ANNELIESE found Ruerd absent-minded when they met on the following day-something which secretly annoyed her. No man, she considered, should be that while he was in her company. He was taking her out to dinner, and she had gone to great pains to look her best. Indeed, heads turned as they entered the restaurant; they made a striking couple, and she was aware of that.
She realised very soon that he had no intention of talking about their future. She had a splendid conceit of herself-it never entered her head that the lack of interest could be anything else but a temporary worry about his work-but she had the sense to say no more about her plans for the future, and laid herself out to be an amusing companion.
She considered that she had succeeded too, for as he drove her back to the hotel she suggested that she might stay for several more days, adding prettily, 'I miss you, Ruerd.'
All he said was, 'Why not stay? Perhaps I can get tickets for that show you want to see. I'll do my best to keep my evenings free.'
He drew up before the hotel and turned to look at her. She looked lovely in the semi-shadows, and he bent to kiss her.
She put up a protesting hand. 'Oh, darling, not now. You always disarrange my hair.'
He got out, opened her door, went with her into the foyer, bade her goodnight with his beautiful manners and drove himself back home, reminding himself that Anneliese was the ideal wife for him. Her coolness was something he would overcome in time. She was beautiful, he told himself, and she knew how to dress, how to manage his large household in Holland, how to be an amusing and charming companion…
He let himself into his house and Beaker and Humphrey came into the hall.
'A pleasant evening, I trust, sir?' asked Beaker smoothly.
The professor nodded absently. Humphrey had reminded him about the kitten and Ermentrude. He frowned; the girl had a habit of popping into his thoughts for no reason. He must remember to ask about the kitten if he saw her in the morning.
Emmy, still refreshed by her days off, was a little early. She settled down before the switchboard, arranged everything just as she liked it and took out her knitting. She was halfway through the first row when she became aware that the professor was there. She turned to look at him and, since it was a crisp autumn morning and the sun was shining and she was pleased to see him, she smiled widely and wished him good morning.
His reply was cool. He took his spectacles out of his pocket, polished them and put them on his commanding nose in order to read the variety of notes left for him at the desk.
Emmy's smile dwindled. She turned back and picked up her knitting and wished that she were busy. Perhaps she shouldn't have spoken to him. She was only being civil.
'It's Friday morning,' she said in a reasonable voice, 'and the sun's shining.'
He took his specs off, the better to stare down at her.
'The kitten-is it thriving?'
'Yes. Oh, yes, and Snoodles and George are so kind to it. Snoodles washes it and it goes to sleep with them. It's a bit of a squash in their basket.' She beamed at him. 'How nice of you to ask, sir.'
He said testily, 'Nice, nice…a useless word. You would do well to enlarge your knowledge of the English language, Ermentrude.'
'That is very rude, Professor,' said Emmy coldly, and was glad that there was a call which kept her busy for a few moments. Presently she turned her head cautiously. The professor had gone.
I shall probably get the sack, she reflected. The idea hung like a shadow over her for the rest of the day. By the time she was relieved, Authority hadn't said anything, but probably in the morning there would be a letter waiting for her, giving her a month's notice.
She went slowly to the entrance, wondering if a written apology to the professor would be a good idea. She began to compose it in her head, pausing on her way to get the words right so that the professor had plenty of time to overtake her as she crossed the entrance hall. He came to a halt in front of her so that she bounced against his waistcoat. Emmy, being Emmy, said at once, 'I'm composing a letter of apology to you, sir, although I really don't see why I should.'
'I don't see why you should either,' he told her. 'What were you going to put in it?'
'Well-"Dear sir", of course, to start with, and then something about being sorry for my impertinence.'
'You consider that you were impertinent?' he wanted to know.
'Good heavens, no, but if I don't apologise I dare say I'll get the sack for being rude or familiar or something.'
She received an icy stare. 'You have a poor opinion of me, Ermentrude.'
She made haste to put things right. 'No, no, I think you are very nice…' She paused. 'Oh, dear, I'll have to think of another word, won't I?' She smiled at him, ignoring the cold eyes. 'But you are nice! I suppose I could call you handsome or sexy…'
He held up a large hand. 'Spare my blushes, Ermentrude. Let us agree, if possible, on nice. I can assure you, though, that you are in no danger of being dismissed.'
'Oh, good. The money's useful at home, you know.'
Which presumably was why she was dressed in less than eye-catching fashion.
'The matter being cleared up, I'll drive you home. It's on my way.'
'No, it's not. Thank you very much, though; I can catch a bus…'
The professor, not in the habit of being thwarted, took her arm and walked her through the door.
In the car he asked, 'What are you doing with your evening? Meeting the boyfriend, going to a cinema, having a meal?'
She glanced at him. He was looking ahead, not smiling.
'Me? Well, I haven't got a boyfriend, so I won't be going to the cinema or out for a meal. Mother and Father are home, so we'll have supper and take George for a walk and see to Snoodles and the kitten. And we'll talk…' She added, 'We like talking.'
When he didn't answer she asked, 'Are you going to have a pleasant evening, Professor?'
'I am taking my finacйe to Covent Garden to the ballet, and afterwards we shall have supper somewhere. I do not care for the ballet.'
'Well, no, I dare say men don't. But supper will be fun-especially as it's with your fiancйe. Somewhere nice-I mean, fashionable…'
'Indeed, yes.'
Something in his voice made her ask, 'Don't you like going out to supper, either?' She wanted to ask about his fiancйe but she didn't dare-besides, the thought of him getting married made her feel vaguely unhappy.
'It depends where it is eaten and with whom. I would enjoy taking a dog for a long walk in one of the parks and eating my supper…' He paused. 'Afterwards.' Which hadn't been what he had wanted to say.
'That's easy. Get a dog. You could both take it for a walk in the evenings and then go home and have a cosy supper together.'
The professor envisaged Anneliese tramping round Hyde Park and then returning to eat her supper in his company. No dressing up, no waiters, no other diners to admire her-his mind boggled.
He said slowly, 'I will get a dog. From Battersea Dogs Home. Will you come with me and help me choose him, Ermentrude?'
'Me? I'd love to, but what about your fiancйe?'
'She returns to Holland in a few days.'
'Oh, well, all right. It'll be a lovely surprise for her when she comes back to see you again.'
'It will certainly be a surprise,' said the professor.
He dropped her off at her house with a casual nod and a goodnight, and began to drive to his own home. I must be out of my mind, he reflected. Anneliese will never agree to a dog, and certainly not to long walks with it. What is it about Ermentrude which makes me behave with such a lack of good sense? And why do I enjoy being with her when I have Anneliese?
Later that evening, after the ballet, while they were having supper, he deliberately talked about Ermentrude, telling Anneliese something of the bomb scare, mentioning the kitten.
Anneliese listened smilingly. 'Darling, how like you to bother about some little girl just because she got scared with that bomb. She sounds very dull. Is she pretty?'
'No.'
'I can just imagine her-plain and mousy and badly dressed. Am I right?'
'Yes. She has a pretty voice, though. A useful attribute in her particular job.'
'I hope she's grateful to you. I mean, for a girl like that it must be a great uplift to be spoken to by you.'
The professor said nothing to that. He thought it unlikely that Ermentrude had experienced any such feeling. Her conversation had been invariably matter-of-fact and full of advice. As far as she was concerned he was just another man.
He smiled at the thought, and Anneliese said, 'Shall we talk about something else? I find this girl a bit boring.'
Never that, thought the professor. Though unable to hold a candle to Anneliese's beauty. If circumstances had not thrown them together briefly, he would never have noticed her. All the same he smiled a little, and Anneliese, despite feeling quite confident of Ruerd's regard for her, decided there and then to do something about it.
Emmy told her mother and father about going to Battersea Dogs Home with the professor.
'When does the professor intend to marry?' asked her mother.
'I've no idea. He doesn't talk about it, and I couldn't ask him. We only talk about things which don't matter.' She sighed. 'I expect he'll tell me when he's got the time to choose a dog.'
But although he wished her good morning and good evening each day, that was all. He didn't ask after the kitten either.
It was towards the end of the next week when Emmy came back from her dinner break and found someone waiting for her. After one look she knew who it was: the professor's fiancйe; she had to be. He would, she thought, decide for nothing less than this beautiful creature with the perfect hairdo and the kind of clothes any woman could see at a glance had cost a small fortune.
She said, 'Can I help? Do you want the professor?'
'You know who I am?'
Emmy said diffidently, 'Well, not exactly, but Professor ter Mennolt mentioned that his fiancйe was staying in London and-and you're exactly how I imagined you would be.'
'And what was that?' Anneliese sounded amused.
'Quite beautiful and splendidly dressed.' Emmy smiled. 'I'll show you where you can wait while I try and get him for you.'
'Oh, I don't wish to see him. He was telling me about the bomb scare here and what an unpleasant experience it was for everyone. He told me about you, too.' She gave a little laugh. 'I would have known you anywhere from his description-plain and mousy and badly dressed. Oh, dear, I shouldn't have said that. Forgive me-my silly tongue.'
Emmy said quietly, 'Yes, that's a very good description of me, isn't it? Are you enjoying your visit? London in the autumn is rather special.'
'The shopping is good, and we enjoy going out in the evenings. Do you go out much?'
Her voice, too loud and with a strong accent, grated on Emmy's ears.
'Not very much. It's quite a long day here. When I do go home I walk our dog…'
'You have a dog? I do not like them, and certainly not in the house. I dislike cats also-their hairs…'
Emmy's relief telephonist was showing signs of impatience, which made it easy for her to say that she had to return to her switchboard.
'It's been nice meeting you,' said Emmy mendaciously. For once she agreed with the professor that 'nice' was a useless word and quite inappropriate. She hoped that she would never see the girl again.
'I won't keep you from your work. It was most satisfying to find that Ruerd's description of you was so accurate.'
Anneliese didn't offer a hand, nor did she say goodbye. Emmy and the relief watched her go.
'Who's she?'
'Professor ter Mennolt's financйe.'
'The poor man. She'll lead him a dance; you see if she doesn't.'
'She's very beautiful,' said Emmy, in a voice which conveyed nothing of her feelings. Though her goodnight in reply to the professor's passing greeting was austere in the extreme.
The following evening, after a wakeful night, and a different day, it held all the hauteur of royalty in a rage.
Not that the professor appeared to notice. 'I'm free on Sunday. Will you help me choose a dog-some time in the morning-or afternoon if you prefer?'
He didn't sound friendly; he sounded like someone performing an obligation with reluctance. 'My fiancйe has gone back to Holland this morning,' he added inconsequentially.
'No,' said Emmy coldly. 'I'm afraid I can't.'
He eyed her narrowly. 'Ah, of course-you consider it very incorrect of me to spend a few hours with someone other than Anneliese. The moment she sets foot in the plane, too.'
'No. At least partly.' She frowned. 'It was the bomb which…' she sought for the right words '…was the reason for you speaking to me. In such circumstances that was natural. There is no need-'
He said silkily, 'My dear Emmy, you do not for one moment imagine that you are a serious rival to Anneliese? For God's sake, all I have asked of you is to help me choose a dog.'
'What a silly thing to say,' said Emmy roundly. 'It is the last thing I would think. I am, as you so clearly described me, plain and mousy and badly dressed. Certainly no companion for you, even at a dogs' home!'
He said slowly, 'When did you meet Anneliese?'
'She came here to see me. She wanted to see if you had described me accurately.' Emmy added stonily, 'You had.'
The professor stood looking at her for a long minute. He said, 'I'm sorry, Ermentrude, it was unpardonable of me to discuss you with Anneliese and I had no idea that she had come here to see you.'
'Well,' said Emmy matter-of-factly, 'it's what any woman would do-you could have been lying about me.' She gave a rueful smile. 'I might have been a gorgeous blonde.'
'I do not lie, Ermentrude. I will not lie to you now and tell you that you are neither mousy nor plain nor badly dressed. You are a very nice-and I use the word in its correct sense-person, and I apologise for hurting you. One day someone-a man-will look at you and love you. He won't notice the clothes; he will see only your lovely eyes and the kindness in your face. He will find you beautiful and tell you so.'
Emmy said, 'Pigs might fly, but it's kind of you to say so. It doesn't matter, you know. I've known since I was a little girl that I had no looks to speak of. It's not as though I'm surprised.' She gave a very small sigh. 'Your Anneliese is very beautiful, and I hope you'll be very happy with her.'
The professor remained silent and she put through an outside call. He was still there when she had done it.
He was not a man in the habit of asking a favour twice, but he did so now.
'Will you help me choose a dog, Ermentrude?'
She turned to look at him. 'Very well, Professor. In the afternoon, if you don't mind. About two o'clock?'
'Thank you. I'll call for you then.'
He went away, and just for a while she was too busy to reflect over their conversation. Which was a good thing, she decided, for her bottled up feelings might spill over. She would go with him on Sunday, but after that good morning and good evening would be sufficient.
Later, when she considered she had cooled down enough to think about it, she thought that it wasn't that he had discussed her with Anneliese so much as the fact that he hadn't denied calling her plain which had made her angry. On the other hand, supposing he had denied it-and she'd known that he was lying? Would she have been just as angry? In all fairness to him she thought that she would. She liked him even if there was no reason to do so.
Her mother and father, when she told them on Sunday answered exactly as she had known they would. Her mother said, 'Wear a warm coat, dear, it gets chilly in the afternoons.'
Her father said, 'Good idea-enjoy yourself, Emmy!'
Her parents were going to Coventry on the following day-the last week away from home, her mother assured her, for her father would be round and about London after that. 'You're sure you don't mind?' she asked anxiously. 'I know you're busy all day, but it's lonely for you, especially in the evenings.'
'Mother, I've heaps to do, honestly, and I'll get the garden tidied up for the winter.' Though the garden was a miserably small patch of grass surrounded by narrow flowerbeds which Emmy would hopefully plant.
The professor arrived punctually, exchanged suitable and civil remarks with her mother and father and ushered Emmy into the car. She had gone to great pains to improve her appearance. True, her jacket and skirt were off the peg, bought to last, and therefore a useful brown-a colour which didn't suit her. But the cream blouse under the jacket was crisp, and her gloves and shoulder bag were leather, elderly but well cared for. Since her brown shoes were well-worn loafers, she had borrowed a pair of her mother's. Court shoes with quite high heels. They pinched a bit, but they looked all right.
The professor, eyeing her unobtrusively, was surprised to find himself wishing that some fairy godmother would wave a wand over Emmy and transform the brown outfit into something pretty. He was surprised, too, that she wore her clothes with an air-when he had thought about it, and that hadn't been often, he had supposed that she had little interest in clothes. He saw now that he was wrong.
He made casual conversation as he drove, and Emmy replied cautiously, not at all at her ease, wishing she hadn't come. Once they had reached the dogs' home she forgot all about that. She had never seen so many dogs, nor heard such a concert of barking.
They went to and fro looking at doggy faces, some pressed up to the front of their shelters, eager for attention, others sitting indifferently at the back. 'They're pretending that they don't mind if no one wants them,' said Emmy. 'I wish we could have them all.'
The professor smiled down at her. Her face was alight with interest and compassion and, rather to his surprise, didn't look in the least plain.
'I'm afraid one is the best I can do. Have you seen a dog which you think might suit me? There are so many, I have no preference at the moment.'
They had stopped in front of a shelter to watch the antics of an overgrown puppy, chosen by a family of children and expressing his delight. There were a lot of dogs; Emmy looked at them all and caught the eye of a large woolly dog with the kindly face of a labrador and a tremendous sweeping tail. He was sitting in the corner, and it was obvious to her that he was too proud to attract attention. Only his eyes begged her…
'That one,' said Emmy. 'There.'
The professor studied the dog. 'Yes,' he said. 'That's the one.'
The dog couldn't have heard them, but he came slowly to the front of the shelter and wagged his tail, staring up at them. When, after the necessary formalities had been gone through, the professor fastened a new collar round the dog's powerful neck, he gave a small, happy bark.
'You see?' said Emmy. 'He knew you'd have him. He's so lovely. Did they say what breed he was?'
'Well, no. There is some uncertainty. He was left to fend for himself until some kind soul brought him here. He's been here for some time. He's rather on the large side for the average household.'
They got into the car, and the dog settled warily on a blanket on the back seat.
'You do like him?' Emmy asked anxiously.
'Yes. An instant rapport. I can only hope that Beaker will feel the same way.'
'Beaker?'
'Yes, my man. He runs the house for me. Did I mention him when I told you about Humphrey? He's a splendid fellow.'
He drew up in front of his house and Emmy said, 'Oh, is this where you live? It's not like London at all, is it? Is there a garden?'
'Yes-come and see it?'
'I'd like to, but you'll have a lot to do with the dog, and you have a day off today, too, haven't you?'
He said gravely that, yes, he had, but he was doing nothing else with it. 'So please come in and meet Beaker and Humphrey and help me to get this beast settled in.'
Beaker, opening the door, did no more than lift a dignified eyebrow at the sight of the dog. He bowed gravely to Emmy and shook the hand she offered. 'A handsome beast,' he pronounced. 'Straight into the garden, sir?'
'Yes, Beaker. He's been at the home for a long time so he's a bit uncertain about everything. Ten minutes in the garden may help. Then tea, if you please.'
Beaker slid away and the professor led Emmy across the hall, into the sitting room and out of the French window into the garden. For London it was quite large, with a high brick wall and one or two trees-a mountain ash, a small silver birch, bare of leaves now, and a very old apple tree.
The dog needed no urging to explore, and Emmy said, 'Oh, how delightful. It must look lovely in the spring-lots of bulbs?'
When he nodded, watching her face, she added, 'And an apple tree. We used to have several…'
'You had a large garden?' he asked gently.
'Yes. A bit rambling, but everything grew. It was heaven to go out in the morning. And the air-there isn't much air here, is there? Well, not around St Luke's.' She turned away, annoyed with herself for saying so much, as though she had asked to be pitied. 'What will you call him?'
'I was hoping you would think of a name.'
'Something dignified and a bit regal to make up for his unhappy life.' She thought about it. 'No, it should be a name that sounds as though he's one of the family. Charlie-when I was a little girl I wanted a brother called Charlie.'
'Charlie it shall be.' The professor called the dog, and he came at once, lolloping across the lawn, his tongue hanging out, his preposterous tail waving.
'You see?' said Emmy happily. 'He knows.'
The professor put a gentle hand on Charlie's woolly head. 'I think he has earned his tea, don't you? Let us go indoors; we've earned ours, too.'
'Oh, well,' said Emmy. 'I didn't mean to stay, only to see your garden.'
'Charlie and I will be deeply offended if you don't stay for tea. What is more, Beaker will think his efforts aren't sufficiently tempting.'
Not meaning to, she smiled at him. 'Tea would be very nice.'
They had it in the sitting room, sitting by the fire with Beaker's efforts on a low table between them. Tiny sandwiches, fairy cakes, a chocolate cake and miniature macaroons, flanked by a silver teapot and paper-thin china cups and saucers.
Charlie, mindful of his manners, sat himself carefully down before the fire, hopeful eyes on the cake. Presently Beaker opened the door and Humphrey came in, circled the room slowly and finally sat down beside Charlie. He ignored the dog and stared into the flames, and Emmy said anxiously, 'Will they get on, do you think?'
'Yes. Humphrey has no intention of losing face, though. Charlie will have to play second fiddle.'
'Oh, well, I don't suppose he'll mind now he has a family of his own. Will your fiancйe like him?'
The professor bit into some cake. 'No. I'm afraid not.'
When Emmy looked concerned he added, 'I spend a good deal of the year in Holland and, of course, Charlie will stay here with Beaker.'
She poured second cups. 'Do you have a dog in Holland?'
'Two. A Jack Russell and an Irish wolfhound.'
She wanted to ask him about his home in Holland, but although he was friendly he was also aloof. Emmy, willing and eager to be friends with everyone, found that daunting. Besides, she wasn't sure what to make of him. In his company she was happy even when they weren't on the best of terms, but away from him, looking at him from a distance as it were, she told herself that there was no point in continuing their friendship-if it could be called that.
Tea finished, she said a little shyly, 'I think I had better go home, Professor. Mother and Father are going to Coventry in the morning. It will be Father's last job away from home.'
'He enjoys his work?' the professor asked idly.
'He'd rather be a schoolmaster, and not in London.'
'If he were to get a post in the country, you would go with your parents?'
'Yes, oh, yes. I expect I'd have to look for another kind of job. I like needlework and sewing. I expect I could find work in a shop or helping a dressmaker.' She added defiantly, 'I like clothes…'
He prudently kept silent about that. He had a brief memory of Anneliese, exquisitely turned out in clothes which must have cost what to Emmy would have been a small fortune. Emmy, he reflected, would look almost pretty if she were to dress in the same way as Anneliese dressed.
He didn't ask her to stay, but waited while she said goodbye to Charlie and Humphrey and thanked Beaker for her tea, and then went with her to the car.
The streets were almost empty on a late Sunday afternoon and the journey didn't take long. At the house he declined her hesitant offer to go in. He opened her door, thanked her for her help, still standing on the pavement in the dull little street, and waited while she opened the house door and went inside.
Driving back home, he reflected that he had enjoyed his afternoon with Emmy. She was a good companion; she didn't chat and she was a good listener, and when she did have something to say it was worth listening to. He must remember to let her know from time to time how Charlie progressed.
A pleasant afternoon, Emmy told her parents, and the dog, Charlie, was just what she would have chosen for herself. 'And I had a lovely tea,' she told them. 'The professor has a man who runs his home for him and makes the most delicious cakes.'
'A nice house?' asked her mother.
Emmy described it-what she had seen of it-and the garden as well.
'It's not like London,' she told them. 'In the garden you might be miles away in the country.'
'You miss our old home, don't you, Emmy?' her father asked.
'Yes, I do, but we're quite cosy here.' Empty words which neither of them believed.
'I dare say the professor will tell you how the dog settles down,' observed her mother.
'Perhaps.' Emmy sounded doubtful.
She didn't see him for several days, and when he at length stopped to speak to her on his way home one evening, it was only to tell her that Charlie was nicely settled in.
'A very biddable animal,' he told her. 'Goes everywhere with me.'
He bade her good evening in a frosty voice and went away, leaving her wondering why he was so aloof.
He's had a busy day, reflected Emmy, he'll be more friendly in the morning.
Only in the morning he wasn't there. Audrey, who always knew the latest gossip, told her as she took over that he had gone to Birmingham.
'Gets around, doesn't he? Going back to Holland for Christmas too. Shan't see much of him-not that he's exactly friendly. Well, what do you expect? He's a senior consultant and no end of a big noise.'
Which was, Emmy conceded, quite true. And a good reason for remembering that next time he might pause for a chat. He was beginning to loom rather large on the edge of her dull, humdrum life, which wouldn't do at all. Sitting there at her switchboard, she reminded herself that they had nothing in common-Well, Charlie perhaps, and being in the hospital when the bomb went off.
Besides, she reminded herself bitterly, he considered her plain and dowdy. If I could spend half as much on myself as that Anneliese of his, reflected Emmy waspishly, I'd show him that I'm not in the least dowdy, and a visit to a beauty salon would work wonders even with a face like mine.
Since neither of their wishes were likely to be fulfilled, she told herself to forget the professor; there were plenty of other things to think about.
It was a pity that she couldn't think of a single one of them-within minutes he was back in her thoughts, making havoc of her good resolutions.
She was in the professor's thoughts too, much to his annoyance. The tiresome girl, he reflected, and why do I have this urge to do something to improve her life? For all I know she is perfectly content with the way she lives. She is young; she could get a job wherever she wishes, buy herself some decent clothes, meet people, find a boyfriend. All of which was nonsense, and he knew it. She deserved better, he considered, a home and work away from London and that pokey little house.
But even if she had the chance to change he knew that she wouldn't leave her home. He had liked her parents; they had fallen on bad times through no fault of her father. Of course, if he could get a post as a schoolmaster again away from London that would solve the problem. Ermentrude could leave St Luke's and shake the dust of London from her well-polished but well-worn shoes.
The professor put down the notes he was studying, took off his spectacles, polished them and put them back onto his nose. He would miss her.
'This is ridiculous,' he said to himself. 'I don't even know the girl.'
He forebore from adding that he knew Ermentrude as if she were himself, had done since he had first seen her. He was going to marry Anneliese, he reminded himself, and Ermentrude had demonstrated often enough that she had no interest in him. He was too old for her, and she regarded him in a guarded manner which made it plain that in her eyes he was no more than someone she met occasionally at work…
The professor was an honourable man; he had asked Anneliese to marry him-not loving her but knowing that she would make a suitable wife-and there was no possible reason to break his word. Even if Ermentrude loved him, something which was so unlikely that it was laughable.
He gave his lectures, dealt with patients he had been asked to see, arranged appointments for the future and always at the back of his mind was Ermentrude. She would never be his wife but there was a good deal he could do to make her life happier, and, when he got back once more to Chelsea, he set about doing it.