The Chain of Destiny Page 6

  ‘Where shall I send it?’

  ‘To Elliot’s Hospital, London. Mark it personal and urgent.’ He nodded a casual goodbye and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving her to wonder if she had dreamt the lot.

  Mrs Coffin, when appraised of the afternoon’s happenings, crowed with delight, assured her that her fortune was made and produced an application form for a passport from under the post office counter. ‘You fill that in now, love,’ she urged, ‘and post it this very day. You can run across to the doctor’s and the vicar’s and get them to sign it for you. Get photos in Marlborough for it from the post office and send them off.’

  She spent the rest of the day speculating as to the exact nature of the job Suzannah had accepted. ‘Perhaps it’s someone rich,’ she observed, ‘or a titled lady, living in Holland, too—let’s hope you’ll be able to understand her.’ She glanced at Suzannah. ‘You’ll need some clothes, dearie.’

  Suzannah supposed that even a faceless person sitting in the background would need to be decently clad. She had the new skirt, of course, and the sweater was half knitted. Her suit would have to do, but she would need a couple of blouses and another sweater and a decent dress besides.

  ‘I’ll have to buy one, there might not be time to make it,’ she said out loud.

  She was quite right, there was a letter for her the next day, giving the name of the patient, a Juffrouw Julie van Dijl, twenty-two years old, whose home was in the Hague. Unmarried, with parents and two brothers. There followed details of her condition and a veiled warning that she might be prone to short bouts of ill-temper and depression.

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ muttered Suzannah, reading the businesslike typing.

  But the salary was written there clearly to be seen, and so were the conditions of her job; two hours to herself each day and a free day each week, though she must be prepared to be at her employer’s beck and call at all hours, which seemed a bit ominous. But the money was generous and would make all the difference to her future.

  She got the next bus to Marlborough and enriched her wardrobe with two blouses, a thin sweater, some underwear and a very plain silk jersey dress in pewter-grey. Well-satisfied, she returned to Mrs Coffin’s and spent the next two days knitting like one of the furies, uncertain as to how long she would have before being summoned. The letter had ended with a curt request for her to be prepared to start work at short notice, so she packed the best of her clothes under the eye of a suspicious Horace and washed her hair and possessed her soul in patience.

  She didn’t have long to wait. Her passport arrived several days later; the professor must have a member of his family or a close friend at the passport office, she decided. And two days later there was another letter, requesting her in impersonal type to hold herself ready to leave in two days’time. She would be taken to London by car, Horace would be deposited as agreed and she would then join the lady she was to accompany. It was signed by the professor, his signature strongly resembling a spider in its death throes.

  The driver of the car, when it arrived, proved to be a fatherly man, very spruce but certainly not a chauffeur. He introduced himself as Cobb, stowed her luggage in the boot, arranged Horace in his basket on the back seat and held the door open for her.

  Suzannah gave Mrs Coffin a last hug and then asked to sit in front with him; he looked kind and perhaps he would give her some information about the professor.

  In this she was mistaken; Cobb was kind, chatty as well, but not one word did he let drop about the professor other than to say that he was employed by him. So Suzannah passed the journey to town in trivial conversation, alternately feeling excited and apprehensive.

  They had left early in the day and the morning rush was over by the time they reached London; all the same, it took a little time for Cobb to arrive at their destination: a quiet backwater of a street, tucked away behind Harley Street, lined with tall, splendidly maintained houses gleaming with paintwork, their brass door-knockers glistening with daily polishing. Cobb drew to a gentle halt before one of these houses, got out, opened the door and reached for Horace, and by the time he had done this the front door had been opened by a cosy-looking woman of middle age, dressed very neatly in black. She smiled at Suzannah as she mounted the few steps to the door.

  ‘Good morning, miss. I’m Mrs Cobb, housekeeper to the professor. I’m to see that you have a cup of coffee before you leave, and I’ll show you where your cat will live. Glad to have him, too; the professor’s got a dog, but my old cat, Flossie, died a while ago and I do miss her.’

  She had led the way into the house as she spoke, into a small hall, very elegant with its striped walls and polished floor. ‘If you wouldn’t mind coming to the kitchen, miss…’

  There was a baize door beside the curving staircase at the back of the hall; they went through it, down some steps and through another door into the kitchen. The house, Suzannah realised, was a good deal larger than it appeared from the street, for the kitchen was large with a glimpse of smaller rooms leading from it and, through the window at the end, quite a long garden.

  ‘He’ll live here with me,’ explained Mrs Cobb, ‘but of course he’ll have the run of the house, and through this door…’ she opened another door and went down a short passage which in turn opened into a garden-room, ‘there’s all this for him to roam in. And be sure I’ll take the greatest deal of care of him, miss. If you let him out so that he can look around…?’

  The sun warmed the garden-room, and it was comfortably furnished with lounge chairs and little tables. ‘You just have your coffee here,’ advised Mrs Cobb, ‘and let the little man roam.’

  She bustled off and Horace, freed from his basket, sauntered around, sniffing at the greenery and finally settling in one of the chairs. Mrs Cobb, coming back with the coffee-tray, looked pleased. ‘There! I knew he’d settle. Handsome, isn’t he?’

  Suzannah sat and drank her coffee and then, warned by Mrs Cobb that Cobb would be driving her to her employer in ten minutes’ time, went away to tidy herself in the luxurious little cloakroom tucked away behind the staircase. From the glimpse she had of the house, the professor lived in the greatest comfort—more luxury. She would have liked to have seen more of the house. There were several doors leading from the hall, but they were all shut, and she resisted the temptation to open them and went back to the garden-room to say goodbye to Horace, who, curled up half asleep, did no more than open an eye.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ she assured him, and followed Mr Cobb back into the hall once more and then out to the car. She felt terrible: like someone who had jumped into the deep end of a swimming pool and remembered at the last moment that she couldn’t swim.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THEY HADN’T FAR to go, but during the short drive Cobb, seeing her downcast face, talked cheerfully. ‘The missus will love Horace,’ he told her. ‘Dotes on cats, she does. I dare say she’ll drop you a line to let you know how he is.’

  Suzannah said gratefully, ‘Oh, do you suppose she would? I’d be very grateful; you see, I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be away.’ She added doubtfully, ‘I hope I’ll do.’

  ‘Don’t you fret, miss. The professor doesn’t make mistakes; if he thought you were right for the job, then you’ll be OK.’

  He turned the car into a Belgravia square. ‘Here we are.’ He drew in his breath with a satisfied hiss. ‘Just on time, too.’

  The Bentley was gliding to a halt before one of the massive houses in the square, and Cobb drew up just behind it, got out, opened Suzannah’s door and with a cheerful, ‘Goodbye, miss,’ left her with the professor, who had got out of his car too.

  His, ‘Good morning,’ was curt but not unfriendly. ‘I’ll introduce you to Juffrouw van Dijl; you will leave with her in her car in about half an hour. Did Cobb give you an envelope?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve not opened it.’

  ‘Do so when you have the opportunity.’ He didn’t say what was in it, but led the way through the imposing front d
oor, held open by an impassive manservant. ‘I have no time to waste, so don’t dawdle,’ he advised her unnecessarily.

  They were led up a grand staircase to a room over looking the street, furnished in an opulent style which Suzannah found overpowering and in which were a number of people: an elderly man, a slightly younger woman, a youngish man whose eyes were too close together and a very pretty girl with dark hair and eyes, dressed dramatically in the very height of fashion and looking nervous and excited.

  When she saw the professor she rushed to meet him and caught him by the arm. ‘Guy—are you sure I’ll be all right? You will come and see me? What will I do if I feel ill?’

  He said gently, ‘Why should you feel ill, Julie? You were always a remarkably healthy girl, and now that you are well again there is no reason why you should be anything else. Besides, I have brought Suzannah with me; she will keep an eye on you—and she is not a nurse, you know, just someone to keep you company and remind you from time to time that you’re perfectly well again.’

  The girl looked at Suzannah, taking in her neat, unfashionable appearance. ‘Oh, hello.’

  She nodded carelessly, not listening to Suzannah’s polite, ‘How do you do, Miss van Dijl?’ and turned back to the professor.

  ‘You will come, won’t you, soon?’

  ‘When I can arrange it, Julie. I’m tied up at the moment.’ He left her and crossed the room to shake hands with the older man and woman and introduced Suzannah. ‘Mr and Mrs South,’ he told her, ‘are aunt and uncle to Juffrouw van Dijl; she has been staying for a few days with them before returning home.’

  Suzannah shook hands with them and wondered just where home was. Just as though he had read her thoughts, the professor said quietly, ‘You will find all the information you need in the envelope, Suzannah.’

  He went away presently, and shortly after that Suzannah accompanied her new employer out to the Rolls-Royce outside and got in beside her. Her luggage had been put in the boot, together with a great many cases belonging to Juffrouw van Dijl arranged there, and she sat quietly while tearful farewells were exchanged. No one had thought to bid her goodbye; she didn’t mind that the aunt and uncle had overlooked her, but she chalked up another black mark against the professor for doing no more than nodding at her as he left. It had been a last-minute, absent-minded nod, too, as though he had remembered just in time that she was there.

  The young man had stayed in the background; now he put his head through the open window of the car and spoke urgently to Juffrouw van Dijl; Suzannah tried not to listen but it wouldn’t have mattered if she had for he spoke in some language she couldn’t understand— Dutch, she thought—and her companion had answered just as urgently before they drove off.

  They were going by hovercraft to Holland, and the drive to Dover took no more than an hour and a half. Juffrouw van Dijl made no attempt at conversation but sat, wrapped in thought, ignoring Suzannah, so that after a while she took out the envelope she had been given and read its contents: a detailed resumé of everything she needed to know while she was in Holland.

  More information as to Juffrouw van Dijl’s way of life, a reiteration of the hours she was to work and when she was to be free, the arrangement made to pay her salary each week, the currency, the name and telephone number of the family doctor, where she should go if she needed help…

  Why should I need help? wondered Suzannah, and decided that was the professor covering all risks. There was even a short paragraph suggesting suitable dressing for the evening and the name of a bank where she might wish to deposit her money. All very helpful, she decided, folding away the letter carefully and tucking it into a pocket.

  Their journey was uneventful, the chauffeur saw to everything and Suzannah had nothing more to do than follow her companion on to the hovercraft. Once on land again, they waited while the car was unloaded and then got into its comfort once again. Suzannah was surprised when Juffrouw van Dijl spoke. ‘This is my father’s car. He sent Jan the chauffeur to bring me home; I am not in the habit of travelling without a servant.’ She paused. ‘I suppose you know that I have been dangerously ill?’

  ‘Yes, Professor Bowers-Bentinck has explained everything to me.’

  ‘Good, it is tiresome having to tell people what has to be done. He told me that you aren’t a nurse—I never wish to see another as long as I live.’

  Which seemed a bit ungrateful to Suzannah, although she didn’t say so.

  Her companion went on, ‘You are, of course, here to make yourself useful. You won’t put yourself forward, I hope. It is only because Professor Bowers-Bentinck insisted that I should have someone sensible to be with me that I consented to employ you.’

  Suzannah opened her mouth to answer this and then shut it again; she was quite sure that she wouldn’t like the job. She certainly hadn’t taken to Juffrouw van Dijl, but the salary was good, and according to the professor it would only be for a few weeks. Besides, she had every intention of letting him see that she was capable of coping with his patient; he must have known that she was self-willed and spoilt…

  As she didn’t answer, Juffrouw van Dijl turned to look at her. ‘There is one thing I find agreeable about you,’ she conceded. ‘You don’t answer back or chatter.’

  A remark which Suzannah greeted with a faint smile and a well-modulated word of thanks.

  Juffrouw van Dijl seemed disposed to talk. ‘Of course, Professor Bowers-Bentinck is my surgeon, but he is also a very old friend of my family—we have been close for many years. I have not quite decided if I wish to marry him; for some time it was thought that he would marry some girl in Wiltshire, I believe, the niece of an English friend he had known for some time, but he sees her no longer and perhaps I shall decide to marry him, after all.’

  Suzannah murmured and wondered what the professor would have to say to that. The girl in Wiltshire would be Phoebe, and she wondered why he was no longer interested in her. He could, she supposed, pick and choose among his women acquaintances; he was good-looking and successful and presumably, from what she had seen of his home, comfortably endowed with the world’s goods. Perhaps he was content with his life as it was; he might even be hiding a broken heart behind that bland face of his. It seemed unlikely. On the whole, she reflected, it would be a pity if he were to marry the girl beside her; she didn’t seem very suitable, but perhaps she was being unfair; she had been very ill and it must have cost her a great effort to get well again, even with the aid of the professor’s surgery. She warmed towards her companion and said impulsively, ‘I’m sure you will both be very happy,’ not at all sure that it would turn out like that. Her warmth was wasted.

  ‘I didn’t ask for your comments,’ said Juffrouw van Dijl sharply. ‘Kindly keep your opinions to yourself in future.’

  A future, thought Suzannah to herself, which wouldn’t last too long if she could help it.

  She looked out at the countryside; it looked flat, very green and rather uninteresting, but she reminded herself that this was only a very small part of Holland. Beyond the big cities there would be villages and trees and lakes. Perhaps she would get a chance to see them before she returned to England; it was such a small country, she would be able to see a good deal in a couple of days. She occupied herself with these pleasant thoughts until the Hague was reached and she turned her attention to her surroundings. It seemed a pleasant city and some of the old buildings looked interesting, but they passed them by and drove to the more modern sector of the city, turning away presently into a wide avenue, tree-lined, with large houses on either side. Into the gates of one of these the chauffeur turned the car, stopping on a sweep so pristine that it must have been combed hourly, and getting out to open the car doors. Suzannah nipped out on her own while he assisted Juffrouw van Dijl to alight, which gave her time to take a look around. She was disappointed: the house, built at the turn of the century, was ugly. It was of red brick, very large and hung around with a great number of balconies, and at each corner of its elaborate
roof there were small turrets.

  ‘Lookout posts?’ Suzannah asked herself, craning her neck. ‘But what is there to see in such a respectable neighbourhood?’

  There was no one to answer her; following Juffrouw van Dijl’s footsteps, she mounted the flight of stairs which swept grandly to the vast mahogany door and wondered what it would be like inside.

  The door, opened by a man who murmured a welcome in a colourless voice, revealed a large hall, papered in crimson and hung with stuffed animals’ heads, arranged in patterns between displays of nasty-looking spears and swords. She averted her eyes and trod across a vast expanse of Turkish carpet at the heels of Juffrouw van Dijl, to enter a room at one side of the hall. It was as overpowering as the hall, only this time the wallpaper was dark green, embossed and almost covered by paintings framed inches-deep in gilt. The furniture was large, solid and beautifully polished and there was too much of it—tables loaded with reading-lamps, silver-framed photos, china figurines and the like.

  The lady who came to greet them was quite dwarfed by her surroundings; she was quite small, although stout, with a sweet expression on her face and an air of timidity. Surely not Juffrouw van Dijl’s mother? wondered Suzannah. But it was; the little lady embraced her daughter with a good deal of emotion, begged her to sit down and not exert herself and looked at Suzannah. ‘You must be the young lady who is to care for my daughter,’ she declared in fluent, accented English. ‘Such a relief to me, for I am not at all sure how much Julie may do. Professor Bowers-Bentinck did explain to me, but I am quite stupid about such things; that is why he suggested that a good, sensible girl might relieve me of worry.’

  Suzannah shook hands and murmured appropriately; so many people had considered her sensible that she was beginning to believe it.

  A maid had come in with a coffee-tray and Mevrouw van Dijl busied herself pouring it out while her daughter sat languidly, making monosyllabic replies to her anxious questions. Presently, with a word of apology, they reverted to Dutch and Suzannah sat drinking her coffee, listening to the meaningless words. She understood none of it, but it was plain then that Juffrouw van Dijl was laying down the law to her mother, who nodded her head meekly and presently turned to Suzannah.