Hilltop Tryst Page 11

  Beatrice edged her way back to her own door. ‘Oh, well, thank you…’

  He hadn’t moved. He glanced at his watch now. ‘You have fifteen minutes.’

  She sat down at her dressing-table and did her rather flushed face and wound her hair into a smooth chignon, then got into the patterned crêpe, found slippers and evening bag, and with barely a minute to spare tapped on Ethel’s door.

  The doctor’s money had been quite safe; Miss Cross was wearing the little black number, a sober dress with a discreet neckline and all the same elegant enough. She eyed Beatrice appreciatively.

  ‘That’s pretty,’ she exclaimed. ‘And of course, you have a lovely figure, if I may say so. I’d love to be able to wear a dress like that; it’s a lovely fit.’

  They went down together, talking clothes, and the doctor watched them coming down the staircase and across the foyer. He sighed gently and went to meet them.

  Dinner was delightful, and the three of them were in the best of good spirits, but after Miss Cross had had one cup of coffee she declared that she would go to her room and get things ready for the morning.

  ‘That first lecture, Doctor,’ she wanted to know, ‘you will be finished by eleven o’clock, I take it? Then you’ll have coffee and see some cases at the St Antonius Ziekenhuis. Where will you lunch, and will you need me there?’

  ‘No, Ethel, you’re free until half-past one, when I’m due at the Whilhelmina Kinderziekenhuis. I’ll want you there, but I don’t expect to stay after five o’clock.’ He stood up as she got to her feet. ‘Don’t worry about Beatrice, I’ll see about her lunch, and don’t forget there’s a dinner in the evening.’

  She beamed at them both. ‘You’ll enjoy that. I’ll see you at breakfast.’

  He sat down again and ordered more coffee. ‘Now, let us get your day settled…’

  ‘You don’t have to bother about me. I shall be perfectly all right all day.’

  She might just as well not have spoken. ‘Will you come to the St Antonius Ziekenhuis at twelve-fifteen? Take a taxi. It’s quite a short ride. We’ll have lunch at the Hotel des Pays Bas in the bar there; the children’s hospital is very central. You’ll come to dinner at the university in the evening—half-past eight. The next day I have to lecture at the Academisch Ziekenhuis, that’s very central; then there will be a noonday reception there—you’ll come to that. We leave in the afternoon.’

  She eyed him askance. He had it all nicely planned, and she wondered what he would say if she declined to join in his plans. On the other hand, he had been kind enough to help her out of the awkward situation with Colin. ‘Very well, I’ll do as you ask. Thank you for your kind invitations,’ she added politely.

  He gave a rumble of laughter. ‘Am I walking roughshod over your plans? I’m sorry if I’m bustling you around. I only wish I had more time to show you round, but you have no need to get lost, I’ll get a city plan for you from the desk and you can always ask, you’re a sensible girl.’

  She busied herself with the coffee-cups. She had taken pains with her appearance that evening, and all he could say was that she was sensible. A pity she hadn’t bought a little black number like Ethel’s.

  ‘You’re looking peevish,’ said Oliver, putting his finger unerringly on the spot. ‘I called you sensible, and I’ve not once said how charming you look this evening, and if I say it now it won’t do at all, will it?’

  She said thoughtfully, ‘Well, I suppose that it would be better than nothing,’ and he laughed again.

  ‘Would you like to go somewhere and dance?’

  She was too surprised to answer at once. ‘Dance? Us? Isn’t it rather late?’

  ‘Very relaxing after a long drive. There’s a place close by—we can walk there.’ He smiled with such charm that she found herself smiling back at him. ‘You’ll need a shawl or something.’

  She had a mohair stole with her; she went to her room and fetched it, and went back to the foyer where he was waiting for her. If they danced for an hour it would still be not quite midnight by the time she got to bed, and perhaps he needed to unwind. He didn’t look as though he needed to unwind, she reflected as she went to meet him, and for a fleeting moment thought of Colin, who would have rushed to meet her as though she were the only girl in the world. She gave her head a little shake; she mustn’t think of him any more. She had come away in order to forget him, and there was nothing wrong with the doctor’s manners; they were, in fact, a good deal better than Colin’s. Without haste he had reached her side, wrapped her stole around her shoulders and accompanied her to the door where he took her arm. ‘Less than five minutes’ walk,’ he told her, ‘and it’s a lovely night.’

  The club overlooked a canal; discreetly quiet and just full enough to make it pleasant and a little exciting. They had a table near the dance-floor and the doctor ordered champagne. In the becoming light of pink-shaded lamps Beatrice drank a glass and got up willingly enough to dance. She danced well, but then so did Oliver and the band was good. It was two hours later when she asked him the time and declared roundly that they should both be in bed. ‘You’ve a lecture at nine o’clock,’ she reminded him, ‘and you’ve been driving all day. If you don’t get some sleep, you’ll forget what you have to say.’

  ‘Oh, Ethel would never allow that; she hands me a sheaf of typed notes at the very last minute.’ He spoke seriously, although she had the strong impression that he was laughing at her.

  ‘So that you can read them—what a good idea.’

  ‘Isn’t it? I haven’t done so so far, but I hold them in my hand or put them on the table before me so as not to hurt her feelings.’

  They walked back to the hotel and said goodnight in the foyer. ‘I enjoyed dancing,’ said Beatrice. ‘I do hope that you are not too tired.’

  He smiled down at her, and for no reason at all she had the feeling that she had said something foolish. ‘Never too tired to dance with you, Beatrice. Goodnight and sleep well.’

  She contrived to peep over her shoulder as she reached the head of the staircase; he was still standing at its foot, watching her.

  As she got ready for bed she told herself that he was a man of the world, well-versed in the art of flattering a woman. On the other hand, she mused, she had to admit he had been kind to her; and not just kind, he had offered practical help when she had needed it most, as well as a shoulder as solid as a rock upon which she had cried her eyes out. Her last thought as she drifted off into sleep was that he was a very nice man. Nice was a useful adjective—it covered a dozen others more specific, but she was too sleepy to think of them.

  Breakfast was a businesslike meal with the doctor and Ethel arranging the day between them, although as they rose from the table he reiterated his plans for Beatrice, adding, ‘Have you sufficient money with you?’

  She had a small bundle of traveller’s cheques in her bag. ‘Oh, more than enough.’

  They walked through the foyer together, and she stood with him while Ethel went to her room to get her coat and notebook. ‘I hope you have a successful lecture. I hope you’ll let me come and listen to one…’

  He lifted his eyebrows. ‘Why, thank you, Beatrice, and so you shall.’ There was no time to say any more, for Ethel had joined them.

  ‘There are some lovely shops,’ she told Beatrice, and started for the door.

  ‘Don’t spend all your money,’ begged the doctor, then bent and kissed Beatrice’s surprised mouth, and had gone before she could do more than gasp.

  She left the hotel half an hour later, and spent the morning window-shopping and buying one or two presents to take home; she sent a postcard too, had coffee at a chic little coffee-shop and went to gaze at the cathedral. She would have liked to have spent longer; she would have to go back a second time, there was so much to see, and she wanted to walk through the cloisters before it was time to get her taxi. There were quite a few people around, but the cloisters were peaceful all the same. She wandered around and found herself wishing that Oli
ver was with her, and although she thought of Colin, too, she had to admit that the doctor would be a far better companion in such surroundings. She sighed for no reason and went to look for a taxi.

  It was exactly a quarter-past twelve as she paid off the taxi and went through the hospital entrance, uncertain what she should do if Oliver were not there. But he was, talking to two other older men and when he saw her he went to meet her, took her arm and introduced them to her. She shook hands and answered their polite questions, which were uttered in pedantic English, and when Oliver said they should be going they expressed the hope that they would see her that evening. The older of them twinkled nicely at her, and added, ‘I do not see why our good friend here should have you all to himself!’

  Oliver smiled and said nothing, and Beatrice murmured politely, registering a vow that, given the chance, she would take good care that he saw as little as possible of her at the dinner. She could of course plead a headache and cry off, but on second thoughts that would be a mean thing to do. In his own fashion, Oliver had helped her a lot, even though at times she had found herself thinking that it was more from a sense of duty than actual friendship.

  She accompanied him to the car presently, talking pleasantly about her morning and making all the proper enquiries as to his lecture. They were seated at a small window table, studying the menu, when he observed blandly, ‘What a little chatterbox you are, Beatrice—you don’t have to entertain me with small talk unless you feel that you must.’

  Which left her speechless.

  They ate in silence for some time, amused on the part of the doctor, peeved on her part, until he said mildly, ‘I couldn’t think of anything to say.’ A remark which she didn’t pretend not to understand. She laughed then. ‘Never tell me that you were at a loss for words.’

  ‘Certainly not, but I’m not sure if they would have been the right ones! Would you like coffee?’

  The hatchet, a very small one, was buried; they spent the rest of the meal talking about Utrecht, and presently parted company. ‘But mind you’re back at the hotel by half-past four,’ he reminded her. ‘We can all have tea together and Ethel can remind me of what I have to do next.’

  Beatrice spent the afternoon in the cathedral again; there were a great many other places to visit, but she knew that once she poked her nose into a museum she would lose all count of time. Obedient to Oliver’s instructions, she presented herself in the hotel lounge exactly on time, and found him and Ethel already there. Over tea and delicious little biscuits they discussed their day, and when Ethel left them in order to type up her notes they stayed where they were, not saying much, pleased with each other’s company.

  It would have to be the long red satin skirt and the white blouse, decided Beatrice as she changed for the evening. And they really looked very glamorous and worth every penny of her father’s money. She did her face and hair with extra care, thrust her feet into black satin evening pumps, found her matching bag and went downstairs. It was a fine, warm evening, so that the question of a coat or stole didn’t arise. They would have spoilt the magic of the blouse and skirt most dreadfully.

  She swanned down the rather grand hotel staircase, pleased with her appearance, and was rewarded by the look on Oliver’s face when he saw her, although his rather casual, ‘Oh, very nice,’ was hardly flattering. The thought crossed her mind that probably she wasn’t the type of girl he admired. This girl he was going to marry was very likely small and fair and blue-eyed and delightfully helpless. It was a pity, she reflected, accompanying him out to the car, that she was a big girl who, if ever she should faint, and that was most unlikely, would undoubtedly knock flat anyone she fell on to. She sat beside him, her self-confidence oozing through the soles of the pretty slippers she wore. And at the University, ushered relentlessly forward by her companion, she had a great desire to turn tail and run. There were many people milling round, the women all splendidly dressed. She felt Oliver’s hand under her arm as she stood still, wishing very much that she wasn’t there.

  The doctor bent his head and whispered in her ear, ‘You are easily the most beautiful woman here, Beatrice. Lift your chin and throw your shoulders back, and do me proud.’

  She was so surprised that for the moment she didn’t do anything at all, and when she looked up at him he was smiling, his face calm. She found herself smiling back, and all at once her peevishness melted away and she sailed along beside him to where the reception committee waited.

  After that, the evening was a thundering success; she met any number of Oliver’s colleagues and their wives, and managed very nicely on her own when he was compelled to leave her once or twice. She had him for a dinner partner though, with a stout, middle-aged man on her left, whose English was fluent, if heavily accented, and who paid her lavish compliments which she accepted with a pretty dignity and stored away to be recounted to Ella when she got home.

  And after dinner people stood about talking, discussing future seminars and conferences while the women listened dutifully and managed to gossip among themselves at the same time. Beatrice, who was accepted, had she but known it, as Oliver’s future wife, was led from group to group and made much of with frequent invitations to visit her new friends when she next came to Utrecht. To all of which she replied with a vagueness taken for shyness on her part.

  It was late as they drove back to the hotel, and there were very few people in the foyer. They left the doorman to take the car to the garage, and wandered across the carpeted floor towards the staircase.

  ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ said Beatrice, suddenly shy.

  The doctor took her hand and turned her round to face him. ‘You enjoyed yourself? Good.’ He sounded remote. ‘A change of scene is the best cure for a damaged heart. It seems to be working well.’

  She hadn’t expected him to say anything like that. It was as if he were reminding her that she was there as one of his patients, being treated under his expert eye. She suddenly wanted to cry without knowing why, but she swallowed back the tears and said very politely, ‘I’m sure you’re right. Goodnight.’ And she walked, with a very straight back, upstairs.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  BEATRICE didn’t sleep well; she was healthily tired, but she wasn’t happy. She supposed that she was missing Colin, although she had the greatest difficulty conjuring up his face, even though she was able to remember very clearly the flattering remarks he had made so often. They hadn’t meant anything, though.

  It was going to be a warm day, so she put on a cotton dress and went down to breakfast. The doctor and Ethel were already at their table, but he got up as she joined them, and she sat down, soothed by his good manners. His good morning was brisk.

  ‘Don’t forget there’s a farewell reception at noon at the Academisch Ziekenhuis. We will come back here for lunch and leave for Cologne in the afternoon. Ethel, you’ll be there, of course. Beatrice, walk in to the hospital and say you’re my guest; Ethel will come for you if I can’t manage it. It will last about an hour, and you’ll have met quite a few of the people there already.’

  He had barely glanced at her, but Ethel had noted her tired face and, being the soul of discretion, had said nothing. Beatrice, unaware that his quick look had taken in her unhappy face, thanked him politely and poured her coffee, buttered a croissant and took a bite. She was feeling better already; the doctor’s bracing manner didn’t allow time for melancholy, and listening to Ethel’s cheerful voice she felt ashamed of her self-pity. They left the breakfast-table presently and went their various ways with last-minute instructions from the doctor as to the quickest way to reach the Academisch Ziekenhuis from the shopping centre.

  The morning went pleasantly. She bought another present or two, had coffee and then began to stroll towards the hospital. She had gone to her room after breakfast and changed into the pink jersey outfit; the cotton dress hadn’t seemed quite suitable for a reception, although the doctor hadn’t said anything, and she had done her face after she had had her
coffee. The doctor, watching her cross the hospital’s forecourt from a first-floor window, thought she looked charming, and after a moment excused himself from the group of doctors around him and went down to the entrance to meet her.

  He greeted her with his usual calm, enquired as to whether she had enjoyed her day and walked her to the imposing room where the reception was being held. There were a great many people there, and she recognised quite a few of them. Ethel was there too, and came to meet them.

  ‘You found your way,’ she observed. ‘Have you had a nice look at the shops?’

  ‘Lovely. I like Utrecht.’

  ‘We must see what you think of Cologne,’ remarked the doctor, and drew them both into a group of people Beatrice had already met. Waiters were sliding in and out of the groups with trays of drinks and dishes of canapés, and presently Ethel wandered off and Oliver escorted her around the room, making sure that she met as many people as possible. He seemed to know everyone there, and when in a quiet moment she remarked upon that he said, ‘Well, I have been here several times during the last few years.’

  ‘Have you been a consultant for a long time?’

  He smiled slowly. ‘Let me see, I’m thirty-seven. Six years or so.’

  ‘You’re clever, aren’t you? I said that once before, but I can’t help remembering that when you are like this…’

  ‘Like what?’ He sounded amused.

  ‘Grey suit, silk tie and—and a bit remote.’

  ‘Ah, I must remedy that, mustn’t I? When we get home and I have time, we must climb the hill together again—I promise you that I won’t be in the least bit remote.’

  Beatrice went faintly pink. She felt a pleasant little thrill, unfortunately doused by the arrival of a powerful-looking man with a fierce moustache who wrung Oliver’s hand and, on being introduced as the Burgermeester of Utrecht, clasped hers and addressed her as ‘little lady’—which, while not in the least appropriate, did much for her self-esteem.