A Kiss for Julie Page 9

  The professor, not a swearing man, was surprised into uttering an oath of some richness—a welcome sound to Julie, doing her best to evade the man’s clutches. ‘Oh, hurry up, do!’ she shouted. ‘This fool’s tearing the place to pieces.’

  A needless remark as it turned out, for the professor had picked the man up by his coat collar and flung him into the chair that she had just left.

  ‘Stay there,’ he said in a flinty voice, and reached for the phone. As he dialed he glanced at Julie. ‘You’re all right, Miss Beckworth?’

  She glared at him, conscious of enormous relief at the sight of him and at the same time furious with him for taking it for granted that she was all right. Of course she wasn’t; she wanted to scream, indulge in a burst of tears and be cosseted with a cup of tea and a few kind words.

  She said in a small voice stiff with dignity, ‘Thank you, Professor, I am perfectly all right.’

  He nodded at her, spoke into the phone and then sat her down in his chair, turning his attention to the man.

  ‘Exactly why are you here?’ he wanted to know. ‘And how dare you frighten my secretary and make havoc of my office. I’ve called the police.’

  The man peered up at him. ‘Look, guv, I didn’t mean no ’arm. Thought I’d find something to nick—it’s easy to get into this place. Cor, I could’ve been in any of the wards but I thought I’d ’ave a peek round first...’

  ‘Are you a thief by trade?’ asked the professor. ‘Or is this a one-off thing?’

  The man looked sly. ‘That’s telling. Now, if you was to let me go... I ’aven’t done no ’arm, only knocked a few things around...’

  The professor’s eyes studied the papers scattered on the floor and Julie’s handbag flung onto the desk, its contents scattered too. He looked at Julie then, although he didn’t say anything; only when the man started to get up did he say quietly, ‘I shouldn’t start anything if I were you; I shall knock you down.’

  He was lounging against his desk, quite at his ease, and the three of them remained silent until presently there was the reassuring sound of the deliberate footsteps of the two police officers who came in. The elder man took one look at the man and said, ‘Slim Sid. Up to your tricks again, are you?’ He turned to the professor. ‘Now, sir, if you will tell me what he’s been up to.’

  Two porters had followed the officers into the office. The professor sent them away and closed the door. ‘I think Miss Beckworth can give you a better account than I, Officer. I—er—didn’t get here until this man—Sid—had had time to cause this havoc. Miss Beckworth was coping with the situation with some spirit; she will tell you what occurred.’

  He looked at Julie then and smiled; she hadn’t known that a smile could wrap you round, make you feel safe and cherished and, despite the regrettable circumstances, happy. She sat up straight and gave a clear account of what had happened, and even if her voice was somewhat higher than usual and still a little wobbly she added no embellishments. When she had finished she added, ‘I shouldn’t have thrown the inkstand...’

  The elder officer said comfortably, ‘No, miss, but, in the circumstances, an understandable action—and you did miss him.’

  Julie caught the professor’s eye. She had very nearly hit him, hadn’t she? Supposing she had? She might have killed him; the inkstand was as heavy as lead—perhaps it was lead; it would have bashed his head in...

  She drew a sharp breath, feeling sick at the thought. To have ended his life like that... Her life would have ended too; she wouldn’t have wanted to go on living without him.

  This was neither the time nor the place to discover that she loved him; indeed, she couldn’t have discovered it at a more inconvenient time, but there it was... She looked away from him quickly, thankful that the younger officer was asking her for her name and address.

  ‘Just routine, miss,’ he added soothingly. ‘Slim Sid here is wanted for two break-ins already; since he’s stolen nothing here it’ll be taken into account but I doubt if he’ll be charged.’

  They went away presently with Sid, suitably handcuffed, between them. The professor went into the passage, picked up the inkstand, put it back on the desk and lifted the telephone, asking for tea to be brought to his office, and then stood looking at Julie.

  ‘That was a warm welcome you gave me,’ he observed mildly.

  She burst into tears.

  He sat down in the other chair, saying nothing while she sniffed and snorted, and when the tea came he took the tray from the porter and poured out a cup, put it in front of her on the desk and put a large, snowy handkerchief into her hand. ‘Mop up,’ he bade her, and he spoke very kindly. ‘There’s nothing like a good cry—much better than bottling it up. Drink your tea and tell me what happened. I only wish I had been here to prevent you being frightened like that.’

  Julie gave a prodigious sniff. ‘I nearly killed you...’

  He took his sopping handkerchief from her. ‘No, no, I’m made of sterner stuff. I must admit that I was taken aback.’

  He had come to sit on the desk close to her chair; now he put a cup in her hand. ‘Drink up and tell me exactly what happened.’

  The tea was hot and sweet and very strong. ‘I must look awful,’ said Julie.

  He studied her tear-stained face, the faint pink of her delightful nose, the puffy eyelids, her neat head of hair no longer all that neat.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ he told her.

  She choked on her tea. He didn’t mean it of course; he was saying that to make her feel better.

  The professor watched her without appearing to do so. She had probably thought him an unfeeling monster for not offering instant sympathy when he had come into his office, but if he had she would have wept all over him—something she would have regretted later on; she hadn’t shown weakness or fear of the intruder; to have burst into tears in front of him would have been something that she would have regretted afterwards. He had put her on her mettle and her report to the police had been sensible and clear.

  She finished her tea, thanked him politely for it and collected the contents of her handbag. ‘I’ll just get these papers cleared up—I hadn’t quite finished, I’m afraid.’ She peeped at him. ‘They’re in a great muddle, I’m afraid.’

  ‘They can stay as they are. I’ll lock the door and tell the porter that no one is to come in. They can be seen to in the morning.’

  ‘You have a ward-round at eleven o’clock, sir.’

  ‘Plenty of time before then,’ he said comfortably. He picked up the phone and dialled a number. She turned sharply to look at him in surprise when he said, ‘Mrs Beckworth? We have been delayed here—an unexpected upheaval. No, no, Julie’s quite all right. I’m taking her back with me to have a meal and a rest; I’ll drive her back later.’

  He listened for a few moments. ‘In a couple of hours, Mrs Beckworth,’ he said, and then put the receiver down.

  Julie was staring at him. ‘We’ll go and have a meal and I will drive you home presently.’

  ‘There’s no need. Really, just because I made a fool of myself, crying like a baby. If you don’t mind I’ll stay and clear up some of this mess and then go home.’

  ‘I do mind. Get your jacket and we’ll go.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Julie.

  ‘My home. My manservant will have something ready; he expected me back this evening.’ When she hesitated he said, ‘I’ve driven down from Leeds and I’ve had a busy day. I’m hungry.’

  There wasn’t much point in arguing with him, and besides, she was hungry too. It was a friendly gesture on his part—the kind of gesture anyone might make in like circumstances. Probably he would be bored with her company even for a brief hour or so, but she would see where he lived, perhaps discover something of his life; he might even tell her about the girl that he had met in Groningen. If she knew when
he was going to get married it might be easier to forget that she had fallen in love with him.

  She had a lot to think about, she reflected, going with him to the car.

  The streets were quieter now that the rush hour was over, the evening traffic not yet busy; he drove across the city and she saw presently that they were going through quiet streets of dignified houses with enclosed gardens and, here and there, trees.

  The professor turned down a narrow lane beside a terrace of Regency houses and turned into the mews behind them. The cottages in it were charming, with flower boxes at their windows and pristine paintwork. He drove to the end and stopped outside the last cottage, got out and opened her door to usher her into a small lobby with a glass inner door.

  This was opened as they went in by a middle-aged man, very dignified. He bade them good evening in a grave voice and the professor said, ‘This is Blossom, who runs the place for me. Blossom, this is Miss Beckworth, whom I have brought home for a meal—she’s had a rather trying experience at the hospital this evening.’

  ‘Indeed, miss, I am sorry to hear it. There is a fire in the sitting room, sir. A glass of sherry, perhaps, for the young lady while I dish up?’

  Her jacket tenderly borne away by Blossom, Julie was ushered into the sitting room which ran from the front of the cottage to the back, with windows at each end and a fireplace opposite the door. It was low-ceilinged, its walls hung with honey-coloured paper, and furnished with cosy armchairs, a lovely old corner-cupboard, a satinwood rent table under one window and small lamp-tables here and there. The lamps on them had been lighted and gave the room a most welcoming look.

  ‘Come and sit by the fire,’ suggested the professor, and pulled forward a chair covered in mulberry velvet, ‘and take Blossom’s advice.’

  He went to a small table to pour the drinks. ‘Dry, or something sweeter?’

  ‘Dry, please.’ Her eyes had lighted on a basket to one side of the fireplace. ‘Oh, you have a cat...’

  ‘Yes, and kittens; there should be two there.’

  Julie got up to look. The cat opened an eye and studied her before closing it again, and she bent nearer. Two very small kittens were tucked between her paws.

  ‘She’s called Kitty—not very imaginative, I’m afraid, but Blossom assures me that she replies to that name.’

  Julie sat down again and took the glass he offered. ‘And the kittens?’

  ‘They arrived shortly after she attached herself to us. A boy and a girl. I’ve had several offers of homes for them but I fancy that by the time they are old enough to leave their mother Blossom will refuse to part with them.’

  He had gone to sit down opposite her and bent to stroke the cat. ‘I must admit it is pleasant to come home to a welcome.’

  ‘You miss Jason...’

  ‘Indeed I do. I shall be going to Holland shortly and hope to spend a few days with him.’ He smiled. ‘A holiday this time.’

  Julie said in a steady voice, ‘I am sure you will enjoy that; you must miss your family and friends.’

  ‘I have friends here as well.’ An unsatisfactory answer, almost a snub. Justified, she reflected fairly; his private life was no concern of hers.

  She sipped her sherry and racked her brains for something to say. Luckily Blossom came to tell them that dinner was served and they crossed the little hall to a small dining room at the front of the cottage. It held a round table encircled by six Hepplewhite chairs, and there was a small sideboard and a long-case clock, its front of marquetry. The table, covered in white damask, was set with silver and crystal glasses and the plates were delft china. Did the professor dine in such state each evening? she wondered, sampling the soup set before her. Tomato and orange—home-made, too.

  The professor seemed determined to keep on friendly terms, and indeed he was a perfect host, talking about this and that as they ate their duckling with cherry sauce and game chips, never mentioning the evening’s unfortunate event as he invited her to have a second helping of Blossom’s delicious hot almond fritters. Only when they were once more in the sitting room drinking their coffee did he ask her if she felt quite recovered. ‘If you wish there is no reason why you shouldn’t have a day at home tomorrow.’

  She thought of the mess in his office. ‘I’m quite all right, really I am,’ she told him. ‘I’m ashamed of myself for being such a baby.’

  ‘My dear girl, you behaved with exemplary calm; most women would have screeched the house down.’

  ‘I was too scared to scream,’ she told him.

  ‘In future if you are working late you are to lock the door. You understand me, Miss Beckworth?’ He sounded chillingly polite; the little flame of hope that he had decided to like her after all died. He had done his duty as he saw it; now she was Miss Beckworth again. It was ridiculous to imagine that she could possibly marry such a man; she put down her cup and saucer and observed in a voice devoid of expression that she would like to go home.

  ‘It has been most kind of you,’ said Julie, in a voice which sounded in her own ears to be far too gushing. The professor must have thought the same, for he glanced at her in faint surprise. ‘I hope I haven’t interrupted your evening.’

  ‘No, no. I had nothing planned. I’ll drive you home.’

  They went into the hall and Blossom appeared, soft-footed and silent. ‘I enjoyed dinner very much,’ she told him. ‘I wish I could cook like that; thank you, Blossom.’

  He smiled then. ‘A pleasure, Miss Beckworth. I trust you have fully recovered from your unpleasant experience?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Goodnight.’

  The professor had stood by while she had talked; now he ushered her out to the car, got in beside her, and drove away, back through the city, away from the quiet streets and the gar-dens and trees until he turned into the gate of her home.

  Julie made to get out, embarking on a rather muddled speech of thanks to which he didn’t listen but got out and opened her door and walked with her to the door of the house. Here she held out a hand. ‘You’ve been most kind,’ she began once again. ‘Please don’t wait—’

  ‘I’m coming in,’ said the professor.

  The door was opened by Luscombe. ‘There yer are, Miss Julie; come on in, both of you. Evening to you, Professor. Here’s a turn-up for the book, eh?’

  He closed the door behind them as Mrs Beckworth came out of the sitting room.

  ‘Darling, whatever has happened? You’re all right? Oh, of course you are; the professor’s with you. Did you faint or feel ill? Come in and tell us what happened.’

  Julie took off her jacket and they went into the sitting room to where Esme was sitting in her dressing gown with Blotto sprawled on her lap. She jumped up as they went in. ‘I wouldn’t go to bed until you came home, Julie; Simon, do tell us what happened.’

  Julie went to pat Blotto and her mother waved the professor to a chair. Luscombe had followed them in and was standing by the door, all ears.

  ‘Your sister was working late when a man got into the hospital and found his way to my office. He flung things around and threatened her. She was very brave; she threw an inkstand at him—’

  ‘You hit him, Julie?’ asked Esme, all agog.

  ‘Well, no, and it only just missed the professor as he came into the room.’

  ‘My dear Simon, you weren’t hurt?’ asked Mrs Beckworth anxiously.

  ‘I? Not at all. I was lost in admiration for your daughter’s presence of mind in throwing something at the man; it put him off his stroke completely.’

  ‘Then what did you do?’ asked Esme.

  ‘The police came and took the man away; it seems he was known to them. We had a cup of tea and then a meal. You have a daughter to be proud of, Mrs Beckworth.’

  Julie looked at her feet and Mrs Beckworth said, ‘Thank you for looking after he
r so well, Simon. We’re so grateful. Would you like a cup of coffee?’

  ‘I won’t stay, Mrs Beckworth, thank you; but I felt it necessary to explain what happened. Rest assured I’m going to make sure that it can never happen again.’

  He bade them all goodnight, adding to Julie, ‘Don’t come in in the morning if you don’t feel up to it.’

  She mumbled an answer, not looking at him. Just because she had been silly and cried, there was no excuse to take a day off.

  When he had gone Mrs Beckworth said, ‘Now, darling, do tell us again what happened. I mean before Simon arrived. Was the man very nasty? He didn’t hurt you?’

  ‘No, but he flung things about—all the notes and files and case-sheets on the desk; he threw them all onto the floor. It’ll take all day to get them straight. He wanted to break up the computer too. I couldn’t reach the phone...’

  ‘You were very brave, throwing something at him.’

  ‘You always were a rotten shot,’ said Esme. ‘A good thing too; you might have knocked out Simon and I’d never have forgiven you.’

  I wouldn’t have forgiven myself either, reflected Julie.

  Luscombe came in then, with a tray of tea. ‘Nothing like a cuppa when you’ve ’ad a bit of a set-to,’ he pointed out. He chuckled. ‘I’d have liked to have seen the professor’s face when he opened the door... I bet ’e was livid.’

  Thinking about it, Julie realised that he had been very angry. Not noisily so; it had been a cold, fierce rage. No wonder the man hadn’t attempted to get out of the chair that he had been thrown into. She hoped that the professor would never look at her like that.

  * * *

  Julie went to work early the next morning, intent on clearing up the mess before he got there, but early though she was he was earlier, crouched down on the floor, sorting out the scattered sheets.

  ‘Oh, you’re here already,’ said Julie, and then added, ‘Good morning, sir.’

  He glanced up. ‘Good morning, Miss Beckworth. What a very thorough job Slim Sid did. I am afraid he has torn several pages of notes. However, let us first of all get everything sorted out.’