Wedding Bells for Beatrice

‘Since when haven’t I been allowed to come over here?’ He was laughing, wheedling her.

‘You know very well what I mean. Of course you can come here when you need to see the path. lab about something or other. But this isn’t the path. lab and in any case if you are as busy as you say you are you can telephone.’

‘Snappy, aren’t you? Never mind, I’ll make allowances, I dare say your dull old men have bored you stiff. When we marry you can stay at home and keep house and be a lady of leisure.’

‘I’m not going to marry you, Tom. Now go away, do.’

He came round the counter towards her. ‘Oh, come on, you know you don’t mean it.’

He was smiling and he had a charming smile, only she didn’t feel like being charmed; she wanted a quick meal, a hot bath and her bed. She pushed his arm away. ‘I said go away …’

The outer door had opened very quietly. Professor van der Eekerk was beside her before she had even seen him come in. He said smoothly, ‘Miss Crawley, do forgive me, but I need to check the times of the papers being read tomorrow. Perhaps you would like me to come back later?’

He smiled gently at her and glanced at Tom Ford, murmured something or other and turned to go again.

‘Don’t go,’ said Beatrice, rather more loudly than she had intended. ‘There’s no need. I mean, I’ll be glad to help you, Professor.’ She shot a fiery look at Tom. ‘Dr Ford was just going.’

‘In that case …’ observed the professor and held the door for Tom to go through, giving him a cheerful goodnight as he went.

‘Now what?’ asked Beatrice, very much on edge and not disposed to be polite or friendly.

‘Food, a long hot bath and bed,’ said Professor van der Eekerk, putting his finger exactly on the crux of the matter. ‘Go and get a coat—don’t bother with titivating yourself, you’ll do as you are. We’ll go to a fish and chip shop or something similar. You can eat your fill and be back here within the hour.’

‘I had intended—’ began Beatrice haughtily.

‘Beans on toast? A boiled egg? A great girl like you needs a square meal. Off you go.’

He held the door open and after a moment she went past him and started up the stairs. She told herself that she hadn’t said anything because she was speechless with rage; in actual fact he had suggested exactly what she wanted to do …

She got her coat and, since he had said—rudely, she considered—that she was all right as she was, she didn’t bother to look in the mirror. When she joined him she said frostily, ‘You wanted to ask me something, Professor?’

He looked vague. ‘Did I? Oh, yes, of course. It was the first thing I thought of. I was coming out of the hospital when I saw your boyfriend coming this way …’

‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

‘No, no, of course not.’ He went around turning off lights and then ushered her out into the passage. ‘I was told by your excellent head porter that there is a splendid café just along the street. Alfred’s Place is its name, I believe—let us sample Alfred’s cooking.’

He took her arm and marched her out of the forecourt and into the busy street, its small shops still open and plenty of people still about. The café was a bare five minutes’ walk away; the professor pushed open the door and urged her inside. It was almost full and the air was redolent of hot food and Beatrice’s charming nose wrinkled with delight as they sat down at a table in one corner.

There was no menu but Alfred came over at once. “Ow do?’ he greeted them cheerfully. ‘Me old pal at St Justin’s gave me a tinkle, said you might be coming. ‘E’s ‘ead porter.’

‘Very thoughtful of him. What can you offer us? We have very little time but we’re hungry …’

‘Pot o’ tea ter start and while yer drinking it I’ll do a couple of plates of bacon and eggs, tomatoes and fried bread.’ Alfred, small and portly, drew himself up. ‘I reckon you wouldn’t eat better up west.’

‘It sounds delicious.’ The professor glanced at Beatrice. ‘Or is there something else you fancy, Beatrice?’

‘I can’t think of anything nicer. And I’d love a cup of tea.’

The tea came, borne by a plump pretty girl, untidy, but nevertheless very clean. She gazed at the professor as she set the pot before Beatrice. ‘Dad says you’re a professor,’ she breathed in an excited whisper. ‘I never seen one before.’

She gave him a wide grin and hurried away to answer another customer.

‘I feel that I should have horns or a beard and a basilisk stare at the very least!’

Beatrice poured their tea, a strong brew, powerful enough to revive the lowest spirits. ‘Well, you do look like one, you know, only you’re a bit too young …’

‘I’ll start the beard first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘No, no, don’t be absurd, what I mean is that most people think of professors as being elderly and grey-haired and forgetful and unworldly.’

‘I have the grey hair, but I rather like the world, don’t you? I can be forgetful when I want to be and in a few years I shall be elderly.’

‘Rubbish,’ said Beatrice. ‘I don’t suppose you are over forty.’

‘Well, no, I’m thirty-seven—and how old are you, Beatrice?’

She answered without thinking. ‘Twenty-eight,’ and then, ‘Why do you ask? It’s really not polite …’

‘But I’m not polite, only when life demands it of me. I wanted to know so that we can clear the air.’

‘Clear the air—whatever do you mean?’

She wasn’t going to find out for Alfred arrived with two plates piled high with crisp bacon, eggs fried to a turn and mushrooms arranged nicely on a bed of fried bread.

‘Eat it while it’s ‘ot,’ he told them, and took away the teapot to refill it.

Alfred was a good cook, perhaps the best in the area bisected by the Commercial Road. With yet more tea, they did justice to his food.

Beatrice put down her knife and fork. ‘That was lovely. My goodness, I feel ready for anything.’

‘Not until the morning. You’re going back to bath and a bed now.’

He smiled at her protesting face. ‘Doctor’s orders.’

He paid the bill, added a tip to make Alfred’s eyes glisten, assured him that they would certainly come again, and marched her out back at a brisk pace to her own door, opened it for her, bade her goodnight and closed it quietly, barely giving her time to thank him. Almost as though he couldn’t wait to get away from her. Yet he had rescued her from Tom. She was too tired to think about it; she had her bath and got into bed and was asleep within minutes.

The first paper in the morning was to be read by an eminent surgeon from Valencia, well known for his research into nutritional disorders. It was a cold dark morning and his audience came promptly and briskly, glad to be indoors. Beatrice, counting heads, saw that they were all there. She hadn’t seen Professor van der Eekerk go in, but there he was sitting near the front, his handsome head bent to listen to whatever it was his neighbour had to say. She went back to the kitchen and began to pile biscuits on to plates and make sure that there was a plentiful supply of coffee. There was at least an hour before it would be required; she began to do her daily round of the building, checking that everything was as it should be. She had barely done that before it was time to help with the coffee and once that was done she went to her small office on the ground floor, to do the paperwork which took up a good deal of her time. Professor van der Eekerk had begun his paper but this time she didn’t go near the lecture hall; she had too much to do, she reminded herself, and besides that, what was the point? She didn’t see him to speak to for the rest of the day, and somehow, she didn’t quite know how, she missed his leaving at the end of the afternoon. Leave-takings had been slow and numerous and several people had stopped to speak to her and thank her but he hadn’t been among them. Putting everything to rights once more with the help of her assistants, she reflected that probably, since they had met at a friend’s house, politeness had prompted him to seek her out; she was working at St Justin’s after all and he couldn’t have ignored her completely. He had, she thought, done rather more than that, and at least the sight of him might discourage Tom.

She made her supper in her little kitchenette and went to bed with a book. She read half a page and flung the book on to the floor. Life was being very dull, she decided, and she had to admit that she would miss Tom’s company even though he could be tiresome. At least she had New Year’s Eve to look forward to, she reminded herself. Derek’s grandmother lived in Hampstead, a lively old lady who never missed an opportunity to enjoy life. His parents would be coming up to spend the night and he had managed somehow to be free. There would be a lot of people there and she mulled over her wardrobe.

Waking in the morning, common sense combined with the cold clear winter’s day decided her to despatch the professor from her mind. It was surprising how sensible she felt about it; of course, after a day’s work and feeling a bit fed up, she would probably regret not seeing him again.

Quite soon, she was summoned to the hospital committee’s office. She went, outwardly composed, inwardly wondering what was in store for her. Like every other hospital St Justin’s was cutting back on staff, beds and equipment—perhaps there was a plan to cut back on the research department, the path. labs and the numerous study rooms and library. If so, she supposed that they could make do with part-time staff although the lab people weren’t going to like that … She went through the hospital and into a wide corridor at the front of the building where the various offices were, and tapped on a door, convinced that she was about to be made redundant.

A voice told her to enter and she went inside.

Ten minutes later she came out again; nothing was being cut back, she wasn’t to be given her notice; on the contrary, she was to exchange her post with someone similar in the Netherlands. ‘A step forward in the unification of Europe’, she had been told. It was envisaged that within the next few years it would be possible for hospitals to exchange staff as and when they wished; this was by way of an experiment.

Her observation that she had no knowledge of the Dutch language was waved aside. ‘English is spoken,’ she was told, ‘although of course you will be expected to study the language during your stay there.’

She had wanted to know how long that would be.

‘We haven’t decided yet. I believe that the Leiden School of Medicine recommend a month in the first instance. Two ward sisters, a male nurse and a physiotherapist will also be going.’

Authority had dismissed her courteously, her head full of unanswered questions.

That evening she phoned her mother, who heard her news without interruption and then remarked in her placid way, ‘Well, dear, it will make a nice change for you and you’ll meet some nice people. You might see that charming man who came to the party with Derek—’

‘Most unlikely,’ said Beatrice quickly, and wished that it wasn’t. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll know more by then, maybe.’

She dressed with care on New Year’s Eve in a silk crêpe dress in a pretty shade of old rose, covered it with a long velvet coat and, with her new shoes and her evening bag tucked under her arm, went down to the forecourt. It was a bitter night but the sky was clear and the hospital lights dispelled the dark. She was fitting the key in her car’s lock when footsteps behind her made her turn round. Tom was coming towards her.

She had managed to avoid him for two days, firmly refusing to go out with him when he had telephoned. She opened the door and got into the car just as he reached it.

‘Still playing hard to get?’ he wanted to know. ‘I’m not taking no for an answer, Beatrice.’

‘I’m not playing at anything, Tom; I said no and I meant it.’

She switched on the engine and he put a hand on the window. ‘Let’s get together and talk this through,’ he suggested. ‘You know as well as I do that we could rub along together.’

‘I’m sorry, Tom, but no.’

‘Are you off this weekend?’

‘I’m going home, Tom. I must go, I’m already late.’

He took his hand away reluctantly and she drove out into the quiet street and turned the car westward. The street would be lively enough in a few hours’ time, the pub would be overflowing with people celebrating the new year and there would be a good deal of activity still. She drove carefully, avoiding the very heart of the city where crowds were already gathering. She wasn’t nervous, only anxious to get to Hampstead on time.

The house Derek’s grandmother lived in was in a quiet, wide avenue, a large Edwardian mansion surrounded by a well kept and uninteresting garden, full of laurel bushes and well kept shrubs, rather sombre. Its large windows were blazing with light and there were any number of cars parked on the sweep before the front door. Beatrice eased her little car between a Daimler and a Mercedes, replaced her sensible driving shoes with the new ones and trod across to the portico. The old lady lived in some style and her servants had been with her for almost all of her married life. The elderly butler who admitted her was white-haired and a little shaky but his appearance brought a nostalgic whiff of earlier days as he led her solemnly across the hall and handed her over to an equally elderly maid who preceded her up the long flight of stairs to the room set aside for lady guests. Beatrice poked at her hair, wriggled her feet in the shoes to make sure that they were comfortable, gave the maid the coat she had shed and went downstairs.

There was a good deal of noise coming from behind the big double doors on one side of the hall. The butler opened them for her and she went inside and found a room full of people.

It was necessary to find her hostess and she was relieved to see the old lady sitting at the other end of the room, talking to Derek. She made her way there, said all that was civil, exchanged a friendly kiss with Derek and looked around for her mother and father.

‘They’re in the second drawing-room; I’ve just come from there. Do come back here when you’ve spoken to them, I want to hear about this jaunt to Holland.’

She had begun to work her way through the groups of people drinks in hand chatting together. She knew several of them and stopped to say hello as she went. She was going through the open arch which led to a smaller similar room when she stopped.

Professor van der Eekerk was leaning against a wall, watching her.

CHAPTER THREE

BEATRICE felt a glow of pleasure at the sight of him and instantly suppressed it. She said sedately, ‘Why, Professor, I didn’t expect to see you here.’

He had moved to stand in front of her so that she wouldn’t be able to pass unless she forgot her manners and poked him in the waistcoat. Unthinkable but tempting. ‘Why should you expect to see me?’ he asked coolly. ‘How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you. It will be nice when this cold weather—’

‘Ah, yes, let us hide our true feelings behind remarks about the weather. Are you glad to see me?’

She gave him a cold glance. ‘I would rather discuss the weather.’

He smiled suddenly. ‘Come off your high horse, Beatrice, and tell me how life is treating you.’

She had quite forgotten her parents. ‘Well, just the same as usual, you know.’ She glanced at him and found him watching her intently so that she felt compelled to add, ‘As a matter of fact, I have to go on an exchange scheme—just for a month or so—to promote a wider exchange of jobs in the EC.’ She wasn’t going to tell him where.

In the silence which followed she stared at his waistcoat, a sober black affair, not at all like the trendy sort of thing some of the men there were wearing. When she peeped at him at last he was obviously waiting for her to say something else. She said pettishly, ‘Oh, all right, I’m to go to Holland.’

He said mildly, ‘Yes, I know. Leiden—you’ll like it there, I think. Why didn’t you want to tell me, Beatrice?’

‘It couldn’t possibly interest you. Besides, it would look as though …’

He said gently, ‘But I am not very often in Leiden; our chances of meeting would be very slight.’

She said, suddenly brisk, ‘Well, that’s all right, isn’t it? Now I really must find Mother and Father. If I don’t see you again …’

‘Oh, but you will. I’m spending the weekend with Derek’s people at Little Estling. You’re going home tomorrow?’

She had said yes before she had time to think.

‘Splendid; I’ll drive you down. I have to be back on Sunday evening—I can give you a lift back.’

‘I intended driving down in my own car.’

‘No, no, that won’t do at all; I can tell you about the hospital at Leiden as we go.’

He smiled down at her and she said weakly, ‘Oh, very well. Now I really must …’

‘Yes, yes, they are at the far end of the room. Let us join them.’

Her mother offered a cheek for her to kiss. ‘That’s a pretty dress, darling.’ Mrs Crawley eyed her daughter with motherly concern. ‘What’s all this about going to Holland?’ She smiled at the professor as she spoke. ‘I expect you know about it, Gijs?’

Gijs, indeed. Beatrice waited to see what he would say.

‘Yes, I was told something of the scheme when I was in Leiden this week. I’m looking forward to meeting the nursing staff who will be going over too. I feel it is most important that we should have instant rapport with those with whom we work wherever we go.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ said Mrs Crawley comfortably. ‘I don’t suppose you will see anything of Beatrice, then.’

‘Not very likely, I’m afraid, but she will find everyone very friendly and there’s quite a pleasant social life in the hospital and medical school and the usual free time, I believe. You and Dr Crawley might spend a weekend while she is there; Leiden is a charming city and its centre is still unspoilt.’

‘That’s an idea. Are you staying in town or going to Derek’s people this weekend?’

‘I’m driving down early tomorrow morning. I’ll bring Beatrice with me for I have to get back at the same time as she does.’

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