Roses for Christmas. Betty Neels

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СКАЧАТЬ He passed her the sugar bowl and then helped himself. ‘No, I’ve never been in a place quite like this one before, but I’ve been in far worse, and let me tell you, my girl, that your low opinion of me is completely mistaken.’

      ‘I never…’ began Eleanor, and was interrupted by the arrival of the hake, mouthwatering in its thick rich batter coat and surrounded by chips and peas; by the time they had assured Steve that it looked delicious, passed each other the salt, refused the vinegar and refilled their cups, there seemed no point in arguing. They fell to and what conversation there was was casual and good-humoured. Presently, nicely mellowed by the food, Eleanor remarked: ‘You were going to tell me about Imogen.’

      He selected a chip with deliberation and ate it slowly. ‘Not here,’ he told her.

      ‘You keep saying that—you said it in the car yesterday. Do you have to have soft music and stained glass windows or something before she can be talked about?’

      He put his head on one side and studied her face. ‘You’re a very rude girl—I suppose that’s what comes of being a bossy elder sister. No, perhaps that’s too sweeping a statement,’ he continued blandly, ‘for Henry assured me that you were the grooviest—I’m a little vague as to the exact meaning of the word, but presumably it is a compliment of the highest order.’

      ‘Bless the boy, it is.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d like to thank you for being so kind to him—he’s a poppet, at least we all think so, and far too clever for his age, though he’s a great one for adventure; he’s for ever falling out of trees and going on long solitary walks with Punch and tumbling off rocks into the sea when he goes fishing. We all long to tell him not to do these things, but he’s a boy…having you for a companion was bliss for him.’

      ‘And would it have been bliss for you, Eleanor?’ Fulk asked in an interested voice, and then: ‘No, don’t answer, I can see the words blistering your lips. We’ll go on talking about Henry—he’s not quite as strong as you would like, your father tells me.’

      She had decided to overlook the first part of his remark. ‘He’s tough, it’s just that he catches everything that’s going; measles, whooping cough, mumps, chickenpox—you name it, he’s had it.’

      He passed his cup for more tea, eyed its rich brown strength, sugared it lavishly and took a sip with an expressionless face. ‘I shudder to think what this tea is doing to our insides,’ he remarked lightly. ‘Have you a good doctor?’

      ‘Doctor MacClew. He’s quite old now, but he’s been our doctor all our lives. He’s a dear and so kind, although I daresay he’s old-fashioned by your standards.’

      ‘My standards?’ He looked quite shocked. ‘My dear Eleanor, you’re at it again, turning me into someone I’m not. Why should you suppose that I would set myself up above another doctor, probably twice my age and with at least twice my experience, and who has had to improvise, make decisions, take risks, diagnose without X-rays and be his own Path Lab in an emergency? I, remember, have the whole range of modern equipment and science behind me—I need not open my mouth until all the answers have been given me.’

      She said indignantly: ‘Don’t exaggerate. That’s not true; a good physician doesn’t need any of those things—they only confirm his opinion. You know as well as I do that you could manage very well without them.’

      He lifted his thick brows in mock surprise. ‘Why, Eleanor, those are the first kind words you have uttered since we met.’ He grinned so disarmingly that she smiled back at him. ‘Well, you know it’s true.’

      He said slowly, watching her: ‘Do you know I believe that’s the first time you’ve smiled at me? Oh, you’ve gone through the motions, but they didn’t register. You should smile more often.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘How delightful it is not to be quarrelling with you.’

      She eyed him with disfavour. ‘What a beastly thing to say! I’ve not quarrelled with you, I’ve been very polite.’

      ‘I know, I’d rather quarrel, but not now—let’s call a truce.’

      She seized her opportunity. ‘Tell me about Imogen.’

      He leaned back on the hard wooden chair. ‘What do you want to know?’

      Eleanor was so surprised at his meek acceptance of her question that she didn’t speak for a moment. ‘Well, what does she do and where does she live and where will you live when you’re married, and is she very pretty?’ She added wistfully: ‘You said she was small…’

      ‘Half your size and very, very pretty—you forgot to ask how old she is, by the way. Twenty-six, and she doesn’t do anything—at least, she doesn’t have a job. She doesn’t need to work, you see. But she fills her days very nicely with tennis and swimming and riding and driving—and she dances beautifully. She lives in den Haag and I live near Groningen, about a hundred and fifty miles apart—an easy run on the motorway.’

      ‘But that’s an awful long way to go each weekend,’ observed Eleanor.

      ‘Every weekend? Oh, not as often as that, my dear. Besides, Imogen stays with friends a good deal—I did tell you that she’s in the south of France now and later on she will be going to Switzerland for the winter sports.’ His voice was very level. ‘We decided when we became engaged that we would make no claims on each other’s time and leisure.’

      ‘Oh,’ said Eleanor blankly, ‘how very strange. I don’t think I’d like that at all.’

      ‘If you were engaged to me? But you’re not.’ He smiled thinly. ‘A fine state of affairs that would be! You would probably expect me to sit in your pocket and we should quarrel without pause.’

      ‘Probably.’ Her voice was colourless. ‘I think I’d better go back to the ward, if you don’t mind…’ She was interrupted by the cheerful booming voice of Doctor Blake, Sir Arthur’s right-hand man, who clapped a hand on her shoulder, greeted her with the easy friendliness of a long-standing acquaintance and asked: ‘May I sit down? It’s Doctor van Hensum, isn’t it? I’ve just been with Sir Arthur and he mentioned that you might be here still—I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’

      ‘I’m just on my way back to the ward,’ said Eleanor, and wished she wasn’t. ‘I’m a bit late already.’ She smiled a general sort of smile and got to her feet. ‘Thanks for the lunch,’ she said quickly and hardly looking at Fulk. He had got to his feet too, and his ‘Goodbye, Eleanor,’ was very quiet.

      She had no time to think about him after that, for Miss Tremble had seen fit to go into a coma and it took most of the afternoon to get her out of it again. Eleanor missed her tea and the pleasant half hour of gossip she usually enjoyed with the other Sisters and went off duty a little late, to change rapidly and catch a bus to the other side of the city where an aunt, elderly, crotchety but nevertheless one of the family, would be waiting to give her supper. It had become a custom for Eleanor to visit her on her return from any holidays so that she might supply her with any titbits of news, and although it was sometimes a little tiresome, the old lady had got to depend upon her visits. She spent a dull evening, answering questions and listening to her companion’s various ailments, and when she at last escaped and returned to the hospital, she was too tired to do more than climb into bed as quickly as possible.

      It was two more days before she discovered, quite by chance, that Fulk had gone back to Holland only a few hours after they had shared their meal together in the Blue Bird Café, and for some reason the news annoyed her; she СКАЧАТЬ