At the End of the Day Read online

  She had planned to catch an evening train and with an anxious eye on the clock she reminded her father quietly that it was time for him to drive her into Salisbury.

  Mr Mitchell, deep in a discussion on Greek mythology looked vague. ‘Eh? What, my dear? Didn’t I tell you? Lauris has offered to drive you…’

  ‘I have to run up to town,’ Lauris’ voice was blandly casual. ‘I’ll be glad to give you a lift if I may?’ He stood up, ‘And before we go, I’ve a suggestion to make. Jason and Gregory are coming over to Holland with us at the end of term—Nicky always pays a visit for a few days before Christmas—why don’t you come too? I can’t possibly cope with three boys on my own.’

  She was so startled that she could think of nothing to say and he said easily, ‘No need to say yes or no now, but I think you would enjoy it.’

  The boys took up the chorus, all talking at once. Of course she must go with them, declared Jason, it was the chance of a life time and what had she intended to do with her week’s holiday, anyway? He stopped and went red, because his mother had told him before tea about the broken engagement and probably Julia had been going to spend her leave with Nigel. Well, all the more reason why she should go away with them; she’d have no time to mope. He renewed his wheedlings with the two boys and Julia, recovering from her surprise, burst out laughing. ‘Look, give me a little while to get used to the idea,’ she begged. ‘You meant it?’ she addressed herself to the professor. ‘I mean, it’s not a joke?’

  ‘I meant it—can you think of any reason why you shouldn’t join us?’

  ‘Yes, I can. One very good one.’

  He smiled. ‘She won’t mind,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t bother you for an answer until I see you next week. Is that a bargain?’

  She nodded. But she asked urgently as she kissed her mother goodbye, ‘Mother, do you think it’s a good idea?’

  ‘Yes, love, it’s just what you need. Come home again as soon as you can. It was a pity that Madge couldn’t come today. Never mind, she’ll come next time.’

  Julia got into the Rolls, the boys swarming round, shouting cheerfully and waving their arms.

  ‘Anyone would think we were going to the other side of the world,’ said Julia.

  ‘A delightful prospect, but at the moment, not feasible,’ replied the professor.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  NEITHER JULIA nor the professor had much to say as he sent the Rolls tearing towards London, but their silence was a friendly one and Julia sat drowsily, uncaring of the future for the moment, it was enough to be sitting beside Lauris even though the next time they met he would look down his nose at her and address her as ‘Sister’. They were within a few miles of London when he said quietly: ‘I hope you will give me the pleasure of dining with me, Julia.’

  She was so taken aback that she stammered. ‘Oh—well, it’s very kind of you but what about Wellington?’

  ‘He’s asleep, he had a good meal before we left and will be hours sleeping it off. Besides, we shan’t be all that time; I have to be back at Mrs Mitchell’s some time tonight—the key is under the large stone on the left of the door.’ And when she didn’t answer, ‘We’ll go to a grill room. You don’t feel like cooking, do you?’

  Indeed she didn’t and she said so. ‘That settles it then,’ he said firmly. They were already approaching the West End, presently he turned into Carlos Place and stopped outside the Connaught Hotel.

  ‘Not here,’ said Julia quite sharply, ‘I’m not dressed for it.’

  ‘The grill room,’ explained the professor placidly, ‘there’s nothing wrong with your clothes.’ He ushered her out and they went through the imposing entrance and were given a table for two in a quiet corner.

  ‘You look uneasy,’ he commented, settling himself opposite to her.

  ‘It’s not my business,’ began Julia, aware that she was just asking for one of his nasty remarks but none the less compelled to speak. ‘But I don’t think I should be here, having dinner with you when you are getting married to someone else?’

  ‘Why not? She is a sensible girl, and I think—I know that she trusts me. We are, after all, colleagues at work, not secret lovers.’

  Julia, with a heightened colour, met his eyes squarely. ‘Does she know about me, then?’

  ‘Of course,’

  ‘Well, as long as she wouldn’t mind.’ Her green eyes searched his impassive face. ‘But don’t you want to be with her?’

  ‘Indeed I do. She’s been away for the weekend.’

  There seemed nothing more to be said on the matter, indeed, she had the sneaking feeling that she had been making too much of it altogether; she accepted the menu offered her, agreed that sherry would be very nice and applied herself to choosing her dinner. She chose smoked salmon with brown bread and butter, an omelette Diplomate because it had truffles in it, and she had never eaten any, and at her companion’s suggestion, peaches poached in champagne, a delicious meal which somehow made life seem quite possible again. They didn’t sit long over their coffee and when Julia voiced doubts about Wellington’s displeasure if he found himself incarcerated for much longer, the professor called for the bill and they went back to the car.

  The streets were fairly empty now and the drive took only a very short time. In the shabby little street, outside her own door, she thanked him nicely for the ride and her dinner, but all the same, he still got out of the car, took Wellington’s basket and her overnight bag and went up the stairs to her own front door. But he didn’t stay, he set Wellington down on the floor, put her bag carefully on a chair, and said cheerfully: ‘Well, I’ll be off. See you during the week. Good night, Julia.’

  And he had gone, her hasty good night wasted on the empty air.

  Curled up in bed presently, with the kitten tucked under one arm, it struck her that he had said nothing more about going to Holland with the boys. Had he really meant it, she wondered and he might have had something more to say about it if he really had. She hadn’t agreed either and she wasn’t going to, she told herself firmly, unless he renewed his invitation. And even then, she told herself sleepily, I may not go, aware that she had every intention of going.

  She had too much to do on Monday to worry about it and there was a letter for her from Nigel which she forbore to open until she was back in her flat that evening. She opened it reluctantly, half afraid that he had thought better of their parting and wanted to try again. But she need not have worried on that score; it was a nice letter, even if a shade pompous, wishing her all the best for the future, allowing that they had made a wise decision even if a painful one and enlarging on the splendid opportunities he hoped for.

  She read it carefully, relieved that he was already recovering, thinking ruefully that he was far more concerned about his own future than hers.

  She tore the letter up, put the pieces tidily in the waste paper basket and made herself a pot of tea. She wasn’t a conceited woman, but it was a little depressing to be dismissed so easily after more than two years.

  She drank her tea and forced herself to consider her future. She didn’t really want to leave St Anne’s but since she had the choice, it would be sensible to leave; it would be like tearing her heart out not to see Lauris again, but meeting him on their old footing once he was married was rather more than she could manage. She would try and stay in London and she had as good a chance as anyone if she applied for a post in one of the other teaching hospitals if and when one became vacant. She might have to wait a little while but that didn’t matter so much once she had made up her mind. She must be sensible she reminded herself.

  It was hard to be sensible the next morning as she went down the ward to meet him when he came to do his round. There seemed to be more people than usual with him; students and the woman social worker who had brought along an assistant for some reason or other. And old Doctor Knowles who had retired years ago, when Julia was still a junior nurse and who came very occasionally to go round his old wards as a guest. She wished ever
yone good morning and blushed when the old man observed, ‘Julia Mitchell—prettier than ever I do declare. Why aren’t you married with a clutch of babies? Didn’t I hear that you were going to marry young Longman?’

  She hated herself for blushing but answered composedly enough. ‘We’ve decided not to marry after all, sir.’

  ‘H’m, well, better now than later, I suppose, but a great waste.’ He beamed at her. ‘Professor van der Wagema most kindly invited me to go round with him. Some interesting cases I believe…’

  The round went smoothly, if rather more slowly than usual. Doctor Knowles might be old, but he hadn’t lost his skill and the professor deferred very nicely to him on several points of diagnosis. As they walked away from the last bed, he rubbed his hands together and enquired hopefully, ‘Coffee?’

  Julia ushered him into the office and sat him down at the desk; it left very little room by the time Dick and the professor had settled themselves on the radiators and she had perched on the stool the professor had fetched from the landing outside. It was over the coffee that Doctor Knowles wanted to know what had happened to Mrs Collins. ‘A most interesting case,’ he commented, ‘and a remarkable recovery. Where is she now?’

  ‘At my house,’ said the professor. ‘My housekeeper wanted someone to mend and polish the silver and so on, and Mrs Collins seemed just right for the job.’

  ‘You’ve always been a man to help lame dogs over stiles,’ declared Doctor Knowles and ignored his colleague’s frown. ‘How’s that boy of yours?’

  ‘Doing very well and making friends at school. Julia’s father is coaching him and he and her brothers have struck up the beginnings of a friendship. They are all going over to Holland for a few days as soon as the holidays start.’

  He turned his dark gaze on Julia and added blandly, ‘Julia has been invited to go with them.’

  ‘Splendid, splendid,’ boomed Doctor Knowles happily. ‘A little light relief from this job, eh, my dear?’

  Julia gave the professor a look which would have shaken a lesser man. ‘I haven’t yet decided,’ she said coldly.

  ‘You’re free tomorrow?’ asked the professor, smiling charmingly at her. ‘I hope you will spare the time to discuss things with me.’ He added in the tone of a kindly uncle. ‘I’ll collect you about eleven o’clock, if that suits you?’ His avuncular manner became even more pronounced. ‘We can iron out any small difficulties.’

  Dick and Doctor Knowles were looking at her and smiling; she said with a touch of peevishness, ‘Very well, Professor, I’m not doing anything in the morning.’

  She wasn’t doing anything in the afternoon either but she would think up something; a lunch date with an old friend; a mythical aunt expecting a visit…

  She saw them off the ward presently, very dignified, and careful to avoid the professor’s eye.

  It was cold and grey when she got up the next morning, she looked after Wellington, cooked the breakfast, and dressed herself warmly in a jersey dress and the well-cut wool coat she had saved for; she liked good clothes even though her wardrobe was small and now she got into her new boots with the smug feeling that she was looking her best. It was too cold to forego wearing a hat; she pulled a velvet beret on top of her bright hair, took a last look at her person in the spotty mirror behind the wardrobe door, gave Wellington a hug, picked up her bag and gloves, and prepared to go. It was five minutes over the hour and when she had peeped out of the window, she had seen the Rolls in the street below.

  Nothing in her serene appearance gave any indication of her delight at seeing him as she replied to his good morning. She got into the car and asked without preamble: ‘Why did you want to see me—it is my day off…’

  He ignored this. ‘Are you coming to Holland with us?’

  She was being rushed; of course she would go, the prospect of spending a week in his company, even if surrounded by boys and presumably, his fiancée, was one not to be missed. But she hadn’t intended to tell him so soon, he might think she was eager… She said baldly: ‘Yes.’

  ‘Splendid. We shall go—let me see, on the seventeenth and come back on the twenty-first. Can you manage that?’

  ‘Well, I think so—I’ll get all the Christmas arrangements fixed up before then; Pat won’t mind—and we can get the actual decorations and extra food and things done easily a couple of days before Christmas.’

  ‘Good. We’ll drive over—it’s quicker in the long run. Bring warm clothes with you.’

  He started the car and she said: ‘Yes, but that’s all settled then, isn’t it? There’s no need—I’ve some shopping, and I’m having lunch…’

  ‘With me, Julia, and I fancy you’ve just dreamed up the shopping.’

  She had the grace to blush. ‘All the same,’ she said firmly, ‘this won’t do. I don’t care what you say about colleagues, if I were your fiancée I’d be hopping mad.’

  ‘I should hope you would be. I thought I’d made it clear that we have a deep and mutual regard for each other which nothing—I repeat nothing—can shake. Now shall we leave the subject alone once and for all?’

  Julia said meekly, ‘Very well.’ And in an effort to bring the conversation on to a matter-of-fact plane, ‘It isn’t a very nice day, is it?’

  They were driving towards the West End. ‘As regards the weather—no—otherwise I have no quarrel with it.’

  She tried again. ‘It will soon be Christmas,’ and stopped because it was an idiotic thing to say.

  The professor must have considered it idiotic as well, for he didn’t answer. He was going smoothly through side streets and it wasn’t until they were in New Oxford Street that he spoke again. ‘You have a passport?’

  She stared out at the pavements, packed with shoppers. ‘Yes, I have.’

  He grunted something and turned into one of the narrow side streets. ‘Where are we going?’ asked Julia.

  ‘I live near here.’

  She kept quiet then while he turned into South Audley Street and then into another narrow street almost at its end. There were small elegant Regency houses on either side and he stopped at the end one.

  Julia turned and looked at him. ‘You live here?’

  He smiled a little. ‘Where did you think I lived—or perhaps you never thought about it?’

  ‘Oh, but of course I did,’ she said with a frankness which widened his smile. ‘Somewhere near St Anne’s, though heaven knows where—a service flat where you can eat in the restaurant on the ground floor.’

  ‘That makes me sound very lonely.’

  ‘Well, I thought you were until I met Nicholas.’ She added, ‘Bad tempered too and dreadfully aloof, only I don’t think you are at all. I’ve always thought you didn’t like me, so I took care…’ She bit her lip, for she had almost given herself away. She ended tamely: ‘It’s very pleasant here.’

  ‘Very. Come inside.’ They got out and crossed the narrow pavement and he opened his front door and ushered her inside.

  The hall was larger than she had expected it to be, warmly carpeted in burgundy red, with several doors leading from it and a gracefully curving staircase leading to a small gallery above. There was a door beside the staircase and this opened as they went in and a woman came to meet them. She had a round face with blue eyes and iron grey hair screwed into an old-fashioned bun; the rest of her was round too, her ample proportions tidily confined in a dark dress and a print pinafore.

  ‘This is Martha,’ said the professor, and as Julia offered a hand, ‘I’ve brought Sister Mitchell, for coffee, Martha. Could we have it in the drawing room presently?’

  ‘Two ticks, Professor. Just let me take the young lady’s coat and show her the cloakroom.’

  He nodded rather vaguely, tossed his coat on to a wall table and opened one of the doors. ‘I’ll be in here.’

  Julia followed Martha down the hall to a door set under the stairs.

  ‘Everything you want there, Sister Mitchell. I’ll fetch the coffee.’

  Julia took o
ff her beret, did things to her hair and face and went back into the hall. A door was opened as she did so. ‘In here,’ said the professor, and she went past him into a room which made her catch her breath. It had windows at each end, draped with heavy silk curtains in Venetian red, they matched the thick carpet and made a delightful background for the rich cream and burgundy covers on the easy chairs and two sofas on either side of the marble fireplace. Under one window there was a delicate sofa table, flanked by small chairs upholstered in dark green, and the same green had been used for the cushions on the sofas. Small circular tables held reading lamps with cream silk shades and the bright fire shone and twinkled on the old-fashioned, highly polished brass fender and fire irons.

  ‘Oh, how very nice,’ said Julia, ‘it’s rude to say so, isn’t it? But it’s so charming.’

  ‘And unexpected?’ The professor was watching her with interest.

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘You think that my wife will like it?’

  Just for a few moments she had forgotten; his words made her catch her breath but she said steadily. ‘I’m quite sure she will, hasn’t she seen it yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But it’s always been like this?’ And when he nodded she looked puzzled. Surely the girl would have come to his home at some time or other. A likely solution struck her. She would be Dutch, living in Holland and very likely not yet been in London. In which case who was the pretty girl she had seen outside the cinema? Curiosity got the better of discretion.