The Mistletoe Kiss. Бетти Нилс

for dinner. He would have liked to dine quietly at home.

      They talked trivialities over tea—news from home and friends, places Anneliese had visited. She had no interest in his work save in his successes; his social advancement was all-important to her, although she was careful not to let him see that.

      He drove her to Brown’s presently, and went back to work at his desk until it was time to dress. Immaculate in black tie, he went to the garage at the end of the mews to get his car, and drove himself to the hotel.

      Anneliese wasn’t ready. He cooled his heels for fifteen minutes or so before she joined him.

      ‘I’ve kept you waiting, Ruerd,’ she said laughingly. ‘But I hope you think it is worth it.’

      He assured her that it was, and indeed she made a magnificent picture in a slim sheath of cerise silk, her hair piled high, sandals with four-inch heels and an arm loaded with gold bangles. His ring, a large diamond, glittered on her finger. A ring which she had chosen and which he disliked.

      Certainly she was a woman any man would be proud to escort, he told himself. He supposed that he was tired; a good night’s sleep was all that was needed. Anneliese looked lovely, and dinner at Claridge’s was the very least he could offer her. Tomorrow, he reflected, he would somehow find time to take her out again—dancing, perhaps, at one of the nightclubs. And there was that exhibition of paintings at a gallery in Bond Street if he could manage to find time to take her.

      He listened to her chatter as they drove to Claridge’s and gave her his full attention. Dinner was entirely satisfactory: admiring looks followed Anneliese as they went to their table, the food was delicious and the surroundings luxurious. As he drove her back she put a hand on his arm.

      ‘A lovely dinner, darling, thank you. I shall do some shopping tomorrow; can you meet me for lunch? And could we go dancing in the evening? We must talk; I’ve so many plans…’

      At the hotel she offered a cheek for his kiss. ‘I shall go straight to bed. See you tomorrow.’

      The professor got back into his car and drove to the hospital. He wasn’t entirely satisfied with the condition of the patient he had seen that afternoon, and he wanted to be sure…

      Emmy, sitting before her switchboard, knitting, knew that the professor was there, standing behind her, although he had made no sound. Why is that? she wondered; why should I know that?

      His, ‘Good evening, Ermentrude,’ was uttered quietly. ‘You slept well?’ he added.

      He came to stand beside her now, strikingly handsome in black tie and quite unconscious of it.

      ‘Good evening, sir. Yes, thank you. I hope you had time to rest.’

      His mouth twitched. ‘I have been dining out. Making conversation, talking of things which don’t interest me. If I sound a bad-tempered man who doesn’t know when he is lucky, then that is exactly what I am.’

      ‘No, you’re not,’ said Emmy reasonably. ‘You’ve had a busy day, much busier than anyone else because you’ve had to make important decisions about your patients. All that’s the matter with you is that you are tired. You must go home and have a good night’s sleep.’

      She had quite forgotten to whom she was speaking. ‘I suppose you’ve come to see that man with the blood clot on the brain?’

      He asked with interest, ‘Do you know about him?’

      ‘Well, of course I do. I hear things, don’t I? And I’m interested.’

      She took an incoming telephone call and, when she had dealt with it the professor had gone.

      He didn’t stop on his way out, nor did he speak, but she was conscious of his passing. She found that disconcerting.

      Audrey was punctual and in a peevish mood. ‘I had a ticking off,’ she told Emmy sourly. ‘I don’t know why they had to make such a fuss—after all, you were here. No one would have known if it hadn’t been for that Professor ter Mennolt being here. Who does he think he is, anyway?’

      ‘He’s rather nice,’ said Emmy mildly. ‘He gave me a lift home.’

      ‘In that great car of his? Filthy rich, so I’ve heard. Going to marry some Dutch beauty—I was talking to his secretary…’

      ‘I hope they’ll be very happy,’ said Emmy. A flicker of unhappiness made her frown. She knew very little about the professor and she found him disturbing; a difficult man, a man who went his own way. All the same, she would like him to live happily ever after…

      If he came into the hospital during the last nights of her duty, she didn’t see him. It wasn’t until Sunday morning, when the relief had come to take over and she was free at last to enjoy her two days off, that she met him again as she stood for a moment outside the hospital entrance, taking blissful breaths of morning air, her eyes closed. She was imagining that she was back in the country, despite the petrol fumes.

      She opened her eyes, feeling foolish, when the professor observed, ‘I am surprised that you should linger, Ermentrude. Surely you must be hellbent on getting away from the hospital as quickly as possible?’

      ‘Good morning, sir,’ said Ermentrude politely. ‘It’s just nice to be outside.’ She saw his sweater and casual trousers. ‘Have you been here all night?’

      ‘No, no—only for an hour or so.’ He smiled down at her. She looked pale with tiredness. Her small nose shone, her hair had been ruthlessly pinned into a bun, very neat and totally without charm. She reminded him of a kitten who had been out all night in the rain. ‘I’ll drop you off on my way.’

      ‘You’re going past my home? Really? Thank you.’

      He didn’t find it necessary to answer her, but popped her into the car and drove through the almost empty streets. At her door, he said, ‘No, don’t get out. Give me your key.’

      He went and opened the door, and then opened the car door, took her bag from her and followed her inside. George was delighted to see them, weaving round their feet, pushing Snoodles away, giving small, excited barks.

      The professor went to open the kitchen door to let both animals out into the garden, and he put the kettle on. For all the world as though he lived here, thought Emmy, and if she hadn’t been so tired she would have said so. Instead she stood in the kitchen and yawned.

      The professor glanced at her. ‘Breakfast,’ he said briskly and unbuttoned his coat and threw it over a chair. ‘If you’ll feed the animals, I’ll boil a couple of eggs.’

      She did as she was told without demur; she couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. She didn’t remember asking him to stay for breakfast, but perhaps he was very hungry. She fed the animals and by then he had laid the table after a fashion, made toast and dished up the eggs.

      They sat at the table eating their breakfast for all the world like an old married couple. The professor kept up a gentle meandering conversation which required little or no reply, and Emmy, gobbling toast, made very little effort to do so. She was still tired, but the tea and the food had revived her so that presently she said, ‘It was very kind of you to get breakfast. I’m very grateful. I was a bit tired.’

      ‘You had a busy week. Will your mother and father return soon?’

      ‘Tomorrow morning.’ She gave him an owl-like look. ‘I expect you want to go home, sir…’

      ‘Presently. Go upstairs, Ermentrude, take a shower and get into bed. I will tidy up here. When you are in bed I will go home.’

      ‘You can’t do the washing up.’

      ‘Indeed I can.’ Not quite a lie; he had very occasionally needed to rinse a cup or glass if Beaker hadn’t been there.

      He made a good job of it, attended to the animals, locked the kitchen door and hung the tea towel to dry, taking his time about it. It was quiet in the house,