learned gentlemen attending the seminar began to arrive soon after half-past eight and Beatrice was kept busy ticking their names off her list, helping the more elderly out of their coats and scarves, finding mislaid notes, spectacles and cough lozenges and ushering them into the conference hall, a gloomy place filled with rows of uncomfortable chairs, its walls painted a particularly repellent green and having a small platform at one end on which was a table, half a dozen chairs and, since Beatrice found the place so bleak, a bowl of hyacinths on the table, flanked by a carafe of water and a glass.
The first speaker was Professor Moore, still suffering from his cold and by no means in the best of tempers. Once he had arrived his colleagues started to file into the hall, stopping to greet friends as they went and taking their time about it. Beatrice looked at her list; there were still half a dozen to come …
They came in a group and one of them was Professor van der Eekerk, towering over his companions. She noticed that he appeared to be on the best of terms with all of them, and, like them, greeted her with a polite good morning before going into the hall. She wasn’t sure what she had expected; all she knew was that she felt disappointed. She watched his massive back disappear through the door and told herself that she had no wish to see him again. A wish she was unable to fulfil, for, the first paper having been duly read and discussed, the distinguished audience surged out of the hall and into one of the smaller lecture-rooms where coffee and biscuits awaited them. Still deep in talk, they received their cups and saucers in an absentminded fashion, and Beatrice, making her way from one group to another with some of the biscuits, was sure that Professor van der Eekerk was unaware of her being there, deep as he was in discussion with several other doctors. She was wrong, of course. His heavy-lidded gaze followed her around the room without apparently doing so and when she was at last back behind the coffee percolators, refilling the cups her helpers fetched, all she could see of him was his back in a superbly tailored suit.
The second paper to be read before lunch started late, which meant that it finished late. Beatrice, pacifying the cook, wished the erudite and wordy gentleman on the platform to Jericho, going on and on about endocrinology. When he at length came to an end she lost no time in urging his audience to repair to the smaller lecture hall once more and ladled soup to be handed round without loss of time while the cook seethed over the lamb cutlets, ruined, she assured Beatrice.
Ruined or not, they were eaten; indeed, the various conversations were so engrossing that she doubted if anyone had noticed what was on their plates. She portioned out castle puddings with a generous hand and went to make sure that the coffee percolators were ready.
The afternoon session was to be taken up by a paper on haematology by Professor van der Eekerk and, contrary to the previous lecturer, she hoped that he would take a long time delivering it; it would give them time to clear the room once more and put out the tea things—sandwiches, buttered buns and fruit cake. Having some considerable experience of similar occasions, she knew what got eaten and what got left.
Ready and with time to spare, she took a discreet peep through the not quite closed doors of the lecture hall. Professor van der Eekerk was well into his subject: haemolytic anaemia, jaundice, the Rh factor and a lot of long words which meant nothing to her. She opened the door a little wider and listened. He had a deep voice, rather slow, and with only a trace of an accent. She poked her head round the door and he looked straight at her. Without a pause he went on, ‘Now polycythaemia is an entirely different matter …’
Beatrice withdrew her head smartly. He had appeared to look at her but the hall was large and she had been right at the back of it. She thought it unlikely that he had noticed her. She glanced at her watch; he was due to finish in five minutes, so she and her helpers started to carry the plates of food in. With luck, no one would linger over tea, for they would all be anxious to go home. She sighed. They would be back again tomorrow.
Her hopes were dashed. They sat over their tea, drinking second and third cups and eating everything in sight. ‘Like a swarm of locusts,’ said the cook crossly, cutting up yet another cake. ‘And’ ow they can eat and drink and talk about blood beats me though I must say ‘e ‘oo did the talking is something like. Wouldn’t mind ‘aving a lecture from ‘im.’ Beatrice, bearing the cake, was stopped by the senior medical consultant of the hospital. ‘Very nice, Miss Crawley, organised with your usual finesse. We are a little behind time, I fancy, but Professor van der Eekerk’s paper was most interesting. We look forward to his second talk tomorrow. Is that more cake? Splendid.’ He beamed at her. ‘A delightful tea—most enjoyable.’
They all went at last; Beatrice sent the part-time helpers home, spent a brief time with the cook checking the menu for the next day, assured her that she could manage on her own and, once left to herself, emptied the dishwasher and began to put out coffee-cups and saucers, spoons and sugar basins ready for the morning. They were well ahead for the next day, she reflected. There had been time while they waited between the breaks to prepare the food and collect plates and cutlery ready to lay the tables again. She had almost finished when the entrance door was pushed open and Tom came in.
‘Thought you’d be here. Lord, I’ve had a busy day—I could do with a sandwich or even a coffee …’
Beatrice arranged the last few cups just so. ‘Go away, Tom. I’m tired, I’ve had a busy day too and you know you have no business to be here.’
‘Since when haven’t I been allowed to come over here?’ He was laughing, wheedling her.
‘You know very well what I mean. Of course you can come here when you need to see the path. lab about something or other. But this isn’t the path. lab and in any case if you are as busy as you say you are you can telephone.’
‘Snappy, aren’t you? Never mind, I’ll make allowances, I dare say your dull old men have bored you stiff. When we marry you can stay at home and keep house and be a lady of leisure.’
‘I’m not going to marry you, Tom. Now go away, do.’
He came round the counter towards her. ‘Oh, come on, you know you don’t mean it.’
He was smiling and he had a charming smile, only she didn’t feel like being charmed; she wanted a quick meal, a hot bath and her bed. She pushed his arm away. ‘I said go away …’
The outer door had opened very quietly. Professor van der Eekerk was beside her before she had even seen him come in. He said smoothly, ‘Miss Crawley, do forgive me, but I need to check the times of the papers being read tomorrow. Perhaps you would like me to come back later?’
He smiled gently at her and glanced at Tom Ford, murmured something or other and turned to go again.
‘Don’t go,’ said Beatrice, rather more loudly than she had intended. ‘There’s no need. I mean, I’ll be glad to help you, Professor.’ She shot a fiery look at Tom. ‘Dr Ford was just going.’
‘In that case …’ observed the professor and held the door for Tom to go through, giving him a cheerful goodnight as he went.
‘Now what?’ asked Beatrice, very much on edge and not disposed to be polite or friendly.
‘Food, a long hot bath and bed,’ said Professor van der Eekerk, putting his finger exactly on the crux of the matter. ‘Go and get a coat—don’t bother with titivating yourself, you’ll do as you are. We’ll go to a fish and chip shop or something similar. You can eat your fill and be back here within the hour.’
‘I had intended—’ began Beatrice haughtily.
‘Beans on toast? A boiled egg? A great girl like you needs a square meal. Off you go.’
