and unhurried, and he didn’t say H’m each time he spoke. The thought that Doctor van den Werff would make the splendid husband of her vague dreams crossed her mind, to be dismissed immediately. He was a complete stranger—well, almost complete; she knew nothing about him, and, she told herself firmly, she didn’t intend to. In a couple of days’ time, when the nurse arrived and he could contact the doctor, he would go, and so would she, both to their respective worlds.
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she replied with a cool politeness which wasn’t lost on him, for he said instantly, ‘Ah, yes—not my business, eh?’
He let go of her arm and stopped to scoop some snow into his gloved hand, looking at her and laughing as he did so, and she, guessing that the snowball was meant for her, made haste to dodge it, a difficult task with the boots hampering her every step. It would have been silly not to have defended herself, which she did with some success, for he was a large target and although quick on his feet, not quick enough. She tossed the snow at him with all the pleasure of a small child, laughing and shouting and momentarily forgetful of her prosaic future. Presently, still laughing and panting from their exercise, they turned back to the house.
The rest of the day seemed a little dull after that. Julia, her hair tidied once more and crowned with its nurse’s cap, returned to her patient, her pink cheeks and sparkling eyes belying the extreme neatness of her person, a fact which Bert and Willy duly remarked upon when she saw them. They had been discussing her, she sensed, as she entered the room, and they made no attempt to hide the fact from her, for Bert said at once,
‘We were wondering, Willy and me, if we ought ter go—it don’t seem right, leaving you alone. Yer don’t mind staying—just with the doc, I mean?’
Julia smiled very nicely at him. ‘No,’ she said gently, ‘I don’t mind, Bert. In fact I shall feel quite safe.’
“E seems a nice sort of fellow,’ said Willy, ‘even though ‘e is a foreigner.’ He got up and went to the door. ‘If yer’re quite happy about it, Nurse?’
She answered him seriously. ‘If I weren’t, Willy, I should have asked you both to stay. What time do you expect to leave in the morning?’ She frowned. ‘I must write to Sister…’
‘Eight o’clock or thereabouts. We’ll go back the way we came, though the Carlisle road isn’t all that far, but it wouldn’t be easy to reach. The doc says he’ll come a bit of the way with us, just in case we get stuck. We’re going to ring Miss Mary’s doctor for him too, so’s ‘e can come over just as soon as the road’s clear. Doc’s written it all down for us. I’m to tell ‘im you’re ‘ere as well.’
Julia said uncertainly, ‘Oh, are you? I never thought of that.’ Nor had she. It seemed Doctor van den Werff had taken the welfare of his fellows very much to heart; she felt pretty certain that when the time came, he would arrange for her departure, buy her ticket and see that she had enough money for necessities on the journey back. Which reminded her, she had a little money with her, but not nearly enough to take her back to London. She would have to borrow, and from the doctor, for it was unthinkable to ask her patient for it and the old retainer was equally impossible. The family doctor might be of help, but she disliked asking for a loan from a stranger. That Doctor van den Werff was a stranger too had for the moment escaped her.
Mary woke up and Julia, who had been standing idly by the window, went to draw up the penicillin before getting her patient’s tea and then, when the doctor obligingly said the he would sit with Mary, went down to the vast kitchen to get supper for the rest of them.
She was up early the next morning making sandwiches for the two ambulance men and filling the thermos and then cooking as generous a breakfast as she dared for them. The food was getting a bit low by now, although she would be able to go on making bread for some time, and there were plenty of potatoes, but there was Mary to think of, for as soon as she had recovered from her broncho-pneumonia she would want to eat again. Julia had set aside as much as possible for her, which meant that she and the doctor and Hamish would have to make do with a restricted though ample enough diet.
The morning was a mere glimmer at the end of the long night when she went to the door to see the men off. They wrung her hand, took the letter she had written and trudged through the frozen snow towards the stable. The doctor followed them. He had hardly spoken during breakfast, but now he paused at the door. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he said cheerfully, ‘but don’t worry if I don’t turn up until later in the day—we might get held up with the drifts and have to dig ourselves out. If I can get as far as the main road I’ll try and find out what’s happening about the telephone, or get a message into Hawick. The men will telephone there from Newcastle anyway, but I don’t think we should leave any stones unturned, do you?’
Julia asked, ‘Will you be able to telephone your family in Holland? Won’t they be worrying?’ and went faintly pink when he said coolly, ‘Time enough for that, Miss Pennyfeather—we have to get you settled first, don’t we?’
He grinned suddenly, turned on his heel and set out into the icy morning.
The house was very quiet when they had gone. She had listened to them starting up the ambulance and then the car and, minutes later, their horns blaring a goodbye to her as the noise of the engines became fainter and fainter and then ceased altogether, leaving her lonely.
But there wasn’t much time for loneliness; there was Mary to see to and the rooms to tidy and the food cupboard to be frowned over once more. Hamish had brought in some more eggs, but everything else was getting on the low side, though there was plenty if someone arrived that evening and brought food with them, but Julia had looked out of the window as soon as it was light and had been disquieted by the grey sky with its ominous yellow tinges streaking the horizon, and the wind was getting up again as well. She went back to Mary’s room and built up a magnificent fire as though by so doing she could ward off the bad weather she guessed was coming.
The wind began to whine in real earnest about three o’clock and the first snowflakes whirled down, slowly and daintily at first and then in real earnest. It didn’t look as though the nurse would arrive that day, nor the cook and the maid, nor, for that matter, thought Julia gloomily, Doctor van den Werff. He was probably stuck in some drift miles from anywhere; she was thankful that she had made him take some sandwiches and a thermos too.
She took Mary’s tea up presently, to find her awake and more cheerful, and she was still with her when she heard the car return. It was dark outside and the fast falling snow almost obliterated its headlights as it went past the house in the direction of the stables. Julia left Mary to finish her tea and went downstairs, her cape held close against the draughts, and reached the kitchen as the doctor came in from outside, bringing a rush of cold air in with him.
Julia went to the stove and opened one of the plates so that the singing kettle could boil. ‘I thought you’d never get here,’ she said, trying to make her voice light.
The doctor took off his coat and shook a quantity of snow from it on to the floor, then hung it on the back of a chair where it began to steam. Only then did he speak, and the extreme placidity of his voice annoyed her.
‘My dear Miss Pennyfeather,’ he remarked, ‘I told you that I should come,’ which calm and brief speech caused her to burst out, ‘Well, I know you did, but sitting here waiting for you isn’t the same…’
‘Waiting for me, were you? I’m flattered—at least I should have been in any other circumstances. Unfortunately the telephone wires are still down—I wasted a great deal of time. Still, the snow ploughs have been out on the main road.’ He sat down at the table and she realised that this meagre information was all she was
