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…
Beaker came to meet him as he opened his front door. His, ‘Good morning, sir,’ held faint reproach. ‘You were detained at the hospital? I prepared breakfast at the usual time. I can have it on the table in ten minutes.’
‘No need, Beaker, thanks. I’ve had breakfast. I’ll have a shower and change, and then perhaps a cup of coffee before Juffrouw van Moule gets here.’
‘You breakfasted at the hospital, sir?’
‘No, no. I boiled an egg and made some toast and had a pot of strong tea. I took someone home. We were both hungry—it seemed a sensible thing to do.’
Beaker inclined his head gravely. A boiled egg, he reflected—no bacon, mushrooms, scrambled eggs, as only he, Beaker, could cook them—and strong tea… He suppressed a shudder. A small plate of his home made savoury biscuits, he decided, and perhaps a sandwich with Gentlemen’s Relish on the coffee tray.
It was gratifying to see the professor eating the lot when he came downstairs again. He looked as though he could do with a quiet day, reflected his faithful servant, instead of gallivanting off with that Juffrouw van Moule. Beaker hadn’t taken to her—a haughty piece, and critical of him. He wished his master a pleasant day in a voice which hinted otherwise. He was informed that Juffrouw van Moule would be returning for tea, and would probably stay for dinner.
Beaker took himself to the kitchen where he unburdened himself to his cat, Humphrey, while he set about making the little queen cakes usually appreciated by the professor’s lady visitors.
Anneliese looked ravishing, exquisitely made-up, not a hair of her head out of place and wearing a stone-coloured crêpe de chine outfit of deceptive simplicity which screamed money from every seam.
She greeted the professor with a charming smile, offered a cheek with the warning not to disarrange her hair and settled herself in the car.
‘At last we have a day together,’ she observed. ‘I’ll come back with you after lunch. That man of yours will give us a decent tea, I suppose. I might even stay for dinner.’
She glanced at his profile. ‘We must discuss the future, Ruerd. Where we are to live—we shall have to engage more servants in a larger house, of course, and I suppose you can arrange to give up some of your consultant posts, concentrate on private patients. You
