Damsel in Green Read online

  She went for a lonely walk that afternoon too, for the Professor announced that he was taking everyone with him to visit friends in Saffron Walden, and when she had offered to stay with Cor during the afternoon, he had merely thanked her courteously, and assured her that he had already made arrangements with Milly. ‘We agreed, did we not, Nurse,’ he wanted to know, ‘that you should have your afternoons free and one day in each week to yourself? I prefer to abide by that agreement.’

  They were sitting over luncheon, and Georgina forbore from making the rejoinder which trembled on her tongue, contenting herself with a look of annoyance in the Professor’s direction before turning to Karel to resume their conversation about Cambridge. It was when they were crossing the hall, on the way to the drawing-room for their coffee, that she found the Professor beside her.

  ‘No doubt you feel that my—er—despotism should not include you, Miss Rodman, but I am afraid that black looks from you will not alter my wishes once my mind is made up. You will have to bear with me, I’m afraid.’ He grinned suddenly and wickedly. ‘Provided I am not crossed, I am the most amiable of men.’

  Georgina stood stiffly, careful not to frown, but powerless to stop the hot colour rushing to her face. Black looks indeed! She had only been in the house three days, and he was already talking to her as though she was one of his cousins. She opened her mouth, intent on saying so, caught his expectant eye, and thought better of it. She would be in his house for three months—even if he found fault with her on every single one of the days ahead, it would be better than never seeing him again. She said meekly, ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’ll carry out your wishes to the best of my ability,’ and longed to recall the words when he gave a shout of laughter and said, ‘Good lord, girl, you are talking out of character!’

  She didn’t see him again that day—everyone else came back from Saffron Walden, but apparently the Professor was staying on there to dine with friends. She heard his car long after she had gone to bed, where she had been lying awake, her ears stretched for the sound of his tyres.

  She spent her day off with Great-Aunt Polly—she had got up early and done what had to be done for Cornelis before she left the house in the Mini which she had been told to use. The morning was cold, still struggling to allow the daylight to break through the clouds; even so, the cottage looked cosy and warm—as warm as the welcome she received as she went in, but it did nothing to mitigate the vague feeling of unhappiness she had been struggling to ignore. This feeling grew with the day, inexplicably aggravated by Great-Aunt Polly’s gentle questions, which somehow always held a reference to Professor Eyffert. Georgina answered them with a casual air, and wondered about the subject of them. He had come home very late the night before; she wondered where he had been, and what was much more important, with whom. She started guiltily when her aunt said, à propos of nothing at all, ‘He must have a great many friends—what was the name of the people they all went to see at Saffron Walden, dear?’

  Georgina poked the fire with a testy hand. ‘Oh, someone called Sinden or Sinding…I’m not sure.’

  Aunt Polly gave a little crow of delight. ‘The Sindings,’ she said, ‘they were friends of your dear Aunt Clara before she died. He’s a company director, I believe. They have several children—they would be about your age. The eldest girl married a few months ago—a beauty. There are two more girls just as lovely. I daresay your Professor has an eye on one of them.’

  Georgina threw down the poker. ‘He’s not my Professor,’ she said hotly. ‘He employs me to look after Cor, that’s all.’

  She looked at the little gilt clock on the mantel-shelf and saw with relief that it was time to get the tea. She was cutting the paper-thin bread and butter her aunt considered an essential part of that meal, when she was struck by the thought that she wished with all her heart that the Professor was hers.

  It was after eight o’clock when she arrived back at Dalmers Place. She went in through the garden door and crossed the hall, trying to shut her ears to the cheerful masculine voices coming from the drawing-room—there were feminine voices too. She tore upstairs, two at a time, looking like a thunder-cloud. Professor Eyffert would be sitting in his enormous chair by the fire, she supposed, with the beautiful Sinding sisters doing their glamorous best to catch his eye. She ground her nice white teeth at the thought, and opened Cor’s door quietly. He would be asleep, but she would have a quick look at him before telling Stephens that she was back. There was only one lamp burning, and that on a small table drawn up to an easy chair by the fire. The Professor sat in it, with a clutter of papers on his knee and scattered on the floor around him. She saw at a glance that Cor was asleep, and then stopped dead in much the same manner as someone in a fairy-tale who had had a magic wand waved at them. The Professor got up, shedding papers as he did so.

  ‘You look absolutely furious,’ he remarked genially. ‘Even in this poor light I could swear your eyes are flashing—I can certainly hear you breathing loudly; I’ll wager you’re grinding your teeth as well.’ He eyed her with interest, for all the world, she thought, as though he was observing interesting symptoms. ‘Your bosom is heaving too—so many girls don’t have bosoms these days. I suppose it’s the fashion.’ He sighed. ‘Cor’s already asleep—I promised to wake him up when you came in so that he could say goodnight. Come and sit down.’

  Georgina, who had been listening to him with her mouth open, closed it slowly and did as she was told. She sat down gingerly on a small early Victorian chair opposite his—it was a pretty chair and surprisingly comfortable, but she remained, bolt upright, on its extreme edge.

  The Professor made an ineffectual grab at a handful of papers and allowed them to fall to the ground to mingle with the others.

  ‘Were you chased or frightened or something?’ he enquired mildly.

  She undid the buttons of her coat with hands that shook slightly.

  ‘No,’ she replied baldly.

  ‘Temper?’ he asked.

  Without looking up from her all-important task, she shook her head, although she had been angry—furious—imagining him in the drawing-room, and all the time he had been here…the relief and delight was almost more than she could bear. She folded her gloves neatly and looked up briefly to find his eye upon her. ‘Shall I wake Cor?’ she asked.

  He shook his head, still staring. ‘He’ll wake presently—he tired himself out playing backgammon.’

  Georgina fixed her gaze on his shoes. ‘Oh. Have you been up here long?’

  ‘Since teatime, with an interval for dinner—I wonder why you want to know?’

  She looked up, intending to make some trivial remark, and decided to remain silent, going slowly pink under his mocking eye. She said finally:

  ‘It was kind of you to sit with Cor.’

  He agreed equably, adding, ‘My dear girl, it was no hardship—I happen to enjoy his company.’

  She had been put in her place. She got up, and he got up too before she could do anything at all, and had taken the coat from her shoulders.

  ‘Sit down again,’ he invited in a friendly voice.

  She took a resolute step towards the door of her room. ‘No, thank you. I have some…’ she paused.

  ‘Letters to write—washing to do?’ he prompted. ‘Don’t let me keep you, though I hoped that you would help me with this mess.’

  He had contrived to look both helpless and lonely, which was unfair, for he was neither. Quite against her better judgement she put her things down again on the marquetry chest standing against the wall, and walked across to where he was standing.

  He said briskly, ‘If you will sit down, I’ll pick them up and you can sort them.’

  He got down on his knees and began passing the sheets of paper to her with an infuriating slowness. Presently she got down beside him and began piling the papers with speedy neatness, apostrophising him rather tartly upon the virtue of being tidy while she did it, and all the while very conscious of his nearness. She put the last sheet
in place and got to her feet. Professor Eyffert had risen too; they were standing so close that she took an involuntary step backwards, only to be caught by a great arm and swung even closer; his other hand came up to lift her chin so that she was forced to look at him. ‘You see,’ he murmured to surprise her, ‘you’re not in uniform.’

  She stared up at him, trying to understand what he meant and then not caring because he was kissing her, and although she had been kissed before, it had never been like this.

  When she drew away from him, he let her go at once and without looking at him, she went to her room, automatically tidied her hair and then went back again, not thinking at all; aware only of her pounding heart and a peculiar floating sensation. Cor had woken up. The Professor was standing by the bed, wishing him a good night. As she went in, he looked up and said, ‘Ah, here is Miss Rodman. I’ll leave you to her care, Cor. Good night to you both.’

  He went to the door and turned round as he opened it. Georgina’s eyes, bewildered, a little hurt, met his across the room. He smiled and she caught her breath. ‘I’m glad I waited,’ was all he said.

  She stayed awake most of the night, pondering that remark—it was only towards morning that she slept so that she missed the faint slither of the Rolls passing below before it was light.

  She took pains with her hair in the morning, and still greater pains with her face. The results were most satisfactory and utterly pointless, she decided. He would be gone by the time she got downstairs.

  It wasn’t until she was getting Cor ready for his breakfast that he made the observation that it would be very dull without Cousin Julius.

  ‘I daresay it will,’ agreed Georgina, ‘but it’s not for long, and there’s heaps to do.’

  He looked at her indignantly. ‘Not long? Two or three weeks is very long—it’s ages and ages.’ He appeared near to tears, but was startled out of them by her sharp, ‘Two or three weeks? Has your guardian gone away?’

  Cornelis stared at her with his bright blue eyes, blinked rapidly and asked, ‘Didn’t he tell you?’

  She adjusted a pulley. ‘No. Why should he?’ she asked, bordering on the snappish.

  ‘Well, you’re friends, aren’t you?’ observed Cor reasonably. She didn’t answer and after a minute he went on, ‘He’s gone to Holland to lecture—and to Germany and Belgium. He’s clever,’ he concluded, rather boastfully, ‘he speaks French and German.’ He looked at her from under small arched brows which gave him a distinct likeness to his guardian.

  ‘Very clever indeed,’ said Georgina.

  ‘And handsome.’

  ‘Handsome too,’ she agreed woodenly. During this conversation she had been sternly banishing the vague dreams and speculations which had been the cause of her wakeful night. They had been absurd in the first place; now she realized just how absurd. He thought so little of her that he hadn’t even bothered to tell her that he would be going away…his kiss had meant nothing at all; no more than giving money to a beggar, or cutting a slice of cake he particularly fancied, or sparing five minutes to talk to old Legg…all trivialities in his day, and all forgotten.

  ‘Are you going to cry?’ enquired Cor in an interested voice. ‘Are you sad? You look watery.’

  She picked up a comb and parted his hair with great neatness. ‘Me? Cry? Good heavens, no! I was just thinking—what a marvelous chance for us to get the decorations made for Christmas without having to hide everything away.’

  It was a red herring par excellence—by the time he had enlarged upon the interesting subject, and Beatrix had joined them and added her own very definite opinions on the subject, Georgina was her usual cheerful self again, and remained so throughout breakfast, which they shared with Karel and Franz. Karel was going back to Cambridge and giving Franz a lift at the same time.

  There was a great deal of talk about their guardian, with a number of references to someone called Madame LeFabre. The remarks were guarded, rather as though the speakers expected their big cousin to appear in the room with them at any minute and they didn’t wish to vex him. She longed to ask questions and dared not, consoling herself with the thought that it was better for her own peace of mind if she didn’t know too much about Professor Eyffert’s private life. They had risen from the table and were about to go their separate ways when Karel exclaimed:

  ‘I almost forgot, Georgina. Julius asked me to give you this before I went. Last-minute instructions or something of the sort, I suppose.’

  Georgina took the letter he was holding out to her, and said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘Thank you, Karel. I daresay that’s what it is,’ and opened it. She would have liked to wait until she was alone, but that would have looked strange; she slit it open tidily and opened out the single sheet it contained. It began, inevitably, Dear Miss Rodman, and ended with nothing but his initials. It was as Karel had suggested; the Professor informed her, in his atrocious, crabbed writing, that as he would be away for some time she would be expected to arrange the children’s lessons at a time suitable to herself and them, beginning on the following day, and that should she require money she had only to contact Karel, who would advance her any reasonable sum. Finally, she was enjoined to take the off-duty due to her. She read it through, and then, oblivious of the watching faces around her, read it through again, very slowly. Any faint romantic ideas she might have still been cherishing were squashed as effectively as though he had taken a hammer to them.

  She saw their expectant faces then, and told them the contents of the letter and asked Karel lightly what reasonable sum he was prepared to advance. She had meant it as a joke, but evidently he took her seriously, for he told her the amount Julius had recommended, but that she could have more ‘if it was for something really vital’.

  She goggled at him. ‘What should I want with all that money?’

  He shrugged, and then laughed. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea— I expect Julius didn’t want you to pay for anything out of your own pocket.’

  She nodded agreement, and wondered what it would be like to have even half that sum in her pocket. It would be better not to pursue the subject any further, especially as she had no intention of taking any money from the Professor. She put the letter in her pocket, with the unspoken thought that presently, when she was alone, she would tear it up into very small pieces indeed, and consign it to the waste paper basket, but it was surprising what a number of good reasons for not doing this occurred during the day. It seemed expedient, when she went to bed that night, to put it under her pillow.

  Chapter Six

  The next few days slipped by, each one a simple routine of nursing chores, lessons and massage, interspersed by the excitements of preparing for Christmas. Georgina had been to the village shop and brought back crêpe paper and glue, drawing paper and Indian ink, and from the children’s point of view, the days were never long enough. Dimphena with unexpected artistry, drew holly and Father Christmases and angels on the cards Georgina cut from the paper, and Cor and Beatrix spent contented hours painting them. Even Franz, after hanging back for the first day or two, consented to help with the paper chains.

  Karel came on Saturday, and obligingly took Georgina over to Thaxted in the afternoon, so that she could make a few purchases. She returned to his Morgan 8-plus with her arms full of parcels and he took them from her with ill-concealed astonishment and dumped them in the back, then enquired anxiously if she had finished her shopping.

  ‘No,’ she said composedly. ‘I want some plaster of Paris.’

  Karel grinned at her. ‘Have you found some poor chap with a broken bone that needs plastering? You’re not in Casualty now, you know.’

  ‘Don’t be silly—it’s for something we’re making for Christmas. I promised the children I’d get it today. The shop’s not far…’

  Stephens was carrying up tea when they got back. They filled their arms with parcels and hurried upstairs to Cor’s room.

  ‘I’ve got everything,’ Georgina announced breathlessly. ‘I’ll p
ut it all in my room.’

  She flung off her coat and scarf and went back to pour the tea. There would be time enough to change into uniform afterwards; the Professor wasn’t there to object anyway. Everyone was arguing hotly as she went back into the room, and Karel broke off what he was saying to ask her, ‘Are you using your own money for all this Christmas job, Georgina? Julius said you weren’t to spend any money out of your own pocket.’

  She frowned. ‘Look,’ she said reasonably, ‘I’m not your guardian’s ward—I do as I like with my own money. If I wish to spend it in a certain way, I really can’t see what concern it is of his.’

  They all stared at her as though she had uttered some dire heresy, so that she made haste to add, ‘I don’t mean to be horrid.’

  Karel said at once, ‘No, of course not, Georgina dear.’ He smiled warmly at her. ‘I daresay you think that Julius keeps us all under his thumb.’

  She was annoyed to feel her cheeks grow warm, ‘No, never that. He must be a wonderful guardian to you all…’ She got no further, for the wonderful guardian chose that moment to telephone the children, and she got up and went to her room to change into uniform. The Professor would be at least a quarter of an hour—his telephone bill would be astronomical, but apparently that didn’t matter. She was putting on her cuffs when Beatrix came to tell her that she was wanted.

  ‘Hurry, George, please—it’s Cousin Julius; he wants to talk to you.’

  She answered serenely, ‘Very well, I’ll come,’ and looked at her reflection in the mirror. It gazed back at her, unruffled and placid, giving no hint of the furious thumping of her heart, or her sudden want of breath. She walked unhurriedly to the telephone which Cor was holding out to her, telling herself that he only wanted a report on her patient. She was wrong. His voice, its faint accent more marked over the wire, said casually: