The Girl With Green Eyes. Betty Neels
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had been eaten, followed by a dessert of puff pastry, piled with a hazelnut mousse and topped with caramel, that the doctor switched smoothly from the gentle conversation, calculated to put his companion at her ease, to the more serious subject of Miranda.
‘Do you see a great deal of her at the orphanage?’ he wanted to know.
‘Well, yes—not all the time, of course, but always each morning, bathing her and getting her to walk and that kind of thing.’
He nodded. ‘You do realise that she will probably be backward—mentally retarded—but this operation that I have just done should give her a better chance. One would wish to do everything possible for her—she is such a pretty child, and if only she had been brought to our attention while she was still a baby we could have done so much more.’
‘But isn’t there any special treatment? She talks a little, you know, and although she’s a bit wobbly when she’s walking she does try.’
‘I’m going to ask you to do all you can to help her, and don’t be discouraged when she makes almost no progress. I know you have a busy day and there are other children to look after, but Matron tells me that Miranda responds to you much more willingly than to anyone else there. Once the shunt gets into its stride we should take advantage of that and get her little brain stimulated. If all goes well, she will be able to have therapy in a few months.’
‘Do you get many children like her?’ Lucy poured their coffee and reflected sadly that the only reason he had asked her out was to make sure that she was going to stay at the orphanage and look after Miranda. Well, he need not have gone to so much trouble, wasting an evening with her when he might have been spending it with the glamorous Fiona. It was quite obvious that she had no effect upon him whatsoever, despite the fashionable grey dress and the new sandals. He probably hadn’t even noticed them.
He guided their talk into more general channels, and when Lucy said that she should really go back home since she was on duty in the morning he made no objection, but signed the bill and followed her out of the restaurant without one word of persuasion to remain a little longer—or even go dancing. But that was a good thing, for the sandals were pinching horribly and walking in them, even the short distance across the pavement to the car, was crippling.
‘Take them off,’ suggested the doctor as he started the car.
‘Oh, you don’t mind? They’re killing me. How did you know?’
‘You have quite a fierce frown which, I hasten to add, I am quite sure no one noticed except me.’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘They’re quite delightful though; indeed, the rest of you looks delightful too, Lucy. Demure and malleable. Are you demure and malleable, I wonder?’
She curled her toes in blissful comfort. ‘No, I don’t think so; I don’t think girls are demure nowadays, are they? Anyway, I’m too old … and I’m not sure what malleable means—I thought it meant squashy.’
He gave a growl of laughter. ‘I meant it to mean tender and gentle, and I wasn’t aware that age had anything to do with being demure. How old are you?’
‘Twenty-five. You’re thirty-five, aren’t you?’
‘We might say that we have reached the ages of discretion.’
They had reached her home and he stopped the car gently, and when she made to get out he put out a restraining hand. ‘No, wait.’
He got out and opened her door. ‘You’ll never cram your feet back into those sandals.’ He picked them up and put them into her hand, scooped her out of the seat and carried her to the front door, where he asked her to ring the doorbell.
Alice answered the door, flung it wide to allow him to get inside, and said urgently, ‘You’re not hurt, love? What’s the matter? You’ve not ‘ad too much to drink?’
The doctor set Lucy gently on her feet. ‘Her feet,’ he explained. ‘Her sandals were pinching and, of course, once they were off they wouldn’t go on again.’
Alice laughed. ‘And there’s me wondering what on earth had happened. Your mother and father are in the drawing-room—you go too, sir. I’ll bring in a nice tray of coffee and you, Miss Lucy, go and fetch a pair of slippers this minute—what your ma will say I don’t know.’
‘It could happen to anyone,’ remarked the doctor mildly, and gave Alice a nice smile so that she said,
‘Oh, well, perhaps it won’t be noticed,’ and went ahead of them to open the drawing-room door.
Lucy’s mother and father were sitting one on each side of the hearth, her father immersed in a sheaf of papers and her mother turning the pages of Harper’s. They both looked up as she and the doctor went in and her father got to his feet. ‘There you are, Lucy and Dr Thurloe, how delightful. Come and sit down for half an hour—Lucy, run and ask Alice to bring coffee—’
‘She’s making it now, Father!’ Lucy bent to kiss her mother’s cheek and wished she knew how to raise a graceful hand to greet the doctor in the same manner as that lady. ‘Delighted to see you, Dr Thurloe. Do sit down. How very kind of you to take Lucy out to dinner.’
‘It was Lucy who was kind, Mrs Lockitt,’ he replied, and paused, smiling, as Mrs Lockitt caught sight of Lucy’s feet.
‘Lucy, your shoes? You’ve never lost them? You aren’t hurt?’
‘They pinched, Mother, so I took them off.’
‘Well, really!’ She turned her attention to her guest. ‘I have been hoping that we might meet again, you really must dine one evening before we go to Turkey.’
‘Kayseri, the ancient Hittite city—there have been some interesting finds lately, and I’ve been asked to go out there and take a look,’ Mr Lockitt joined in. ‘We plan to fly out at the end of next week.’
The doctor, much to Lucy’s surprise, expressed his delight at the invitation, and Mrs Lockitt said, ‘Lucy, dear, run up to my room and get my engagement book, will you? And do get some slippers at the same time.’
Lucy went slowly upstairs. Her parents, whom she loved dearly, were spoiling everything for her; she showed up in a bad light in her own home with no chance to outshine their intellectual talk—she had hardly scintillated over dinner, and since she had entered the drawing-room she had uttered only a few words. She found the book, poked her feet into a pair of frivolous satin mules and went back downstairs. Alice had brought in the coffee and Lucy’s father had fetched the brandy; the doctor looked as though he had settled for the rest of the evening, already making knowledgeable replies to her father’s observations—apparently he knew all about the iron-smelting activities of the Hittites, and he knew too where they had lived in Asia Minor.
As she handed round the coffee-cups he asked pleasantly, ‘And do you not wish to go too, Lucy?’
Her mother answered for her. ‘Lucy’s a home-bird, aren’t you, darling? This nice little job at the orphanage gives her something to do while we’re away.’ Mrs Lockitt went on, not meaning to be unkind, ‘She hasn’t had a training for anything. Of course, Imogen is the clever one in the family—she has this super job in the City—and Pauline works in an art gallery, and will marry at the end of this year. They are all such capable girls, and of course we have an excellent housekeeper.’
The doctor murmured politely and presently got up to go, and Mr Lockitt went to the door with him, so that beyond a stiff little speech of thanks Lucy had no chance to speak. There was nothing to say anyway. Her fragile dream, never more than a fantasy, had been blown away; he would think of her, if he ever did, as a dull girl not worth a second thought.
She bade her parents goodnight and went to bed. Surprisingly, just before she slept, she decided that somehow or other she would get to know him better, and eventually, in the teeth of all hazards, marry him.
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