The Silver Thaw. Betty Neels

although he fancied that she could do that on occasion. A little cool for his taste, though—no, cool wasn’t quite the word; reserved was better. He wondered if she was like that with Tom Crouch; it seemed to him that the pair of them hardly struck sparks…

      Mr Thomley-Jones’ voice, thick with annoyance, cut through his thoughts. ‘Here I am, working my fingers to the bone and nothing ready,’ he said as he entered the scrubbing up room.

      It was Amelia who spoke, on her way out to the theatre, ‘Everything is quite ready, sir,’ she said briskly, and, ‘Good morning, sir.’

      ‘Oh, pooh, you’ve always got an answer, haven’t you? Where’s that fool of a young Phillips?’

      ‘Your house surgeon is in theatre, sir.’

      ‘Wretched girl, why are you smiling?’

      ‘I think it’s relief, sir, because we’re quite ready for you.’

      He laughed then and started to scrub. ‘Go away, Amelia—in another minute I shall be in a good temper, and that’ll never do!’

      But miraculously, he stayed positively sunny for the entire morning. Even the discovery that the first laparotomy exposed a diverticulitis of magnitude and the second revealed a nasty patch of gangrene which he instantly removed made no difference. The list ran late, of course, and Amelia got no dinner in consequence, but that hardly mattered; there was only the afternoon’s list to get through and Sybil would be relieving her at five o’clock. Amelia gobbled toast and drank mugs of tea in her office and went to scrub up.

      The afternoon list wasn’t a long one. They were finished by five o’clock and by half past that hour she had bidden Sybil goodbye, gone to the home for a cup of tea and then up to her room. She was driving herself down that evening, for Tom was still on duty and would meet them at Heathrow in the morning. She had snatched a brief moment with him on the way to the home and they had been able to make last-minute arrangements. She dressed now happily enough. A week in Tom’s company would be lovely and give them a chance to talk; sometimes she wondered uneasily if, even when they were together, they talked about the right things. When they had first become engaged, they had discussed the future pretty thoroughly, but now it was as though having said it all once, there was no need to mention it again. Once or twice she had tried to persuade Tom to get married at once, but although he had been patient and understanding, he had been quite adamant—perhaps being together would help to change his mind.

      She got into the sage green tweed Jaeger suit she had bought only a week ago, quite forgetting that she wasn’t going to wear anything new for a while. It had a pleated skirt and was warm enough to travel in with the matching cashmere sweater underneath. She had already filled her handbag with all the things she would require on the journey. She sprayed herself with Miss Dior, pushed her feet into beautifully made brown leather brogues, found her gloves and went down to the corner of the courtyard where the staff kept their cars. It was dark by now and in the headlights the hospital looked grim and very gloomy. Amelia swung the Mini out of the front gates and edged it carefully into the evening traffic.

      Bonny had a late supper waiting for her. She ate it from a tray on a small sofa table in the drawing room while her father sat opposite her outlining his plans for the next three weeks. He had got them rooms at the hotel, he told her, arranged for the hire of a boat and had worked out some sort of an itinerary. ‘We might as well see something of the country while we’re there,’ he told her. ‘Not too far,’ he added hastily, ‘the best fishing is in that part, I’m told.’

      It all sounded delightful. Presently Amelia went to bed, to sleep soundly until she was roused in the morning by Fred, her father’s labrador, who expected to be taken for a quick walk before breakfast.

      They left early with Badger sitting beside Mr Crosbie in front; he would drive the Bentley back home again and come to fetch them on their return. Amelia, sitting in the back, daydreamed gently. It would be perfect weather, of course, even if chilly, and Tom and she would hire a car and explore. She was certain that her father wouldn’t mind at all if he were left to fish on his own; he’d been doing it for years and she suspected that although he tolerated her company he wasn’t quite happy about Tom. They liked each other well enough… She frowned a little and switched her thoughts to the pleasanter one of the future—the wedding, the house they would find together and furnish and should she take Cordon Bleu cooking lessons or would Bonny be able to teach her how to cook? She wondered how much money she would need to housekeep; it was deplorable, but she really didn’t know.

      Tom reached Heathrow five minutes after they arrived there themselves; he parked his car, picked up his case and joined them quietly, shaking hands with her father and smiling at her as he held hers briefly. After her daydreaming it seemed rather a let-down.

      She didn’t like flying, but it saved time, and as the plane was only half full, she didn’t get the feeling that she was travelling in a rather crowded bus. The weather was good too; England disappeared and with nothing but the sea below to look at she turned to Tom beside her. He was asleep and she smiled gently; probably he’d missed most of the night’s rest and it must have been an almighty rush to get to the airport. She sat back quietly until the stewardess came round with the lunch trays and wakened Tom.

      And almost before they had finished their coffee they were coming down over the countless islands round Bergen. The weather wasn’t so good now, grey and great blankets of cloud which enveloped them until they touched down, when Amelia wasn’t surprised to find that it was raining.

      But who cared? she asked Tom as they followed her father into the arrival hall. They were on holiday.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THEY WERE TO spend the night at the Norge hotel and leave the following morning by an air taxi Mr Crosbie had booked previously. Amelia would have preferred to have travelled to Stokmarknes by boat or road, but her father had come to fish and that as soon as possible. However, they had the rest of the day in which to explore Bergen and once settled into their rooms, she declared her intention of seeing as much of the town as she could.

      ‘It’s raining,’ objected her father.

      ‘I’ve got my anorak,’ she pointed out reasonably. ‘Besides, you know quite well that you’ll not mind in the least if it rains every day once you get a rod in your hands.’ She smiled at him and made for the door with Tom close behind her. ‘We’ll be back in plenty of time for dinner.’

      They set off, walking the few yards down Ole Bulls Plass into the main shopping street, Torgalm, a wide thoroughfare with broad pavements and trees bordering them, only now there were few leaves and those that were left were limp with the rain. But the shops were splendid, their lights welcome in the early gloom of the afternoon. Amelia strolled along, 27 her arm tucked into Tom’s, pausing to look at everything until presently she suggested that they found somewhere for tea. ‘Just a cup,’ she begged. ‘It’s only four o’clock and it might be fun. I’m going to ask in this shop.’

      There was a tea-room close by, the saleslady told her in excellent English, and they found it without difficulty, a little way away from the shops, opposite a small beautifully kept park close to the hotel. Inside it lived up to its name with little tables occupied by smart housewives and uniformed waitresses, and to Amelia’s satisfaction the tea was delicious and brought in a tea-pot, nicely set out with cups and saucers, and with it they ate enormous creamy cakes which Tom warned her would spoil her appetite for dinner later on.

      ‘Oh, pooh,’ she told him robustly, ‘I’m a big girl and I get hungry.’

      They wandered back presently and spent the rest of the evening in the hotel, eating deliciously in a beautifully appointed restaurant. Amelia went to bed very contented, sure that the holiday was going to be one of the best she had ever spent.

      They flew to Ardenes by air taxi the next morning and then went by hired car down to Stokmarknes. Amelia, who had heard of the Lofoten Islands but never been near them before, was struck dumb by the awe-inspiring scenery. The mountains loomed majestically almost to the edge of the fjords already deeply snow-capped,