A Star Looks Down

She shook her head. ‘Not for me, though I know what you mean, but there are some quite beautiful girls around.’

‘Ah, beauty is quite a different matter and there aren’t all that number, you know.’

‘There’s a very beautiful girl on the Surgical Block,’ Beth told him. ‘Maureen Brooks, you’re bound to see her while you’re at St Elmer’s—she’s super; black hair and…’

‘She lisps.’

‘Oh, you’ve met her already. Most people think a lisp’s rather nice.’

He looked amused. ‘My dear Miss Partridge, has somebody told you that I am still a bachelor? I assure you that I am very content to be so, and although I am sure that you mean to be helpful, I’m quite able to find myself a wife should I wish for one.’

She went scarlet and jumped out of the chair where she had perched herself. ‘You know very well that I didn’t mean anything of the sort,’ she declared indignantly. ‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t know you weren’t married, although,’ she added honestly, ‘I thought perhaps you weren’t.’

The professor had got to his feet too, standing so close to her that she was forced to put her head back to see his face. ‘Perhaps I won’t do,’ she stated flatly.

He gave a crack of laughter. ‘Of course you’re going to do—the children will like you, I’m sure of it, and I could think of no one I would rather have to look after them. You’re a nice change from the usual girl, Miss Partridge; it’s pleasant to meet a girl who is different.’

He went back to his chair. ‘And now sit down again, dear girl, here is tea at last, and if it makes you happier we will discuss the weather or some such topic, which will be very dull but should guarantee us not arguing.’

But there was no need for them to talk about anything as mundane; they fell to discussing books and music and a surprisingly large number of other subjects which they found they had in common, although Beth, munching her way daintily through anchovy toast, sandwiches and a rich chocolate cake, noticed that he kept the conversation impersonal; at the end of it she was just as ignorant as to where he lived in Holland and where he worked as she had ever been. Not, she thought vaguely, that that mattered in the slightest, for he would be going back to his own country very shortly, no doubt, and it could be of no consequence to her where he went or what he did.

Tea had been eaten and cleared away before the children arrived back. They came rushing in, all talking at once and in Dutch, making a beeline for their uncle, who sat back in his chair, apparently unworried by their delighted onslaught upon his vast person. It was only after they had talked themselves to a standstill that he said in English: ‘I told you that while your mama was in hospital I would find someone to look after you all. This is Miss Elizabeth Partridge, who will do just that. Say how do you do and shake hands with her, if you please.’

He had told Beth that they were as disobedient as most children, but not at that particular moment they weren’t. They came forward in turn to do as their uncle had bidden them, saying, ‘How do you do?’ and giving their names with almost old-fashioned good manners.

‘How nice to meet you all,’ declared Beth, beaming down at them all, ‘and do you suppose that you might call me Beth? I should much prefer it.’

The professor had got to his feet; now he had done his duty in introducing the children to her, it seemed that he now felt free to go. ‘Why not?’ he agreed placidly. ‘Do whatever Miss Partridge asks of you, my dears. Now I have an evening engagement and will bid you all good night, for you will be asleep by the time I get home. I shall see you tomorrow, no doubt.’

Left alone with the children, Beth sat down again and invited them to tell her about themselves, something they were ready enough to do and which gave her the opportunity to observe them rather more closely. Dirk, the obvious leader of the quartet, was tall for his age, fair-haired and blue-eyed and thin as only boys of ten can be. Marineka, who came next, was blue-eyed and fair-haired too and almost as tall as Dirk, although a good deal plumper, and Hubert was nicely chubby too, with the same ash-blond hair. It was the littlest one, Alberdina, who wasn’t like any of them; she was short and decidedly plump, with large dark eyes and long brown hair. She could be only just five, Beth decided, for she still had a babyish way of sidling close and holding any hand which happened to present itself.

She was holding Beth’s hand now, smiling up at her and saying something in Dutch.

‘You have to speak English, Alberdina,’ Dirk told her, and then explained: ‘We all know how, because we had a nanny, but she’s married now, and Alberdina hasn’t had as much time to learn it as we have.’

‘You all speak English beautifully,’ Beth hastened to assure him. ‘I only wish I could speak Dutch. And now will you tell me what you do now? Have you had your tea? And what do you do before bedtime?’

They all told her, so that it took her a little while to discover that they had their supper at six o’clock and then, starting with Alberdina, they went to bed—Dirk last of all at eight o’clock. ‘Although sometimes I go to bed earlier than that,’ he took pains to tell her, ‘so that I can read, and of course on Saturdays, while we are here with Uncle Alexander, we stay up later.’

‘What fun—why?’

‘We go out with him in the afternoon, to the Zoo or for a ride in his car, and then we have tea somewhere special, and when we come home we play cards. We’re good at cards. You play also?’

‘Well, yes, though I’m not very good, I’m afraid, but I don’t expect…that is, I daresay your uncle would like to have you to himself.’

They all nodded agreement so cheerfully that she felt quite disappointed.

It was evident that they were on their best behaviour; they took Beth over the house, much larger than it looked from the outside, showing her everything, even the cupboards and attics. They would have shown her their mother’s room as well as their uncle’s if she had given them the smallest encouragement. She declined a conducted tour of the kitchen too, merely asking where it was, just in case she should need to go there, though that seemed unlikely because Mrs Silver, stopping for a chat when she came to call the children to their supper, informed her in a kindly way that she was expected to do nothing at all save be with the children. ‘And a great relief that will be to us all, miss, if I might say so—dear little things though they are and quite unnaturally quiet this evening, but that’s because you’re here. It will be nice to be able to get on with our work knowing they’re in good hands.’ With which heartening words, she nodded and smiled and went off to the kitchen.

Supper was in a small room at the back of the house, given up to the children’s use while they were staying there. It was a pleasant place, furnished comfortably and obviously well lived in. Beth, presiding over the supper table, pouring hot chocolate and cutting up Alberdina’s scrambled egg on toast into small pieces, found herself enjoying the children’s company; it was a nice change to talk about fast cars, the dressing of dolls and the star footballers instead of the everlasting shop which was talked at the hospital, and even when she was home, William liked to tell her about his cases; many a meal she had eaten to the accompaniment of a blow-by-blow account of the appendix which had ruptured, the ulcer which had perforated on the way to theatre, the stitching he had been allowed to do…it was pleasant to forget all that and listen to the children’s chatter. To sit at such a table with children such as these, but her own, watching them gobble with healthy appetites, hearing their high, clear voices, would be wonderful, she thought wistfully. She was deep in a daydream when she was roused by Hubert’s asking why her eyes were a different colour from everyone else’s.

‘I don’t really know,’ she told him. ‘It’s just that they’re mauve—everyone has different coloured eyes…’

‘We all have blue eyes,’ said Dirk, ‘not Alberdina, of course, hers are brown, but Mama and Papa have blue eyes too and so has Uncle Alexander.’

‘My doll, Jane, has brown eyes,’ Marineka tossed her fair hair over her shoulder. ‘It is to do with genes,’ she announced importantly.

Beth looked at the little girl with something like awe. She hadn’t known anything about genes until she was in the sixth form of the rather old-fashioned school her father had sent her to, but then of course she hadn’t a doctor for an uncle and her father, moreover, hadn’t held with girls knowing too much. She said hastily, before she became involved in a conversation concerning genetics in which she felt reasonably sure she would make but a poor show: ‘Have you any pets at home?’

It was a successful red herring; there were several cats, all with outlandish Dutch names, and a dog called Rufus, as well as a tame rabbit or so, goldfish in a pond in the garden and a canary, although the latter belonged to someone called Mies whose function in their home was not explained to her. It was an easy step from that for Dirk to describe his uncle’s two dogs, Gem and Mini, black labradors, and when Beth commented on their names, he gave her a sharp look. ‘They’re twins,’ he told her, and waited.

‘Oh, I see—Gemini, the heavenly twins! Very clever of someone to have thought of that.’

Her worth had obviously increased in his eyes. ‘Not many people think of that. Uncle Alexander has a cat too, called Mops and two horses as well as a donkey, and there’s a pond with ducks. We feed them when we go to stay with him.’

It would have been nice to have heard more, but what would be the good? It would only stir up a vague feeling which she supposed was envy. She suggested mildly that it was about time Alberdina went to her bed, and offered to help her 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.

CHAPTER THREE

BETH took the children to Hyde Park in the morning and now that they had got used to her, a little of their natural high spirits were apparent; they screamed and laughed and ran races and fell over like any other child, and Beth, with no one much around to see, ran races too, her hair tumbling loose from her topknot and her cheeks flushed a healthy pink. And because it was such a lovely day, they walked home instead of taking the bus, with a good deal of stopping on the way to look at anything interesting which caught the eye of anyone in the party. They arrived on the doorstep in a happy chattering bunch and Beth rang the bell. It was the professor who opened the door to them and was instantly assailed by all four children, each telling their own version of the morning’s amusements, interlarded with loud declarations of hunger. He suffered them with good-natured patience, giving his opinion on anything he was asked, and behaving, Beth was glad to see, just as an uncle should, and when he looked over their heads to ask her if she had enjoyed herself too, she answered happily enough. ‘Oh, rather—it was super.’

‘Beth’s hair fell down,’ piped Alberdina. ‘She ran races, too, but she never won.’

‘She’s a girl,’ said Dirk kindly, and the professor smiled faintly.

‘I daresay that after a morning with this lot, Miss Partridge, you feel worn out. A glass of sherry before lunch, perhaps.’

She accepted, adding the proviso that it would have to be in a few minutes’ time. ‘I’ll just get them upstairs and tidied—and me too,’ she told him. ‘Would five minutes do?’

‘Admirably—I shall be in the sitting room.’

The children, she was quick to see, as once more neat as a new pin she sat sipping her sherry, were as good as gold; not only did they like their uncle very much, they had a healthy respect for him too. They sat quietly, Alberdina on her uncle’s knee, the others in a row on one of the sofas, and although they took part in the conversation, they didn’t make nuisances of themselves. Nanny must have been a paragon; Beth wondered uneasily if she had ever run races with the children in Hyde Park.

They were half-way through lunch when the professor mentioned in his placid way that he had wondered, as it was such a pleasant afternoon, if the children would like to go for a drive in the car. ‘With tea, of course,’ he finished amidst an excited outcry from his small relations.

‘And Miss Partridge?’ he wanted to know. ‘Do you care to come with us? Saturday afternoon, you know.’

Beth hesitated; it would be delightful to accept, on the other hand was he just being polite? She glanced quickly at the faces round her; the children at least looked pleased with the idea, and when she peeped at the professor, there was nothing in his face to suggest that he minded one way or the other. ‘Well—’ she said slowly, and was drowned by the children’s demands that she should go with them. ‘If you want to,’ she said a little shyly.

‘We shall be delighted to have your company, Miss Partridge. Shall we say half past two, then?’

The children were brushed and combed and buttoned into their coats much too soon, which gave her a little time to attend to her own person. She would have to wear the suit, for she had nothing else which would do, but at least she could do her hair again and do the best she could with her face. Wholly dissatisfied with the result, she went downstairs, the children strung out behind her, and found the professor sitting on the wall table in the hall, smoking his pipe. When he saw them he got up and went to the kitchen door and sent a subdued shout to Mrs Silver that they would be out for tea and he would be out for dinner as well, before marshalling his party out of the front door and into the car.

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