Never Say Goodbye. Betty Neels

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      Going through Customs took a good deal of time; she had to admire Dr Winter’s calm patience in the face of the courteous questioning that went on at some length. When finally they were free to go, one of the officials apologised for the delay with the utmost politeness and the doctor waived the apologies with an equal politeness. As they got into the taxi he said: ‘Sorry about that; understandably I had to give my reasons for our visit and they had to be checked.’

      He told the driver where to go. ‘There’s nothing much to see here, but you’ll find Gdansk interesting, I believe.’

      They drove through a dock area which might have been anywhere in the world and presently came to Gdansk, where the taxi stopped before an enormous gateway, its centre arch opening into a wide paved street.

      ‘This is where we walk,’ observed Dr Winter, and got out.

      He wasted no time in giving more than a glance at the enormous edifice before them but took her arm and walked her briskly through the archway and into the street beyond. It was a splendid sight, lined with Renaissance houses, many of them with small shops at street level. Isobel, going along a great deal faster than she wished, did her best to look everywhere at once and as they reached a square at the end of the street asked in a voice which demanded an answer. ‘Is that the Town Hall we’ve just passed? And is that the Golden House I read about? And this fountain in the centre…?’

      The doctor didn’t pause in his walk. ‘Miss Barrington, may I remind you that you’re here for one purpose only; sightseeing is quite another matter.’

      ‘If this is sightseeing then I’m a Dutchman,’ declared Isobel roundly, ‘and I only asked you a question!’

      He looked at her, trotting along beside him, very sober in her uniform, and said harshly: ‘If you remember, Miss Barrington, I said at the time of your interview that you weren’t suitable.’

      Unanswerable. They were going through another enormous gate with water beyond and warehouses on the opposite bank. But Dr Winter turned left, making his way along the busy street bordering the water, left again into a narrow street lined with lovely old houses. Half way down he stopped before an arched door and rang one of the many bells on the wall. To Isobel’s surprise he turned to look at her. ‘The city was in ruins after the last war. The Poles rebuilt it, brick by brick, many of them original, the rest so skilfully done that it’s hard to detect the one from the other.’ He then turned his back on her as the door opened, revealing a short narrow hall and a staircase beyond. ‘Third floor,’ he told her over his shoulder, and began to mount.

      Isobel followed perforce, liking her surroundings very much; the wooden stairway, the small circular landings, the two solid wooden doors on each of these. On the third floor one of the doors was open. The doctor went in without hesitation, and Isobel, a little breathless, followed him.

      The door opened on to a tiny vestibule with two doors and they stood open too. The doctor unhesitatingly went through the left-hand one, with Isobel so close on his heels that she almost overbalanced when he halted abruptly.

      The room was small, nicely furnished and far too warm. The table in the centre of the room was polished to a high gloss and so were the chairs. The wooden floor shone with polish too and the curtains at the windows, although limp with age, were spotless. Isobel registered vaguely that the room looked bare before turning her attention to the old lady sitting in a chair whose tapestry was threadbare with age. She was a very small lady with bright bootbutton eyes, white hair strained back into a knob, and wearing a black dress covered by a cotton pinafore.

      She said in a surprisingly strong voice, ‘Mr Thomas…’ She glanced at the small carved wooden clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Punctual, I see. You always were as a little boy.’ Her eyes darted to Isobel. ‘And who is this?’

      Dr Winter bent and kissed and hugged her gently. ‘Hullo, Nanny. Nice to see you again. This is Nurse Barrington, I brought her along to give you a hand.’

      Mrs Olbinski pushed her specs up her nose and stared at Isobel through them. ‘H’m—rather small. Come here, young lady, so I can see you properly.’

      Isobel did as she was asked. Old people said strange things sometimes, just as though one wasn’t there, listening, but she didn’t mind; probably she would do the same one day. ‘How do you do?’ she asked politely.

      ‘Almost plain,’ commented the old lady to no one in particular, ‘but nice eyes and a nice smile too!’ She bristled suddenly. ‘Not that I need a nurse; I’m quite able to get around on my own…’

      ‘Well, of course you are.’ Isobel had never heard the doctor speak in such a soft, coaxing voice. ‘I asked her to come for purely selfish reasons; there’ll be people to see and so on, and I didn’t want the worry of leaving you while I dealt with them.’

      He had struck the right note. Nanny nodded in agreement. ‘When do we leave?’ she asked.

      ‘By this evening’s ferry, my dear. Have you packed?’

      ‘There are still one or two things, Mr Thomas. I daresay this young lady will help me?’

      ‘Of course, Mrs Olbinski—and my name is Isobel.’

      ‘Now that’s a good name, and one I’ve always liked. You can go into the kitchen and make the coffee, while I hear all the news.’

      Isobel was in the minute kitchen, stealthily opening cupboards, looking for things, when she heard several pairs of feet coming up the stairs. The door wasn’t quite shut, and she had no hesitation in going and standing as close to it as she could get. She didn’t dare look round the door’s edge, but she judged the feet to be either policemen or soldiers because of the hefty boots.

      Soldiers. A rather nice voice, speaking excellent English, pointing out with regret that a final paper which was needed by Mrs Olbinski had not yet arrived. It was therefore necessary that she should stay until it did.

      ‘And when will that be?’ The doctor’s voice sounded friendly, unhurried and not in the least put out.

      ‘Tomorrow—the day following that at the latest. We deeply regret any inconvenience.’

      ‘I quite understand that it is unavoidable and not of your making.’ There was a short silence. ‘I will get rooms for myself and the nurse I have brought with me at the Orbis Monopol. Mrs Olbinski will prefer to stay here, I expect.’

      There was the faintest question in his voice.

      ‘Of course, she will be perfectly all right, Dr Winter. As soon as the papers come, I will let you know so that you may complete your plans.’

      The goodbyes sounded friendly enough—and why not? Isobel reasoned. The Poles and the English liked each other; whoever it was who had just gone had had a delightful voice… She wasn’t quite quick enough at getting away from the door; she found the doctor’s austere good looks within inches of her head. ‘Next time you eavesdrop, young lady, control your breathing—you sounded like an overwrought female from an early Victorian novel.’ He looked round the kitchen. ‘Isn’t the coffee ready yet?’

      ‘No, it’s not, and I wish someone would explain…’

      ‘But there’s nothing to explain. As you must know, anyone leaving the country must have their papers in order; Nanny’s are not quite completed, СКАЧАТЬ