The Quiet Professor. Бетти Нилс

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      She chopped onions for the onion soup, peeled potatoes, cut up courgettes and carrots, trimmed lamb chops, got everything ready to make a baked custard and arranged the Brie and Stilton on a dish. Oscar would be off duty at six o’clock, which meant he would arrive half an hour later than that. She had plenty of time; she made a batch of cheese scones and put them in the oven, then went into the living-room to lay the table and light the fire, then, well satisfied with her efforts, she put on one of her pretty dresses and did her hair and face, made a cup of tea and ate one of the scones and then started to cook. The stove was adequate but there was very little room; it meant cooking the soup first so that there would be room for the other saucepans later. The chops she dressed with a few sprigs of rosemary and put into a warm oven while she made the custard and presently put that in the oven too. She hadn’t been sure which wine to buy so she had settled for a rosé and cans of beer; she should have bought a bottle of sherry, she thought worriedly, something she had quite forgotten, but going to look at the table once more she felt satisfied that the tiny room looked welcoming with its one shabby armchair by the fireplace with the table beside it. The rest of the room was more or less filled by the dining table under the window, the two chairs with it and the built-in cupboard and shelves along one wall. There was a padded stool and another small table by the divan and with the two lamps switched on the place looked almost cosy. She opened the kitchen window and let Meredith out, promising him his supper when he returned, then she went back to the stove. Oscar would be coming in half an hour or so and it was time to get the vegetables cooked.

      Everything was just about ready by half-past six but there was no sign of Oscar; ten minutes went by and she was worrying about everything being overdone when the phone—a necessity laid on by the hospital only for theatre sisters—rang. Oscar sounded very cheerful. ‘Megan? Something’s come up—you won’t mind, will you, if I don’t come round? One of the housemen has just got engaged and we’re having a bit of a party.’

      That was true enough; she could hear laughter and singing in the background and she could hear women’s voices, too. She reminded herself that there were several women doctors at Regent’s before she asked in what she hoped was a matter-of-fact voice if he was coming later.

      ‘Not a chance. We’ll be going strong for several hours yet.’ He chuckled in what she considered was an infuriating manner. ‘I’m glad I’m not on call.’

      She boiled silently. ‘A pity—supper’s all ready…’

      ‘Put the baked beans back in the tin for next time,’ said Oscar.

      That was a bit too much. She hung up.

      The smells from the stove were mouthwatering. She turned off the gas and found that she was shaking with rage and disappointment. She would open the wine and drink the lot, she thought wildly, and was scarcely aware that there were tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them away furiously when there was a knock on the door; Oscar had come after all…she flung the door open and found Professor van Belfeld with the cat Meredith tucked under one arm, standing there.

      He didn’t wait to be asked in but went past her and put the cat down on the divan. ‘He was at the end of the road, a cyclist came round the corner and knocked him down. I happened to be passing. I don’t think he’s injured, but if you like I’ll take a look.’

      He glanced at her with casual swiftness so that she hoped he hadn’t seen the tears. ‘Oh, please—and thank you for rescuing him. I thought it quite safe in the yard. I’ll get a little towel…’

      The professor took his time; Megan had the chance to wipe her tear-stained cheeks and blow her nose as soundlessly as possible. The only looking-glass was in the tiny shower-room and she had to trust to luck that she looked normal again. She made a mental note to acquire another for the kitchen as soon as possible. She didn’t look normal, she looked woebegone and red about her pretty nose, but the professor refrained from comment, merely remarked that the cat had no bones broken although he was probably badly bruised. He lifted him on to the scarf before the fire and stood up.

      ‘You’re expecting a guest. I’m sorry if I’ve held things up in the kitchen.’

      ‘It—it doesn’t matter—he’s not coming. Oscar—there’s a party at the hospital.’ Her lip quivered like a small girl’s. ‘I cooked supper and now there’s only me to eat it all.’ She gave a sniff and added, ‘So sorry…’

      The professor took off his coat. ‘Would I do instead? Something smells delicious and I’m very hungry,’ and when she looked doubtful, ‘I had no lunch.’

      ‘Really? You’d like to stay? But haven’t you a home…?’

      ‘Yes, yes, of course I have, but there’s no one there this evening.’

      He sounded very convincing and he didn’t spoil it by adding anything to that.

      ‘Well, it would be nice if you stayed. Will your car be all right outside?’

      ‘I left some boys on guard.’

      ‘Won’t they get cold?’

      ‘They’re sitting inside.’ He went to the table and picked up the wine. ‘If you have a corkscrew I’ll open this.’

      She went back to the stove and turned the gas on again and presently served the soup. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t anything to offer you—no sherry or whisky—I’m not quite settled in yet.’

      ‘This soup needs nothing. You made it yourself?’

      ‘Yes, I like cooking.’ It helped a lot to see the soup, so carefully made with its round of toast and parmesan cheese on top, being eaten with such enjoyment. The lamb chops were eaten too, washed down with the rosé, which the professor drank with every appearance of enjoyment. It was perhaps the first time in his life that he had drunk wine at three pounds twenty-five pence a bottle; the price had been on the cork and he suspected that she had chosen it because it was a pretty colour.

      He laid himself out to be pleasant and she was surprised to discover that he was a good companion, not saying much and never raising his voice, but what he said was interesting and had nothing to do with hospital life. Here was a different man from the one who had stared down at the broken dish and raked her with such a cold blue gaze. She discovered suddenly that she was enjoying herself. The cheese and biscuits followed the chops and since there wasn’t much room to sit anywhere else they had their coffee at the table with the plate of cheese scones between them.

      Thinking about it afterwards, Megan wasn’t sure what they had talked about; certainly she had learned nothing of the professor’s private life, as she hadn’t dared to ask questions and he had volunteered no information, although he had told her that he had a dog and a cat, but he had only mentioned them casually while he was taking another look at Meredith, lying at his ease before the fire, comfortably full of supper.

      Much to her surprise, he had helped her wash up before he had thanked her quietly for his supper and a pleasant evening, not once saying a word about Oscar—she had been grateful for that—and then he had gone out to his car, sent the boys home gleefully clutching small change, and driven himself away, lifting a casual hand as he went.

      There was no chance of seeing Oscar the next day. The usual spate of cases were warded and the ward was full again, and it was a good thing, Megan decided, for it would take her a day or two to get over her disappointment at Oscar’s casual treatment. It was two days later before she did see him on her way back from her midday dinner.

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