thank him for that. She needed no one’s pity; she was one of those tiresome people who bounced back…

Auntie and Finn were in the sitting room, one with his head bowed over his books, the other silently knitting. They both looked up as she went in.

‘Did I hear a car?’ asked Auntie.

‘Yes. A Rolls-Royce. That doctor—he’s a professor—saw me as I came out of a solicitor’s office in the City and gave me a lift.’

‘Why were you there, dear?’

Franny explained. ‘But I didn’t enjoy the ride very much. I expect he was tired after a hard day’s work. He was a bit snappy. I suppose he felt that he simply had to give me a lift once he’d seen me.’

‘Which Rolls was it?’ asked Finn.

‘Well, it was a Rolls-Royce. Aren’t they all the same?’

‘Not by a long chalk. What’s his name, this professor?’

‘Van der Kettener—he’s Dutch. Perhaps that’s why he’s so testy…’

Finn gave her an exasperated look. ‘You only had a lift with one of the best heart surgeons in Europe. He was mentioned in a lecture the other day, goes all over the place, operating and lecturing, but spends a lot of time here. He’s honorary consultant in several hospitals. Lives in Holland. You lucky girl.’

Finn went back to his books and Auntie said mildly, ‘Well, that’s nice, isn’t it, love? Such a clever man, no doubt, and yet sparing time to bring you home.’

‘Pooh,’ said Franny. ‘With a car like that it couldn’t have been a bother. I don’t suppose he ever has to queue for a bus or get his own breakfast.’

‘You don’t like him, dear?’

She thought about that. ‘I think I’m sorry for him. He was ever so—so remote. Perhaps he’s quite different at home, with his wife and children. I wonder if they come over here with him, or do they live in Holland?’

She glanced at the clock. ‘Heavens, is that the time? I’ll get the supper. Macaroni cheese.’ She paused in the doorway. ‘I was going to make a cheese pudding, but the macaroni is quicker. Pay day tomorrow—I’ll get fish and chips.’

Finn gave a satisfied grunt, but Auntie sighed for the days when things had been different. Not that she wasn’t grateful for this poky little house in the wrong part of London, and her pension and the company of Franny and Finn. She had been a widow when they had come to live with her, and they had just lost their parents.

If only she hadn’t fallen ill and Franny hadn’t had to give up her nursing training to look after her and Finn. They had had plans for the future—Franny, once trained, would have found a post at some hospital in a country town, they would have lived in a small flat and managed very nicely, while Finn trained to be a doctor. With him living on his grant and any money Franny could spare, they would have made a success of things.

As it was now, they were in a cleft stick. Their combined savings were at a low ebb and there was no hope of Franny going back to the hospital; she had had to find this job where she could also cope with the house, the shopping and the cooking. Auntie had been warned that her doing anything other than the lightest of tasks might have serious consequences.

The house, which they all secretly hated, had been offered to her at a very low rent after her husband died, by his firm, and, since there had been nothing else to do, she had accepted the offer.

Her husband, a scientist, had had a good job and they had lived pleasantly in a pretty little mews cottage in Islington. But he had been so absorbed in his work that mundane things such as life assurance or saving for a rainy day had been overlooked. Auntie had never blamed him for that—he had been a good husband—but she was thankful that they had had no children.

She put down her knitting wool and went to the kitchen to lay the table for their meal. She didn’t feel very well, but there was enough for them to worry about without fussing over her. She said cheerfully, ‘Tell me more about this professor—he sounds interesting.’

The next day, pay day, was the bright spot in Franny’s week. One of her duties was to go to the bank each week, collect the money for the wages and hand over the little envelopes to the staff. She hadn’t liked the idea of handing Barker’s wages over to him; she left his envelope on the desk in her little office. It was an old-fashioned way to be paid, money in an envelope, but somehow much more satisfying than a cheque. Feeling rich, she bought the fish and chips on the way home.

They enjoyed their supper and Auntie went to bed early. ‘And don’t fuss,’ she begged Franny. ‘I’m only a little tired.’

Franny skimmed around the kitchen, tidying it and putting everything ready for breakfast while Finn finished his studies and took himself off to his room. Once he had gone, she gave the sitting room a good clean. It was almost midnight when she went to bed and she slept at once.

She woke suddenly a couple of hours later, aware that something had disturbed her. There was a faint sound coming from her aunt’s room. She got out of bed, crossed the narrow landing and opened the door.

Auntie was lying in bed, her face grey with pain and beaded with sweat. Franny lifted her very gently onto her pillows, wiped her face with a handful of sheet and said quietly, ‘Lie quite still, Auntie. Finn will get the ambulance; you’ll be all right—just hang on. I’ll be back in a moment.’

Finn, once roused, was out of bed at once, putting on his clothes.

‘Use the phone box at the end of the street,’ said Franny urgently. ‘Tell them it’s very urgent; hurry.’

She went to her room, fetched her clothes and dressed in her aunt’s room, fearful of leaving her, praying that the ambulance would be quick.

It was, and the paramedics were very competent. They wasted no time but loaded Auntie into the ambulance and Franny, leaving Finn in charge of the house, got in with them.

They worked on Auntie as the ambulance sped through the quiet streets.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Franny.

‘No beds at St Thomas’s, nor Charing Cross or the Middlesex. There’s a bed at St Giles’.’

It seemed for ever before they reached the hospital but, once there, there was speed and efficiency. Surprisingly, there were no other patients in Casualty. Having given particulars in a quiet voice, Franny was told to sit and wait while Auntie was wheeled away to a cubicle at the other end of the vast place. There was a lot of coming and going then, and she longed to know what was happening behind the curtains, but she sat still, her hands folded in her lap, staring at the wall before her, not seeing it, trying not to think.

It was some time before a nurse came to tell her that her aunt was rallying under treatment. ‘Sister will come and speak to you in a minute. Would you like a cup of tea?’

Franny shook her head. ‘No, thank you. It doesn’t matter if I stay?’

‘No, of course not. Here’s Sister coming now.’

Sister was young and briskly kind. ‘Your aunt is improving, but until several tests have been done I can’t tell you any more. She will have to be admitted, but you would have known that. It is most fortunate that the senior consultant heart surgeon is in the hospital, seeing another patient. He’s on his way down now. If anyone can do anything for your aunt, it is he.’

She went away again, and presently Franny heard fresh voices and then silence, except for a murmur from time to time. Please, God, let Auntie pull through, she begged silently. And she shut her mind to a future full of problems; never mind them, just as long as Auntie got better.

Night work, thought Franny desperately. Finn would be home at least for the next few months; she could get a job, any job, which left her free during the day. She didn’t need much sleep; she could shop on the way home, settle Auntie and tidy up the house and have a sleep during the afternoon…

Someone was coming towards her, disturbing her chaotic thoughts. It was Professor van der Kettener, looming large and calm and somehow reassuring. She sat up straight and said, ‘Hello, Professor,’ in a tired voice.

He stood looking down at her. How this girl dogged his footsteps, he thought. As usual she was looking rather the worse for wear. It was understandable, of course, in the circumstances, and her hair, hanging down her back in a pale brown tangle, bore witness to the fact that she had dressed in a tearing hurry. But she was looking up at him with a brave, hopeful face.

He sat down beside her. ‘Your aunt is gravely ill. She has an atrial septal defect—I’ll explain that presently. It can be put right with open heart surgery. Before that is done there are a number of tests to be carried out to confirm those which have been done now. She will be admitted into one of my beds and in due course I will operate. It is a serious operation, but she is a resolute lady, isn’t she? If all goes well I can see no reason why she shouldn’t return to a normal life.’

He looked at her. ‘You do understand what I am saying?’

‘Yes, thank you. Is she to be warded now? May I see her first, before I go home?’

‘Certainly you may. Come with me.’

She went with him and he held the curtains back for her as she went into the cubicle. Auntie was conscious. She looked small and very frail, but she smiled at Franny.

‘What a fuss and bother,’ she whispered. ‘So sorry, love.’

‘You’ll be comfy in bed very soon, Auntie, and you’re going to be well again. Professor van der Kettener says so. I’m going home now but I’ll be here tomorrow—in the afternoon, I expect. I’ll bring the things you’ll need with me.’

She bent and kissed her aunt and went back through the curtains to where the professor was waiting, talking to the sister. There were porters already there, with a stretcher and trolley, and a nurse and a young doctor.

Sister turned to look at her and said kindly, ‘Would you like a cup of tea now? Do you have far to go?’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It’s almost four o’clock. I dare say there’ll be a night bus… Or have you someone you can phone to come for you?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Sister. May I come tomorrow afternoon?’

‘Of course. Go to Reception, and they’ll tell you where your aunt is. Have we got your phone number?’

‘We haven’t a phone. I’ll ring about eight o’clock.’

Franny smiled vaguely at them both and turned away, but was brought to a halt by the professor’s firm hand.

‘I’m going your way; I’ll drop you off.’

He kept his hand there while he exchanged goodbyes with Sister and had a word with the young doctor who had come across to speak to him, and only then took it away.

Going out of the casualty entrance, Franny said uncertainly, ‘But I’m not on your way. Besides, you have been up almost all night, haven’t you? You must be tired. I can get a taxi…’

He took her arm and trotted her across the forecourt to his parked car.

‘Don’t talk rubbish. Have you any money with you?’

‘No.’

‘So stop making difficulties where there are none. Get in, do!’

She got in and he closed the door on her, got in himself and drove off through the quiet streets. It was very dark and, save for the milk floats and an occasional car, the streets were empty. In another few hours they would be teeming with traffic.

The professor drove without speaking, but his silence didn’t bother Franny—indeed, she was glad of it. She was tired but there would be a good deal of arranging to see to. She tried her best to think sensibly about that, but she wasn’t very successful.

Her muddled thoughts were disturbed finally by the professor.

‘When you get home, have a warm drink and go to bed even if it is only for an hour or so. Later on you’ll find you can think clearly again. And don’t worry too much about the future. One thing at a time. Is there anyone at home now?’

‘My brother.’ She needed to add to that, ‘He’s a medical student, just started.’

‘Good.’ They were crossing Waterloo Bridge, and in a few minutes she would be home. ‘I’ll come in with you, if I may?’

She couldn’t think why he wanted to do that, but she was too weary and worried to think about it. She said politely, ‘I dare say you would like a cup of tea.’

He stopped outside her home, got out and came to open her door. Finn was waiting for them on the doorstep.

The professor nodded at him. ‘You don’t mind if I come in for a few minutes?’

‘No, no, of course not, sir. Franny, is Auntie OK?’

Franny looked at the professor. ‘You tell him. I’ll put the kettle on.’

A little later they sat, the three of them, round the kitchen table with mugs of strong tea and a packet of Rich Tea biscuits, and the professor won a lifelong devoted friend in Finn because he treated him as an equal while he explained exactly what needed to be done for Auntie. He spoke with self-assurance and cheer, promising nothing but offering hope, and Franny, listening to his quiet voice with its almost imperceptible accent, took heart. Then he paused to say, ‘Would you not like to go to your bed? I’ll be off in a few minutes.’

He stood up and she got to her feet, wished her goodnight and thanked her for his tea.

‘It was very kind of you to bring me home,’ said Franny, her eyes huge in her tired face. ‘I hope you will go home to bed, too. And do drive carefully.’

He told her gravely that he would.

Franny tumbled into bed after setting the alarm for eight o’clock. Though it was Saturday, she’d been summoned to be at Lady Trumper’s by ten o’clock. At all costs she must carry on with her job there. They were going to need every penny she could earn…

Before she dropped off to sleep she remembered what the professor had said about one thing at a time. She would do that.

At eight she got up and found Finn already in the kitchen, making toast. He looked up as she went in and gave her a cheerful grin. ‘Auntie’s OK. Resting, they said.’

‘You went to the phone box?’

‘No. Professor van der Kettener is quite a man, isn’t he? Left me his mobile phone. Told me to keep it until we got sorted out.’

He took it from his pocket. ‘See? We can phone the hospital whenever we want to.’

Franny was overcome with gratitude and a warm, comfortable feeling that someone was helping them, but, she added to that, only until they could help themselves.

She looked much as usual when she presented herself in Lady Trumper’s sitting room. Opening Lady Trumper’s post, Franny was thankful that it was Saturday. She would go to the hospital in the afternoon, and later she and Finn would sit down together and decide what was best to be done.

Lady Trumper, voice raised impatiently, wanted to know why she was so slow. ‘And you look as though you haven’t slept. I hope you’re not one of those girls who burns the candle at both ends?’

Franny held her tongue. Her head ached and she was deeply worried about Auntie. A good cry would have helped, preferably on an understanding and reassuring chest. The professor would have done very nicely, only he didn’t like her.