The Silver Thaw

Mr Thomley-Jones’ voice, thick with annoyance, cut through his thoughts. ‘Here I am, working my fingers to the bone and nothing ready,’ he said as he entered the scrubbing up room.

It was Amelia who spoke, on her way out to the theatre, ‘Everything is quite ready, sir,’ she said briskly, and, ‘Good morning, sir.’

‘Oh, pooh, you’ve always got an answer, haven’t you? Where’s that fool of a young Phillips?’

‘Your house surgeon is in theatre, sir.’

‘Wretched girl, why are you smiling?’

‘I think it’s relief, sir, because we’re quite ready for you.’

He laughed then and started to scrub. ‘Go away, Amelia—in another minute I shall be in a good temper, and that’ll never do!’

But miraculously, he stayed positively sunny for the entire morning. Even the discovery that the first laparotomy exposed a diverticulitis of magnitude and the second revealed a nasty patch of gangrene which he instantly removed made no difference. The list ran late, of course, and Amelia got no dinner in consequence, but that hardly mattered; there was only the afternoon’s list to get through and Sybil would be relieving her at five o’clock. Amelia gobbled toast and drank mugs of tea in her office and went to scrub up.

The afternoon list wasn’t a long one. They were finished by five o’clock and by half past that hour she had bidden Sybil goodbye, gone to the home for a cup of tea and then up to her room. She was driving herself down that evening, for Tom was still on duty and would meet them at Heathrow in the morning. She had snatched a brief moment with him on the way to the home and they had been able to make last-minute arrangements. She dressed now happily enough. A week in Tom’s company would be lovely and give them a chance to talk; sometimes she wondered uneasily if, even when they were together, they talked about the right things. When they had first become engaged, they had discussed the future pretty thoroughly, but now it was as though having said it all once, there was no need to mention it again. Once or twice she had tried to persuade Tom to get married at once, but although he had been patient and understanding, he had been quite adamant—perhaps being together would help to change his mind.

She got into the sage green tweed Jaeger suit she had bought only a week ago, quite forgetting that she wasn’t going to wear anything new for a while. It had a pleated skirt and was warm enough to travel in with the matching cashmere sweater underneath. She had already filled her handbag with all the things she would require on the journey. She sprayed herself with Miss Dior, pushed her feet into beautifully made brown leather brogues, found her gloves and went down to the corner of the courtyard where the staff kept their cars. It was dark by now and in the headlights the hospital looked grim and very gloomy. Amelia swung the Mini out of the front gates and edged it carefully into the evening traffic.

Bonny had a late supper waiting for her. She ate it from a tray on a small sofa table in the drawing room while her father sat opposite her outlining his plans for the next three weeks. He had got them rooms at the hotel, he told her, arranged for the hire of a boat and had worked out some sort of an itinerary. ‘We might as well see something of the country while we’re there,’ he told her. ‘Not too far,’ he added hastily, ‘the best fishing is in that part, I’m told.’

It all sounded delightful. Presently Amelia went to bed, to sleep soundly until she was roused in the morning by Fred, her father’s labrador, who expected to be taken for a quick walk before breakfast.

They left early with Badger sitting beside Mr Crosbie in front; he would drive the Bentley back home again and come to fetch them on their return. Amelia, sitting in the back, daydreamed gently. It would be perfect weather, of course, even if chilly, and Tom and she would hire a car and explore. She was certain that her father wouldn’t mind at all if he were left to fish on his own; he’d been doing it for years and she suspected that although he tolerated her company he wasn’t quite happy about Tom. They liked each other well enough… She frowned a little and switched her thoughts to the pleasanter one of the future—the wedding, the house they would find together and furnish and should she take Cordon Bleu cooking lessons or would Bonny be able to teach her how to cook? She wondered how much money she would need to housekeep; it was deplorable, but she really didn’t know.

Tom reached Heathrow five minutes after they arrived there themselves; he parked his car, picked up his case and joined them quietly, shaking hands with her father and smiling at her as he held hers briefly. After her daydreaming it seemed rather a let-down.

She didn’t like flying, but it saved time, and as the plane was only half full, she didn’t get the feeling that she was travelling in a rather crowded bus. The weather was good too; England disappeared and with nothing but the sea below to look at she turned to Tom beside her. He was asleep and she smiled gently; probably he’d missed most of the night’s rest and it must have been an almighty rush to get to the airport. She sat back quietly until the stewardess came round with the lunch trays and wakened Tom.

And almost before they had finished their coffee they were coming down over the countless islands round Bergen. The weather wasn’t so good now, grey and great blankets of cloud which enveloped them until they touched down, when Amelia wasn’t surprised to find that it was raining.

But who cared? she asked Tom as they followed her father into the arrival hall. They were on holiday.

CHAPTER TWO

THEY WERE TO spend the night at the Norge hotel and leave the following morning by an air taxi Mr Crosbie had booked previously. Amelia would have preferred to have travelled to Stokmarknes by boat or road, but her father had come to fish and that as soon as possible. However, they had the rest of the day in which to explore Bergen and once settled into their rooms, she declared her intention of seeing as much of the town as she could.

‘It’s raining,’ objected her father.

‘I’ve got my anorak,’ she pointed out reasonably. ‘Besides, you know quite well that you’ll not mind in the least if it rains every day once you get a rod in your hands.’ She smiled at him and made for the door with Tom close behind her. ‘We’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.’

They set off, walking the few yards down Ole Bulls Plass into the main shopping street, Torgalm, a wide thoroughfare with broad pavements and trees bordering them, only now there were few leaves and those that were left were limp with the rain. But the shops were splendid, their lights welcome in the early gloom of the afternoon. Amelia strolled along, 27 her arm tucked into Tom’s, pausing to look at everything until presently she suggested that they found somewhere for tea. ‘Just a cup,’ she begged. ‘It’s only four o’clock and it might be fun. I’m going to ask in this shop.’

There was a tea-room close by, the saleslady told her in excellent English, and they found it without difficulty, a little way away from the shops, opposite a small beautifully kept park close to the hotel. Inside it lived up to its name with little tables occupied by smart housewives and uniformed waitresses, and to Amelia’s satisfaction the tea was delicious and brought in a tea-pot, nicely set out with cups and saucers, and with it they ate enormous creamy cakes which Tom warned her would spoil her appetite for dinner later on.

‘Oh, pooh,’ she told him robustly, ‘I’m a big girl and I get hungry.’

They wandered back presently and spent the rest of the evening in the hotel, eating deliciously in a beautifully appointed restaurant. Amelia went to bed very contented, sure that the holiday was going to be one of the best she had ever spent.

They flew to Ardenes by air taxi the next morning and then went by hired car down to Stokmarknes. Amelia, who had heard of the Lofoten Islands but never been near them before, was struck dumb by the awe-inspiring scenery. The mountains loomed majestically almost to the edge of the fjords already deeply snow-capped, only here and there small green patches, each with its tiny community, clung to their skirts. Sitting behind the Norwegian driver as he followed the one road across the islands, she began to wonder what Stokmarknes would be like.

It was a delightful surprise. True, there was the inevitable fish oil refinery down by the small quay, but the little town itself, strung out along the fjord for perhaps a mile, was charming; its wooden houses, brightly painted and surrounded by birch trees, already orange and red-leafed, bordered each side of the road which ran on through the cluster of houses and small shops, towards Melbu and the Ferry. The hotel, close to the quay, was a square wooden building and Amelia’s heart sank a little when she got out of the car before its door; it looked lonely and uninviting from where she stood. But inside she saw how wrong she had been; it was cosily warm for a start, bright with cheerful lights and comfortable modern furniture, and moreover they were welcomed by a smiling manager whose English was almost as good as theirs. There were, he told them cheerfully, very few visitors, but it was hardly the time of year, although to a keen fisherman that would make no difference, and, he went on, glancing at Amelia, there were some delightful walks in the neighbourhood and a daily bus service. Sortland or Svolvaer were no distance away by road. Meanwhile he would show them to their rooms and doubtless they would enjoy a cup of tea or coffee.

It was going to be great fun after all, she decided, looking with approval round her bedroom. It faced the fjord, so that she could see the constant coming and going on the water, and its furniture, though simple, was very much to her taste. She made short work of tidying herself and went downstairs to find the two men were already in the lounge, deep in discussion with the manager about the hiring of a boat. She heard her father’s satisfied grunt when he was told that the vessel was ready and waiting for him.

‘First thing tomorrow morning,’ he promised Amelia, ‘we’ll take her out and see what we can get.’ He glanced at Tom. ‘You’ll come, of course, Tom?’

‘I’ll be delighted, though I’m not much good with boats, I’m afraid.’

‘Oh, never mind that,’ said Crosbie in high good humour. ‘Amelia is a first class crew, she’ll tell you what to do. I understand the weather’s likely to be good for a few days at least—they’ve had one or two snow showers further north, but they haven’t reached these parts, although it’ll probably rain.’

Amelia caught Tom’s eye and smiled and was a little disconcerted to see that although he smiled back, he didn’t look quite happy.

‘Tom and I are going to do a bit of exploring once you’ve got your eye in, Father,’ she said quickly. ‘You’re bound to find several enthusiasts before long, and I daresay they’ll crew for you—besides, when Tom goes back I’ll come out with you every day.’

She turned away to pour out the tea and her father answered her vaguely, his mind already busy with the question of how to get the most out of his stay.

Amelia and Tom went for a walk before dinner. It was already dusk, but the little place was well lighted, and they went from one end of the town to the other, admiring the houses, dotted haphazardly on either side of the road, creeping as far as they could go to the very edge of the fjord on one side, and on the other, tucking themselves against the base of the massive mountains.

‘I could live here,’ declared Amelia. ‘It’s peaceful and cosy and…’

‘A bit isolated,’ finished Tom. ‘Nowhere to go in the evenings, is there?’

‘Ah, I’d sit at home and embroider those lovely tapestries we saw in Bergen, and knit.’

He laughed at her. ‘What? No dinners out, no cinemas, no theatre—you’d get bored.’

‘No.’ She suddenly felt a little irritated with him. ‘I don’t believe the people who live here are bored, I think they’re content and satisfied with their lives—how could you be anything else with all this glorious scenery around?’ She added a shade defiantly, ‘I like it.’

Tom took her arm and turned her round to go back to the hotel. ‘Well, so do I,’ he said placatingly. ‘I’m looking forward to tomorrow.’

It was a splendid morning; blue sky and a cold sun with almost no wind. They breakfasted together and then went down to the boat, not as early as Mr Crosbie would have liked, but Amelia had wanted to sample the variety of breads and rolls arranged on the long table in the restaurant, and try the contents of the great number of dishes laid upon it. She had never had herrings in an onion sauce for breakfast, nor beetroot and cucumber. The cold meats and cheese seemed more like home as well as the great bowl of marmalade, flanked by cranberry jam. She tried as many of them as possible and declared that she would get up earlier in future so that she might have a go at the rest.

But there was little fear of them going hungry, judging by the size of the picnic box they had been given to take with them. Amelia arranging things just so in the small cabin, found it all very satisfactory and great fun. It was going to be choppy later on, they had been warned, but she didn’t mind that; she was wearing slacks stuffed into wellingtons, a bright yellow anorak and a wool cap pulled well down over her ears and thick gloves.

They cast off and her father started the outboard motor before leaving it to Tom’s care while he went off to check his rods and bait. Today, he had assured them, was merely a trial run; they would go north through the fjord towards Sortland and see if there were any fish.

There were a great many. Presently Tom left Amelia to steer in the little cockpit while he joined her father, and presently she stopped the motor and they anchored while the two men reeled in trout, herring, flounders and a couple of salmon. It was past midday by then and she gave them their lunch, made soup and coffee on the stove and joined them on deck to listen patiently to their enthusiastic discussions as to which rod and what bait were the best to use. It was nice to see her father so happy and Tom too. She looked around her and could find no fault in her morning.

It began to rain a little by mid-afternoon and they turned for home, slowed by a sharp wind. Mr Crosbie was at the wheel now, thoroughly enjoying himself, not minding the change in the weather, although Tom looked a little uneasy. It was getting dark already and it was no use trying to use the binoculars Amelia had brought with her. They stood side by side watching the lights of Stokmarknes getting nearer. The little quay, when they reached it, was almost deserted. The coastal steamer had come and gone and the little school was empty of children; only the shops were still open as they walked the short distance to the hotel. Amelia paused to buy a yesterday’s Telegraph at the little kiosk close to the quay; the woman who served her was friendly and spoke a little English and she would have liked to have stayed a few minutes and talked, but the men were impatient now and hurried her along the road and in through the hotel door.

They ate their dinner with splendid appetites and Amelia went early to bed. The hotel manager had told them that a short walk in the morning would take them behind the little town and up the lower slopes of the mountains where the view of the fjord was something worth seeing, and Amelia persuaded her father to delay his fishing trip for an hour so that she and Tom might go. Her father hadn’t minded; he had the rest of the short day to look forward to and there was a man who worked down on the quay who would tell him just where he could go for salmon.

Amelia, getting sleepily ready for bed, yawned widely and decided that she was enjoying herself hugely.

The morning walk was all that she had hoped for. They had turned off the road and taken a rocky lane leading up to the houses clinging so precariously to the lower slopes of the mountains. There were no roads here, only paths leading from one house to the next, and they had been built in haphazard charm between the birch trees. They left them behind presently, climbing over the rough ground, and then stopped to admire the view. It was cold, too, with a sky filled with clouds which every now and then allowed the sun to shine through. Amelia had brought the binoculars with her and used them now, picking out isolated houses along the shore. ‘It’s cold enough for snow,’ she declared.

‘A bit early for that,’ observed Tom, ‘though I must say it’s rather wintry.’ He smiled at her. ‘Rather different from St Ansell’s.’

She said impulsively: ‘Tom, let’s come here on our honeymoon,’ and was chilled by his careless:

‘Isn’t it a bit too early to make plans?’

She said tonelessly: ‘Yes, of course, I was only joking. We’d better get back or Father will get impatient.’

Walking back briskly, she kept the conversation cheerful and impersonal. Tom didn’t want to talk about their future together, that was obvious. Perhaps she was too impatient, she must remember that; perhaps, she thought uneasily, she wanted her own way too much.

Her father was sitting on the rough stone wall bordering the road, his back to them, looking out to the fjord and talking to someone—a man who when he saw them, got to his feet, unfolding his great height slowly. He was broad-shouldered and heavily built as well as tall, with a handsome face whose eyes were heavy-lidded above an imposing nose. His hair was dark, as far as she could see, and his eyes as he frankly appraised Amelia were very blue.

She didn’t like his stare. She lifted her chin and looked down her straight little nose, at the same time taking in the fact that he was wearing corduroy slacks stuffed into boots and a fisherman’s waterproof jacket. Another fisherman, she thought, and how like Father to find him! He’s probably the only one for miles around and they had to meet—and I don’t like him, she told herself.

Her parent was in high good humour. ‘Hullo, my dear,’ he beamed at her. ‘You see I’ve found another enthusiast. This is Doctor van der Tolck from Holland, like us, on holiday. My daughter Amelia and her fiancé, Doctor Tom Crouch.’ He stood back smiling while they shook hands and murmured politely, and Amelia, meeting the Dutchman’s sleepy gaze, had a sudden strange feeling, as though everything had changed; that nothing would ever be the same again; that there was no one else there, only herself and this giant of a man, still staring at her. She put out a hand and caught Tom’s sleeve in a fierce grip which made him glance at her in surprise. Tom was there, right beside her, and she was going to marry him…

The man smiled faintly, just as though he read her thoughts and mocked them, and made some remark to Tom. She told herself, seconds later, that she had imagined the whole puzzling thing.

‘Doctor van der Tolck has a boat here too,’ observed Mr Crosbie with satisfaction. ‘He’s staying at the hotel, got here last night on the coastal express. We might go out together—he tells me that the Raftsund is a good area for cod.’

‘What are we going to do with the catch?’ asked Amelia.

‘Oh, let the hotel people have it,’ declared her parent carelessly. ‘Well, how about moving off?’

She took a quick peep at the Dutchman, who was standing quietly, saying nothing, apparently waiting for the rest of them.

‘We’ll go and pick up the food,’ she offered, and gave Tom’s sleeve a tug. ‘Tom?’

‘Do that, my dear, and ask them to let you have Doctor van der Tolck’s sandwiches at the same time.’

‘I have to go back to the hotel,’ he had a slow deep voice, ‘I’ll pick my food up then.’ He smiled at Mr Crosbie. ‘Shall I come down to the quay with you—you were going to show me that rod of yours.’

Amelia turned away with Tom beside her. On the way to the hotel she said with a touch of pettishness: ‘Why on earth does Father have to dig up these chance acquaintances—I expect he’ll stick like a leech now!’

‘You don’t like him?’

‘No, I do not,’ she said a little too sharply, ‘butting in like that.’

‘Probably your father suggested that we should join forces—rather difficult to refuse in the circumstances.’

‘Rubbish, Tom—he could have made some excuse.’

He gave her a long considered look. ‘You do dislike him, don’t you?’

She bounced through the hotel door. ‘Yes,’ she snapped. ‘I shall keep out of his way.’

A decision which Doctor van der Tolck had apparently made too, for he had little or nothing to say to her when she and Tom rejoined him and her father presently—polite enough, but she mistrusted the wicked gleam in his eyes and the faint smile when he spoke to her, which he did only when politeness made it imperative.

He left them presently, agreeing easily with Mr Crosbie that he would join them in his own boat within ten minutes. He was as good as his word, manoeuvring it alongside their own vessel while he exchanged opinions with Mr Crosbie as to the best area in which to fish. They settled the important question at last, working their way down towards the Raftsund and presently they anchored, not too far apart, and settled down to the serious business in hand. The clouds had strengthened and the sun no longer shone even fitfully, the mountains around them were grey and cold and Amelia secretly found them a little frightening. She went into the cabin and made coffee and sat there in comparative warmth, drinking it after handing out mugs to her father and Tom. The doctor, she saw out of the corner of her eye, had a thermos flask and even at a distance was a picture of contentment.

The weather worsened as the day went on and by three o’clock it was disagreeably cold and windy. Mr Crosbie reluctantly conceded the wisdom of returning to dry land before the rain, falling gently so far, became torrential. But he had had a good day; he and Tom sorted their catch while Amelia took the wheel. She was good at it. She passed their new acquaintance within a few feet, sending the boat tearing through the dark water before he had even got his engine going. It was galling, half way there, to be overtaken. He was making fast as she approached the quay and without speaking to her, performed the same service for her, and when she thanked him, rather haughtily, he grunted.

She left the three men there, telling each other fishy tales while they gloated over their catches, and went up to the hotel, where she ordered tea in her room and had a bath, far too hot.

It was difficult to avoid Doctor van der Tolck. The hotel wasn’t large and except for a couple of commercial travellers and a rather subdued family—on their way, the manager confided, to a funeral on the outskirts of the town—they were the only guests. True, by the time she had joined her father and Tom in the bar, a trickle of young men with their girls came in, but they kept to themselves although they were friendly enough. Amelia, sipping her sherry, made idle conversation and kept an eye on the door. Doctor van der Tolck was just the kind of man to join them for the evening unasked.

She was mistaken. He sauntered in presently, nodded pleasantly and joined the two Norwegians at the bar and either he spoke their language or they spoke Dutch, because they entered into a lengthy conversation and Amelia, her ears stretched, was sure that it wasn’t English they were speaking. It was annoying when he looked up suddenly and caught her looking at them, and still more annoying that he didn’t smile.

He dined at a table alone too, and she was a little surprised that her father hadn’t asked him to join them. She didn’t say anything, but when her father said casually: ‘I didn’t ask van der Tolck to join us—I hear from Tom that you don’t like him,’ she went pink and shot Tom a peevish look which in the circumstances was quite unjustified.

But he was there in the morning. She had gone out before breakfast to inspect the high slender bridge which joined Stokmarknes with the neighbouring island of Langoya. It was a bit too far to walk to, she saw with regret, but perhaps she and Tom would get a chance to reach it later in the day. She had supposed that it was much nearer, but appearances were deceptive, and even though she hurried to where the houses began to peter out against the base of the mountains, the bridge seemed as far away as ever. She turned round with regret and started back to the hotel, picking her way carefully along the uneven road. She hadn’t gone a quarter of the distance when a Saab swept past her and then stopped. Doctor van der Tolck was driving and Amelia said good morning in a cool voice as she drew abreast of him. He held the door open. ‘Like a lift?’ he enquired in a voice which suggested that he couldn’t care less either way. ‘I’m going back for breakfast.’