your mind, I’ll see to that. I’ll give you a ring when I’m free.’
He sat in the car with the engine still running, waiting for her to get out, and the moment that she did he shot away with a casual wave. Not the behaviour of a man who had only half an hour ago proposed to her. Bottled-up rage and hurt feelings choked her as she crossed the courtyard. It was cold and very dark once she was away from the brightly lit entrance. The bulk of the new block behind the hospital loomed ahead of her; there were still a good many lights burning—several of the path. labs were still working. She wished with all her heart that she were at home, able to go to her room and cry her eyes out without anyone wanting to know why unless she wished to tell them. Held-back tears filled her eyes and dribbled down her cheeks; there was no one to tell here …!
There was, however. Gijs van der Eekerk reached the door at the same time as she did; his large gloved hand covered hers as she put it on the door-handle.
He took no notice of her stifled scream. ‘They told me that you would be back—that you had gone out for an hour with Dr Ford. I thought we might bury the hatchet over supper.’
He took the hand off the door and turned her round so that the dim light above the door shone on her face.
His ‘tut-tut’ was uttered with all the mild good-natured concern of an uncle or elder brother. ‘Tears? May I ask why?’
‘Don’t you tut-tut at me,’ said Beatrice crossly, ‘and if I want to cry I shall and I shan’t tell you why.’
He offered a large handkerchief. ‘No, no, of course you shan’t and a good weep is very soothing to the nerves, only wouldn’t it be better if you wept in a warmer spot?’
She blew her nose. ‘Yes, of course if would. If you would let me go in I can get some peace and quiet in my flat.’
‘Splendid.’ He opened the door and, when she had gone through, followed her.
‘I’m quite all right, thank you,’ said Beatrice, belatedly remembering her manners. Then she added, ‘How did you get here?’
‘I’m to read a paper here in the morning.’
‘You’re a doctor—a surgeon …?’
‘A haematologist. Let us go to your flat. You can tidy yourself before we go somewhere and have supper.’
‘I don’t want … that is, thank you very much, but I don’t want any supper and there is no need for you to come with me.’
‘Ah—you had a meal with that young man who drove off in such a hurry?’
‘You were spying?’
‘No—no—I was just getting out of my car.’ He sounded so reasonable that she felt guilty of her suspicions and muttered,
‘Sorry.’
‘So now let us do as I suggested, there’s a good girl,’ His avuncular manner was reassuring; she led the way to the top floor and opened the door of her flat.
He took her coat in the tiny hallway. ‘Run along and do your face,’ he advised her, and went round the room, turning on the lamps and closing the curtains and, despite the faint warmth from the central heating, he turned on the gas fire too. The sleeping area of the room was curtained off and she set to, repairing the damage done to her face and re-doing her hair, listening to him strolling around the room, whistling softly. She reflected that he was the first man to be there; it had never entered her head to invite Tom or any of the young doctors who from time to time had asked her out, and she wondered now what on earth had possessed her to do so now. Not that she had invited him; he had come with her as though it were a perfectly natural thing to do. She frowned as she stuck pins into her coil of hair; he was altogether too much and she would tell him so—show him the door, politely, of course.
He was sitting, his coat off, in one of the small easy-chairs by the fire, but he got up as she crossed the room, watching her. ‘That’s better. Supposing that you tell me what upset you then if you want to cry again you can do so in warmth and comfort before we go to supper.’
‘I have no intention of crying again, Doctor, nor do I want supper.’
Her insides rumbled as she said it, giving the lie to her words. She might have saved her breath.
He pulled forward a chair invitingly. ‘Did he jilt you or did you jilt him?’
She found herself sitting opposite him. ‘Well, neither really,’ she began.
‘A quarrel? It will help to talk about it and since I am a complete stranger to you too you can say what you like, I’ll listen and forget about it.’
She was taking leave of her senses of course, confiding in this man.
‘Well,’ she began, ‘it is all a bit of a muddle.’
THE professor was a splendid listener; Beatrice quite forgot that he was there once she had started. ‘It’s probably all my fault. Tom’s attractive and amusing and I suppose I was flattered and it got a kind of habit to go out with him when he asked me. I didn’t really notice how friendly we’d become. I took him home for a weekend …’
She paused. ‘Mother and Father didn’t like him very much—oh, they didn’t say so, I just knew, and then lately he began to talk about buying a practice and making a name for himself, only he said he would need some backing and he began to talk about Father—he’s a GP, and not well known or anything, but he does know a lot of important medical men, and Tom discovered that Mother was an earl’s granddaughter.’ She paused to say wildly, ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you all this …’
He said in a detached voice, ‘As I have already said, we’re more or less strangers, unlikely to be more than that. I’m just a face to talk to … go on!’
‘I—I was getting doubtful, I mean I wasn’t sure if I liked him as much as I thought I did, if you see what I mean, and then this evening he wanted me to go out with him; he was very persistent so I went. He took me to the Tower Thistle—it’s a hotel, not too far away.’ She heaved a great sigh. ‘He ate all but one of the sandwiches—he said that no doubt I had had a good square meal. I knew that I didn’t love him then—well, any girl would, wouldn’t she?’ She gave her companion a brief glance and found his face passive and impersonal. ‘Then he said it was time we thought about our future, that he would need financial backing to get a partnership and that Father would be a great help. He even suggested that he could use Mother’s name to give him a start; he actually described the notice of our engagement in the Telegraph. I told him that I didn’t want to marry him—he hadn’t actually asked me, just took me for granted—and then he just laughed.’ She sniffed and added in a furious voice, ‘I won’t be taken for granted.’
‘Certainly not,’ agreed the professor. ‘This—Tom—? seems to be a singularly thick-skinned man.’ His voice was as avuncular as his manner. ‘Do you see much of him during your working hours?’
‘Hardly ever. I’m here all day and he works on the medical wards, but he telephones and I have to answer
