more of the country, she thought, but she was lucky to have even a day in Stockholm; reading the tourist guide, there appeared to be a great deal to see.
There was someone waiting for them at the airport—a thickset man, very fair with level blue eyes and a calm face, leaning against a big Saab. He and Dr Winter greeted each other like old friends and when the doctor introduced Isobel, he took her hand in his large one and grinned at her. ‘Janssen—Carl Janssen. It is a pleasure. We will go at once to my house and you will meet my wife Christina.’
He opened the car door and ushered her inside while Dr Winter got into the front seat. Isobel, who despite her placid nature had become a little chilled by his indifferent manner, felt more cheerful; Mr Janssen’s friendly greeting had warmed her nicely. She made herself comfortable and watched the scenery.
It was beautiful. They were already approaching the city, which at first glance looked modern, but in the distance she could see a glimpse of water and there were a great many trees and parks. They slowed down as they neared the heart of the city and the streets became narrow and cobbled.
‘This is Gamla Stan—the old town,’ said Mr Janssen over one shoulder. ‘We live here. It is quite the most beautiful part of Stockholm.’
He crossed a square: ‘Look quickly—there is the old Royal Palace and Storkyrkan, our oldest church—you must pay it a visit.’
He swept the car into a labyrinth of narrow streets before she had had more than a glimpse, to stop and then turn into a narrow arched way between old houses. It opened on to a rectangular space filled with small gardens and ringed by old houses with a steeple roof and small windows and wrought iron balconies.
‘This,’ said Carl Janssen in a tone of deep satisfaction, ‘is where we live.’
He opened the car door with a flourish and Isobel got out and looked around her. No one looking around them would have known that they were in the middle of a busy city. There was no one to be seen, although curtains blew at open windows and somewhere there was a baby crying and music. Between the high roofs she could see the thin steeple of a church and here and there in the gardens were lilacs, late blooming, and birds twittering in them.
‘Heaven!’ said Isobel.
Which earned her a pleased look from her host. ‘Almost,’ he agreed. ‘But come in and meet Christina.’
He led the way between the little gardens to a small door and opened it. There was a steep staircase inside and Isobel, urged on by a friendly voice from above, climbed it. The girl at the top was about her own age, a big, fair-haired girl who took her hand as she reached the top and exclaimed: ‘You are the nurse? Yes, my name is Christina.’
‘Isobel.’
‘That is pretty. Come in. Thomas, how wonderful to see you again!’
She flung her arms around the doctor’s neck and kissed him warmly, and Isobel, standing back a little, thought how different he looked when he smiled like that. A pity he didn’t do it more often. And discovering that his name was Thomas made him seem different.
Not that he was. He gave her a look which clearly was meant to keep her at a distance, said formally: ‘Mr and Mrs Janssen are old friends of mine, Miss Barrington,’ and stood aside politely so that she might walk into the narrow hallway.
It led to a roomy square hall from which doors led, presumably to the rest of the flat. Christina opened one of them and said gaily: ‘Come in and sit, and we will have tea and then you shall see your rooms. Yours is the usual one, Thomas, and we have put Isobel in the corner room because from there she sees the garden below.’
She bustled round the large, comfortably furnished room, offering chairs, begging Isobel to take off her jacket, promising her that she should see the baby just as soon as he was awake. ‘He is called Thomas, after this Thomas,’ she laughed at Dr Winter, ‘and we think that he is quite perfect!’
She went through another door to the kitchen and Carl started to talk about their trip. ‘You have all the necessary papers?’ he wanted to know. ‘Without these there might be delays.’ He smiled at Isobel. ‘It is most sensible that you take Isobel with you, a good nurse may be most useful, especially as Mrs Olbinski is crippled.’ He turned to Isobel. ‘You are not nervous?’
‘No, not at all—you mean because it’s Poland? The Poles are friendly—they like us, though, don’t they?’
‘They are a most friendly people, and full of life.’ He got up to help his wife with the tea tray and the talk centred upon Carl’s work and where they intended to go for their summer holiday. ‘We have a boat,’ he told Isobel, ‘and we sail a great deal on Lake Malaren and the Baltic. The islands offshore are beautiful and extend for miles—one can get lost among them.’
‘You take little Thomas with you?’
‘Of course. He is nine months old and a most easy baby.’
‘You’ll still be here when we get back?’ Dr Winter asked casually.
‘We go in three days’ time, and if you are not back, but of course you will be, we will leave the key with our neighbours in the flat below. But you have ample time, even allowing for a day or so delay for one reason or another.’ He looked at Dr Winter. ‘She is well, your old nanny?’
‘I telephoned last week—I’ll ring again later if I may. She was very much looking forward to seeing us. And to coming home.’
‘Well, you will stay as long as you wish to here,’ declared Christina. ‘Isobel, I will show you your room and when you have unpacked, come back here and we will talk some more.’
The room was charming, simply furnished, even a little austere, but there were flowers on a little table under the window and the gardens below with the old houses encircling them reminded Isobel of Hans Andersen’s Fairy Tales. She looked at the plain pinewood bed with its checked duvet cover, and knew she was going to sleep soundly. It was a pity Dr Winter wasn’t more friendly, but that was something which couldn’t be helped. She had a shower, changed into a fresh blouse, did her face and hair and went back to the sitting room.
They ate in a tiny alcove off the sitting room after the baby had been fed and bathed and put to bed. The meal was typically Swedish, with a great dish of sprats, potatoes, onions and cream, which Carl translated as Janssen’s Delight. This was followed by pancakes with jam, a great pot of coffee and Aquavit for the men.
The girls cleared the table, but once that was done, Isobel was amazed to see Dr Winter follow his friend into the splendidly equipped kitchen and shut the door.
‘Thomas washes the dishes very well,’ said Christina, and Isobel found herself faced with yet another aspect of the doctor which she hadn’t even guessed at. Washing up, indeed! She wondered if the dignified manservant in London was aware of that and what he would have said.
She went to bed early, guessing that the other three might have things to talk about in which she had no part, and it wasn’t until breakfast on the following morning that she learnt that Dr Winter had been unable to make his call; he had been told politely enough that there was no reply to the number he wanted. He was arguing the advantages of getting seats on the next flight to Gdansk when Carl said: ‘Exactly what would be expected of you, Thomas. Keep to your plan and take the boat this evening,’ and Dr Winter had stared at him for a long minute and then agreed.
‘So
