fact he had suggested exactly what she wanted to do …
She got her coat and, since he had said—rudely, she considered—that she was all right as she was, she didn’t bother to look in the mirror. When she joined him she said frostily, ‘You wanted to ask me something, Professor?’
He looked vague. ‘Did I? Oh, yes, of course. It was the first thing I thought of. I was coming out of the hospital when I saw your boyfriend coming this way …’
‘He’s not my boyfriend.’
‘No, no, of course not.’ He went around turning off lights and then ushered her out into the passage. ‘I was told by your excellent head porter that there is a splendid café just along the street. Alfred’s Place is its name, I believe—let us sample Alfred’s cooking.’
He took her arm and marched her out of the forecourt and into the busy street, its small shops still open and plenty of people still about. The café was a bare five minutes’ walk away; the professor pushed open the door and urged her inside. It was almost full and the air was redolent of hot food and Beatrice’s charming nose wrinkled with delight as they sat down at a table in one corner.
There was no menu but Alfred came over at once. “Ow do?’ he greeted them cheerfully. ‘Me old pal at St Justin’s gave me a tinkle, said you might be coming. ‘E’s ‘ead porter.’
‘Very thoughtful of him. What can you offer us? We have very little time but we’re hungry …’
‘Pot o’ tea ter start and while yer drinking it I’ll do a couple of plates of bacon and eggs, tomatoes and fried bread.’ Alfred, small and portly, drew himself up. ‘I reckon you wouldn’t eat better up west.’
‘It sounds delicious.’ The professor glanced at Beatrice. ‘Or is there something else you fancy, Beatrice?’
‘I can’t think of anything nicer. And I’d love a cup of tea.’
The tea came, borne by a plump pretty girl, untidy, but nevertheless very clean. She gazed at the professor as she set the pot before Beatrice. ‘Dad says you’re a professor,’ she breathed in an excited whisper. ‘I never seen one before.’
She gave him a wide grin and hurried away to answer another customer.
‘I feel that I should have horns or a beard and a basilisk stare at the very least!’
Beatrice poured their tea, a strong brew, powerful enough to revive the lowest spirits. ‘Well, you do look like one, you know, only you’re a bit too young …’
‘I’ll start the beard first thing tomorrow morning.’
‘No, no, don’t be absurd, what I mean is that most people think of professors as being elderly and grey-haired and forgetful and unworldly.’
‘I have the grey hair, but I rather like the world, don’t you? I can be forgetful when I want to be and in a few years I shall be elderly.’
‘Rubbish,’ said Beatrice. ‘I don’t suppose you are over forty.’
‘Well, no, I’m thirty-seven—and how old are you, Beatrice?’
She answered without thinking. ‘Twenty-eight,’ and then, ‘Why do you ask? It’s really not polite …’
‘But I’m not polite, only when life demands it of me. I wanted to know so that we can clear the air.’
‘Clear the air—whatever do you mean?’
She wasn’t going to find out for Alfred arrived with two plates piled high with crisp bacon, eggs fried to a turn and mushrooms arranged nicely on a bed of fried bread.
‘Eat it while it’s ‘ot,’ he told them, and took away the teapot to refill it.
Alfred was a good cook, perhaps the best in the area bisected by the Commercial Road. With yet more tea, they did justice to his food.
Beatrice put down her knife and fork. ‘That was lovely. My goodness, I feel ready for anything.’
‘Not until the morning. You’re going back to bath and a bed now.’
He smiled at her protesting face. ‘Doctor’s orders.’
He paid the bill, added a tip to make Alfred’s eyes glisten, assured him that they would certainly come again, and marched her out back at a brisk pace to her own door, opened it for her, bade her goodnight and closed it quietly, barely giving her time to thank him. Almost as though he couldn’t wait to get away from her. Yet he had rescued her from Tom. She was too tired to think about it; she had her bath and got into bed and was asleep within minutes.
The first paper in the morning was to be read by an eminent surgeon from Valencia, well known for his research into nutritional disorders. It was a cold dark morning and his audience came promptly and briskly, glad to be indoors. Beatrice, counting heads, saw that they were all there. She hadn’t seen Professor van der Eekerk go in, but there he was sitting near the front, his handsome head bent to listen to whatever it was his neighbour had to say. She went back to the kitchen and began to pile biscuits on to plates and make sure that there was a plentiful supply of coffee. There was at least an hour before it would be required; she began to do her daily round of the building, checking that everything was as it should be. She had barely done that before it was time to help with the coffee and once that was done she went to her small office on the ground floor, to do the paperwork which took up a good deal of her time. Professor van der Eekerk had begun his paper but this time she didn’t go near the lecture hall; she had too much to do, she reminded herself, and besides that, what was the point? She didn’t see him to speak to for the rest of the day, and somehow, she didn’t quite know how, she missed his leaving at the end of the afternoon. Leave-takings had been slow and numerous and several people had stopped to speak to her and thank her but he hadn’t been among them. Putting everything to rights once more with the help of her assistants, she reflected that probably, since they had met at a friend’s house, politeness had prompted him to seek her out; she was working at St Justin’s after all and he couldn’t have ignored her completely. He had, she thought, done rather more than that, and at least the sight of him might discourage Tom.
She made her supper in her little kitchenette and went to bed with a book. She read half a page and flung the book on to the floor. Life was being very dull, she decided, and she had to admit that she would miss Tom’s company even though he could be tiresome. At least she had New Year’s Eve to look forward to, she reminded herself. Derek’s grandmother lived in Hampstead, a lively old lady who never missed an opportunity to enjoy life. His parents would be coming up to spend the night and he had managed somehow to be free. There would be a lot of people there and she mulled over her wardrobe.
Waking in the morning, common sense combined with the cold clear winter’s day decided her to despatch the professor from her mind. It was surprising how sensible she felt about it; of course, after a day’s work and feeling a bit fed up, she would probably regret not seeing him again.
Quite soon, she was summoned to the hospital committee’s office. She went, outwardly composed, inwardly wondering what was in store for her. Like every other hospital St Justin’s was cutting back on staff, beds and equipment—perhaps there was a plan to cut back on the research department, the path. labs and the numerous study rooms and library. If so, she supposed that they could make do with part-time staff although the lab people weren’t
