Читать книгу Never Say Goodbye - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

ISOBEL WAS up early. She had slept well and now she was ready for her breakfast, but Dr Winter had suggested that they should meet in the restaurant at half past seven, and it was still only half past six. She rang, a shade apprehensively, for tea, then showered and dressed in her uniform and went on deck. They were close to land, she saw with a rising excitement, rather flat and wooded land with houses here and there. It was a pearly, still morning and chilly, and somehow London and home seemed a long way off. Isobel buttoned her navy gaberdine coat and wished she had put on her rather ugly nurse’s blue felt hat. There wasn’t any one else on deck and she started to walk along its length, to be confronted by Dr Winter coming out of a door.

His ‘good morning’ was polite and distant, and she was surprised when he fell into step beside her. ‘I should perhaps mention,’ he began casually, ‘that there will probably be a delay in Mrs Olbinski’s return. Carl told me there had been some trouble…’ He didn’t say what kind of trouble and Isobel didn’t ask. She was surprised when he added: ‘Are you a nervous person, Miss Barrington?’

She turned to face him. ‘If you mean do I have hysterics and screaming fits if things go wrong, no. But if a situation got out of hand, I would probably behave like most women and scream for help.’

He said seriously: ‘I must ask you not to do that; a calm, serene front is important.’

She started walking again. ‘Is there something you should have told me before we left England?’ she asked in a voice which she managed to keep calm.

‘Certainly not, Miss Barrington. I must remind you merely that each country has its own laws. Mrs Olbinski’s husband was unfortunately a dissident, so naturally they may be somewhat more strict…’

She stopped again and eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You have got all the permits?’ she asked.

‘Of course. I’m only saying that because of her circumstances there may be some delay.’ He frowned. ‘We might as well go and have our breakfast.’

‘Oh, good—I’m hungry. But before we go, where exactly are we now?’

‘Coming into Gdynia, which is the port of Gdansk. Mrs Olbinski lives in the old town of Gdansk and you’ll have a chance to see it.’

Isobel scanned the nearing coastline. ‘Oh, good—Poland isn’t a place I’m likely to come to again. Do they speak English?’

‘A great many do, but I doubt if you’ll have time to go sightseeing.’

She felt snubbed. Did he really think she would disappear the moment they landed, intent on enjoying herself? Her splendid appetite had had the edge taken off it.

Going through Customs took a good deal of time; she had to admire Dr Winter’s calm patience in the face of the courteous questioning that went on at some length. When finally they were free to go, one of the officials apologised for the delay with the utmost politeness and the doctor waived the apologies with an equal politeness. As they got into the taxi he said: ‘Sorry about that; understandably I had to give my reasons for our visit and they had to be checked.’

He told the driver where to go. ‘There’s nothing much to see here, but you’ll find Gdansk interesting, I believe.’

They drove through a dock area which might have been anywhere in the world and presently came to Gdansk, where the taxi stopped before an enormous gateway, its centre arch opening into a wide paved street.

‘This is where we walk,’ observed Dr Winter, and got out.

He wasted no time in giving more than a glance at the enormous edifice before them but took her arm and walked her briskly through the archway and into the street beyond. It was a splendid sight, lined with Renaissance houses, many of them with small shops at street level. Isobel, going along a great deal faster than she wished, did her best to look everywhere at once and as they reached a square at the end of the street asked in a voice which demanded an answer. ‘Is that the Town Hall we’ve just passed? And is that the Golden House I read about? And this fountain in the centre…?’

The doctor didn’t pause in his walk. ‘Miss Barrington, may I remind you that you’re here for one purpose only; sightseeing is quite another matter.’

‘If this is sightseeing then I’m a Dutchman,’ declared Isobel roundly, ‘and I only asked you a question!’

He looked at her, trotting along beside him, very sober in her uniform, and said harshly: ‘If you remember, Miss Barrington, I said at the time of your interview that you weren’t suitable.’

Unanswerable. They were going through another enormous gate with water beyond and warehouses on the opposite bank. But Dr Winter turned left, making his way along the busy street bordering the water, left again into a narrow street lined with lovely old houses. Half way down he stopped before an arched door and rang one of the many bells on the wall. To Isobel’s surprise he turned to look at her. ‘The city was in ruins after the last war. The Poles rebuilt it, brick by brick, many of them original, the rest so skilfully done that it’s hard to detect the one from the other.’ He then turned his back on her as the door opened, revealing a short narrow hall and a staircase beyond. ‘Third floor,’ he told her over his shoulder, and began to mount.

Isobel followed perforce, liking her surroundings very much; the wooden stairway, the small circular landings, the two solid wooden doors on each of these. On the third floor one of the doors was open. The doctor went in without hesitation, and Isobel, a little breathless, followed him.

The door opened on to a tiny vestibule with two doors and they stood open too. The doctor unhesitatingly went through the left-hand one, with Isobel so close on his heels that she almost overbalanced when he halted abruptly.

The room was small, nicely furnished and far too warm. The table in the centre of the room was polished to a high gloss and so were the chairs. The wooden floor shone with polish too and the curtains at the windows, although limp with age, were spotless. Isobel registered vaguely that the room looked bare before turning her attention to the old lady sitting in a chair whose tapestry was threadbare with age. She was a very small lady with bright bootbutton eyes, white hair strained back into a knob, and wearing a black dress covered by a cotton pinafore.

She said in a surprisingly strong voice, ‘Mr Thomas…’ She glanced at the small carved wooden clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Punctual, I see. You always were as a little boy.’ Her eyes darted to Isobel. ‘And who is this?’

Dr Winter bent and kissed and hugged her gently. ‘Hullo, Nanny. Nice to see you again. This is Nurse Barrington, I brought her along to give you a hand.’

Mrs Olbinski pushed her specs up her nose and stared at Isobel through them. ‘H’m—rather small. Come here, young lady, so I can see you properly.’

Isobel did as she was asked. Old people said strange things sometimes, just as though one wasn’t there, listening, but she didn’t mind; probably she would do the same one day. ‘How do you do?’ she asked politely.

‘Almost plain,’ commented the old lady to no one in particular, ‘but nice eyes and a nice smile too!’ She bristled suddenly. ‘Not that I need a nurse; I’m quite able to get around on my own…’

‘Well, of course you are.’ Isobel had never heard the doctor speak in such a soft, coaxing voice. ‘I asked her to come for purely selfish reasons; there’ll be people to see and so on, and I didn’t want the worry of leaving you while I dealt with them.’

He had struck the right note. Nanny nodded in agreement. ‘When do we leave?’ she asked.

‘By this evening’s ferry, my dear. Have you packed?’

‘There are still one or two things, Mr Thomas. I daresay this young lady will help me?’

‘Of course, Mrs Olbinski—and my name is Isobel.’

‘Now that’s a good name, and one I’ve always liked. You can go into the kitchen and make the coffee, while I hear all the news.’

Isobel was in the minute kitchen, stealthily opening cupboards, looking for things, when she heard several pairs of feet coming up the stairs. The door wasn’t quite shut, and she had no hesitation in going and standing as close to it as she could get. She didn’t dare look round the door’s edge, but she judged the feet to be either policemen or soldiers because of the hefty boots.

Soldiers. A rather nice voice, speaking excellent English, pointing out with regret that a final paper which was needed by Mrs Olbinski had not yet arrived. It was therefore necessary that she should stay until it did.

‘And when will that be?’ The doctor’s voice sounded friendly, unhurried and not in the least put out.

‘Tomorrow—the day following that at the latest. We deeply regret any inconvenience.’

‘I quite understand that it is unavoidable and not of your making.’ There was a short silence. ‘I will get rooms for myself and the nurse I have brought with me at the Orbis Monopol. Mrs Olbinski will prefer to stay here, I expect.’

There was the faintest question in his voice.

‘Of course, she will be perfectly all right, Dr Winter. As soon as the papers come, I will let you know so that you may complete your plans.’

The goodbyes sounded friendly enough—and why not? Isobel reasoned. The Poles and the English liked each other; whoever it was who had just gone had had a delightful voice… She wasn’t quite quick enough at getting away from the door; she found the doctor’s austere good looks within inches of her head. ‘Next time you eavesdrop, young lady, control your breathing—you sounded like an overwrought female from an early Victorian novel.’ He looked round the kitchen. ‘Isn’t the coffee ready yet?’

‘No, it’s not, and I wish someone would explain…’

‘But there’s nothing to explain. As you must know, anyone leaving the country must have their papers in order; Nanny’s are not quite completed, that is all. You should be delighted; we shall have a day for sightseeing.’

She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Would you like me to stay here with Mrs Olbinski?’

He smiled for the first time, so nicely that she found herself almost liking him. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, but there’s no need. You shall enjoy the comfort of the best hotel here and tomorrow we’ll take Nanny sightseeing; I daresay she’ll be glad to say goodbye to as many places as possible; she hasn’t had the opportunity, you see.’

The kettle boiled and Isobel poured the water into the enamel coffee pot she had found in one of the cupboards, set it on the tray with the cups and saucers off the shelf above the stove, and handed the doctor the tray. She smiled very faintly at the look of surprise as he took it. She didn’t think he was a selfish man, merely one who had never had to fend for himself. Too clever, no doubt, with his splendid nose buried in books or people’s insides while others ministered to his mundane wants.

Mrs Olbinski was sitting in her chair, looking impatient. ‘You took a long time,’ she observed tartly. ‘I have always been under the impression that nurses are able to do everything anywhere at any time.’ She sniffed: ‘Not that I believe it for one moment.’

‘Well, no, I shouldn’t think you would, because that’s a load of nonsense,’ said Isobel forthrightly. ‘I suppose we’re trained to do some things others might not be able to do, but that’s all—besides, this is a foreign land to me and your kitchen isn’t quite the same.’ She added hastily: ‘Though it’s charming and very cosy.’

Mrs Olbinski accepted her coffee and took a sip. ‘The coffee isn’t bad,’ she conceded, ‘and you seem a sensible young woman. Where did Mr Thomas find you?’

Isobel didn’t look at the doctor, looming on the other side of the little dark table. ‘Dr Winter asked an agency to send him a nurse,’ she explained in a colourless voice. ‘It was me or no one.’

Dr Winter made an impatient movement and she waited for him to say something, but he didn’t, so she went on: ‘It might make your journey a little easier if I give you a hand from time to time, just while Dr Winter sees to papers and passports and things…’

‘You don’t look very strong. Why do you keep saying Dr Winter in that fashion?’

Isobel sighed and went red as Dr Winter said repressively: ‘Miss Barrington and I…’ he stopped and began again. ‘We’ve only recently met, Nanny.’

Nanny made a sound which sounded like Faugh! and then Phish! ‘Well, I shall call her Isobel; it’s a pretty name even if she isn’t a pretty girl. And you can do the same, Mr Thomas, because you must be old enough to be her father. I’ll have some more coffee.’

She took no notice of the doctor’s remote annoyance but sat back comfortably in her chair. ‘If we’re to be here for another day, perhaps you’d take me to Oliwa; there’ll be organ recitals in the afternoons now that it’s summer, and I should dearly love to hear one before I go.’

Her old voice crumbled and the doctor said quickly: ‘What a splendid idea, Nanny. I’ll rent a car and we’ll drive over there tomorrow—how about a quick look at Sopot as well?’

‘Oh, I’d love that above all things—we used to go there in the summer…’ She launched into a recital of her life while her husband had been alive, until Dr Winter interrupted her gently: ‘Well, you shall see as much as possible, but in the meantime I think you might let Nurse… Isobel finish your packing, don’t you?’ He got up. ‘Suppose I leave you for an hour while I see about a car and our rooms at the hotel?’

He stooped and picked her up out of her chair and carried her through the second door into a small bedroom. He paused on the threshold—and no wonder; there wasn’t an inch of space, there were boxes, bundles and an old trunk taking up every available corner. Isobel cleared a pile of books off a chair, remarking comfortably: ‘If you’ll tell me what has to be done, I’ll do it, Mrs Olbinski.’

‘A sensible girl,’ observed that lady succinctly. ‘All this must go with me.’

Dr Winter was edging round the room looking at its contents. He said with gentle firmness: ‘I’m afraid that you won’t be allowed to take more than the clothing you’re wearing and your most treasured possessions. No money, of course. Small stuff which will go into a suitase, or a well tied cardboard box.’ He went to the door. ‘I’ll be back presently.’

Isobel took off her coat and hat. ‘Men!’ declared Mrs Olbinski pettishly. ‘They’re all alike, so quick to tell us of the unpleasant tasks they want done, and just as quick to go away until they’re completed.’ She darted a look at Isobel. ‘But Mr Thomas is a good man, make no mistake, my dear—too clever, of course, with his head in his books and always working, never finding the time to get himself a wife and children.’

Isobel murmured politely, her mind occupied solely with the problem of how to pack a quart into a pint bottle—something, a great many things, would have to be discarded.

‘What will you wear to travel in?’ she asked. A question which led to a long discussion as to the merits of a shabby winter coat or an equally shabby raincoat. They settled on the coat, a weary felt hat to go with it, a dark dress, gloves and shoes, and Isobel hung them thankfully in the corner cupboard. Underclothes were quickly dealt with, largely because there were not many; and that left mounds of small bits and pieces, all of which Mrs Olbinski declared were vital to her future life in England. Isobel didn’t say much, merely sorted family photos, a few trinkets, and a handful of small ornaments from the old scarves, ribbons, bits of lace and books. These she packed before going in search of something in which to put a few, at least, of the books.

She found a shopping basket in the kitchen and then patiently brought over Mrs Olbinski’s remaining treasures so that she could decide which must be left behind. This took time too, but at last it was done, and Isobel suggested tentatively that there might be someone her companion knew who might be glad to have the remainder of the books and vases and clothes.

The old lady brightened. ‘Go and knock on the door below, Isobel—there’s a pleasant woman living there; she might be glad of these things since I’m not to be allowed to keep them.’ She added crossly: ‘Why doesn’t Mr Thomas come back? He’s doing nothing to help.’

Too true, thought Isobel, wrestling with the lady downstairs’ valiant attempts to speak English. Signs and smiles and a few urgent tugs to an elderly arm did the trick at last; they went back upstairs together and Isobel left Mrs Olbinski to explain to her friend, who was so pleased with the arrangement that Isobel felt near to tears; how poor they must be, she thought, to be so glad with what were no more than clothes fit for the jumble. When she could get a word in edgeways she suggested that once Mrs Olbinski had gone, the lady might like to come back and collect the bedclothes and what food there was left. And that wasn’t much—she had had a look. She had just ushered the delighted lady back to her own flat, deposited her new possessions in the sitting-room and wished her goodbye when the street door below opened. It could be anyone, it could be Dr Winter; she didn’t wait to find out, but skipped upstairs once more to her charge.

It was Dr Winter, calm and unhurried and far too elegant for his surroundings. ‘There you are,’ declared Isobel, quite forgetting her place. ‘Just nicely back when all the work is done!’

He chose to misunderstand her. ‘Oh, splendid. I have rooms at the hotel and there’s a car at the end of the street. I’m taking you out to lunch, Nanny, and since we have time on our hands, we’ll take a short drive this afternoon.’

‘I can’t go like this!’ The old lady was querulous; getting tired.

‘If you wait a few minutes, I’ll help Mrs Olbinski to put on her things,’ suggested Isobel, and when he had gone, fetched the clothes from the cupboard and set about helping the old lady, wondering how she had managed in the lonely months since her husband’s death, with her poor twisted hands and frail bent body. It took a little time, but the doctor made no comment when she called to him that they were ready. He picked up the old lady, reminded Isobel to lock the door behind them, and went down the narrow stairs. Once on the pavement they each took an arm, and made a slow painful progress to the car where the doctor set Mrs Olbinski in the seat beside his and bade Isobel get in the back. It was a small car and he looked out of place driving it.

The hotel was large and once Mrs Olbinski was comfortably settled with the doctor, Isobel was shown to her room, large and well furnished and with a shower room next door. She unpacked her case, did her face and hair and went downstairs again. It was, of course, a pity they couldn’t return to Stockholm at once, but on the other hand it would be a golden opportunity to get even a glimpse of Gdansk. She looked forward to their promised outing with all the pleasure of a child.

They lunched presently in a stylish restaurant, half empty, for as the waiter told them, the summer season had barely started. The meal was wholly Polish—hot beet soup, crayfish, pork knuckle with horseradish sauce, followed by ices. Isobel enjoyed it all, and so, she noticed, did Mrs Olbinski.

They set off once lunch was finished, with the old lady quite excited now. They were to go to Sopot, a seaside resort only a few miles away and which she had known very well in earlier days. ‘We went each year for our holiday here; there was a small hotel, quite near the Grand Orbis Hotel, and we would watch the people staying there in the evening, going in and out in their evening dress,’ she sighed. ‘Such a beautiful place!’

Very beautiful agreed Isobel, but almost deserted. They drove slowly about its streets; there were few people about and the shop windows looked almost empty, and at length they turned towards the sea and parked the car in a long avenue of trees. The sense of solitude was enhanced by the wide beach, quite deserted too, and the chilly grey of the Baltic beyond. ‘We’ll walk nearer so you can have a better view. Nanny will be all right and we can see her easily enough.’

There was a narrow concrete bridge crossing the sands, reached by a spiral staircase. It was a minute’s walk away and Isobel ran up it ahead of the doctor to stand and admire the coast line stretching away on either side of her. ‘This must be lovely on a warm summer’s day,’ she said, ‘and with lots of people here.’ She started to walk beside him towards the stairs at its other end. ‘Where are all the people?’ she wanted to know.

‘The country is under martial law,’ he reminded her. ‘There’s little money for holidays, and still less for food; I daresay tourists from other countries will come here when it’s high summer.’

‘It’s very sad—your nanny must find it sad too.’

‘She has her happy memories. We’ll find somewhere for tea and then drive along the coast. In Poland the main meal in a normal household is eaten about four o’clock, but we should be able to get tea or coffee and then have dinner at the hotel before taking Nanny back. You’ll be good enough to help her to bed and leave everything at hand.’

They were walking back to the car across the path built on the sand.

‘Wouldn’t you like me to sleep there tonight?’ asked Isobel. ‘I’ll be quite comfortable…’

‘There’s no need for that. You’ll go to her after breakfast—I’ll drive you there before going to check her papers—they may arrive by then.’

‘Suppose they don’t?’

‘Then we’ll spend another day here.’

They had coffee in a small café in the town and the owner pulled up a chair, delighted to air his English. He was a middle-aged man, with dark eyes and full of wry humour. They stayed quite a while, so that their drive along the coast wasn’t as lengthy as Isobel had hoped, all the same she listened to Mrs Olbinski’s titbits of information about the country around them and looked at houses and churches and old castles with all the zeal of a tourist.

They had dinner very soon after they got back to the hotel—soup again, grilled beef and dumplings and an ice. Dr Winter drank vodka, which Isobel prudently refused, although she did drink the beer he offered her. Nanny had vodka too, that and the good food and unexpected treat of a drive that afternoon had rendered her nicely sleepy. They took her back to her flat and the doctor waited while Isobel helped her to bed, tidying up afterwards and leaving coffee ready for the morning.

‘You’re a good girl,’ declared Mrs Olbinski, when she went to say goodnight. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-five, Mrs Olbinski.’

Nanny gave a chuckle. ‘I shall be eighty in six weeks’ time,’ she declared. ‘I’ll have a proper birthday too with a cake and presents.’

Isobel and Dr Winter went back to the hotel in silence, only when they had gained the foyer did he bid her goodnight. ‘Breakfast at half past eight, Nurse,’ he reminded her, ‘and afterwards we’ll go immediately to Mrs Olbinski’s flat.’

She didn’t ask questions; there was no point, since she was sure that he wouldn’t answer them. She went up to her room, had a shower, washed her hair and went to bed.

She woke early to a grey morning and the sound of early traffic in the street below. It was barely seven o’clock, a whole one and a half hours before she could go to breakfast, and she was wide awake and longing for a cup of tea. She went to peer out of the window and then on impulse, got dressed; there was still more than an hour to breakfast, she would explore a little, it would pass the time, and she had little hope of that meal being earlier if the doctor had said half past eight, then that was the time at which they would breakfast—not a minute sooner, not a minute later; she knew him well enough to know that. He would be a strict father, she mused, brushing her mousey hair, but kind and gentle. And why should I suppose that? she enquired of her neat reflection, he’s never been either of those things to me. She pulled a childish face in the mirror, put on her coat and hat and left the room, locking the door carefully behind her.

There was a woman cleaning the corridor and a porter behind the reception desk in the foyer. Both of them replied to her good morning and the porter gave her a questioning look so that she said: ‘I’m going for a short walk,’ and smiled at him as she reached the big swing door.

Before she could open it, Dr Winter came in from outside, took her by the elbow and marched her back to the foyer.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ he asked in a voice so harsh and so unlike his usual bland coolness that all Isobel could do was gape at him.

Presently she managed: ‘Only going for a walk.’

‘Going for a walk,’ he mimicked mockingly. ‘Of course you can speak Polish, know your way around Gdansk and have your passport with you, not to mention enough money for a taxi back if you should get lost.’

She said reasonably: ‘I was only going a little way—close to the hotel, and you have no need to be so nasty about it, Dr Winter.’

She peered up into his angry face and saw that it was grey with fatigue and needed a shave. ‘And where have you been?’ she asked with disconcerting candour. ‘You’re cross and tired and you haven’t shaved… Out all night?’ She kept her pleasant voice low. ‘At Mrs Olbinski’s flat? She’s ill?’

He shook his head. ‘No, your eyes are too sharp, Nurse, and it’s just my confounded luck to meet you…’

‘There was a curfew.’ She raised troubled eyes to meet his dark ones.

‘Lifted half an hour since. I didn’t like the idea of leaving Nanny alone.’ And at her look: ‘Oh, you were safe enough, the porter knew where I was; he’s a friend of hers anyway, he promised to keep an eye on you.’

He didn’t look angry any more, only faintly amused and impatient.

‘And now, if you’ve finished your questioning, I’ll have a shower and shave and join you for breakfast.’ He caught her arm again. ‘You’ll oblige me by staying in your room until I come for you, and I’d like your promise on that.’

‘I never heard such nonsense!’ said Isobel impatiently. ‘You’ve just said the curfew is over.’

‘Your promise,’ he insisted in a voice she didn’t much like the sound of.

‘Oh, very well.’ She went with him up the stairs and when he took her key and opened her door, went past him without a word, only at the last minute she whizzed round and held out her hand.

Dr Winter put the key into it. He said softly: ‘You are, after all, my responsibility until we’re back in England.’

They breakfasted in a comfortable silence, broken only by polite requests to pass the salt, the toast or whatever. Dr Winter’s face had lost its greyness; he was freshly shaved, impeccably dressed and very calm. Isobel, taking a quick peep, asked when she should go to Mrs Olbinski.

‘We’ll go together,’ he told her, ‘and while you’re helping her to dress I’ll go and see if her papers are in order. If so we can leave on the evening boat.’

Isobel had just coaxed Mrs Olbinski into the last of her garments when he returned to say that there would be no papers until the following morning. ‘So we may as well spend the day sightseeing,’ he finished. ‘Where would you like to go, Nanny?’

‘Oliwa,’ she said at once, ‘to listen to the organ recital—it’s at twelve noon, I believe.’

They had coffee first in the hotel coffee room and then got into the car and drove the few miles to Oliwa. The Cathedral was magnificent—twelfth century, with Renaissance Baroque and Rococo added from time to time. The doctor parked the car and they began the slow progress to its entrance with Mrs Olbinski in the middle, insisting that she would rather die than be carried. The interior was splendid, with a high vaulted roof, painted with stars and hung with the Polish flag and with old-fashioned pews, already well filled. They found seats near the back, and presently the recital started with a disembodied voice explaining in English what music would be played and the history of the Cathedral, ending with the advice to turn round and look at the organ at the back of the Cathedral when the organist broke into particularly loud music. Isobel, with Mrs Olbinski’s old hand in hers, only half listened. This was the real Poland, she thought, here in church, with the flag hanging on either side of the chancel and the quiet people sitting in the pews around her. The organ began then and she sat for half an hour, as still as a mouse, listening until the organist suddenly broke into a tremendous volume of sound. It was Dr Winter who leaned across Mrs Olbinski and touched her arm. ‘Look behind you,’ he said softly.

The organ, a massive eighteenth-century instrument, had come alive. The figures carved on it, angels with harps, trumpets, violins and flutes, were moving with the music, playing their instruments. The doctor’s hand was still on her arm; she clutched it tightly and only when the music finally faded did she let it go, dropping it like a hot coal when she realised she had been clinging to it. ‘So sorry,’ she whispered, very pink, and was hardly reassured by his inscrutable face.

They went back to Gdansk for lunch, eating it at the Pod Wieza restaurant, and when they had finished, the doctor left them there, saying he would be back presently.

He was back within half an hour, during which time Isobel and Mrs Olbinski had had several cups of coffee and a good gossip. ‘We can leave this evening,’ he told them. He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll go back to the hotel and get our things and pay the bill, then go to your place, Nanny. From there we can go down to the quay.’

Mrs Olbinski tried not to show her excitement but her old hands shook. ‘You’re sure, Mr Thomas? Everything’s in order?’

‘Yes, Nanny, we’ll have you home in a couple of days now.’ He smiled at her gently and took out a handkerchief and wiped her eyes for her. Oh, dear, thought Isobel; he is so nice when he’s not being absolutely abominable!

Nice he might be to Nanny, but he allowed none of his finer feelings to show where Isobel was concerned. In businesslike tones he told her what had to be done, and she was kept busy, once they reached the old lady’s rooms, parcelling up the things, which were to go to her neighbour, making tea for the three of them, and packing a small bag with essentials for the journey for both herself and Mrs Olbinski.

After tea the doctor took back the hired car, found a taxi and started on the slow business of loading Nanny and her few possessions into it. The old lady was fretful from excitement and tiredness by now and hindered every move. It was with a sigh of relief that Isobel saw the ferry at last, and even then she wasn’t completely happy until they were actually stepping off the gangway on to the ship. Nanny was in tears again. She had, after all, lived in Poland for a long time and was leaving a life she had loved until the more recent years. Isobel coaxed her down to their cabin, got her undressed and into one of the bunks, and rang the bell for the stewardess. A large cheerful Swedish woman came at once; listening sympathetically she promised a light supper within the hour. Isobel unpacked the few things they needed for the night, talked Mrs Olbinski into a quiet frame of mind and when the supper came, sat down. Dr Winter hadn’t said anything about her own meal and she wasn’t sure if she wasn’t supposed to have it in the cabin too. She was trying to decide what to do next when he knocked on the door and came in.

He enquired after Nanny’s wellbeing and assured her that the stewardess would come the moment she was rung for, and invited Isobel with cold courtesy to join him at dinner. ‘We’ll go now and have a drink,’ he concluded without giving her a chance to say anything.

So she followed him to the deck above, drank the sherry he invited her to have and sat down to dinner. He had little to say for himself, and she was glad of that; such a lot had happened in the last two days, she wanted to think about them.

However, over coffee he said suddenly: ‘I think we may have to stay a couple of days in Stockholm,’ and at her look of delight, added dryly: ‘Not for sightseeing. Nanny is worn out and I’m not happy about continuing our journey until she has had a good rest.’

Isobel blushed. ‘Yes, of course—she’s been marvellous. It must have been pretty nerve-racking for her. I’ll keep her in bed and get her to rest as much as possible.’ She added: ‘She won’t like it.’

He passed his cup for more coffee. ‘That’s your business, Nurse. At least she likes you and will probably do as you ask.’

She said cheerfully: ‘Let’s hope so, I’ll do my best, Dr Winter.’ She put her cup down. ‘Thank you for my dinner—I’m going back to the cabin now. I’ll see that Mrs Olbinski is ready by the time we get to Stockholm—she can have her breakfast early and that will give us plenty of time.’

‘You’ll breakfast here?’

She said matter-of-factly: ‘No, thanks, I’ll have coffee and something when Mrs Olbinski does. Where are we to meet you in the morning?’

‘I’ll come for you.’ He got up as she prepared to leave. ‘Goodnight, Nurse.’

She gave him a friendly nod. ‘Goodnight, Dr Winter.’

He didn’t sit down again, but stood watching her neat figure as she threaded her way past the tables. If she had turned round she would have been surprised indeed to see that he was smiling.