melodies she had enjoyed before her aunt had married again and then on to Sibelius and Grieg, not noticing how quiet everyone had become; she was halfway through a wistful little French tune when she stopped and turned round. ‘Sorry, I got carried away,’ she began, and saw the Professor standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, leaning against the door frame.
He didn’t smile, indeed, he was looking coldly furious, although his icily polite: ‘Pray don’t stop on my account, Miss Tripp,’ was uttered in a quiet voice.
Caroline stood up rather too hard on the bad leg so that she winced. ‘You’re angry,’ she said quickly, ‘and I’m sorry—I have no right to be here, but you’re not to blame Noakes or anyone else—I invited myself.’
She wanted to say a great deal more, but the look of annoyance on his face stopped her. She wished everyone goodnight in her newly acquired Dutch and went past him through the door and along the passage. He caught up with her quite easily before she could reach the staircase, and she sighed soundlessly. He was going to lecture her and she might as well have it now as later; perhaps she might even get him to see that no harm had been done, indeed he might even be glad that his staff had enjoyed a pleasant hour.
She turned to face him. ‘It’s a pity you frown so,’ she said kindly.
He looked down his splendid nose at her. ‘I have very good reason to frown, Miss Tripp, and well you know it. I return home unexpectedly and what do I find? My butler, my housekeeper, my cook, the maidservants and the gardener being entertained by you in the servants’ sitting-room. Probably if I had come home even earlier I should have found you all playing gin rummy in the cellars.’
She made haste to reassure him. ‘Not gin rummy—it was canasta, and we played round the kitchen table—just for half an hour,’ she added helpfully. ‘You see, I’m learning Dutch.’
His fine mouth curved into a sneer. ‘Indeed? I cannot think why.’
Caroline said in her quiet hesitant voice: ‘Well, it’s something to do, you know. I’m quite well, you see.’
His voice was silky and his voice cold. ‘Miss Tripp, you have disrupted my household—when one considers that I have done my best to help you and I find your behaviour intolerable.’
She stared back at him, her lip caught between her teeth, because it was beginning to tremble. After a long moment she said: ‘I’m sorry, Professor.’
He turned on his heel. ‘I’m glad to hear it—I hope you will mend your ways.’
He went into his study without another word and she went to her room, where she sat on her bed to review the situation. The Professor was going out to dinner that evening, she had heard Noakes say so—to one of his grand friends, she supposed, where the girls knew better than to play the piano in the servants’ room and said things to make him smile instead of frown. Oh well…she got up and went across to the tallboy where her few possessions were housed and laid them on the bed, fetched her duffle bag from the cupboard and began to pack. She did it neatly and unhurriedly. There was plenty of time; she would eat her supper alone presently, as she always did, and when everyone had gone to the kitchen for their own meal, she would slip away. She would have to leave a letter. She frowned a long while over its composition, but at length it was done, neatly written and sealed into an envelope. She would have to leave it somewhere where Noakes wouldn’t find it at once. The Professor’s study would be the best place, he always went straight there when he came home, shutting himself away in his own learned lonely world—for he was lonely, Caroline was sure of that.
She finished her packing and went down to her supper which this evening had been set in the dining room, a richly sombre place. She felt quite lost sitting at the great oval table surrounded by all the massive furniture, but she made a good meal, partly to please Noakes and partly because she wasn’t sure when she would have the next one. And Noakes was uneasy, although the Professor, he assured her, hadn’t been in the least angry—indeed, he had hardly mentioned the matter. Noakes hoped—they all hoped—that tomorrow she would play for them again, but first he would ascertain if the Professor objected to her visiting the servants’ sitting-room.
Caroline made some cheerful reply, finished her meal, mentioned that she would go to bed early and went upstairs. When she crept down half an hour later there was no sound. Everyone was in the kitchens by now and she wouldn’t be missed, probably not until the morning, or at least until the Professor came home, and that would be late. She had put on her anorak, counted her money carefully and carried her bag downstairs before going to the study and putting the letter on the Professor’s desk. She paused in the doorway for a last look; his desk was an orderly clutter of papers and books and his chair was pushed to one side as though he had got up in a hurry. She sighed deeply, closed the door gently, picked up the duffle bag and went to the door. Her leg was aching a little and she had bandaged it firmly because as far as she knew she would have to walk quite a distance before she could get a bus—the nearest village wasn’t too far away, she had found that out from Juffrouw Kropp. If there wasn’t a bus she would have to thumb a lift.
She put out a reluctant hand and opened the door. It was heavy, but it swung back on well-oiled hinges, revealing the Professor, key in hand, about to open it from outside. Caro, taken completely by surprise, stood with her mouth open, gaping at him. He, on the other hand, evinced no surprise, nor did he speak, merely took her duffle bag from her, put a large hand on her chest and pushed her very gently back into the house, and then just as gently shut the door behind him. Only then did he ask: ‘And where were you going, Caroline?’
‘Home—well, the hospital, actually.’ He had never called her Caroline before—no one called her that, but it sounded rather nice.
‘Why?’ He stood blocking her path, the duffle bag on the floor beside him.
It seemed silly to have to explain something to him which he already knew all about. ‘I’ve upset your household: I can quite see that I’ve been a perfect nuisance to you. I’m very grateful for all you’ve done for me—and your kindness—but I’m quite able to go back now and… Well, thank you again.’
His harsh laugh made her jump. Quite forgetting to be meek, she said severely: ‘And there’s no need to laugh when someone thanks you!’
‘It strikes me as ironic that you should express gratitude for something you haven’t had. I cannot remember being kind to you—I merely did what any other person would have done in similar circumstances, and with the minimum of trouble to myself. If I had been a poor man with a wife and children to care for and had offered you help and shelter at the cost of my and their comfort, that would have been quite a different kettle of fish. As it is, I must confess that I have frequently forgotten that you were in the house.’
Caro didn’t speak. A kind of despair had rendered her dumb; her head was full of a mixed bag of thoughts, most of them miserable.
He put out a hand and touched her cheek awkwardly. ‘Have you been lonely?’
Living in a bedsitter had taught her not to be lonely. She shook her head, still feeling the touch of his finger.
‘And you will be glad to get back—to your flat and your friends. I doubt if you will be allowed to work for a little while.’
She had found her voice at last. It came out in a defiant mutter: ‘I shall be awfully glad to get back.’
The gentleness had gone out of his voice; it sounded cold and distant again, just as though he didn’t care what she did. ‘Yes—I see. But be good enough to wait until the morning.
