The Mistletoe Kiss

He bade her goodnight, and went out to his car and forgot her, driving to his charming little house in Chelsea where Beaker, who ran it for him, would have left coffee and sandwiches for him in his study, his desk light on and a discreet lamp burning in the hall.

Although it was almost two o’clock he sat down to go through his letters and messages while he drank the coffee, hot and fragrant in the Thermos. There was a note, too, written in Beaker’s spidery hand: Juffrouw Anneliese van Moule had phoned at eight o’clock and again at ten. The professor frowned and glanced over to the answering machine. It showed the red light, and he went and switched it on.

In a moment a petulant voice, speaking in Dutch, wanted to know where he was. ‘Surely you should be home by ten o’clock in the evening. I asked you specially to be home, did I not? Well, I suppose I must forgive you and give you good news. I am coming to London in three days’ time—Friday. I shall stay at Brown’s Hotel, since you are unlikely to be home for most of the day, but I expect to be taken out in the evenings—and there will be time for us to discuss the future.

‘I wish to see your house; I think it will not do for us when we are married, for I shall live with you in London when you are working there, but I hope you will give up your work in England and live at Huis ter Mennolt—’

The professor switched off. Anneliese’s voice had sounded loud as well as peevish, and she was reiterating an argument they had had on several occasions. He had no intention of leaving his house; it was large enough. He had some friends to dine, but his entertaining was for those whom he knew well. Anneliese would wish to entertain on a grand scale, fill the house with acquaintances; he would return home each evening to a drawing room full of people he neither knew nor wished to know.

He reminded himself that she would be a most suitable wife; in Holland they had a similar circle of friends and acquaintances, and they liked the same things—the theatre, concerts, art exhibitions—and she was ambitious.

At first he had been amused and rather touched by that, until he had realised that her ambition wasn’t for his success in his profession but for a place in London society. She already had that in Holland, and she had been careful never to admit to him that that was her goal… He reminded himself that she was the woman he had chosen to marry and once she had understood that he had no intention of altering his way of life when they were married she would understand how he felt.

After all, when they were in Holland she could have all the social life she wanted; Huis ter Mennolt was vast, and there were servants enough and lovely gardens. While he was working she could entertain as many of her friends as she liked—give dinner parties if she wished, since the house was large enough to do that with ease. Here at the Chelsea house, though, with only Beaker and a daily woman to run the place, entertaining on such a scale would be out of the question. The house, roomy though it was, was too small.

He went to bed then, and, since he had a list the following day, he had no time to think about anything but his work.

He left the hospital soon after ten o’clock the next evening. Ermentrude was at her switchboard, her back towards him. He gave her a brief glance as he passed.

Anneliese had phoned again, Beaker informed him, but would leave no message. ‘And, since I needed some groceries, I switched on the answering machine, sir,’ he said, ‘since Mrs Thrupp, splendid cleaner though she is, is hardly up to answering the telephone.’

The professor went to his study and switched on the machine, and stood listening to Anneliese. Her voice was no longer petulant, but it was still loud. ‘My plane gets in at half past ten on Friday—Heathrow,’ she told him. ‘I’ll look out for you. Don’t keep me waiting, will you, Ruerd? Shall we dine at Brown’s? I shall be too tired to talk much, and I’ll stay for several days, anyway.’

He went to look at his appointments book on his desk. He would be free to meet her, although he would have to go back to his consulting rooms for a couple of hours before joining her at Brown’s Hotel.

He sat down at his desk, took his glasses from his breast pocket, put them on and picked up the pile of letters before him. He was aware that there was a lack of lover-like anticipation at the thought of seeing Anneliese. Probably because he hadn’t seen her for some weeks. Moreover, he had been absorbed in his patients. In about a month’s time he would be going back to Holland for a month or more; he would make a point of seeing as much of Anneliese as possible.

He ate his solitary dinner, and went back to his study to write a paper on spina bifida, an exercise which kept him engrossed until well after midnight.

Past the middle of the week already, thought Emmy with satisfaction, getting ready for bed the next morning—three more nights and she would have two days off. Her mother would be home too, until she rejoined her father later in the week, and then he would be working in and around London. Emmy heaved a tired, satisfied sigh and went to sleep until, inevitably, the strains of the flute woke her. It was no use lying there and hoping they would stop; she got up, had a cup of tea and took George for a walk.

It was raining when she went to work that evening, and she had to wait for a long time for a bus. The elderly relief telephonist was off sick, and Audrey was waiting for her when she got there, already dressed to leave, tapping her feet with impatience.

‘I thought you’d never get here…’

‘It’s still only two minutes to eight,’ said Emmy mildly. ‘Is there anything I should know?’

She was taking off her mac and headscarf as she spoke, and when Audrey said no, there wasn’t, Emmy sat down before the switchboard, suddenly hating the sight of it. The night stretched ahead of her, endless hours of staying alert. The thought of the countless days and nights ahead in the years to come wasn’t to be borne.

She adjusted her headpiece and arranged everything just so, promising herself that she would find another job, something where she could be out of doors for at least part of the day. And meet people…a man who would fall in love with her and want to marry her. A house in the country, mused Emmy, dogs and cats and chickens and children, of course…

She was roused from this pleasant dream by an outside call, followed by more of them; it was always at this time of the evening that people phoned to make enquiries.

She was kept busy throughout the night. By six o’clock she was tired, thankful that in another couple of hours she would be free. Only three more nights; she thought sleepily of what she would do. Window shopping with her mother? And if the weather was good enough they could take a bus to Hampstead Heath…

A great blast of sound sent her upright in her chair, followed almost at once by a call from the police—there had been a bomb close to Fenchurch Street Station. Too soon to know how many were injured, but they would be coming to St Luke’s!

Emmy, very wide awake now, began notifying everyone—the accident room, the house doctors’ rooms, the wards, X-Ray, the path lab. And within minutes she was kept busy, ringing the consultants on call, theatre staff, technicians, ward sisters on day duty. She had called the professor, but hadn’t spared him a thought, nor had she seen him as he came to the hospital, for there was a great deal of orderly coming and going as the ambulances began to arrive.

She had been busy; now she was even more so. Anxious relatives were making frantic calls, wanting to know where the injured were and how they were doing. But it was too soon to know anything. The accident room was crowded; names were sent to her as they were given, but beyond letting callers know that they had that particular person in the hospital there was no more information to pass on.

Emmy went on answering yet more calls, putting through outside calls too—to other hospitals, the police, someone from a foreign embassy who had heard that one of the staff had been injured. She answered them all in her quiet voice, trying to ignore a threatening headache.

It seemed a very long time before order emerged from the controlled chaos. There were no more ambulances now, and patients who needed admission were being taken to the wards. The accident room, still busy, was dealing with the lesser injured; the hospital was returning to its normal day’s work.

It was now ten o’clock. Emmy, looking at her watch for the first time in hours, blinked. Where was Audrey? Most of the receptionists had come in, for they had rung to tell her so, but not Audrey. Emmy was aware that she was hungry, thirsty and very tired, and wondered what to do about it. She would have to let someone know…

Audrey tapped on her shoulder. She said airily, ‘Sorry I’m late. I didn’t fancy coming sooner; I bet the place was a shambles. I knew you wouldn’t mind…’

‘I do mind, though,’ said Emmy. ‘I mind very much. I’ve had a busy time, and I should have been off duty two hours ago.’

‘Well, you were here, weren’t you? Did you expect me to come tearing in in the middle of all the fuss just so’s you could go off duty? Besides, you’re not doing anything; you only go to bed…’

The professor, on his way home, paused to listen to this with interest. Ermentrude, he could see, was looking very much the worse for wear; she had undoubtedly had a busy time of it, and she had been up all night, whereas the rest of them had merely got out of their beds earlier than usual.

He said now pleasantly, ‘Put on your coat, Ermentrude; I’ll drive you home. We can take up the matter of the extra hours you have worked later on. Leave it to me.’

Emmy goggled at him, but he gave her no chance to speak. He said, still pleasantly, to Audrey, ‘I’m sure you have a good reason for not coming on duty at the usual time.’ He smiled thinly. ‘It will have to be a good one, will it not?’

He swept Emmy along, away from a pale Audrey, out of the doors and into his Bentley. ‘Tell me where you live,’ he commanded.

‘There is no need to take me home, I’m quite able—’

‘Don’t waste my time. We’re both tired, and I for one am feeling short-tempered.’

‘So am I,’ snapped Emmy. ‘I want a cup of tea, and I’m hungry.’

‘That makes two of us. Now, where do you live, Ermentrude?’

CHAPTER TWO

EMMY told him her address in a cross voice, sitting silently until he stopped before her home. She said gruffly, ‘Thank you, Professor. Good morning,’ and made to open her door. He shook her hand and released it, and she put it in her lap. Then he got out, opened the door, crossed the pavement with her, took the key from her and opened the house door. George rushed to meet them while Snoodles, a cat not to be easily disturbed, sat on the bottom step of the stairs, watching.

Emmy stood awkwardly in the doorway with George, who was making much of her. She said again, ‘Thank you, Professor,’ and peered up at his face.

‘The least you can do is offer me a cup of tea,’ he told her, and came into the hall, taking her with him and closing the door. ‘You get that coat off and do whatever you usually do while I put on the kettle.’

He studied her face. Really, the girl was very plain; for a moment he regretted the impulse which had urged him to bring her home. She had been quite capable of getting herself there; he had formed the opinion after their first meeting that she was more than capable of dealing with any situation—and with a sharp tongue, too. She looked at him then, though, and he saw how tired she was. He said in a placid voice, ‘I make a very good cup of tea.’

She smiled. ‘Thank you. The kitchen’s here.’

She opened a door and ushered him into the small room at the back of the house, which was, he saw, neat and very clean, with old-fashioned shelves and a small dresser. There was a gas stove against one wall—an elderly model, almost a museum piece, but still functioning, he was relieved to find.

Emmy went away and he found tea, milk and sugar while the kettle boiled, took mugs and a brown teapot from the dresser and set them on the table while Emmy fed Snoodles and George.

They drank their tea presently, sitting opposite each other saying little, and when the professor got to his feet Emmy made no effort to detain him. She thanked him again, saw him to the door and shut it the moment he had driven away, intent on getting to her bed as quickly as possible. She took a slice of bread and butter and a slab of cheese with her, and George and Snoodles, who had sidled upstairs with her, got onto the bed too—which was a comfort for she was feeling hard done by and put upon.

‘It’s all very well,’ she told them peevishly. ‘He’ll go home to a doting wife—slippers in one hand and bacon and eggs in the other.’

She swallowed the last of the cheese and went to sleep, and not even the flute or Mrs Grimes’ loud voice could wake her.

The professor got into his car, and as he drove away his bleep sounded. He was wanted back at St Luke’s; one of the injured had developed signs of a blood clot on the brain. So instead of going home he went back and spent the next few hours doing everything in his power to keep his patient alive—something which proved successful, so that in the early afternoon he was at last able to go home.

He let himself into his house, put his bag down and trod into the sitting room, to come to a halt just inside the door.

‘Anneliese—I forgot…’

She was a beautiful girl with thick fair hair cut short by an expert hand, perfect features and big blue eyes, and she was exquisitely made-up. She was dressed in the height of fashion and very expensively, too. She made a charming picture, marred by the ill-temper on her face.

She spoke in Dutch, not attempting to hide her bad temper.

‘Really, Ruerd, what am I to suppose you mean by that? That man of yours, Beaker—who, by the way, I shall discharge as soon as we are married—refused to phone the hospital—said you would be too busy to answer. Since when has a consultant not been free to answer the telephone when he wishes?’

He examined several answers to that and discarded them. ‘I am sorry, my dear. There was a bomb; it exploded close to St Luke’s early this morning. It was necessary for me to be there—there were casualties. Beaker was quite right; I shouldn’t have answered the phone.’

He crossed the room and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘He is an excellent servant; I have no intention of discharging him.’ He spoke lightly, but she gave him a questioning look. They had been engaged for some months now, and she was still not sure that she knew him. She wasn’t sure if she loved him either, but he could offer her everything she wanted in life; they knew the same people and came from similar backgrounds. Their marriage would be entirely suitable.

She decided to change her tactics. ‘I’m sorry for being cross. But I was disappointed. Are you free for the rest of the day?’

‘I shall have to go back to the hospital late this evening. Shall we dine somewhere? You’re quite comfortable at Brown’s?’

‘Very comfortable. Could we dine at Claridge’s? I’ve a dress I bought specially for you…’

‘I’ll see if I can get a table.’ He turned round as Beaker came in.

‘You had lunch, sir?’ Beaker didn’t look at Anneliese. When the professor said that, yes, he’d had something, Beaker went on, ‘Then I shall bring tea here, sir. A little early, but you may be glad of it.’

‘Splendid, Beaker. As soon as you like.’ And, when Beaker had gone, the professor said, ‘I’ll go and phone now…’

He took his bag to his study and pressed the button on the answering machine. There were several calls from when Beaker had been out of the house; the rest he had noted down and put with the letters. The professor leafed through them, listened to the answering machine and booked a table for dinner. He would have liked to dine quietly at home.

They talked trivialities over tea—news from home and friends, places Anneliese had visited. She had no interest in his work save in his successes; his social advancement was all-important to her, although she was careful not to let him see that.

He drove her to Brown’s presently, and went back to work at his desk until it was time to dress. Immaculate in black tie, he went to the garage at the end of the mews to get his car, and drove himself to the hotel.

Anneliese wasn’t ready. He cooled his heels for fifteen minutes or so before she joined him.

‘I’ve kept you waiting, Ruerd,’ she said laughingly. ‘But I hope you think it is worth it.’

He assured her that it was, and indeed she made a magnificent picture in a slim sheath of cerise silk, her hair piled high, sandals with four-inch heels and an arm loaded with gold bangles. His ring, a large diamond, glittered on her finger. A ring which she had chosen and which he disliked.

Certainly she was a woman any man would be proud to escort, he told himself. He supposed that he was tired; a good night’s sleep was all that was needed. Anneliese looked lovely, and dinner at Claridge’s was the very least he could offer her. Tomorrow, he reflected, he would somehow find time to take her out again—dancing, perhaps, at one of the nightclubs. And there was that exhibition of paintings at a gallery in Bond Street if he could manage to find time to take her.

He listened to her chatter as they drove to Claridge’s and gave her his full attention. Dinner was entirely satisfactory: admiring looks followed Anneliese as they went to their table, the food was delicious and the surroundings luxurious. As he drove her back she put a hand on his arm.

‘A lovely dinner, darling, thank you. I shall do some shopping tomorrow; can you meet me for lunch? And could we go dancing in the evening? We must talk; I’ve so many plans…’

At the hotel she offered a cheek for his kiss. ‘I shall go straight to bed. See you tomorrow.’

The professor got back into his car and drove to the hospital. He wasn’t entirely satisfied with the condition of the patient he had seen that afternoon, and he wanted to be sure…

Emmy, sitting before her switchboard, knitting, knew that the professor was there, standing behind her, although he had made no sound. Why is that? she wondered; why should I know that?

His, ‘Good evening, Ermentrude,’ was uttered quietly. ‘You slept well?’ he added.

He came to stand beside her now, strikingly handsome in black tie and quite unconscious of it.

‘Good evening, sir. Yes, thank you. I hope you had time to rest.’

His mouth twitched. ‘I have been dining out. Making conversation, talking of things which don’t interest me. If I sound a bad-tempered man who doesn’t know when he is lucky, then that is exactly what I am.’

‘No, you’re not,’ said Emmy reasonably. ‘You’ve had a busy day, much busier than anyone else because you’ve had to make important decisions about your patients. All that’s the matter with you is that you are tired. You must go home and have a good night’s sleep.’

She had quite forgotten to whom she was speaking. ‘I suppose you’ve come to see that man with the blood clot on the brain?’

He asked with interest, ‘Do you know about him?’

‘Well, of course I do. I hear things, don’t I? And I’m interested.’

She took an incoming telephone call and, when she had dealt with it the professor had gone.

He didn’t stop on his way out, nor did he speak, but she was conscious of his passing. She found that disconcerting.

Audrey was punctual and in a peevish mood. ‘I had a ticking off,’ she told Emmy sourly. ‘I don’t know why they had to make such a fuss—after all, you were here. No one would have known if it hadn’t been for that Professor ter Mennolt being here. Who does he think he is, anyway?’

‘He’s rather nice,’ said Emmy mildly. ‘He gave me a lift home.’

‘In that great car of his? Filthy rich, so I’ve heard. Going to marry some Dutch beauty—I was talking to his secretary…’

‘I hope they’ll be very happy,’ said Emmy. A flicker of unhappiness made her frown. She knew very little about the professor and she found him disturbing; a difficult man, a man who went his own way. All the same, she would like him to live happily ever after…

If he came into the hospital during the last nights of her duty, she didn’t see him. It wasn’t until Sunday morning, when the relief had come to take over and she was free at last to enjoy her two days off, that she met him again as she stood for a moment outside the hospital entrance, taking blissful breaths of morning air, her eyes closed. She was imagining that she was back in the country, despite the petrol fumes.

She opened her eyes, feeling foolish, when the professor observed, ‘I am surprised that you should linger, Ermentrude. Surely you must be hellbent on getting away from the hospital as quickly as possible?’

‘Good morning, sir,’ said Ermentrude politely. ‘It’s just nice to be outside.’ She saw his sweater and casual trousers. ‘Have you been here all night?’

‘No, no—only for an hour or so.’ He smiled down at her. She looked pale with tiredness. Her small nose shone, her hair had been ruthlessly pinned into a bun, very neat and totally without charm. She reminded him of a kitten who had been out all night in the rain. ‘I’ll drop you off on my way.’

‘You’re going past my home? Really? Thank you.’

He didn’t find it necessary to answer her, but popped her into the car and drove through the almost empty streets. At her door, he said, ‘No, don’t get out. Give me your key.’

He went and opened the door, and then opened the car door, took her bag from her and followed her inside. George was delighted to see them, weaving round their feet, pushing Snoodles away, giving small, excited barks.

The professor went to open the kitchen door to let both animals out into the garden, and he put the kettle on. For all the world as though he lived here, thought Emmy, and if she hadn’t been so tired she would have said so. Instead she stood in the kitchen and yawned.

The professor glanced at her. ‘Breakfast,’ he said briskly and unbuttoned his coat and threw it over a chair. ‘If you’ll feed the animals, I’ll boil a couple of eggs.’

She did as she was told without demur; she couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. She didn’t remember asking him to stay for breakfast, but perhaps he was very hungry. She fed the animals and by then he had laid the table after a fashion, made toast and dished up the eggs.

They sat at the table eating their breakfast for all the world like an old married couple. The professor kept up a gentle meandering conversation which required little or no reply, and Emmy, gobbling toast, made very little effort to do so. She was still tired, but the tea and the food had revived her so that presently she said, ‘It was very kind of you to get breakfast. I’m very grateful. I was a bit tired.’

‘You had a busy week. Will your mother and father return soon?’

‘Tomorrow morning.’ She gave him an owl-like look. ‘I expect you want to go home, sir…’

‘Presently. Go upstairs, Ermentrude, take a shower and get into bed. I will tidy up here. When you are in bed I will go home.’

‘You can’t do the washing up.’

‘Indeed I can.’ Not quite a lie; he had very occasionally needed to rinse a cup or glass if Beaker hadn’t been there.

He made a good job of it, attended to the animals, locked the kitchen door and hung the tea towel to dry, taking his time about it. It was quiet in the house, and presently he went upstairs. He got no answer from his quiet, ‘Ermentrude?’ but one of the doors on the landing was half-open.

The room was small, nicely furnished and very tidy. Emmy was asleep in her bed, her mouth slightly open, her hair all over the pillow. He thought that nothing short of a brass band giving a concert by her bedside would waken her. He went downstairs again and out of the house, shutting the door behind him.

Driving to Chelsea, he looked at his watch. It would be eleven o’clock before he was home. He was taking Anneliese to lunch with friends, and he suspected that when they returned she would want to make plans for their future. There had been no time so far, and he would be at the hospital for a great deal of the days ahead. He was tired now; Anneliese wasn’t content to dine quietly and spend the evening at home and yesterday his day had been full. A day in the country would be delightful…