but quite impersonal.
* * *
When Eulalia got home that evening she listened first of all to Peter’s excited account of his visit to the hospital, and then to Trottie. Everything was all right, it seemed, and she was grateful to Mr van Linssen for taking so much trouble. She had no reason to suppose that he would leave any message for her; all the same, she felt a vague disappointment.
The weather turned suddenly wet and chilly, which meant that on Sunday, instead of their usual trip to one or other of the parks, she and Peter took a long bus ride, sitting on’ the front seat on top, sharing a bag of buns and pointing out everything which took their attention. And on Monday Peter went back to school.
It was halfway through the week when Mr van Linssen walked into the flower shop. Eulalia was alone, for it was the lunch-hour and Mrs Pearce had gone home for a while, leaving her to eat her sandwiches and get on with making bouquets for yet another wedding. She sighed as the doorbell tinkled, hoping it was someone who knew what they wanted and wouldn’t keep her for minutes on end while they decided what to do. She put down the roses in her hands and went into the shop.
Mr van Linssen, looming over the floral displays, looked larger than ever and bad-tempered to boot.
Eulalia went delightfully pink, and to cover her sudden shyness said, ‘Good afternoon, more yellow roses?’
It annoyed her then that she felt shy; from his forbidding appearance he had no recollection of kissing her, and certainly when he spoke it was quite without warmth, ignoring her remark.
‘It is only proper that I should inform you of the result of Peter’s X-ray, Miss Warburton, and as I was passing this way it seemed as good an opportunity as any at which to do it.’
‘It’s all right? Trottie said—’
‘It is perfectly satisfactory. He must return for a new plaster in three weeks’ time and continue to wear it for a further few weeks. He must use his hand normally. Do not get it wet, of course, and if it aches at all there is no reason why he shouldn’t have a sling.’
‘Thank you for telling me. I really am most grateful.’
He nodded impatiently. ‘Do you not close the shop for your lunch-hour?’
‘Heavens, no. Lots of customers come between one and two o’clock.’
‘When do you take your lunch-hour?’
‘Well, I don’t. I mean, I have sandwiches and eat them when there’s time.’
‘The owner?’
What a lot of questions, thought Eulalia. ‘Oh, Mrs Pearce goes home. She has a husband to feed, and she has to see wholesalers and so on—it’s convenient to do that over lunch.’
His growl was so fierce that she wondered what she had said to annoy him. A quick-tempered man, no doubt. ‘You will be good enough to send some flowers to Miss Kendall. What do you suggest?’
‘Well, it depends, doesn’t it? If it’s just a loving gesture, red roses are for love, aren’t they? But if it’s by way of saying you are sorry about something, then a mixture of flowers—roses and carnations and some of those lilies there and an orchid or two…’
‘Perhaps you will make up a bouquet and have it sent round?’
‘A large bouquet? Any particular flowers?’
‘No. Make your own choice. I’ll write a card.’
She watched him scrawl on the card and put it in its envelope.
‘It’s a waste of money,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘Miss Kendall threw the yellow roses at me, you know.’
‘Indeed?’ He gave her a bland look. ‘Don’t you have a delivery boy?’
‘Good heavens, no, that would be eating the profits.’
‘You enjoy your work, Miss Warburton?’
‘I like flowers and arranging them.’
‘But you do not enjoy living in London and working in this shop?’
It wasn’t really a question, just stating a fact, and she wasn’t sure how to answer him. ‘I’m glad to have a job.’ She added with sudden asperity, ‘And I can’t think what business it is of yours.’
‘Upon reflection, nor can I. Good day to you.’
He shut the door gently behind him as he left.
‘High-handed,’ said Eulalia loudly, ‘as well as bad-tempered. If I hadn’t disliked that Miss Kendall on sight, I’d be sorry for her.’
It was almost the end of the following week when Peter rushed to meet her when she got home. ‘Aunt Lally, oh, Aunt Lally, something splendid—Mr van Linssen’s going to take me round his hospital on Sunday afternoon. He knows I’m going to be a surgeon like him and he said I deserved a treat because I’ve been a good boy. Do say I can go—he says he’ll fetch me in his car and bring me back.’
Eulalia took off her jacket and kicked her shoes from her tired feet.
‘Darling, when did he say all this?’
‘He stopped here on his way home and he said he was sorry you weren’t here but he hoped you’d let me go with him. Two o’clock,’ added Peter.
She looked down at the eager little face.’ He didn’t have many treats. His small school-friends had fathers and mothers who took them to fun-fairs and the zoo, and in the summer to the sea for a holiday, but he had never voiced a wish to do that, although she was quite sure that he longed to do the same. She might not like Mr van Linssen, but for some reason or other she trusted him. She said at once, ‘Darling, how lovely. Of course you can go, and how kind of Mr van Linssen to ask you. Did you thank him?’
‘Yes, of course I did, but I said I’d have to ask you first.’
‘Well, I think it’s a splendid idea. How are you going to let him know?’
‘He said he’d be driving past tomorrow morning and it’s Saturday so I’ll be here.’ He lifted a happy face to her. ‘Won’t it be fun?’ His face clouded. ‘Only, what will you do, Aunt Lally? Because Trottie’s going to her friend’s for dinner…’
Eulalia glanced across to the table, where Trottie was arranging knives and forks and spoons. ‘I’ve so many odd jobs to do—not housework, just nice little jobs like sewing on buttons—and I can read the Sunday papers.’
Trottie’s eyes were on her face, and for a moment it seemed as though she would speak, but she only smiled. ‘Sounds nice and peaceful to me,’ she said finally. ‘Dear knows you don’t get much time to yourself.’
‘You must remember every single thing you see,’ said Eulalia, as they sat down to their supper.
* * *
Sunday
