Tangled Autumn. Бетти Нилс

of fish in one hand too. She choked down a sudden desire to laugh because Andrew had no idea who the Baron was and the Baron had equally no intention of telling him. She looked sideways up into his dark face, changing the toffee lump from one cheek to the other as she did so, a childish action which caused him to blink rapidly while the nostrils of his commanding nose quivered ever so slightly. He said carelessly: ‘Why not take the afternoon off, Sappha—or for that matter, the rest of the day? Antonia and Mrs MacFee will cope.’

      Sappha frowned. For one thing Andrew had said nothing about taking her out—he’d had no time—and for another, it made her sound too eager. She was eager, she told herself, but Andrew mustn’t know that. She said icily: ‘How kind of you, Doctor, but I’ve had my off-duty for today and I see no reason for giving myself any more.’ And went pink under his mocking gaze. It was maddening that he should spoil this unexpected meeting with Andrew—it could have been something exciting and even more than that, though Andrew, at the moment, didn’t appear to be exactly carried away… He said now: ‘Are you a doctor—I had no idea…’

      The Baron waved the fish and said mildly: ‘Oh, I’ve a practice—a small country town in Friesland.’

      Andrew smiled with a hint of patronage. ‘Oh, a GP.’ He was contemptuous and faintly pitying. ‘I’ve rooms in Wimpole Street—consultant you know—a nice little private practice.’

      ‘You are to be congratulated upon your success.’ The Baron’s voice was silky, and Sapphia stirred uneasily under his confining arm, remembering dimly that the Baroness or someone had mentioned that he lectured in Groningen and hadn’t she said something about examining? With feminine unfairness she was instantly up in arms against him—he was taking the mickey out of Andrew. She said positively: ‘I really must go—there are things to do.’

      If she had hoped to get rid of the Baron she was sadly mistaken, for he remarked immediately: ‘We’ll all go. Come up to the Manse for tea, my dear fellow—Mrs MacFee will love to see a new face and you and Sappha can sort out her time off.’

      He turned up the lane leading to the Manse, and Sappha perforce turned with him. Andrew fell into step beside her. ‘A pity you can’t manage today,’ he remarked smoothly. ‘What about tomorrow—afternoon or evening perhaps, old girl?’

      Sappha quivered with temper; not only had she been called old girl, her free time was being discussed and arranged for her without so much as a by your leave. She opened her mouth to say so, but the Baron spoke first.

      ‘Of course, tomorrow, why not? And I must insist that you take both the afternoon and evening, Sappha. It’s not quite the weather for a drive, but there are some splendid walks—I can lend you a pair of boots—’ he flung a friendly aside to Andrew. ‘I suppose you’re at the pub here. They make you very comfortable and Mrs MacGregor is a good cook—she’ll turn out an excellent dinner for the pair of you.’

      ‘I’m not sure—’ began Sappha looking at the Baron with frustrated rage, to be met with a look of such limpid friendliness that she was struck dumb; if she hadn’t been prepared to think the worst of him, she could have supposed that he was trying to make things as easy as possible for her and Andrew.

      They turned in at the Manse gate and walked slowly up the short drive to the front door, and any idea Sappha may have had about keeping Andrew’s visit from her patient’s ears was scotched by the Baron, who paused and waved at the Baroness’s window. Sappha felt sure that even if she didn’t happen to be looking out at that moment, Antonia would have seen them. She excused herself in the hall and flew upstairs to change back into uniform. It was foolish, but she felt better able to cope with the situation once she had clasped the silver buckled belt round her slim waist and tucked her hair tidily under her cap.

      The Baroness and Antonia were sitting by the window when she went in and although Antonia said nothing, Sappha gained the strong impression that this was because she had been told not to. The Baroness turned her still beautiful eyes upon Sappha and asked merely: ‘A pleasant walk, I hope, dear?’ Sappha, repeating her impressions of the sea and relaying the little bits of gossip she had gleaned from the post office, wondered why her patient didn’t ask about Andrew, for it was obvious from their faces that they had seen him. She hadn’t long to wait to find out, however, for very soon the Baroness told Antonia to go down to tea and tell Mrs MacFee that Sappha would be down directly, and that young lady had barely closed the door when her mother said:

      ‘So he came after you, Sappha. I hope he doesn’t intend to take you back with him—not,’ she added earnestly, ‘that I should dream of stopping you.’

      Sappha paused in the clearing up of the bed table in preparation for the tea tray. She said a little wildly: ‘But he hasn’t asked me. I don’t even know why he’s here—I’ve had no chance…we’d only just met when Dr van Duyren joined us.’ She added bitterly: ‘He insisted on bringing Andrew back for tea and he’s kindly arranged for me to be free tomorrow afternoon and evening.’

      Her patient seemed to miss the sarcasm in her attendant’s voice, for she said kindly: ‘Now, isn’t that nice? How thoughtful of Rolf. I expect they took to each other at once.’

      Sappha, who had her own opinion about this, muttered: ‘Oh, well—they’re both doctors,’ and remembered the Baron’s modest admission to being a GP.

      ‘Exactly what does Dr van Duyren do?’ she asked.

      The Baroness closed her eyes the better to think. ‘Let me see now—he has a large practice in Dokkum, but of course he has two partners, then he has consultant’s chambers in Groningen as well as being a professor at the Medical School—he has a teaching round and so on and he’s an examiner—he specialises in stomachs and I never have understood why, my dear.’

      Sappha said weakly: ‘He’s busy.’

      ‘Too busy,’ agreed his mother, ‘I sometimes think. But he seems to like it, though I have warned him that if he’s not careful he’ll have neither the time nor the inclination to marry. When he does, of course, his wife will come before everything else,’ she sighed, ‘just as I did with his father.’ Two tears rolled down her cheeks and Sappha hurried across to her to put her arms around her and say: ‘There there—and how proud you must be to remember that, and I’ve no doubt that you were worth every second of his time.’

      This remark induced the Baroness to give a watery smile. ‘Oh, yes indeed I was—and the children too,’ she added, ‘Rolf’s very like him.’

      Sappha straightened up. There was no accounting for tastes, she told herself crossly, and after all the Baroness was his mother. She was on her way to the door when the Baroness observed: ‘Well, I daresay your young man will tell you why he came when you see him tomorrow. I must say he has a great deal of patience after coming all this way.’

      Sappha had thought so too, but it wasn’t very nice to be reminded of it by someone else. But it was a long way, surely Andrew hadn’t driven hundreds of miles just to say hullo. Besides, there was still the question of Staff Nurse Beatty. Sappha said tonelessly: ‘I’ll get your tea, Baroness.’

      She put off going down to her own tea for as long as possible, so that by the time she went into the sitting room everyone was having second cups and Andrew was explaining at some length just how important it was to have the right sort of practice. He was forced to break off while Sappha was told to sit down and asked if there was enough milk in her tea and was the toast really hot still; she sensed his annoyance at being interrupted even across the room. He had nodded briefly at her when she went in, but it was the Baron who had got up and pushed her gently into his own chair and then, taking no further notice of her, gone over to sit by Andrew, to listen, apparently tonguetied with admiration, to that gentleman’s dissertation upon his brilliant future. Sappha munched morosely at a scone and drank her tea, watching Andrew. He was enjoying himself—he had an audience who appeared to be interested in him, even though he wasn’t in the least interested in them. She glanced round the room; Mrs MacFee was listening with a charmingly attentive air, so was the minister, Antonia was gazing at him with rapt attention—and so to was