her husband’s death, with her poor twisted hands and frail bent body. It took a little time, but the doctor made no comment when she called to him that they were ready. He picked up the old lady, reminded Isobel to lock the door behind them, and went down the narrow stairs. Once on the pavement they each took an arm, and made a slow painful progress to the car where the doctor set Mrs Olbinski in the seat beside his and bade Isobel get in the back. It was a small car and he looked out of place driving it.
The hotel was large and once Mrs Olbinski was comfortably settled with the doctor, Isobel was shown to her room, large and well furnished and with a shower room next door. She unpacked her case, did her face and hair and went downstairs again. It was, of course, a pity they couldn’t return to Stockholm at once, but on the other hand it would be a golden opportunity to get even a glimpse of Gdansk. She looked forward to their promised outing with all the pleasure of a child.
They lunched presently in a stylish restaurant, half empty, for as the waiter told them, the summer season had barely started. The meal was wholly Polish—hot beet soup, crayfish, pork knuckle with horseradish sauce, followed by ices. Isobel enjoyed it all, and so, she noticed, did Mrs Olbinski.
They set off once lunch was finished, with the old lady quite excited now. They were to go to Sopot, a seaside resort only a few miles away and which she had known very well in earlier days. ‘We went each year for our holiday here; there was a small hotel, quite near the Grand Orbis Hotel, and we would watch the people staying there in the evening, going in and out in their evening dress,’ she sighed. ‘Such a beautiful place!’
Very beautiful agreed Isobel, but almost deserted. They drove slowly about its streets; there were few people about and the shop windows looked almost empty, and at length they turned towards the sea and parked the car in a long avenue of trees. The sense of solitude was enhanced by the wide beach, quite deserted too, and the chilly grey of the Baltic beyond. ‘We’ll walk nearer so you can have a better view. Nanny will be all right and we can see her easily enough.’
There was a narrow concrete bridge crossing the sands, reached by a spiral staircase. It was a minute’s walk away and Isobel ran up it ahead of the doctor to stand and admire the coast line stretching away on either side of her. ‘This must be lovely on a warm summer’s day,’ she said, ‘and with lots of people here.’ She started to walk beside him towards the stairs at its other end. ‘Where are all the people?’ she wanted to know.
‘The country is under martial law,’ he reminded her. ‘There’s little money for holidays, and still less for food; I daresay tourists from other countries will come here when it’s high summer.’
‘It’s very sad—your nanny must find it sad too.’
‘She has her happy memories. We’ll find somewhere for tea and then drive along the coast. In Poland the main meal in a normal household is eaten about four o’clock, but we should be able to get tea or coffee and then have dinner at the hotel before taking Nanny back. You’ll be good enough to help her to bed and leave everything at hand.’
They were walking back to the car across the path built on the sand.
‘Wouldn’t you like me to sleep there tonight?’ asked Isobel. ‘I’ll be quite comfortable…’
‘There’s no need for that. You’ll go to her after breakfast—I’ll drive you there before going to check her papers—they may arrive by then.’
‘Suppose they don’t?’
‘Then we’ll spend another day here.’
They had coffee in a small café in the town and the owner pulled up a chair, delighted to air his English. He was a middle-aged man, with dark eyes and full of wry humour. They stayed quite a while, so that their drive along the coast wasn’t as lengthy as Isobel had hoped, all the same she listened to Mrs Olbinski’s titbits of information about the country around them and looked at houses and churches and old castles with all the zeal of a tourist.
They had dinner very soon after they got back to the hotel—soup again, grilled beef and dumplings and an ice. Dr Winter drank vodka, which Isobel prudently refused, although she did drink the beer he offered her. Nanny had vodka too, that and the good food and unexpected treat of a drive that afternoon had rendered her nicely sleepy. They took her back to her flat and the doctor waited while Isobel helped her to bed, tidying up afterwards and leaving coffee ready for the morning.
‘You’re a good girl,’ declared Mrs Olbinski, when she went to say goodnight. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-five, Mrs Olbinski.’
Nanny gave a chuckle. ‘I shall be eighty in six weeks’ time,’ she declared. ‘I’ll have a proper birthday too with a cake and presents.’
Isobel and Dr Winter went back to the hotel in silence, only when they had gained the foyer did he bid her goodnight. ‘Breakfast at half past eight, Nurse,’ he reminded her, ‘and afterwards we’ll go immediately to Mrs Olbinski’s flat.’
She didn’t ask questions; there was no point, since she was sure that he wouldn’t answer them. She went up to her room, had a shower, washed her hair and went to bed.
She woke early to a grey morning and the sound of early traffic in the street below. It was barely seven o’clock, a whole one and a half hours before she could go to breakfast, and she was wide awake and longing for a cup of tea. She went to peer out of the window and then on impulse, got dressed; there was still more than an hour to breakfast, she would explore a little, it would pass the time, and she had little hope of that meal being earlier if the doctor had said half past eight, then that was the time at which they would breakfast—not a minute sooner, not a minute later; she knew him well enough to know that. He would be a strict father, she mused, brushing her mousey hair, but kind and gentle. And why should I suppose that? she enquired of her neat reflection, he’s never been either of those things to me. She pulled a childish face in the mirror, put on her coat and hat and left the room, locking the door carefully behind her.
There was a woman cleaning the corridor and a porter behind the reception desk in the foyer. Both of them replied to her good morning and the porter gave her a questioning look so that she said: ‘I’m going for a short walk,’ and smiled at him as she reached the big swing door.
Before she could open it, Dr Winter came in from outside, took her by the elbow and marched her back to the foyer.
‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ he asked in a voice so harsh and so unlike his usual bland coolness that all Isobel could do was gape at him.
Presently she managed: ‘Only going for a walk.’
‘Going for a walk,’ he mimicked mockingly. ‘Of course you can speak Polish, know your way around Gdansk and have your passport with you, not to mention enough money for a taxi back if you should get lost.’
She said reasonably: ‘I was only going a little way—close to the hotel, and you have no need to be so nasty about it, Dr Winter.’
She peered up into his angry face and saw that it was grey with fatigue and needed a shave. ‘And where have you been?’ she asked with disconcerting candour. ‘You’re cross and tired and you haven’t shaved… Out all night?’ She kept her pleasant voice low. ‘At Mrs Olbinski’s flat? She’s ill?’
He shook his head. ‘No, your eyes are too sharp, Nurse, and it’s just my confounded luck to meet you…’
‘There
