Читать книгу Wedding Bells for Beatrice - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

THE professor was a splendid listener; Beatrice quite forgot that he was there once she had started. ‘It’s probably all my fault. Tom’s attractive and amusing and I suppose I was flattered and it got a kind of habit to go out with him when he asked me. I didn’t really notice how friendly we’d become. I took him home for a weekend …’

She paused. ‘Mother and Father didn’t like him very much—oh, they didn’t say so, I just knew, and then lately he began to talk about buying a practice and making a name for himself, only he said he would need some backing and he began to talk about Father—he’s a GP, and not well known or anything, but he does know a lot of important medical men, and Tom discovered that Mother was an earl’s granddaughter.’ She paused to say wildly, ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this …’

He said in a detached voice, ‘As I have already said, we’re more or less strangers, unlikely to be more than that. I’m just a face to talk to … go on!’

‘I—I was getting doubtful, I mean I wasn’t sure if I liked him as much as I thought I did, if you see what I mean, and then this evening he wanted me to go out with him; he was very persistent so I went. He took me to the Tower Thistle—it’s a hotel, not too far away.’ She heaved a great sigh. ‘He ate all but one of the sandwiches—he said that no doubt I had had a good square meal. I knew that I didn’t love him then—well, any girl would, wouldn’t she?’ She gave her companion a brief glance and found his face passive and impersonal. ‘Then he said it was time we thought about our future, that he would need financial backing to get a partnership and that Father would be a great help. He even suggested that he could use Mother’s name to give him a start; he actually described the notice of our engagement in the Telegraph. I told him that I didn’t want to marry him—he hadn’t actually asked me, just took me for granted—and then he just laughed.’ She sniffed and added in a furious voice, ‘I won’t be taken for granted.’

‘Certainly not,’ agreed the professor. ‘This—Tom—? seems to be a singularly thick-skinned man.’ His voice was as avuncular as his manner. ‘Do you see much of him during your working hours?’

‘Hardly ever. I’m here all day and he works on the medical wards, but he telephones and I have to answer in case it’s one of the profs, wanting hot milk or sandwiches.’

‘Hot milk?’ The professor looked taken aback.

‘Well, some of them are getting on a bit and they forget to go to meals or go home when they’re supposed to. I suppose professors are all the same, a bit absentminded …’

She gave him a startled look. ‘You’re a professor, you must be if you’re coming to the seminar tomorrow.’

‘Well, yes, I am, but I must assure you at once that I am unlikely to need hot milk. Which reminds me, we still have to have supper.’

‘I don’t want …’ began Beatrice, saw the quizzical lift of his eyebrows and added quickly, ‘Thank you, that would be nice—if it could be somewhere quiet? I’m not dressed for anywhere smart. Do you know London?’

‘I find my way around,’ admitted the professor modestly. ‘Get your coat and let us see what we can find.’

When she came back ready to leave he had turned off the fire, left one lamp burning and had the door open. As they went down to the entrance the building was very quiet and, despite the heating, chilly. It was even colder outside and he took her arm and hurried her round to the corner of the forecourt where he had parked his car.

‘You drove over?’ asked Beatrice, silently admiring the understated luxury of the big Bentley as she was ushered into it.

He got in beside her and drove out of the forecourt with the minimum of fuss. ‘I have several other hospitals to visit while I’m here. It saves time if I have the car.’

She sat quietly, realising almost at once that he knew London well, not hesitating at all until he stopped in Camden Passage, got out and opened her door, locked it, put money in the parking meter and led her across the pavement to the restaurant. She had heard of it—Frederick’s—but she had never been there and she hung back a little, wondering if she was wearing the right clothes.

‘Now don’t start fussing,’ begged the professor, just as though she had voiced her doubts. ‘You’re perfectly adequately dressed,’ he added as a concession to her uncertainty. ‘You look very nice.’

A remark her brother George might have made, and one hardly adequate; she dressed well, knowing what suited her and that she could afford to buy it—the tweed coat and woolly cap were suitable for a quick drink on a cold winter’s night but not what she would have chosen for a late dinner in a restaurant.

She was propelled with gentle remorselessness through the entrance. ‘You can leave your coat there,’ said the professor, and bade the doorman good evening.

When she joined him, reassured by her reflection in the cloakroom’s mirrors, he was talking to the maître d’ who, as she reached them, led them to a table by a window, paused to recommend the pheasant, which he said was excellent, wished them an enjoyable meal and gave way to a waiter.

‘You like pheasant?’ asked the professor. ‘Or perhaps you would prefer something else.’

She studied the menu and suddenly felt famished. ‘I’d like the pheasant, please …’

‘The lobster mousse is delicious—shall we start with that?’

She would have started with a hunk of bread, lunch having been a sketchy affair of soup and a roll and her solitary beef sandwich already long forgotten.

She ate the mousse with pleasure. It was amazing what good food did to restore one’s good spirits; by the time they had disposed of the pheasant and she was deciding on a sweet she had quite recovered and was once more the level-headed supervisor, making polite conversation over the dinner-table. All the same during a pause in the talk she caught her companion’s eye resting thoughtfully upon her face and said impulsively, ‘I’m sorry I made a fool of myself this evening. So very stupid of me.’

The professor smiled. The smile held mockery. ‘Dear, oh, dear! Here we go again back to square one, about to discuss the weather, unless I am much mistaken, and I was beginning to think that we had at least cracked the ice.’

‘I don’t know what you mean …’

‘Such a useful remark and quite without truth. Never mind, though, tell me about tomorrow—do you check us in as we arrive? Presumably we are expected to go to the hospital main entrance …’

She would have liked to have argued with him but he hadn’t given her the chance. Besides, she mustn’t forget that he was a visiting specialist, to be treated with respect. ‘No need for that,’ she told him. ‘You can use the door we came through this evening. I’ll be at the desk in the reception area, ticking off names.’

‘Then what do you do?’

‘Go to the kitchen and make sure that coffee and biscuits are ready, there’s a buffet lunch at one o’clock, I’ll have to see to that, and then the clearing-up afterwards and there’s tea at four o’clock.’

‘You have help, of course?’

‘Oh, yes, I’m just there to see that everything is going smoothly.’

She finished the bombe glacé with a small sigh of content and he ordered coffee.

‘Do you see much of young Derek?’

‘Almost nothing, only if we happen to be at home at the same time and that’s seldom. Is he a friend of yours? I mean, aren’t you a bit …?’ She stopped and went pink and he finished smoothly,

‘Old for him. Of course I am; my father was a friend of his father. I’ve known the family on and off for a long time.’

‘I didn’t mean to be rude, I’m sorry.’

He shook his head slowly. ‘Two apologies in less than half an hour, Beatrice. Don’t do it again or I might have to alter my opinion of you.’

He passed his cup for more coffee and began to talk about her brother.

It was after eleven o’clock by the time he stopped the car by the passage door. ‘You’re not supposed to park here,’ said Beatrice as he got out.

She might have saved her breath for he took no notice, but opened the door and followed her inside.

‘Thank you for a very pleasant evening,’ said Beatrice politely. ‘It was most kind of you. Goodnight, Professor van der Eekerk.’

He began to walk up the stairs beside her and she said, ‘There’s no need.’

‘Hush, girl, save your breath for the climb.’ So she hushed since there was little point in arguing with him and at her door he took the key from her and stood aside to let her in and then went ahead of her to turn on the lights before wishing her a quiet goodnight and going down the stairs two at a time in what she considered to be a highly dangerous manner.

She stood in the middle of the room reflecting that when she had been taken out for the evening she had always been thanked for her company and been given to understand that her companion had enjoyed it—Professor van der Eekerk, on the other hand, hadn’t said any such thing.

She had a bath and got ready for bed feeling peevish. ‘There will be no need to speak to him tomorrow,’ she told herself, and thumped her pillows into comfort. ‘I dare say he only asked me out because he wanted company at the dinner-table and I happened to be handy.’

She went to sleep, having quite forgotten about Tom.

The learned gentlemen attending the seminar began to arrive soon after half-past eight and Beatrice was kept busy ticking their names off her list, helping the more elderly out of their coats and scarves, finding mislaid notes, spectacles and cough lozenges and ushering them into the conference hall, a gloomy place filled with rows of uncomfortable chairs, its walls painted a particularly repellent green and having a small platform at one end on which was a table, half a dozen chairs and, since Beatrice found the place so bleak, a bowl of hyacinths on the table, flanked by a carafe of water and a glass.

The first speaker was Professor Moore, still suffering from his cold and by no means in the best of tempers. Once he had arrived his colleagues started to file into the hall, stopping to greet friends as they went and taking their time about it. Beatrice looked at her list; there were still half a dozen to come …

They came in a group and one of them was Professor van der Eekerk, towering over his companions. She noticed that he appeared to be on the best of terms with all of them, and, like them, greeted her with a polite good morning before going into the hall. She wasn’t sure what she had expected; all she knew was that she felt disappointed. She watched his massive back disappear through the door and told herself that she had no wish to see him again. A wish she was unable to fulfil, for, the first paper having been duly read and discussed, the distinguished audience surged out of the hall and into one of the smaller lecture-rooms where coffee and biscuits awaited them. Still deep in talk, they received their cups and saucers in an absentminded fashion, and Beatrice, making her way from one group to another with some of the biscuits, was sure that Professor van der Eekerk was unaware of her being there, deep as he was in discussion with several other doctors. She was wrong, of course. His heavy-lidded gaze followed her around the room without apparently doing so and when she was at last back behind the coffee percolators, refilling the cups her helpers fetched, all she could see of him was his back in a superbly tailored suit.

The second paper to be read before lunch started late, which meant that it finished late. Beatrice, pacifying the cook, wished the erudite and wordy gentleman on the platform to Jericho, going on and on about endocrinology. When he at length came to an end she lost no time in urging his audience to repair to the smaller lecture hall once more and ladled soup to be handed round without loss of time while the cook seethed over the lamb cutlets, ruined, she assured Beatrice.

Ruined or not, they were eaten; indeed, the various conversations were so engrossing that she doubted if anyone had noticed what was on their plates. She portioned out castle puddings with a generous hand and went to make sure that the coffee percolators were ready.

The afternoon session was to be taken up by a paper on haematology by Professor van der Eekerk and, contrary to the previous lecturer, she hoped that he would take a long time delivering it; it would give them time to clear the room once more and put out the tea things—sandwiches, buttered buns and fruit cake. Having some considerable experience of similar occasions, she knew what got eaten and what got left.

Ready and with time to spare, she took a discreet peep through the not quite closed doors of the lecture hall. Professor van der Eekerk was well into his subject: haemolytic anaemia, jaundice, the Rh factor and a lot of long words which meant nothing to her. She opened the door a little wider and listened. He had a deep voice, rather slow, and with only a trace of an accent. She poked her head round the door and he looked straight at her. Without a pause he went on, ‘Now polycythaemia is an entirely different matter …’

Beatrice withdrew her head smartly. He had appeared to look at her but the hall was large and she had been right at the back of it. She thought it unlikely that he had noticed her. She glanced at her watch; he was due to finish in five minutes, so she and her helpers started to carry the plates of food in. With luck, no one would linger over tea, for they would all be anxious to go home. She sighed. They would be back again tomorrow.

Her hopes were dashed. They sat over their tea, drinking second and third cups and eating everything in sight. ‘Like a swarm of locusts,’ said the cook crossly, cutting up yet another cake. ‘And’ ow they can eat and drink and talk about blood beats me though I must say ‘e ‘oo did the talking is something like. Wouldn’t mind ‘aving a lecture from ‘im.’ Beatrice, bearing the cake, was stopped by the senior medical consultant of the hospital. ‘Very nice, Miss Crawley, organised with your usual finesse. We are a little behind time, I fancy, but Professor van der Eekerk’s paper was most interesting. We look forward to his second talk tomorrow. Is that more cake? Splendid.’ He beamed at her. ‘A delightful tea—most enjoyable.’

They all went at last; Beatrice sent the part-time helpers home, spent a brief time with the cook checking the menu for the next day, assured her that she could manage on her own and, once left to herself, emptied the dishwasher and began to put out coffee-cups and saucers, spoons and sugar basins ready for the morning. They were well ahead for the next day, she reflected. There had been time while they waited between the breaks to prepare the food and collect plates and cutlery ready to lay the tables again. She had almost finished when the entrance door was pushed open and Tom came in.

‘Thought you’d be here. Lord, I’ve had a busy day—I could do with a sandwich or even a coffee …’

Beatrice arranged the last few cups just so. ‘Go away, Tom. I’m tired, I’ve had a busy day too and you know you have no business to be here.’

‘Since when haven’t I been allowed to come over here?’ He was laughing, wheedling her.

‘You know very well what I mean. Of course you can come here when you need to see the path. lab about something or other. But this isn’t the path. lab and in any case if you are as busy as you say you are you can telephone.’

‘Snappy, aren’t you? Never mind, I’ll make allowances, I dare say your dull old men have bored you stiff. When we marry you can stay at home and keep house and be a lady of leisure.’

‘I’m not going to marry you, Tom. Now go away, do.’

He came round the counter towards her. ‘Oh, come on, you know you don’t mean it.’

He was smiling and he had a charming smile, only she didn’t feel like being charmed; she wanted a quick meal, a hot bath and her bed. She pushed his arm away. ‘I said go away …’

The outer door had opened very quietly. Professor van der Eekerk was beside her before she had even seen him come in. He said smoothly, ‘Miss Crawley, do forgive me, but I need to check the times of the papers being read tomorrow. Perhaps you would like me to come back later?’

He smiled gently at her and glanced at Tom Ford, murmured something or other and turned to go again.

‘Don’t go,’ said Beatrice, rather more loudly than she had intended. ‘There’s no need. I mean, I’ll be glad to help you, Professor.’ She shot a fiery look at Tom. ‘Dr Ford was just going.’

‘In that case …’ observed the professor and held the door for Tom to go through, giving him a cheerful goodnight as he went.

‘Now what?’ asked Beatrice, very much on edge and not disposed to be polite or friendly.

‘Food, a long hot bath and bed,’ said Professor van der Eekerk, putting his finger exactly on the crux of the matter. ‘Go and get a coat—don’t bother with titivating yourself, you’ll do as you are. We’ll go to a fish and chip shop or something similar. You can eat your fill and be back here within the hour.’

‘I had intended—’ began Beatrice haughtily.

‘Beans on toast? A boiled egg? A great girl like you needs a square meal. Off you go.’

He held the door open and after a moment she went past him and started up the stairs. She told herself that she hadn’t said anything because she was speechless with rage; in actual fact he had suggested exactly what she wanted to do …

She got her coat and, since he had said—rudely, she considered—that she was all right as she was, she didn’t bother to look in the mirror. When she joined him she said frostily, ‘You wanted to ask me something, Professor?’

He looked vague. ‘Did I? Oh, yes, of course. It was the first thing I thought of. I was coming out of the hospital when I saw your boyfriend coming this way …’

‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

‘No, no, of course not.’ He went around turning off lights and then ushered her out into the passage. ‘I was told by your excellent head porter that there is a splendid café just along the street. Alfred’s Place is its name, I believe—let us sample Alfred’s cooking.’

He took her arm and marched her out of the forecourt and into the busy street, its small shops still open and plenty of people still about. The café was a bare five minutes’ walk away; the professor pushed open the door and urged her inside. It was almost full and the air was redolent of hot food and Beatrice’s charming nose wrinkled with delight as they sat down at a table in one corner.

There was no menu but Alfred came over at once. “Ow do?’ he greeted them cheerfully. ‘Me old pal at St Justin’s gave me a tinkle, said you might be coming. ‘E’s ‘ead porter.’

‘Very thoughtful of him. What can you offer us? We have very little time but we’re hungry …’

‘Pot o’ tea ter start and while yer drinking it I’ll do a couple of plates of bacon and eggs, tomatoes and fried bread.’ Alfred, small and portly, drew himself up. ‘I reckon you wouldn’t eat better up west.’

‘It sounds delicious.’ The professor glanced at Beatrice. ‘Or is there something else you fancy, Beatrice?’

‘I can’t think of anything nicer. And I’d love a cup of tea.’

The tea came, borne by a plump pretty girl, untidy, but nevertheless very clean. She gazed at the professor as she set the pot before Beatrice. ‘Dad says you’re a professor,’ she breathed in an excited whisper. ‘I never seen one before.’

She gave him a wide grin and hurried away to answer another customer.

‘I feel that I should have horns or a beard and a basilisk stare at the very least!’

Beatrice poured their tea, a strong brew, powerful enough to revive the lowest spirits. ‘Well, you do look like one, you know, only you’re a bit too young …’

‘I’ll start the beard first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘No, no, don’t be absurd, what I mean is that most people think of professors as being elderly and grey-haired and forgetful and unworldly.’

‘I have the grey hair, but I rather like the world, don’t you? I can be forgetful when I want to be and in a few years I shall be elderly.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Beatrice. ‘I don’t suppose you are over forty.’

‘Well, no, I’m thirty-seven—and how old are you, Beatrice?’

She answered without thinking. ‘Twenty-eight,’ and then, ‘Why do you ask? It’s really not polite …’

‘But I’m not polite, only when life demands it of me. I wanted to know so that we can clear the air.’

‘Clear the air—whatever do you mean?’

She wasn’t going to find out for Alfred arrived with two plates piled high with crisp bacon, eggs fried to a turn and mushrooms arranged nicely on a bed of fried bread.

‘Eat it while it’s ‘ot,’ he told them, and took away the teapot to refill it.

Alfred was a good cook, perhaps the best in the area bisected by the Commercial Road. With yet more tea, they did justice to his food.

Beatrice put down her knife and fork. ‘That was lovely. My goodness, I feel ready for anything.’

‘Not until the morning. You’re going back to bath and a bed now.’

He smiled at her protesting face. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

He paid the bill, added a tip to make Alfred’s eyes glisten, assured him that they would certainly come again, and marched her out back at a brisk pace to her own door, opened it for her, bade her goodnight and closed it quietly, barely giving her time to thank him. Almost as though he couldn’t wait to get away from her. Yet he had rescued her from Tom. She was too tired to think about it; she had her bath and got into bed and was asleep within minutes.

The first paper in the morning was to be read by an eminent surgeon from Valencia, well known for his research into nutritional disorders. It was a cold dark morning and his audience came promptly and briskly, glad to be indoors. Beatrice, counting heads, saw that they were all there. She hadn’t seen Professor van der Eekerk go in, but there he was sitting near the front, his handsome head bent to listen to whatever it was his neighbour had to say. She went back to the kitchen and began to pile biscuits on to plates and make sure that there was a plentiful supply of coffee. There was at least an hour before it would be required; she began to do her daily round of the building, checking that everything was as it should be. She had barely done that before it was time to help with the coffee and once that was done she went to her small office on the ground floor, to do the paperwork which took up a good deal of her time. Professor van der Eekerk had begun his paper but this time she didn’t go near the lecture hall; she had too much to do, she reminded herself, and besides that, what was the point? She didn’t see him to speak to for the rest of the day, and somehow, she didn’t quite know how, she missed his leaving at the end of the afternoon. Leave-takings had been slow and numerous and several people had stopped to speak to her and thank her but he hadn’t been among them. Putting everything to rights once more with the help of her assistants, she reflected that probably, since they had met at a friend’s house, politeness had prompted him to seek her out; she was working at St Justin’s after all and he couldn’t have ignored her completely. He had, she thought, done rather more than that, and at least the sight of him might discourage Tom.

She made her supper in her little kitchenette and went to bed with a book. She read half a page and flung the book on to the floor. Life was being very dull, she decided, and she had to admit that she would miss Tom’s company even though he could be tiresome. At least she had New Year’s Eve to look forward to, she reminded herself. Derek’s grandmother lived in Hampstead, a lively old lady who never missed an opportunity to enjoy life. His parents would be coming up to spend the night and he had managed somehow to be free. There would be a lot of people there and she mulled over her wardrobe.

Waking in the morning, common sense combined with the cold clear winter’s day decided her to despatch the professor from her mind. It was surprising how sensible she felt about it; of course, after a day’s work and feeling a bit fed up, she would probably regret not seeing him again.

Quite soon, she was summoned to the hospital committee’s office. She went, outwardly composed, inwardly wondering what was in store for her. Like every other hospital St Justin’s was cutting back on staff, beds and equipment—perhaps there was a plan to cut back on the research department, the path. labs and the numerous study rooms and library. If so, she supposed that they could make do with part-time staff although the lab people weren’t going to like that … She went through the hospital and into a wide corridor at the front of the building where the various offices were, and tapped on a door, convinced that she was about to be made redundant.

A voice told her to enter and she went inside.

Ten minutes later she came out again; nothing was being cut back, she wasn’t to be given her notice; on the contrary, she was to exchange her post with someone similar in the Netherlands. ‘A step forward in the unification of Europe’, she had been told. It was envisaged that within the next few years it would be possible for hospitals to exchange staff as and when they wished; this was by way of an experiment.

Her observation that she had no knowledge of the Dutch language was waved aside. ‘English is spoken,’ she was told, ‘although of course you will be expected to study the language during your stay there.’

She had wanted to know how long that would be.

‘We haven’t decided yet. I believe that the Leiden School of Medicine recommend a month in the first instance. Two ward sisters, a male nurse and a physiotherapist will also be going.’

Authority had dismissed her courteously, her head full of unanswered questions.

That evening she phoned her mother, who heard her news without interruption and then remarked in her placid way, ‘Well, dear, it will make a nice change for you and you’ll meet some nice people. You might see that charming man who came to the party with Derek—’

‘Most unlikely,’ said Beatrice quickly, and wished that it wasn’t. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll know more by then, maybe.’

She dressed with care on New Year’s Eve in a silk crêpe dress in a pretty shade of old rose, covered it with a long velvet coat and, with her new shoes and her evening bag tucked under her arm, went down to the forecourt. It was a bitter night but the sky was clear and the hospital lights dispelled the dark. She was fitting the key in her car’s lock when footsteps behind her made her turn round. Tom was coming towards her.

She had managed to avoid him for two days, firmly refusing to go out with him when he had telephoned. She opened the door and got into the car just as he reached it.

‘Still playing hard to get?’ he wanted to know. ‘I’m not taking no for an answer, Beatrice.’

‘I’m not playing at anything, Tom; I said no and I meant it.’

She switched on the engine and he put a hand on the window. ‘Let’s get together and talk this through,’ he suggested. ‘You know as well as I do that we could rub along together.’

‘I’m sorry, Tom, but no.’

‘Are you off this weekend?’

‘I’m going home, Tom. I must go, I’m already late.’

He took his hand away reluctantly and she drove out into the quiet street and turned the car westward. The street would be lively enough in a few hours’ time, the pub would be overflowing with people celebrating the new year and there would be a good deal of activity still. She drove carefully, avoiding the very heart of the city where crowds were already gathering. She wasn’t nervous, only anxious to get to Hampstead on time.

The house Derek’s grandmother lived in was in a quiet, wide avenue, a large Edwardian mansion surrounded by a well kept and uninteresting garden, full of laurel bushes and well kept shrubs, rather sombre. Its large windows were blazing with light and there were any number of cars parked on the sweep before the front door. Beatrice eased her little car between a Daimler and a Mercedes, replaced her sensible driving shoes with the new ones and trod across to the portico. The old lady lived in some style and her servants had been with her for almost all of her married life. The elderly butler who admitted her was white-haired and a little shaky but his appearance brought a nostalgic whiff of earlier days as he led her solemnly across the hall and handed her over to an equally elderly maid who preceded her up the long flight of stairs to the room set aside for lady guests. Beatrice poked at her hair, wriggled her feet in the shoes to make sure that they were comfortable, gave the maid the coat she had shed and went downstairs.

There was a good deal of noise coming from behind the big double doors on one side of the hall. The butler opened them for her and she went inside and found a room full of people.

It was necessary to find her hostess and she was relieved to see the old lady sitting at the other end of the room, talking to Derek. She made her way there, said all that was civil, exchanged a friendly kiss with Derek and looked around for her mother and father.

‘They’re in the second drawing-room; I’ve just come from there. Do come back here when you’ve spoken to them, I want to hear about this jaunt to Holland.’

She had begun to work her way through the groups of people drinks in hand chatting together. She knew several of them and stopped to say hello as she went. She was going through the open arch which led to a smaller similar room when she stopped.

Professor van der Eekerk was leaning against a wall, watching her.