Grasp a Nettle. Бетти Нилс
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and so on,’ she pointed out kindly, for he looked so surprised.
His thick eyebrows lifted. ‘I hardly think I need to discuss these things with you, Miss…er…it is surely not your business.’
He had a deep voice, probably a delight to listen to when he was in a good mood, which he was not, Jenny decided. She turned her head to look out of the window at the small groups of people coming along the drive towards the entrance and spoke over her shoulder. ‘Of course it’s my business; Miss Creed is my aunt and I shall be nursing her. You have no reason to be so cross, you know.’
He stared down his arrogant nose at her. ‘I am not cross, young lady. I do not allow my feelings to take control of me at any time.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You poor soul,’ she exclaimed warmly, ‘it must be like walking about in a plastic bag!’
He didn’t smile, although his eyes gleamed beneath their heavy lids. ‘You are foolish, Miss Wren, for in that case I should be dead.’
‘That’s what I meant.’ She delivered this telling shot with a sweet smile and opened the door. ‘If you would come with me, Professor…’
He stalked down the corridor beside her, making no attempt to speak, and Jenny, keeping up as best she could, was quite relieved when they reached her aunt’s room. At the door, before she opened it, he said evenly: ‘You do understand that Doctor Toms was unable to come with me—it is a little unusual…’
‘Not to worry,’ Jenny told him cheerfully, ‘he’s an old family friend, you know. Aunt Bess won’t mind,’ she paused, ‘unless you do?’
‘It is usual for the patients’ own doctor to be present,’ he pointed out in his almost faultless English. ‘I am a foreigner—your aunt…’
‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ She spoke reassuringly. ‘She doesn’t like foreigners as a rule, but I expect she’ll like you.’
She was about to open the door when his hand came down on hers, preventing her. ‘Why do you say that?’
She smiled at him, wishing he didn’t look so unfriendly. ‘You look the part,’ she told him, and when he took his hand away, opened the door.
Florrie, with a few urgent whispers to Jenny, went away, and Miss Creed said sharply from the bed: ‘Jenny? Where have you been? And when is that foreigner coming?’
‘He’s here now,’ said the Professor, his manner so changed that Jenny looked at him in surprise. He didn’t look angry and withdrawn any more, but calm and assured, a rock for any patient to lean upon and pour out their symptoms. His voice was gentle too and although nothing could alter the masterful angle of his nose, his manner was such to win the confidence of the most cantankerous of patients. He had walked across the room, to stand by the bed in full view of his patient while Jenny introduced him, returning Miss Creed’s fierce stare with a mild look which Jenny found hard to believe.
‘You will forgive me,’ said the Professor suavely, ‘that I should come in this fashion without our mutual friend Doctor Toms. I believe he has explained the circumstances to Miss…er…’ He paused and looked enquiringly at Jenny, who gave him a stony stare and didn’t utter a sound; if he wanted to call her Miss Er for the rest of their acquaintance, then let him! She got her own back presently, though.
‘Doctor Toms has told Professor van Draak—oh, dear what a very long name—te Solendijk all about you, Aunt Bess. Do you want me to stay?’
Two pairs of blue eyes were turned upon her, two mouths, firm to the point of stubbornness, snapped: ‘Of course.’ They should get on famously, the pair of them, thought Jenny, casting her own eyes meekly downwards.
The Professor took his time; he was not to be hurried by Miss Creed’s voice, bossy still though weak and slurred, telling him what to do and what not to do. When at length he was finished, she snapped: ‘Well, what’s the matter with me? Or is it just a headache—though I daresay you’ll make the most of it, whatever it is.’
The Professor ignored that, straightening himself slowly and eyeing her with calm. ‘Yes, it is a headache, but that is only a symptom of its cause. I should like to operate on you, Miss Creed. Would you go into hospital?’
‘No. To be mauled about and pay hundreds of pounds for something an aspirin will cure.’
He said impassively: ‘I’m afraid aspirin won’t cure this headache.’ He gave her a long, considered look and she stared back at him defiantly, although it obviously needed an effort; Aunt Bess was pushing herself to her limit. He went on deliberately: ‘If I don’t operate, Miss Creed, you will die.’
‘Plain speaking.’
‘I don’t think you will listen to anything else. I shouldn’t myself.’
‘You will tell me exactly what I have wrong with me and what my chances of living are.’
‘Certainly. You wish Miss…?’
‘Er,’ murmured Jenny helpfully. ‘I’m a nurse and I shall be looking after my aunt, Professor van Draak.’
‘Ah, yes—just so. Then I will explain.’
Which he did very nicely; a minute haemorrhage in the brain, at present only causing severe headaches; difficulty with speech, with breathing, blackouts…‘You will have had those, of course?’ he asked offhand, and nodded when Aunt Bess said quite meekly that yes, she had had several. ‘I shall find the site of the haemorrhage,’ said the Professor, not boastfully but as a man who was quite sure that he would, ‘repair it, and provided you do exactly as you are told, you will be as good as new within a very short space of time.’
Miss Creed considered his words. ‘It sounds reasonable enough,’ she said drowsily, ‘but I’m too tired to decide today—come and see me tomorrow.’
He put his handsome head on one side, contemplating her. ‘I should like to operate tonight,’ he told her calmly.
The lined, elderly face on the pillow lost some of its firmness. ‘Tonight?’
He nodded. ‘The sooner the better. I can arrange through Doctor Toms to have the use of the theatre at Cowper’s,’ the local cottage hospital and not so very far away. ‘You would have to remain there as a patient, but I promise you that the moment you are fit enough to move, you shall return here.’
‘Jenny?’ Miss Creed suddenly sounded very elderly indeed. ‘What shall I do, Jenny?’
‘Just what the Professor asks, Aunt Bess,’ Jenny had been standing at the bedside, opposite the Professor, but she had taken no part in the conversation. Now she came a little nearer. ‘Doctor Toms says that Professor van Draak is a brilliant man, and you know you will only have the best—besides,’ she went on cunningly, ‘you’ll be as right as a trivet by the time Oliver comes to stay.’ Which wasn’t quite true, but she judged that a small fib was justified in the circumstances.
She watched her aunt thinking about it and nobody spoke until Miss Creed said: ‘Get on with it, then.’ Her voice was suddenly strong and autocratic. ‘And be sure and make a good job of it.’
The Professor assured her levelly that he would do just that, adding: ‘Might I have a few words with Miss…your niece? Perhaps someone could be fetched to sit with you for a short time.’
‘Do what you like,’ said Miss Creed rudely. ‘I can see that you’re a man who always wants his own way. Jenny, don’t let him flatten you.’
As they walked back along the corridor, Jenny said: ‘Aunt Bess doesn’t feel well…’ and was cut short by his patient: ‘My dear young lady, no one with a subdural haemorrhage feels well, and if you are referring to her remark that you should not allow me to flatten you, I rather imagine that there would be little possibility of that.’
She stopped so suddenly that he, walking a little behind her and to one side, bumped into