A Christmas Romance. Бетти Нилс
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offer but I think I’d better not.’
‘I’m quite safe,’ said the professor mildly, ‘and since you didn’t know that I would be going to Braintree in the morning you could hardly be accused of cadging.’
‘Well, if you don’t mind—I would be grateful …’
‘Good.’ He smiled then and walked away and she, remembering the rest of the diet sheets, raced off to the men’s ward … It was only as she handed over the rest of the diet sheets to Miss Prescott that she remembered that he hadn’t asked her where she lived nor had he said at what time he would pick her up. So that’s that, reflected Theodosia, scarcely listening to Miss Prescott’s cross voice.
If she had hoped for a message from him during the day she was to be disappointed. Five o’clock came and half an hour later—for, of course, Miss Prescott always found something else for her to do just as she was leaving—Theodosia raced through the hospital, intent on getting home, and was brought up short by the head porter hailing her from his lodge in the entrance hall.
‘Message for you, miss. You’re to be ready by ten o’clock. You’ll be fetched from where you live.’
He peered at her over his spectacles. ‘That’s what Professor Bendinck said.’
Theodosia had slithered to a halt. ‘Oh, thank you, Bowden,’ she said, and added, ‘He’s giving me a lift.’
The head porter liked her. She was always cheerful and friendly. ‘And very nice too, miss,’ he said. ‘Better than them trains and buses.’
Theodosia, explaining to Gustavus that they would be travelling in comfort instead of by the public transport he so disliked, wondered what kind of car the professor would have. Something rather staid, suitable for his dignified calling, she supposed. She packed her overnight bag, washed her hair and polished her shoes. Her winter coat was by no means new but it had been good when she had bought it and she consoled herself with the thought that winter coats didn’t change their style too much. It would have to be the green jersey dress …
At ten o’clock the next morning she went down to the front door with Gustavus in his basket and her overnight bag over her shoulder. She would give him ten minutes, she had decided, and if he didn’t turn up she would get a bus to Liverpool Street Station.
He was on the doorstep, talking to Mrs Towzer, who had a head crammed with pink plastic curlers and a feather duster in one hand. When she saw Theodosia she said, ‘There you are, ducks; I was just telling your gentleman friend here that you was a good tenant. A real lady—don’t leave the landing lights on all night and leaves the bath clean …’
Theodosia tried to think of something clever to say. She would have been grateful if the floor had opened and swallowed her. She said, ‘Good morning, Mrs Towzer—Professor.’
‘Professor, are you?’ asked the irrepressible Mrs Towzer. ‘Well, I never …’
Theodosia had to admire the way he handled Mrs Towzer with a grave courtesy which left that lady preening herself and allowed him to stuff Theodosia into the car, put her bag in the boot, settle Gustavus on the back seat with a speed which took her breath and then drive off with a wave of the hand to her landlady.
Theodosia said tartly, ‘It would have been much better if I had gone to the hospital and met you there.’
He said gently, ‘You are ashamed of your landlady?’
‘Heavens, no! She’s kind-hearted and good-natured, only there really wasn’t any need to tell you about turning off the lights …’
‘And cleaning the bath!’ To his credit the professor adopted a matter-of-fact manner. ‘I believe she was paying you a compliment.’
Theodosia laughed, then said, ‘Perhaps you are right. This is a very comfortable car.’
It was a Bentley, dark grey, with its leather upholstery a shade lighter.
‘I expect you need a comfortable car,’ she went on chattily. ‘I mean, you can’t have much time to catch buses and things.’
‘A car is a necessity for my job. You’re warm enough? I thought we might stop for coffee presently. At what time do your great-aunts expect you?’
‘If I don’t miss the bus at Braintree I’m there in time for lunch. But I’ll catch it today; I don’t expect it takes long to drive there.’
He was driving north-east out of the city. ‘If you will direct me I will take you to Finchingfield; it is only a few miles out of my way.’
She looked at his calm profile uncertainly; without his specs he was really very handsome … ‘You’re very kind but I’m putting you out.’
‘If that were the case I would not have suggested it,’ he told her. A remark which she felt had put her in her place. She said meekly, ‘Thank you,’ and didn’t see him smile.
Clear out of the city at last, he drove to Bishop’s Stortford and turned off for Great Dunmow, and stopped there for coffee. They had made good time and Theodosia, enjoying his company, wished that their journey were not almost at an end. Finchingfield was only a few miles away and all too soon he stopped in front of the great-aunts’ house.
It stood a little way from the centre of the village, in a narrow lane with no other houses nearby; it was a red-brick house, too large to be called a cottage, with a plain face and a narrow brick path leading from the gate to its front door. The professor got out, opened Theodosia’s door, collected her bag and Gustavus in his basket and opened the gate and followed her up the path. He put the bag and the basket down. ‘I’ll call for you at about half past six tomorrow, if that isn’t too early for you?’
‘You’ll drive me back? You’re sure it’s not disturbing your weekend?’
‘Quite sure. I hope you enjoy your visit, Theodosia.’
He went back to the car and got in, and sat waiting until she had banged the door knocker and the door was opened. And then he had gone.
Mrs Trickey, the aunt’s daily housekeeper, opened the door. She was a tall, thin woman, middle-aged, with a weather-beaten face, wearing an old-fashioned pinny and a battered hat.
‘You’re early.’ She craned her neck around Theodosia and watched the tail-end of the car disappear down the lane. “Oo’s that, then?’
Mrs Trickey had been looking after the aunts for as long as Theodosia could remember and considered herself one of the household. Theodosia said cheerfully, ‘Hello, Mrs Trickey; how nice to see you. I was given a lift by someone from the hospital.’
The housekeeper stood aside to let her enter and then went ahead of her down the narrow, rather dark hall. She opened a door at its end, saying, ‘Go on in; your aunts are expecting you.’
The room was quite large, with a big window overlooking the garden at the back of the house. It was lofty-ceilinged, with a rather hideous wallpaper, and the furniture was mostly heavy and dark, mid-Victorian, and there was far too much of it. Rather surprisingly, here and there, were delicate Regency pieces, very beautiful and quite out of place.
The two old ladies got up from their places as Theodosia went in. They were tall and thin with ramrod backs and white-haired, but there the resemblance ended.
Great-Aunt Jessica was the elder, a once handsome woman with a sweet smile, her hair arranged in what looked like a bird’s nest and wearing a high-necked blouse under a cardigan and a skirt which would have been fashionable at the turn of the century. It was of good material and well made and Theodosia couldn’t imagine her aunt wearing anything else.
Great-Aunt Mary bore little resemblance to her elder sister; her hair was drawn back from her face into a neat coil on top of her head and although she must have been pretty when she was young her narrow face, with its thin nose and thin mouth, held little warmth.
Theodosia kissed their proffered cheeks,