surprise.
‘My dear Miss Beckworth, I have hurt your feelings. I do apologise; I had no intention of ruffling your temper.’ A speech which did nothing to improve matters.
‘That’s all right,’ said Julie, still coldly.
She was formulating a nasty remark about slavedrivers when he asked, ‘Who or what is Blotto? Who, I presume, is treated with more courtesy than I show you.’
He had come round her desk and was sitting on its edge, upsetting the papers there. He was smiling at her too. She had great difficulty in not smiling back. ‘Blotto is the family dog,’ she told him, and looked away.
Professor van der Driesma was a kind man but he had so immersed himself in his work that he also wore an armour of indifference nicely mitigated by good manners. Now he set himself to restore Julie’s good humour.
‘I dare say that you travelled with Professor Smythe from time to time, so you will know what to take with you and the normal routine of such journeys...’
‘I have been to Bristol, Birmingham and Edinburgh with Professor Smythe,’ said Julie, still icily polite.
‘Amsterdam, Leiden and Groningen, where we shall be going, are really not much farther away from London. I have to cram a good deal of work into four or five days; I must depend upon your support, which I find quite admirable.’
‘I don’t need to be buttered up,’ said Julie, her temper as fiery as her hair. ‘It’s my job.’
‘My dear Miss Beckworth, I shall forget that remark. I merely give praise where praise is due.’ His voice was mild and he hid a smile. Julie really was a lovely girl but as prickly as a thorn-bush. Highly efficient too—everything that Professor Smythe had said of her; to have her ask for a transfer and leave him at the mercy of some chit of a girl... The idea was unthinkable. He observed casually, ‘I shall, of course, be occupied for most of my days, but there will be time for you to do some sightseeing.’
It was tempting bait; a few days in another country, being a foreigner in another land—even with the professor for company it would be a nice change. Besides, she reminded herself, she had no choice; she worked for him and was expected to do as she was bid. She had, she supposed, behaved badly. She looked up at him. ‘Of course I’ll be ready to go with you, sir. I’m—I’m sorry I was a little taken aback; it was unexpected.’
He got off the desk. ‘I am at times very forgetful,’ he told her gravely. ‘You had better bring a raincoat and an umbrella with you; it will probably rain. Let me have those notes as soon as possible, will you? I shall be up on the ward if I’m wanted.’
She would have to work like a maniac if she was to finish by half past five, she thought, but Julie sat for a few minutes, her head filled with the important problem of what clothes to take with her. Would she go out at all socially? She had few clothes, although those she had were elegant and timeless in style; blouses, she thought, the skirt she had on, the corduroy jacket that she’d bought only a few weeks ago, just in case it was needed, a dress... Her eyes lighted on the clock and she left her pleasant thoughts for some hard work.
She told her mother as soon as she got home and within minutes Esme and Luscombe had joined them to hear the news.
‘Clothes?’ said Mrs Beckworth at once. ‘You ought to have one of those severe suits with padded shoulders; the women on TV wear them all the time; they look like businessmen.’
‘I’m not a businessman, Mother, dear! And I’d hate to wear one. I’ve got that dark brown corduroy jacket and this skirt—a pleated green and brown check. I’ll take a dress and a blouse for each day...’
‘Take that smoky blue dress—the one you’ve had for years,’ said Esme at once. ‘It’s so old it’s fashionable again. Will you go out a lot—restaurants and dancing? Perhaps he’ll take you to a nightclub.’
‘The professor? I should imagine that wild horses wouldn’t drag him into one. And of course he won’t take me out. I’ll have piles of work to do and he says he will be fully occupied each day.’
‘You might meet a man,’ observed Esme. ‘You know—and he’ll be keen on you and take you out in the evenings. The professor can’t expect you to work all the time.’
‘I rather fancy that’s just what he does expect. But it’ll be fun and I’ll bring you all back something really Dutch. Blotto too.’
She had two days in which to get herself ready, which meant that each evening she was kept busy—washing her abundant hair, doing her nails, pressing the blouses, packing a case.
‘Put in a woolly,’ suggested her mother, peering over her shoulder. ‘Two—that nice leaf-brown cardigan you had for Christmas last year and the green sweater.’ She frowned. ‘You’re sure we can’t afford one of those suits?’
‘Positive. I’ll do very well with what I’ve got, and if Professor van der Driesma doesn’t approve that’s just too bad. Anyway, he won’t notice.’
In this she was mistaken; his polite, uninterested glance as she opened the door to him on Saturday morning took in every small detail. He had to concede that although she looked businesslike she also looked feminine; with a lovely face such as hers she should be able to find herself an eligible husband...
He gave her a ‘good morning,’ unsmiling, was charming to her mother when he was introduced, and smiled at Esme’s eager, ‘You’ll give Julie time to send some postcards, won’t you?’ He picked up Julie’s case and was brought to a halt by Esme. ‘Don’t you get tired of seeing all that blood? Isn’t it very messy?’
Mrs Beckworth’s shocked ‘Esme’ was ignored.
‘Well, I’m only asking,’ said Esme.
The professor put the case down. ‘There is almost no blood,’ he said apologetically. ‘Just small samples in small tubes and, more importantly, the condition of the patient—whether they’re pale or yellow or red in the face. How ill they feel, how they look.’
Esme nodded. ‘I’m glad you explained. I’m going to be a doctor.’
‘I have no doubt you’ll do very well.’ He smiled his sudden charming smile. ‘We have to go, I’m afraid.’
Julie bent to say goodbye to Blotto, kissed her mother and sister, and kissed Luscombe on his leathery cheek. ‘Take care of them, Luscombe.’
‘Leave ’em to me, Miss Julie; ‘ave a good time.’
She got into the car; they were all so sure that she was going to enjoy herself but she had her doubts.
The professor had nothing to say for some time; he crossed the river and sped down the motorway towards Dover. ‘You are comfortable?’ he wanted to know.
‘Yes, thank you. I don’t think one could be anything else in a car like this.’
It was an observation which elicited no response from him. Was she going to spend four or five days in the company of a man who only addressed her when necessary? He addressed her now. ‘You’re very silent, Miss Beckworth.’
She drew a steadying breath; all the same there was peevishness in
