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.