A Kiss for Julie Page 5

  Over coffee their desultory conversation merged into a lengthy gossip, while they still sat at the table, until Mevrouw Schatt said, ‘You will have to be up early in the morning; you should go to bed, miss.’

  ‘Julie—do call me Julie, please. Yes, I must, but I’ll help you with the dishes first; that was a gorgeous meal.’

  ‘You liked?’ Mevrouw Schatt was pleased. ‘I like to cook and I like also to see what I have cooked eaten with appetite.’

  They washed up together in the small, old-fashioned kitchen, and presently Julie went to bed. She hadn’t thought about the professor at all; she didn’t give him a thought now, but put her bright head on the large, square pillow and went off to sleep.

  * * *

  The professor thumped the knocker at exactly eight o’clock, wished them both a civil good morning, put Julie’s case in the boot and opened the car door. There was to be no hanging around... She bade Mevrouw Schatt goodbye and promised to write, unhappy that she had no time to buy flowers or a small thank-you gift, but plainly the professor had no intention of lingering. She got into the car and he closed the door on her at once.

  ‘Are we late?’ she asked as they drove away.

  He glanced at his watch—an elegant, understated gold one on a leather strap. ‘No. It is roughly twenty-six miles to Amsterdam. We shall be there in half an hour.’

  An insignificant distance, the Bentley made light of it in rather less time.

  There was a great deal of traffic on the motorway, which thickened as they passed Schiphol and went on towards the heart of the city. The streets were crowded now, with bicycles as well as cars and trams and buses and people. How they managed to avoid each other seemed a miracle; she decided not to watch the traffic but to look around her. They had left what she took to be an elegant residential area and were driving through narrow streets bordered by canals and narrow, gabled houses, turning away from the main streets.

  They had been silent for a long time. She ventured to remark, ‘I expect you know your way very well here, Professor?’

  ‘Yes. The hospital is at the end of this street.’

  A high wall separated it from the surrounding houses and from the outside at least it looked very old. ‘There is an entrance on the other side,’ said the professor, ‘leading to one of the main streets.’

  He was driving across the forecourt; she thought in a panic that she had no idea how long they were to be there or where she was to go.

  ‘How long shall we be here and where am I to go?’

  ‘Until the late afternoon, and you will come with me.’

  It was like getting blood out of a stone. ‘I wouldn’t dream of going off on my own,’ said Julie snappily.

  He had stopped the car and turned to look at her. ‘I would be extremely annoyed if you did, Miss Beckworth.’ He added with a sigh, ‘After all, I am responsible for you.’

  ‘Oh, pooh,’ said Julie, and tossed her bright head. ‘You talk as if I were a child.’

  His eyes held hers. ‘I am very well aware that you are not a child. Come along now!’

  The porter had seen them coming and picked up the phone, and by the time they were halfway across the vast entrance hall three persons were coming towards them: an elderly man with a beard and moustache and a jolly face, a younger man with a long, thin face and fair hair already receding from a high domed forehead, and a much younger man who looked awkward.

  Everyone shook hands and Julie was introduced and forgot their names at once. They were obviously good friends of the professor, for there was a good deal of laughing and talk, and even the awkward young man joined in. A houseman, she supposed, a registrar and another professor.

  ‘Coffee first,’ boomed the older man. ‘You will be glad of it I have no doubt, Miss Beckworth, for our good Simon will work you hard, I can assure you.’

  He took her arm and led the way along a dark passage and into a rather grand room full of gentlemen with coffee-cups in their hands. They surged forward to greet the professor, who introduced her once more with a wave of the hand. ‘My secretary, Miss Beckworth.’ It was a signal for several of the younger men present to offer her cups of coffee, and presently the professor joined her. ‘A sister will be here in a moment to show you where you can do your typing if you should have time to spare, and where you can put your jacket and so on.’

  As long as there’s a loo, thought Julie, following a placid-looking nurse down another dark passage. The room wasn’t far away, and thank heaven there was a cloakroom next door. ‘I will wait for you,’ said the sister, and smiled. ‘When the professor has finished his lecture I will fetch you from the lecture hall and show you where you can have your lunch.’

  ‘You will? That’s awfully kind.’ Julie nipped smartly away, made sure that she had everything she needed with her and then rejoined her guide.

  Most of the men had gone from the room when they returned but the professor was still there, deep in conversation with the elderly man who had met them. The young man was there too, hovering anxiously.

  ‘Ready?’ The professor was brisk. ‘Come along, then.’ He paused to say something to the sister, who smiled at him and made a quiet reply before he ushered Julie out of the room.

  They all walked out of the passage and into a wide corridor and through a door at its end. There was a large lecture hall beyond; a sea of faces turned to look at them as they went in. Julie was ushered to a seat at the end of the front row and the others climbed onto the platform. She wondered if it was going to be the same lecture as the one he had given at Leiden; if so, that would make things easier for her.

  It wasn’t; it was all about haemorrhagic diseases—purpura and thrombocytopenia—and he was full of long medical words which taxed her intelligence and speed to their utmost. He had an awful lot to say about them too, and afterwards there were questions and answers. When he finally sat down she laid down her pencil with a shaking hand and heaved a sigh of relief.

  There was a young woman sitting next to her. She turned to Julie now. ‘You have noted every word?’ she wanted to know. ‘Is he not splendid? You must be proud to work for him. He is a brilliant man and much revered.’

  The girl had an earnest face with lank hair and large spectacles.

  ‘You’re a doctor?’ asked Julie politely.

  ‘I am qualified, yes, but I have much to learn. I wish to be as clever as Professor van der Driesma; there is no one equal to him.’

  She looked at Julie so accusingly that she made haste to agree. ‘Oh, yes, he is a very clever man...’ She paused because the girl had gone very red and was looking at someone behind Julie’s shoulder.

  The professor said quietly, ‘There is someone come to take you to your lunch, Miss Beckworth.’ And then to the girl he said, ‘You enjoyed the lecture? I do hope so; it is a most interesting subject.’

  ‘Yes, yes, Professor, I listened to every word. I have told your secretary what a brilliant man you are and she agrees with me...’

  The professor covered a small sound with a cough. ‘I am flattered. You are recently qualified?’ he asked kindly. ‘I wish you a successful future.’

  They left the girl then and walked back along the corridor to where she saw the same sister waiting, but before they reached her he observed, ‘There is no need to bolster my ego, Miss Beckworth; I feel sure that you consider that it is already grossly swollen.’

  ‘Well, really,’ said Julie. ‘Whatever will you say next?’

  ‘What is more to the point—what will you say, Miss Beckworth?’

  She said suddenly, ‘I do wish you would stop calling me Miss Beckworth; it makes me feel middle-aged and plain and dull...’

  ‘Perhaps that is how I wish to think of you. Please be ready to accompany me to the wards at two o’clock. You will be fetched. You have all you need in the office?�
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  He said a word to the sister and went past them down the corridor. The sister said, ‘If you will come with me? We have a dining room—a canteen, you call it?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘You have time to eat and then work before two o’clock.’

  Julie walked beside her to the lifts and was taken down to the basement where she collected a bowl of soup, a salad, rolls, butter and cold meat and sat down with her guide, and all the time she wondered why the professor thought of her as plain and middle-aged. He must dislike me very much, she reflected; perhaps when they got back to St Bravo’s she should apply for a transfer.

  By two o’clock she had typed up more than half her notes and she had taken the precaution of going to the cloakroom to do her face and tidy her hair so that when the same sister came back she was ready. A good thing, for she was hurried along at a great rate through a warren of passages and in and out of lifts. ‘We must not keep the professor waiting,’ said her companion anxiously.

  At the ward doors she was handed over to the ward sister, who smiled and nodded; there was no time to do more; the professor, wearing his glasses, a stethoscope slung round his shoulders and a preoccupied look, came into the ward with the three men who had met them when they had arrived.

  He shook hands with Sister, saying something to make her laugh, nodded to Julie, who gave him a wooden stare, and went to the first bed.

  He spent several minutes talking to the young woman lying in it, which gave Julie time to study him at her leisure. He had, she conceded, a nice face—the word ‘nice’ covering a variety of things: good looks, the kind of nose which could be looked down with shattering effect and a thin mouth which could break into a charming smile. Despite the good looks, it was a man’s face to be trusted. She wondered if one could trust someone who didn’t like you and whom you didn’t like either...

  He looked up suddenly, staring at her across the bed, and she blushed, in a sudden panic that he had said something and she hadn’t been listening. He hadn’t, but after that she had no time to think about anything but the necessity of getting his comments down correctly. And since they were intersected by discussions in Dutch she had to keep her wits about her.

  Altogether a tiring afternoon, she decided when finally he finished the round and went away with his companions and Sister. Leaving me here to get lost, I suppose, thought Julie, longing for a cup of tea—a whole pot of tea. She was roused from this gloomy thought by a tap on the arm. The same sister who had been her guide all day was there again.

  ‘Tea?’ she asked. ‘In the sisters’ sitting room; we shall be so pleased to see you.’

  ‘Oh, I’d love that.’ Julie beamed at her. ‘But oughtn’t I to let Professor van der Driesma know?’

  ‘It is he who has arranged that you should have tea with us.’

  ‘Really? Well, in that case, I’ll come now, shall I?’

  The nurses’ home was attached to the hospital—a modern block built behind the main building—and the room she was ushered into was large and comfortable and fairly full of young women in uniform.

  They welcomed her warmly, telling her their names, asking her if she had enjoyed her visit to the hospital, sitting her in one of the easy chairs, offering tea. ‘With milk and sugar, just as Professor van der Driesma asked,’ explained one pretty girl. ‘“English tea,” he told us, “and there must be cake and not little biscuits!”’

  ‘Oh, did he say that?’ Julie felt guilty and mean—all her unkind thoughts of him not bothering about her and he had remembered about the biscuits. Oh, dear...!

  She drank several cups of tea and ate the cake— boterkoek, a kind of madeira cake but buttery and without the lemon—and she answered the questions fired at her. They all spoke English, some better than others, and several of the girls there had been to England on holiday. An hour passed pleasantly until someone glanced at the clock and she was bustled away amid a chorus of goodbyes.

  ‘The Professor must not be kept waiting,’ was followed by another chorus of tot ziens.

  ‘That means see you soon,’ said her guide, racing up and down passages very much in the same manner as the white rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.

  Julie caught up with her in the lift. ‘Are you all scared of the professor?’ she asked.

  ‘Scared? No, no. We like him very much, therefore we do everything to please him. He is a good man and his heart is warm.’

  Julie blinked. This was an aspect of him which she hadn’t so far encountered. She must try and remember it next time he chilled her with an icy stare.

  She collected her notebooks and typing, got her jacket and, urged on by her companion, went to the entrance. The professor was there, talking to the man with the beard, his hands in his pockets, looking as though he meant to stand there chatting for some time, but he glanced round as they reached him. ‘Ready? You haven’t forgotten anything?’ He said something in Dutch to the sister and shook her hand before bidding the bearded gentleman goodbye, and then waited while the latter took Julie’s hand and said that he hoped to see her again.

  ‘You have seen nothing of our lovely city, Miss Beckworth; it is a pity that Simon has no time to take you sightseeing.’

  Julie allowed her eyelashes to sweep her cheeks before glancing up at the whiskered face. ‘Oh, but I’m here to work,’ she said demurely. ‘But I hope to come back one day and explore on my own.’

  ‘My dear young lady, I am sure you would not be on your own for long.’

  Julie smiled charmingly. ‘Well, I dare say I would bring someone with me to keep me company.’

  The professor coughed and she said quickly, ‘I’m wasting time, I’m afraid. I must say goodbye—no, what is it you say? Tot ziens.’

  The professor had opened the car door and she got in, and after a brief conversation with his colleague he got in beside her.

  ‘Where to?’ asked Julie flippantly.

  ‘Groningen. We shall be there for tomorrow and the greater part of the following day before we return to Leiden, where I have patients to see. You will lodge with Mevrouw Schatt again and we shall return to England on the day after that.’

  ‘I expect you’re tired,’ said Julie sweetly. She wasn’t surprised when he didn’t answer her.

  They were leaving Amsterdam behind when he said, ‘Look at the map. We are going north-east to Groningen. The first town is Naarden, then Amersfoort; just past Harderwijk we will stop for a meal. A pity there is no time to use the less busy road; I’m afraid it must be motorway for the whole way.’

  They had driven for little more than forty minutes when he turned off the motorway and took a side-road winding through woodlands. ‘We have had a busy day,’ he said. ‘We deserve a leisurely dinner.’ Then he drove between two stone pillars onto a drive which led to a hotel ringed around by trees and shrubs.

  Julie peered around her; it looked a splendid place and she hoped that her clothes would live up to its magnificence. She was given no time to brood over this, however, but was swept in through its doors, pointed in the direction of the cloakroom and told that he would be waiting for her in the foyer.

  He sounded impatient beneath the cool good manners and she whisked away, intent on making the best of things. The cloakroom was luxurious, full of mirrors and pale pink washbasins and with a shelf of toiletries. One could, she supposed, if one had time, shampoo one’s hair, give oneself a manicure, try out a variety of lipsticks... It was tempting but the professor mustn’t be kept waiting.

  The restaurant was elegant and almost full, but the table the maitre d’ led them to was in one of the wide windows with a view of the small lake half-hidden by trees. ‘Oh, how very pretty! Do you come here often?’

  ‘Occasionally. You would like a sherry while we order?’

  His manner, she thought wistfully, was exactly the same as when he sat behind his desk dictating letters.
‘Please.’ She accepted the menu that she was offered and began to work her way through it. There was a great deal of it and the prices made her feel quite faint. Still, if he could afford it... On the other hand, out of consideration for his pocket she should choose those dishes which weren’t quite so costly. Soup, she decided, and an omelette.

  The professor’s quiet voice cut into her pondering. ‘The lobster mousseline with champagne sauce is an excellent starter, and how about duckling with orange sauce to follow? Merely a suggestion, of course.’

  A suggestion that she was only too happy to agree to, and she sat quietly while he conferred with the wine waiter, looking around her. The women there were well-dressed and the men looked prosperous; it was nice to see how the other half lived.

  The lobster was everything that the professor had said of it and she didn’t know much about wines, but the white wine she was offered was delicious, pale and dry; she drank it sparingly and so did he. The duckling when it came was mouthwateringly crisp with its orange sauce, straw potatoes and baby sprouts.

  While they ate they talked—by no means an animated conversation but easy, casual talk, with not a word about themselves or the day’s work. Julie turned her attention to the toffee pudding with a light heart.

  They didn’t sit over their coffee; it was already dark and there were still, he informed her, more than eighty miles to drive. ‘Another hour and a half’s drive,’ he observed, opening the car door for her.

  It was too dark to see much of the countryside now, but as he slowed through the few villages on the motorway she craned her neck to see as much as possible. The road bypassed a big town too, brightly lighted and busy with local traffic. When they reached Assen, the professor said, ‘Not long now. We will go straight to the hospital. You will sleep there and accompany me in the morning to the seminar. International.’