Damsel in Green Page 7

  ‘I’ve so many in my head, I doubt if we can carry out half of them before he’s on his feet again.’

  He nodded; it look as though Julius had made a good choice when he had asked Nurse Rodman to look after his small cousin. He got up.

  ‘In that case, I’ll not keep you from them a moment longer. If you would be kind enough to walk with me to the door, Nurse, I’m sure I can say all I need to in that time.’

  Out in the corridor he told her, ‘I’ll be sending a physiotherapist down very shortly—if she explains what is needed, do you think you could manage to carry on the treatment between her visits?’

  She agreed, and he went on, ‘Cor’s an intelligent child with an active brain. You’ll have your work cut out to keep him content and happy.’

  ‘A good thing,’ said Georgina cheerfully, ‘because there are a great many things we can do together.’ She offered no further information as to what these things were, however, and after a moment he bade her goodbye.

  At the head of the staircase he looked back. ‘May I call you George?’ he asked.

  Georgina’s nice eyes twinkled. ‘Yes of course, sir. Everyone—well, almost everyone,’ she amended, thinking of the Professor, ‘calls me that.’

  Beatrix came up presently and the three of them played some rather noisy paper games, while the three animals who appeared to have taken on the duties of bodyguard to Cor, looked on. Georgina let the two children shout as much as they wanted, judging that they would be more easily persuaded to be quiet during the afternoon. As they prepared for lunch, Cor was tired enough to agree readily enough to lie still and look at his books while Dimphena kept him company and Georgina went for a walk.

  She changed quickly, intent on walking to the village and back. She had eaten too much of the delicious lunch she had shared with Dimphena and Beatrix; exercise would be both salutary and a pleasure. She was in the act of crossing the hall, when Beatrix, dressed untidily in her outdoor clothes, came tearing down the stairs, calling:

  ‘Please may I come with you, George? I’m so lonely. I won’t talk if you don’t want to and I can walk very fast—Cousin Julius says so.’

  She lifted a rather woebegone face to touch Georgina’s soft heart. She had wanted to be by herself so that she could think, but she had to admit honestly to herself, her thoughts would have been largely of Dr Eyffert, it would be a good idea to have company… She smiled at the small girl.

  ‘I’d just love to have you with me, darling. Can you walk as far as the village? You shall tell me all about it on the way, and I want to buy one or two things as well.’

  She bent to re-button the small coat and dropped a soft kiss on the rosy cheek, and was instantly hugged for her pains. ‘Oh, George, I do like you—we all like you, of course, but me most.’

  The walk was a great success. It was a fine cold afternoon and they stepped out briskly, hand-in-hand, with Beatrix chattering like a magpie, her conversation heavily interlarded with references to Julius, who quite obviously had the lion’s share of her small heart.

  ‘He’s not married,’ she confided. ‘He says when he finds someone as nice as me and Dimphena rolled into one he’ll whisk her to the altar. But he’s getting very old, you know—he’s thirty-three. I suppose you wouldn’t like to marry him, George dear?’

  Georgina looked down at her companion in complete astonishment which changed almost at once to pink-cheeked confusion. She managed a smile, however, and said carefully:

  ‘Well, you know, darling, when two people marry they have to know each other very well indeed, and your guardian and I are—are only business acquaintances. He employs me to nurse Cornelis, in the same way as he would engage a governess or—or an au pair girl.’

  Her companion gave a small snort. ‘George, how silly! I don’t mean you, only you’re not a bit like a governess or au pair girl. We hated the one we had. She used to pinch us…’

  Georgina slowed her steps and looked searchingly at Beatrix.

  ‘Darling, not really?’

  The little girl nodded. ‘Yes, she did, but we didn’t tell Cousin Julius because he dislikes talebearers.’

  Georgina suppressed a smile. Both children, and Dimphena too for that matter, had a habit of quoting their guardian. She had no doubt that if she were to engage in conversation with Franz, he too would eulogise his cousin, even if in schoolboy language. She sighed, thrusting aside the thought that she herself could very easily come under their guardian’s spell.

  It was after dinner that evening, while she was settling Cor against his pillows, preparatory to reading him and Beatrix a good-night story, that Stephens entered with the information that she was wanted on the telephone. She sped downstairs, thinking about Great-Aunt Polly, who could have tripped up and broken one of her poor useless old legs, or knocked her head on the high brass fender she insisted upon keeping in the sitting-room. Stephens had said in the study—she opened the door and found Dimphena sitting on her guardian’s desk, speaking a language Georgina failed to recognize, but when she saw Georgina, she changed to English and said, ‘Here she is now,’ and jumped off the desk: ‘Cousin Julius wants to talk to you,’ she smiled, and went through the door, shutting it quietly behind her.

  Georgina picked up the receiver and spoke in the terse voice of one who had expected bad news and then found it wasn’t. ‘Nurse Rodman speaking,’ she said, and was instantly aware of her delight when the Professor answered in his calm, faintly accented voice:

  ‘You sound annoyed, Nurse. I have caused you inconvenience, perhaps?’

  She blushed. ‘No—no, really. I thought perhaps…my aunt…’

  He understood at once. ‘Ah, yes, naturally. I see no reason why you should not telephone your aunt daily. I suggest that you do so.’

  She said ‘Thank you’ and became aware of a background of distant voices to their conversation. Was he in hospital? she wondered, before applying herself to giving a brief and accurate report as to Cor’s day. When she had finished, he said ‘Yes, yes,’ in an impatient way, ‘and what have you done with your free afternoon, Nurse Rodman?’

  She told him about her walk and was astonished when he interrupted her sharply to say, ‘The children are not to encroach upon your free time. I shall see that this doesn’t happen again.’

  She pinkened with indignation and glared crossly at a portrait on the wall beside her. It was of a rather nice old lady, long since dead, for she was wearing a stiff white dress and a severe little black cap trimmed with pearls. She returned Georgina’s wrathful gaze with a steady blue eye which reminded her forcibly of the Professor’s. She was still struggling to think of an answer when he said on a laugh:

  ‘Now I’ve annoyed you, haven’t I?’

  Georgina frowned at the old lady. ‘You’re too severe,’ she said with the regrettable impulsiveness which had got her into so much hot water during her training. ‘Beatrix was lonely—haven’t you ever been lonely? She has no mother she can chatter to, and she adores you and you’re away all day…’ she stopped and added shakily, ‘Oh, dear, I’m sorry!’ and waited resignedly.

  His voice came silkily to her shrinking ear.

  ‘Yes, Miss Rodman, I’m at a party—I offer that as a statement, not an excuse. And since you ask, I have frequently been lonely too. You do not need your professional training to link these two facts, I imagine. Good night.’

  She put down the receiver with a hand that shook a little. It was ridiculous to mind that he was angry with her, and still sillier to feel sorry for him. She went slowly upstairs and started to read Faithful John to Cor and Beatrix, but for most of the time she wasn’t thinking about what she was doing, but hearing a voice—the Professor’s voice, telling her that he had been lonely.

  Chapter Five

  Georgina awoke early after a wakeful night. She had gone to bed quite late, half hoping that the Professor would come home before she went upstairs and she would have the chance to apologise, but she had been in bed for quite some time befo
re she heard the car’s murmur as it passed beneath her windows.

  She dressed presently and went downstairs, outwardly composed in her neat uniform but inwardly quaking; but he had already gone.

  That morning when she had readied Cor for the day and had brushed Beatrix’s hair until it shone, she produced the little red book. She had sat up in bed the night before, writing in it, and now she began to read the contents to the two children. ‘Because,’ she explained, ‘there are so many things to do each day, I thought it would be a good idea if I wrote some of them down, and we can decide between the three of us when we’ll do them.’ She looked at Cor. ‘Do you speak Dutch, Cor?’

  He gazed at her as though she had taken leave of her senses. ‘Well, of course I do, George. Cousin Julius and me, we often speak it—we all do.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ said Georgina. ‘How about giving me a lesson each morning? I’m a complete duffer at languages. It would be simply super if I went back to hospital and could tell everyone that I could speak Dutch.’

  Cor was looking interested, and she sighed with relief when he said with a quite wild enthusiasm, ‘I say, how wizard. What an idea—I shall enjoy that.’

  ‘So shall I,’ she said promptly. ‘Can you play chess?’

  ‘No,’ then, inevitably, ‘Cousin Julius can.’

  ‘Shall I teach you in secret? And then one day you can invite him to play and he’ll have the surprise of his life.’

  ‘Oh, I say,’ said Cor, ‘won’t it be fun—what else shall we do?’

  Before she could reply, Beatrix interrupted in a gloomy little voice:

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘I’ve got plans for you too, poppet. Christmas is coming, had you forgotten? We’ll make all the decorations, and quite a lot of the Christmas presents too. You can sit and do that while I’m teaching Cor to play chess—I thought we might paint our own cards too…’ She produced two more little books. ‘Here’s a book for each of you. Write down all the things we shall need, and I’ll get them—very secretly—on my day off.’

  The morning passed swiftly after that, and when luncheon was over, she left Cor sucking his pencil and looking important, while Dimphena, armed with a pile of glossy magazines, kept him company once more. Georgina had said nothing about Beatrix accompanying her on her walk, but she wasn’t surprised when she was joined at the front door by the little girl. ‘You don’t mind, George, do you? You said you didn’t yesterday.’

  For answer, Georgina tucked the small hand into hers. ‘Where shall we go?’ she asked.

  She didn’t have to ask for tea to be taken up to Cor’s room when they got back. Stephens was in the hall waiting for them.

  ‘I took the liberty of arranging for tea to be taken up to Master Cor’s room, Nurse, and I trust that is what you would wish.’

  His little black eyes twinkled at her, and she smiled delightedly.

  ‘How thoughtful of you, Stephens. If it’s not too much bother…’

  ‘Nothing’s a bother if it helps Master Cornelis, miss.’

  They ate an enormous tea. Franz joined them earlier than he had done the day before, and between huge bits of buttered toast, contributed rather noisily to the conversation. Georgina wasn’t quite sure how it was that she presently found herself sitting by Cor’s bed, reading out loud from Thackeray The Rose and the Ring. Georgina liked The Rose and the Ring, and was reading it with pleasure and verve. She was in the middle of one of Countess Gruffinuff’s most telling speeches when she became aware of a curious sensation. There was no time to analyse it as she looked up. Everyone was looking at the door at her back; so she looked too. Professor Eyffert was leaning against it, his hands in his pockets watching her. She had no idea how long he had been there. She closed the book, and started to get up, then, remembering what he had said, sat down again and was glad to do so because her legs were giving her the impression that they didn’t intend to support her. She quelled a desire to smile at him, because that was what she wanted to do, with the sheer delight of seeing him there. In any case, he might still be angry. Instead, she sat primly, with her hands still clutching the book, folded stiffly in her spotless white lap, and didn’t smile at all not even when he suddenly smiled at her, giving her a peculiar light-headed feeling, rather as though she was filled with bubbles.

  ‘Do I interrupt,’ he asked, ‘and am I too late for tea?’

  Everyone in the room, with the exception of Georgina, hastened to deny this. Within seconds he was sitting by the fire, with Beatrix on his knee, while Dimphena poured out the fresh tea Milly had brought.

  ‘This is a splendid idea,’ he said. ‘Who thought of it?’

  A babble of voices answered. ‘George did—it’s called a picnic bedroom tea, and Cor likes it, don’t you, Cor? It’s to save him suffering from ennui.’

  He gave a little splutter of laughter and looked across at Georgina, who was carefully not looking at him. ‘I can’t imagine anyone suffering from ennui while Nurse Rodman is around.’

  She had to glance across the room then not sure if he was joking. He wasn’t. She went a bright, becoming pink and dropped The Rose and the Ring. It fell with a thud and he said lightly, ‘Will you not go on with your reading? I have partiality for the dreadful Countess Gruffinuff.’

  Georgina shook her head so violently that her cap tilted a little to one side and several wisps of hair escaped.

  ‘No, oh, no, I think not. It was only to pass the time, you know…indeed, I’m sure you all want to talk, and I intended to see Mrs Stephens about Cor’s surprise supper.’

  She got herself up at last, and out of the room before anyone had time to reply, but once outside, she slowed her speed to a loiter while she examined her thoughts. They were chaotic; she had on several previous occasions imagined herself to be in love, but she realized now that this was not so. None of the young gentlemen concerned had caused her to have the peculiar feelings she was now experiencing. She reached the head of the staircase and sat down on the top step, her chin on her doubled fists, the better to think. She didn’t hear the door close, nor did she hear the Professor’s gentle tread in the deep pile of the corridor carpet.

  He sat himself down beside her and said in a placid voice, ‘You see how I have taken your criticism to heart?’

  Her heart leapt into her throat; she swallowed it back and turned a shocked gaze on him. ‘I never meant to criticize…I wouldn’t dream of doing so…at least I…my wretched tongue, it says things I don’t always mean it to say.’

  He studied his well-polished shoes. ‘I must remember that,’ he murmured, and when she gave him an enquiring look said blandly, ‘I was expecting you to accuse me of being an autocrat in my own home—I take it my fears were groundless?’

  She wished she could get up and go away—anywhere, so long as it was as far as possible from the silky voice of the man sitting so quietly beside her. She steadied her voice. ‘I have apologized once, Professor Eyffert. Of course you’re not an autocrat—the children adore you—it must be very difficult for you without a…’ she stopped and he finished smoothly, ‘Wife? Is that what you were going to say? Yes, it is. But I have at last made up my mind to marry, so the question need not arise.’

  He stood up and she couldn’t see his face; only if she craned her neck as though she were peering at Nelson on his column. She got up too and he said, ‘Tell me about this surprise supper for Cor.’

  It was nice to be on safe ground again. ‘Well,’ she explained, ‘every other evening Cor chooses his own supper, and on the others, Mrs Stephens and I have agreed to put our heads together and plan something special. It helps to keep him from getting bored,’ she added, to make it quite clear.

  They started down the staircase together. ‘Is Cornelis bored?’ he asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ she slid her hand down the patina of the oak stair rail, ‘and I’ll see that he doesn’t get the chance.’

  ‘I rather gathered that,’ said the Professor gravely. ‘There was a great
deal of hush-hush talk about plans and secrets from Beatrix and Cor. You went out this afternoon, I hope, Nurse?’

  He had caught her by surprise. She went pink and lifted her determined chin. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  ‘With Beatrix?’ again the silky voice.

  They had reached the hall. She turned to face him. ‘Yes,’ she said, and waited to do battle, only to have her guns spiked when he replied:

  ‘She’s a delightful companion, isn’t she?’ He raised his brows. ‘You look surprised, Miss Rodman. I thought that I had made it plain that I am a reformed character—I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your schemes.’

  Georgina frowned darkly. ‘I haven’t any schemes, and it’s absurd to say so,’ she said crossly. ‘The children need to be occupied and I have plenty of time; and that reminds me—could they not have lessons for an hour or so each day—the Rector or someone?’ she added vaguely.

  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth; his voice was apologetic.

  ‘I hate to steal your thunder; I had already arranged for that—to start in a few days’ time. I—er—haven’t had the time to tell you.’ His smile was gently mocking. ‘I think, my dear Miss Rodman, that between us, Cornelis and Beatrix will be fully occupied.’ He turned away towards his study. ‘Indeed!’ he concluded over one shoulder, ‘if all your schemes bear fruit, it may not be necessary for me to take a wife after all. And what would you think of that?’

  She drew a steadying breath. ‘I hardly think that your private life is any concern of mine, Professor,’ she replied as distantly as possible.

  He shrugged wide shoulders. ‘We shall see,’ he said cheerfully, and disappeared into his study.

  Karel arrived from Cambridge the following day—Saturday. He greeted Georgina with an undisguised pleasure which she found gratifying, although it served to show up the Professor’s coolly distant friendliness towards her at lunch, when he politely included her in the conversation. But as he addressed her either as Nurse or Miss Rodman, and everyone else called her George, or in Karel’s case, Georgina; his attentions merely emphasised the fact that he was being polite to the nurse because he was far too well-mannered to be otherwise.