A Star Looks Down. Betty Neels
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take a bath, a suggestion which was received with such a lack of surprise that she concluded that the children were quite in the habit of having someone to look after them; no wonder the professor had been so anxious to find a substitute for their mother.
By half past eight they were tucked up, the two boys sharing a large room next to her own, the little girls across the landing. Beth, a little untidy after her exertions, retired to her room to change her sweater for a blouse and do her hair and face before going downstairs. Mrs Silver had said dinner at half past eight, and she was hungry.
It was lonely, though, after the bustle and noise of the hospital canteen, sitting at the oval table in the quiet dining room, with only Mrs Silver popping in and out with a succession of delicious foods, accompanying each dish with the strong encouragement to eat as much as she could. ‘For I do hear that those hospitals don’t feed their nurses all that well. Stodge, I daresay, miss—I don’t hold with all that starch; here’s a nice little soufflé, as light as a feather even though I do say it myself, you just eat it up.’
She trotted off again, with the advice that she would bring coffee to the sitting room in ten minutes’ time, and left Beth to eat up the soufflé and then dash upstairs to make sure that all the children were asleep. They were; she went down to the sitting room and drank her coffee, and then, feeling guiltily idle, went to examine the book shelves which filled one wall. Early bed, she decided, and a book; there was a splendid selection for her to choose from.
She was trying to decide between the newest Alistair Maclean and Ira Morris’s Troika Belle, which she had read several times already, when she heard steps in the hall and turned, a book in each hand, as the door opened and the professor came in.
He looked magnificent; a black tie did something for a man—it certainly did something for him. Not that he needed it, for he had the kind of looks which could get away with an old sweater and shapeless slacks, though Beth very much doubted if he ever allowed himself to be seen in such gear.
‘Presumably the sight of me has rendered you speechless,’ he commented dryly. ‘I’ve wished you good evening twice and all I get is a blank purple stare.’
She put the books down and came into the centre of the room. ‘I’m sorry…I was thinking. Is this your special room? Would you like me to go?’
‘My dear good girl, of course not. My study is at the back of the hall—out of bounds to the children, but consider yourself invited to make use of it whenever you wish—only don’t touch my desk.’
She smiled widely. ‘Is it a mess? Doctors seem to like them that way. I was going up to bed, actually. The children have been splendid—and how good they are at their English, even Alberdina.’ She made her way to the door. ‘I rather think they wake early in the morning and I want to be ready for them.’
He had taken up a position before the empty fireplace, his eyes on her face. ‘I’ve some messages from Martina about the children, could you sit down for a minute while I pass them on?’
‘Yes, of course.’ She perched on the edge of a large chair and folded her hands in her lap. ‘I hope Mevrouw Thorbecke is getting on well?’
‘Excellently.’ He pressed the old-fashioned bell by the fireplace and took a chair opposite hers. ‘I’ve been to a very dull dinner party, do you mind if I have some coffee and something to eat?’ He broke off as Mrs Silver came into the room.
They were obviously on the best of terms, for she clucked at him in a motherly fashion and burst at once into speech. ‘There, Professor, didn’t I know it—you were given a bad dinner and now you’re famished,’ and when he admitted that this was so: ‘You just sit there and I’ll bring you some coffee and sandwiches. I daresay Miss Partridge could drink another cup and keep you company.’
‘Of course,’ he said, before Beth could get her mouth open; Mrs Silver had gone by the time she managed: ‘I had coffee after dinner, thank you.’
‘You would prefer something else?’ His voice was blandly charming.
‘No, thanks.’ She spoke firmly and wondered how it was that ten minutes later she was sitting there with a cup of coffee in her hand, and moreover, eating a sandwich. She was still there an hour later; she had forgotten that her companion was someone who, in the ordinary way, she would have addressed as sir, taken his word for law in theatre, and if she had encountered him outside their working sphere, wished him a sedate time of day and nothing more; she only knew that she was content to sit in his company, listening to his mild nothings and replying in kind. The handsome ormolu clock on the mantelpiece chiming the hour recalled her to the astonishing fact that it was midnight.
‘Heavens, I never meant to stay as long as this,’ she exclaimed, aware of regret as she jumped to her feet and made for the door. The professor had got to his feet too and with his hand on the door she stopped short.
‘The messages,’ she exclaimed again, ‘you had some messages for me.’
He opened the door. ‘I am ashamed to say that I have forgotten every one of them—they couldn’t have been of much importance, could they? Your room is comfortable? You have everything you want?’
She told him yes, feeling a little uneasy about the messages, but there seemed nothing she could do about them now, so she wished him a good night and went to her room, where later, and still very wide awake, she thought about the evening, telling herself at the same time that it was only because she had been feeling lonely that she had found his company so very pleasant.
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