An Unlikely Romance. Бетти Нилс

you marry me, Beatrice?’

      ‘Yes. I think it might be a good idea. I’m not likely to get asked by anyone else. I like you and I feel easy with you, although I don’t know you at all, do I? I will really try to be the sort of wife you want.’

      ‘I’m a selfish man…’

      ‘No. You are driven by your urge to do something you feel you must—like Scott going to the Pole or Hilary climbing Everest.’ She smiled at him. ‘I’ll guard you like a dragon.’

      ‘I believe you will.’ He flung a great arm around her shoulders and felt her shiver in the wind. ‘You’re cold—how thoughtless of me. We’ll go back. We can stop for tea at Lawshall; there’s a pleasant hotel there.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I need to be back at Timothy’s by seven o’clock—I’m admitting a woman with exophthalmos, a most interesting case, and I want to make sure that the special treatment is started immediately. I dare say you haven’t come across a case—it is a question of controlling the hyperthyroidism…’

      They had begun to walk back and they were going up the path to where the car had been parked before the finer points of the condition had been explained. The professor stopped so suddenly that Trixie almost overbalanced. ‘Oh, my dear Beatrice, I had quite lost myself, do forgive me, I tend to forget…’

      It was at that moment, looking up into his concerned face, that Trixie fell in love with him.

      The knowledge rendered her speechless but only for a moment, for at the same moment she had realised that this was something which was going to happen time and again and she would have to get used to it. She said calmly, ‘I found it most interesting and you don’t need to apologise, now or ever. The poor woman—I do so hope you’ll be able to cure her.’

      They had reached the car and were leaning against its elegant bonnet.

      ‘I shall do what I can; if the Diotroxin and the radiotherapy fail to halt it, then it will have to be tarsorrhaphy. I will explain about that…’

      He was lost again, deep in the subject nearest his heart, and Trixie, getting colder by the minute in the now chilly wind, listened willingly because she liked the sound of his deep voice and he was treating her as someone in whom he could confide. When, at length, he paused, she said warmly, ‘Oh, I do expect you must be anxious to get back to Timothy’s and get started on her.’

      He opened the car door and ushered her in, and she at once sank thankfully into the comfort of the soft leather. As he got in beside her she said, ‘We won’t stop for tea if you want to get back.’

      He patted her knee in an impersonal manner and sent electric shocks all over her. ‘No, no, there’s time enough. We shall be back well before seven o’clock; that should give you time to tidy yourself while I’m on the ward. I’ll get someone to ring the nurses’ home when I’m ready and we can meet in the hall.’

      She turned her head to look at his calm profile. ‘Meet you? In the hall? Why?’

      ‘I told Mies to have dinner ready for half-past eight…’

      ‘Who’s Mies?’

      ‘My housekeeper. I’ve a small house near Harley Street; when I’m over here I have the use of some consulting-rooms there.’ He slowed the car. ‘Here we are at Lawshall.’

      The hotel was small, comfortable and welcoming. They ate crumpets swimming in butter and rich fruit cake and drank the contents of the teapot between them, and the professor didn’t mention the endocrine glands once. He talked pleasantly about a great many things, but he didn’t mention their own situation either and Trixie, bursting with unspoken little questions, made all the right kind of remarks and thought about how much she loved him.

      They drove on again presently, to reach the hospital with ten minutes to spare. The professor saw her out of the car and walked with her to the entrance. ‘I’ll wait here,’ he told her. ‘I expect to be about an hour.’

      He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder and she said, ‘Very well,’ and walked away towards the nurses’ home entrance because she suspected that he was hiding impatience. In her room she got out of the tweed and combed through her wardrobe, intent on finding something suitable to wear. Not the velvet or the crêpe; she kept those for rare parties. There was a perfectly plain jersey dress buried behind her summer dresses. She had had it for years because it was such a useful colour, nutmeg brown. It had a high round neck and long sleeves and a wide, rather long skirt.

      She was ready long before the hour was up so she went down to the sitting-room, relieved to find no one there, and read a yesterday’s newspaper someone had left there. She was doggedly working her way through a long political speech when the warden poked her head round the door.

      ‘Nurse Doveton, Professor van der Brink-Schaaksma will be ready in five minutes.’ She added severely, ‘I must say I am surprised.’ She eyed Trixie’s heightened colour and sniffed. ‘I didn’t know that you knew him.’

      Trixie was pulling on her gloves and making last-minute inspections of her face and handbag. The warden was a sour lady of uncertain years, overflowing with unspoken criticisms of the younger nurses and disliked by them all. Happy in her own small heaven, Trixie wanted everyone else to be happy too.

      ‘I expect you are,’ she said blithely. ‘I’m a bit surprised myself.’

      He was there waiting, and he came across the hall to meet her.

      ‘Is everything all right?’ she wanted to know. ‘Has she settled in?’

      ‘Yes, and I think that she will be a good patient.’ He opened the door and they went out to the car and got in.

      ‘Have you finished for the day?’

      He drove out of the forecourt and edged into the evening traffic. ‘Yes. There is nothing much I can do till the morning. I shall have to see her doctor—she’s a private patient—and talk things over with my registrar.’

      She had the feeling that just for the moment he had forgotten that she was there. She sat quietly as he drove across London until they reached the quieter streets, lined with tall old houses, leading to equally quiet squares, each with its enclosed garden in the centre.

      ‘You’re very quiet,’ said the professor suddenly.

      ‘I was thinking how different this is from Timothy’s…’

      ‘Indeed yes. My house in Holland is different again. In a small village near Leiden—very quiet. You like the country?’

      ‘Yes, very much.’

      He had turned into a narrow street lined with Georgian houses and he stopped halfway down. He turned to look at her. ‘This is where I live, Beatrice.’ Then he got out and opened her door. She stood and looked around her for a moment; the houses were what she supposed an estate agent would describe as bijou and those she could see clearly in the lamplit street were immaculate as to paint and burnished brass-work on their front doors, and the house they approached was immaculate too with a fanlight over the black-painted door which was reached by three shallow steps guarded by a thin rail. There was a glow of light behind the bow window and bright light streaming from its basement.

      The professor opened the door and stood aside for her to go in, still silent, and she went past him into the long narrow hall, its walls white and hung with paintings, red carpet underfoot and a small side-table against one wall. Halfway down its length a curved staircase led to the floor above and there were several doors on the opposite side. It was the door at the end of the hall which was opened, allowing a short stout elderly woman to enter.

      The professor was taking Trixie’s coat. ‘Mies…’ He spoke to her in Dutch and then said, ‘Mies speaks English but she’s a little shy about it. She understands very well, though.’

      Trixie held out a hand and said how do you do, and smiled at the wrinkled round face. Mies could have been any age; her hair was dark and glossy and her small bright eyes beamed