The Promise of Happiness Read online

  ‘Not that kind of a doctor. He’s a physician— hearts and lungs and things.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ said Becky politely. She saw very well. She was still the nurse in the Baron’s employ— he might call it days off, but she had merely switched from one patient to the other. She glanced at the broad back in front of her and frowned at it. He was a domineering man who was manipulating her to suit himself under the guise of the generous offer of a holiday. She should have felt very angry, but all she felt was very sad.

  They stopped for tea at an hotel built on a terrifying curve half way up a mountain, and Becky was surprised at its luxurious appearance. It wasn’t all that large, but it was built in a chalet style and there was a lake behind it in whose steel blue waters the mountains were reflected. She paused at the door to take in the view while Tialda hurried inside, intent on tea, and the Baron, who had been with her, turned back and came to stand beside Becky. ‘It’s not like that at all,’ he explained in a gentle voice which took her by surprise. ‘I haven’t brought you along for convenience, and strange though it may seem, I am quite capable of dealing with any emergency which Tialda might spring on me. You’re here for a short holiday, Becky—I want you to enjoy it.’

  ‘You don’t like thin mice,’ Becky reminded him coldly.

  His eyes twinkled and his smile very nearly made her change her mind about him. ‘I’m not sure about that any more.’ He eyed her without haste. ‘And you aren’t so thin, you know.’

  He took her arm and turned her round and walked her into the hotel where they found Tialda happily deciding which of the splendid array of cakes offered her she should choose.

  ‘You’ll get fat,’ observed her brother.

  ‘I have to keep my strength up. Becky, sit here by me—isn’t it lucky that we don’t have to diet or anything dreary like that? I shall eat two cream cakes.’

  Becky ate two as well while the Baron sat back drinking his tea and making do with a small slice of plain cake, entertaining them with light conversation the while.

  They reached Molde in the early evening and the Baron slowed to idle through the little town so that Becky had time to look around her. And there was plenty to see. Molde lay on the north bank of a fjord with mountains towering behind it and the fjord before it, its calm water besprinkled with a great many islands and beyond them in the distance, the Molde Panorama—eighty-seven mountains, snow-capped, providing a magnificent backdrop to the charming little place. Becky, almost twisting her neck off in order to see everything, allowed her gaze to drop finally on to the street they were driving through; the main street, lined with shops and filled with people on holiday and ending presently at the quay side, where it changed abruptly into a pleasant road lined with villas. They didn’t go as far as this, though. The Baron drew up opposite the quay, said ‘Here we are,’ and got out.

  The hotel was modern and large, overlooking the fjord, and after the bright sunshine outside the foyer looked cool and welcoming. And the Baron was known there; they were taken at once to their rooms overlooking the loch, each with a balcony. Becky, after a quick look round the comfortable apartment, went straight outside. There was a ferry coming in and a good deal of bustle on the quay only a few hundred yards away, and coming up the fjord from the open sea was a liner, its paintwork gleaming in the evening sun. She rested her elbows on the balcony rail and watched its speedy approach until the Baron’s voice, very close, interrupted her.

  He was on the balcony next to hers, doing just as she was doing. ‘Nice, isn’t it?’ he asked mildly. ‘I’ve been here several times and I never tire of it. What shall we do first? Drinks and dinner and then a stroll? We can explore the town tomorrow.’

  ‘But you must know it very well already?’ said Becky practically.

  ‘Oh, I do—but there’s always a certain smug satisfaction in showing people around when you know it all and they don’t.’

  She laughed then and he said: ‘You should laugh more often, Becky—there’s no reason why you shouldn’t now, you know.’ He smiled at her and nodded. ‘I’m going to have a shower and change. About half an hour suit you? Tialda takes ages…’

  He went into his room and Becky stood where she was and didn’t say a word. She should laugh more often, should she? Was he implying that she was dull and incapable of enjoying herself? What was it he had said? No beauty and no sparkle. She went inside herself. What did he suppose she had to laugh about, in heaven’s name?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THEY DINED AT a table in the window and as the restaurant overlooked the quay, they had a splendid view of the liner berthing for the night and its passengers streaming ashore. The little town was lighted now, although the mountains beyond the fjord still had their snow-capped summits gilded with the very last of the sun. It was a little paradise, thought Becky, sipping her sherry and staring out at it all. She turned when the Baron spoke; he was sitting opposite her, his elbows resting on the table, his hands clasped before him. He had nice hands, large and well-shaped and with well-kept nails; they looked, she decided, very dependable.

  ‘Daydreaming?’ he asked idly, and she went a little pink because she must have seemed rude, ignoring her companions.

  ‘No, just a bit overcome with the scenery.’

  He nodded. ‘We’ll go across to Hjertoya beach tomorrow—it’s on that island straight ahead. You swim?’

  She nodded. ‘But I haven’t got a swimsuit.’

  ‘And I want a bathing cap,’ declared Tialda. ‘We’ll go out early, Becky, and get them.’ She picked up the menu. ‘What shall we eat?’

  The food was mouthwatering; Becky settled for crabmeat cocktail, chilled strawberry soup, Virginia ham with rum and raisin sauce with a salad on the side because the Baron assured her that that was essential to her good health, and by way of afters blueberry pie with whipped cream. She and Tialda drank a delicious white wine, but the Baron took red wine with his tenderloin steak and brandy with his coffee. They went for a stroll afterwards; just along the main street, past the modern town hall and the whitewashed church above it.

  ‘We’ll go in there tomorrow,’ promised the Baron. ‘It was rebuilt after the Germans destroyed it during the war—it’s beautiful.’

  Becky wandered along in a pleasant dream. It was cool and she hadn’t got a jacket with her because she hadn’t got one; and who would dream of wearing a navy blue cardigan with the flowered shirt and the lacy blouse? And when the Baron wanted to know if she were warm enough she was quite emphatic about saying that she was, and if his mouth twitched a little at seeing her little shivers, she didn’t see it.

  They took a water taxi across the fjord to the bathing beach the next morning, and Becky had never been so happy. She was a good swimmer and the water was surprisingly warm. She forgot that her swimsuit was a cheap one-piece, its complete lack of glamour highlighted by Tialda’s expensive beach outfit, she forgot that her future was precarious to say the least, she even forgot the amused glance the Baron had flung at her as she had waded into the water and struck out into the calm blue waters of the fjord; just for the present, life was everything she could wish for. She tired presently and turned on to her back to rest, and found the Baron idling alongside her. ‘Who taught you to swim?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘My father.’ She remembered the look of amusement and turned over and began to swim back to the beach. ‘I’ll go and keep Tialda company,’ she called as she passed him. But she couldn’t escape him; he kept beside her without difficulty, so that they arrived at the beach together to find Tialda half asleep in the sun. ‘Oh, good,’ she greeted them, ‘you’re back—I’m dying for something long and cool to drink. Tiele, be a darling and find something,’ and when he had gone: ‘There’s a café half way up the beach. Becky, what a wonderful swimmer you are.’ She chuckled. ‘You’ve surprised Tiele—I expect he thought you could only paddle like me.’ She rolled over and smiled at Becky who had dropped on to the sand beside her. ‘Gosh, I’m hungry! I hope Tiele buys some
thing to eat as well.’

  He had; they drank lemonade and munched delicious outsize buns, thick with currants and then had one more swim before taking the taxi back again for lunch. And in the afternoon they strolled through the town to the church, where Becky wandered off by herself to enjoy its whitewashed walls and small vivid stained glass windows and the big colourful cross behind the simple altar—quite different from the cathedral at Trondheim but in its way just as magnificent. She found the others outside presently, sitting on the wall of the terrace overlooking the town and the fjord with the mountains beyond. There were roses everywhere and their scent filled the still warm air, and Becky, sniffing appreciatively, said: ‘Oh, I’d like to come back here—I always imagined Norway to be cold and grey, and it’s not at all…’

  ‘It is in the winter, although this is one of the warmer spots, that’s why the roses are so abundant— Molde is called the Town of the Roses, did you know that? Becky, do you want to do any shopping? Tialda wants some hand-painted woodwork, supposing we go and look for it now?’

  And so the day passed pleasantly enough, and the day after it, and Becky made the most of every minute of them. Right at the back of her mind was the unhappy thought that the Baron was a little bored by it all; he was charming and thoughtful and patient, but every now and then she caught that faint look of amusement on his face when he looked at her. She was annoyed by it but sad too; she could just imagine what he thought of her: a dowdy girl who wore cheap clothes and didn’t know how to make the best of herself—and she wasn’t really like that, but after two years of no money, no make-up and nothing new to wear it was difficult to splash out, for always at the back of her mind was the fear that it wouldn’t last; that she would find herself with no job and no money again, and he was so secure himself that he would never have known the insecurity that not having money brought with it.

  They went back on the fourth day after a last lunch overlooking the quay and the lovely fjord, the boot filled with painted wooden knick-knacks which Tialda had taken a fancy to, and a great armful of roses which the Baron had bought just to prove, he pointed out, that they had been to Molde. And Becky had bought something too; a delicate glass vase to hold one rose; it had been expensive but she hadn’t been able to find anything else, and besides, the Baroness seemed to have everything she could possibly want.

  She found herself in the front seat beside the Baron when they left, to be entertained by him with a gently amusing conversation for the entire journey, and when, at the end of it, she tried to thank him for her holiday he just as gently ignored her, so that after one or two attempts she gave up, sensing his faint impatience with her.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ he observed carelessly. ‘And now you face the herculean task of getting my mother organised to leave the day after tomorrow.’

  Which somehow reduced her to the status of a wage-earner in his household. Which, after all, she was.

  Indeed, she was kept so busy upon her return that she hardly saw him or Tialda during the next day. The Baron had friends to visit in Trondheim and took Tialda with him, and as he was out for dinner on the following day and was so late for lunch that she had it alone, by reason of Doctor Iversen’s visit, she saw him only briefly. But they met unexpectedly only a few hours before they were to leave; the Baroness had told Becky to have an hour or two off while she enjoyed a last gossip with her sister, and Becky had seized the opportunity to go to the cathedral just once more. And there, standing quietly in a corner admiring its sombre magnificence, she had been joined by the Baron. He said nothing at all, only nodded, faintly smiling, and after an awkward moment or two she had given an abrupt nod in answer and walked away. But he had been at the door when she reached it and together they crossed the flagstones and went through the gate which led to the front of the cathedral.

  ‘I hardly expected to find you here,’ remarked the Baron.

  It seemed that he intended to walk back with her. ‘Why not?’

  ‘I should have imagined that a last round of the shops would have been more to your liking.’

  ‘Why?’

  He stopped to look at her in surprise. ‘Well, girls like shopping, don’t they? Don’t you?’

  ‘I love it,’ declared Becky promptly, ‘but I can see shops in any town, but I can’t see Trondheim Cathedral anywhere but here.’ She walked on briskly, annoyed with herself because she had sounded like a prig and annoyed with her companion for not saying another word until they reached the house, when all he said was: ‘We leave directly after lunch, so will you do the last-minute chores now? Someone will be up for the luggage in about ten minutes.’

  She had whisked upstairs and in the teeth of the Baroness’s complaints that she hadn’t finished with her jewel case, beauty box, a selection of hats—one of which she still had to decide upon—and several pairs of shoes, she did as her employer had asked and then changed into uniform, rammed her hair under her cap in a very severe fashion, and trod downstairs to search for the handbag the Baroness had left somewhere but couldn’t remember where, and when she met the Baron in the hall she gave him such a stern look that he opened his eyes very wide indeed. Tialda had seen the look as she came out of the sitting room and when Becky had gone back upstairs she slipped a hand into her brother’s arm, grinning up at him.

  ‘What does it feel like?’ she wanted to know. ‘You’re—how old? thirty-eight—and ever since I can remember girls have fallen over themselves to get you interested. You’ve never bothered with any of them—well, not many, anyway, and here’s Becky…’

  ‘I’m not interested in Becky either, Tialda.’ The Baron’s voice was soft and very gentle and his sister said hastily:

  ‘I didn’t say you were, so don’t come the big brother over me.’ She giggled: ‘All the same, she’ll make some man a very good wife one day; he’ll have to put his slippers on in the house and exercise the dog and bring her tea in bed—oh, and of course she’ll have children, very well behaved ones.’

  The Baron frowned faintly, but his voice was light. ‘Which is more than we can expect from your brats; you were a most unpleasant little girl.’

  She beamed up at him. ‘Wasn’t I? But I’m nice now.’ She reached up and gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. ‘There are an awful lot of nice girls around,’ she wheedled. ‘Surely there’s one you fancy?’

  ‘I fancy any number,’ he told her blandly, ‘but not to marry. Besides, I’ve no time for a wife—there is so much work…’

  ‘Pooh! You find time to take Nina van Doorn out—she only has to pout at you and roll those eyes. It would save a lot of time and trouble if you married her…’

  ‘Would you like that, Tialda?’

  ‘No—I can’t stand the girl, but that’s natural, she outshines the lot of us with all that gorgeous hair, we none of us stand a chance. I wonder how Becky will feel when she sees her…’

  ‘Why Becky?’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve looked at her long enough to see that she’s plain—nice eyes, but her face is too thin and pale, and she drags all that hair back… Oh, well, I must go and throw the last few things in, I suppose.’

  Tialda wandered off, leaving her brother staring at nothing and frowning again.

  It said much for the Baron’s powers of persuasion that the party left exactly at the time he had suggested. His mother, never very punctual and used to having her own way, had thought of a dozen things which had to be done at the last minute; friends she wanted to say goodbye to once more, even a letter to write, to all of which her son had a suitable answer, so that the Rolls, with Becky and her patient in the back, the luggage safely stowed and he driving with Tialda beside him, took the road south in the early afternoon sunshine.

  Because of the Baroness’s leg, still in plaster, and her dislike of long car journeys, they travelled only as far as Otta, about a hundred and fifty miles away, and here they put up for the night. The Baroness was inclined to be demanding in a charming way and already declari
ng that she ached all over, was giddy from looking at so many mountains and convinced that she would be unable to go on the next morning. Becky soothed her in a motherly fashion, put her to bed and saw to it that she had her dinner brought to her there, and then, because she was still a little querulous, suggested a game of cribbage. They were deeply immersed in this when the Baron and Tialda came to enquire why Becky hadn’t gone down to dinner and it seemed sensible to relinquish her chair to the Baron and go with Tialda, who declared that she was quite able to eat her dinner for a second time if Becky wanted company.

  And all the Baroness’s discomforts had disappeared by morning. The Baron waited patiently while Becky helped her patient to ready herself for the day, stowed her into the car carefully, and set off once more. They had the whole day before them, which was a good thing since they had a great distance to go; Kristiansand was some three hundred and eighty miles distant and the roads, although good, were in many parts mountainous, but as the Baron pointed out, he had done the trip several times, he knew the road and provided they stopped frequently for his mother’s benefit, he saw nothing out of the way in attempting such a long trip in country where half that distance was considered a fair day’s driving. And he was right; there was little traffic as it was early for the tourists and the Baroness, kept amused by Becky, felt no discomfort. They stopped in Drammen for lunch and Brunkeberg for tea, and arrived at Kristiansand in good time to rest before a late dinner. And the following morning there was no hurry; they were to go on the midday ferry to Hirtshals, drive the hundred and fifty odd miles to Vejle and go on again in the morning.

  Another three hundred and fifty miles; Becky doing sums on the back of an envelope was staggered at the amount of ground they were covering. Normally, she supposed that they would have all been bone-weary by now, but they stopped frequently and had nothing to do each evening but have their dinner and go to bed, although it wasn’t quite as easy for her as all that, because her patient needed a good deal of attention at the end of the day and exercises had to be done, however unwilling the Baroness was to do them. But the Baron showed no signs of tiredness. He drove superbly and nothing appeared to disturb his calm. The journey had been well organised before they set out and he knew exactly when and where to stop, and although he took it for granted that Becky would have her hands full he was careful of her comfort. She wouldn’t have missed their journey for all the tea in China. She was sorry that it was almost over and her job with it, as the Baroness was making steady progress; within a week of their return she would have the plaster off and exchange her crutches for a stick and then, Becky supposed, she wouldn’t be needed any more.