A Star Looks Down

CHAPTER TWO

BETH was on duty at eight o’clock the following morning and within a very short time the theatre was in full swing. She had fetched the kidney transplant case—a young girl in her teens—handed her over and gone again to collect the first of a long list of cases for the other theatres. The kidney case lasted a long time; it was early afternoon before she received the girl in the Recovery Room and although Professor van Zeust came with his colleague to see her, he had nothing to say other than a few quiet directions. They went away presently and later, after Beth had taken her case to ICU, an emergency came in and she was kept busy until some time after she was due off duty. Of the professor there was no sign, and she left the hospital feeling a bit let down; he might at least have given her the chance of refusing the job which he had so surprisingly suggested she might take. True, there had been no time to say anything at all for most of the day, but he could have left a message. Probably he had found someone else after all and forgotten about the whole thing.

She arrived at the flat rather cross, and over a cup of tea decided that nothing would persuade her to take the job now, even if he begged her to, and as this was highly unlikely she stopped thinking about it, drained the teapot, ate a piece of toast left over from breakfast, and fell to washing the smalls before getting the supper. William would be home shortly, before going back to St Elmer’s at ten o’clock to be on call for twenty-four hours, and he would be hungry, as usual. It was unfortunate that the kitty was at a low ebb, but it always was just before pay day. She settled on a macaroni cheese, made it rather impatiently and went to her room to tidy herself.

The flat, the top floor of a Victorian house which had seen better days, was cramped and a bit dark and her room was small and cramped too, but she rather liked the view over the chimneypots; it was better than the houses opposite and the sky gave her a feeling of space. She wasted a few minutes now, looking out and thinking about Chifney, where there were only trees and fields, and the chimney-pots, when visible, fitted cosily into the scenery around them. Her room was nicely furnished, though, with bits and pieces her stepbrother had allowed them to take with them when they had left home, and she kept the flat sparklingly clean and somehow managed to have flowers in it.

She brushed her hair and tied it back, so that it hung in a thick shower down her back, re-did her face without much enthusiasm, not seeing her lovely eyes and splendid hair, only the ordinariness of her features, then twitched and pulled her brown tweed skirt and sweater into place. She was heartily sick of them both, but William needed shoes again and the money he had been saving for them he had spent, naturally enough, he conceded, on a wildly expensive waistcoat; she would have to help him out and put off buying a new outfit for herself for just a little longer.

She wandered back to the sitting room, shook up a few cushions and then pottered into the kitchen to see how the macaroni cheese was coming along. When the front door bell rang she banged the oven door shut with a touch of irritation and went to answer it, with a rather cross: ‘You’ve forgotten your key again…’

Only it wasn’t William, it was Professor van Zeust, looming over her in the narrow doorway. She peered round him as far as she could, and quite forgetful of her manners, demanded: ‘Where’s William?’

His bland: ‘Good evening, Miss Partridge,’ reminded her of them.

‘Oh, good evening, Professor. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude—I thought you were William. Have you come to see him? He’s late, I’m afraid, but if you would like to come in and wait?’

He smiled down at her. ‘William has had to fill in for the Casualty Officer. He asked me to tell you that he won’t be home tonight.’

‘Oh.’ She stood uncertainly. ‘Then why—that is…’ She stopped, not quite sure what to say next. After all, he was a consultant, an important man at the hospital and probably even more important in his own country, and she wasn’t sure how she should address a professor off duty.

‘If I might come in?’ His voice was pleasantly friendly.

‘Of course. You—you took me rather by surprise.’ She led the way into the sitting room and he paused on its threshold and looked about him with interest, drawing an appreciative breath as he did so. ‘Toasted cheese?’ he inquired.

‘Supper,’ she told him succinctly, and waved a well kept hand towards a chair, then sat down herself, waiting patiently for him to say whatever it was he had to say.

‘Your brother was kind enough to tell Professor McDonald that you might consider looking after my sister’s children while she is in hospital,’ he began without any beating about the bush, ‘but before I say any more, I should like to know if the suggestion is agreeable to you. I understand from Professor MacDonald that you have a week’s holiday and I feel bound to point out that the job is no sinecure. I had intended applying to an agency for some sort of help, but I should very much prefer that it should be someone whom I know.’

‘But you don’t know me.’

‘You are thought of very highly at St Elmer’s, and I have seen for myself that you don’t flap.’

Beth blinked at him. ‘Are they the sort of children who might make one flap?’ she asked forthrightly.

He burst out laughing. ‘Perhaps, they need firm handling. What do you say?’

She studied him carefully. He was nice; never mind that he was one of the best-looking men she had ever met, never mind the charm of his smile and his deep, quiet voice; he would have been just as nice if he had had a squint and outstanding ears. His hair, she noticed, was grey at the temples and his eyes were very blue. ‘All right,’ she said quietly, ‘I’ll take them on. I’d like to know something about them though, and does your sister want me to live in or go each day?’

‘Oh, if you would live there, I think, and regarding your fee…’ he mentioned a sum which sent her arched brows flying upwards.

‘But that’s heaps too much—four times as much as nannies and people like that get.’

‘But you will have four times as much as that to do.’ He spoke firmly and she had the feeling that if she were to argue he would get annoyed.

‘Very well, thank you.’ She smiled across at him. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’

His reply astonished her. ‘I should like to stay to supper,’ he said.

She hadn’t been Miss Partridge of Chifney House for nothing, she hastened to invite him with just the right degree of pleasure and served the simple meal with an aplomb which would have done justice to something far more elaborate. ‘I’m afraid there’s no beer,’ she informed her guest, ‘but there’s orange squash…’

The professor assured her that orange squash was exactly what he would have chosen and when Beth poured him a glass of this innocuous beverage, drank it with every sign of enjoyment, he ate his portion of macaroni cheese with a flattering appetite too, talking gently about this and that, so that she hardly realized that she was answering any number of skilfully put questions. By the time they were drinking their coffee she had told him quite a lot about Chifney as well as revealing, quite unknowingly, a good deal about her stepbrother.

‘You have a pleasant home here,’ remarked the professor, and sounded as though he meant it, ‘and some delightful pieces of furniture.’

‘Aren’t they? Philip allowed us to bring them with us, you know. They don’t quite suit the flat, but we grew up with them.’ She poured more coffee for them both, feeling wonderfully at ease with this large, quiet man. She would have liked to have told him so many things and might have done so if she hadn’t reminded herself with her usual good sense that all good medical men had the power of making one feel at ease and able to talk freely. She frowned, hoping she hadn’t talked too much; perhaps she should change the conversation.

‘You were going to tell me something about your nephews and nieces,’ she prompted him.

‘Ah, yes—but first I think we should wash up.’

‘Wash up? Good heavens, no! I’m sure you’ve never washed up in your life.’

He smiled faintly. ‘I wonder what makes you think that?’ His voice held a note of inquiry and she flushed a little.

‘I didn’t mean to sound rude,’ she assured him, ‘and I can do it later.’

For answer he began to pile the plates tidily and carried them through to the kitchen, and it struck her that he was a man who, once he had made up his mind, didn’t like it changed for him. They washed up together, talking in a casual friendly way which she found very pleasant, then went back to the sitting room, where the professor settled himself in a chair again with the air of one staying for the rest of the evening.

‘About the children,’ he began, ‘the eldest is Dirk, he’s ten, then there is Marineka, who is eight, Hubert, seven and Alberdina, the littlest, who is five. They are normal healthy children, that is to say they are as naughty and disobedient as most children of their ages. On the whole their manners are passable, they don’t sulk and I should say that they have a strong sense of fair play. They adore their mother, who spoils them, and hero-worship their father, an archaeologist of some repute, at present somewhere in Chile leading an expedition of some sort or other. He will be away for several more weeks, and since I had already accepted an invitation from St Elmer’s to give a series of lectures, Martina—my sister—decided that it would be a good idea if they were to come over to England at the same time. The children, by the way, speak tolerable English; they had an English nanny until she left to get married a short time ago.’ He paused to smile. ‘You are still willing to come?’

Beth’s wide mouth turned up its corners in a delightful smile. ‘Oh, yes. When do you want me to start?’

‘I am told that your holiday starts on Sunday.’ He paused to ask if he might light his pipe and Beth sat composedly watching him, saying nothing, and presently he went on: ‘There is a housekeeper and daily help, but they aren’t suitable for the children—besides, they have enough to do. You would have to be with them for most of the day, although I will undertake to have them with me if and when I am there. You are prepared for that?’

‘Yes, of course,’ she assured him. What was curtailed freedom when it meant William’s new shoes and some clothes for herself as well? ‘I’ve days off on Friday and Saturday. I could go along on Friday afternoon if you would like that. Where am I to go?’

He scribbled an address in his pocket book, tore out the page, and handed it to her. ‘Take a taxi,’ he advised her, ‘your expenses will be paid.’

She glanced at the address he had written down and then looked again because his writing was almost illegible. William had been right, it was somewhere close to Harrods—a rented house, presumably—possibly someone he knew; doctors helped each other… She was aware that he had got to his feet and jumped up briskly. ‘It was kind of you to come—I quite thought you had found someone else.’

She smiled as she spoke, but he answered seriously: ‘No—you seemed so suitable, and Professor MacDonald thinks highly of you—I am sure that I could have done no better.’

She found this speech a little damping, so that her good-bye was stiff, but once she had shut the door on his broad back, she whisked to William’s bedroom window which overlooked the street, and looked cautiously out, in time to see him getting into the Citroën. She craned her neck in order to get a better view; he must be very successful if he could afford to run a car costing almost seven thousand pounds, even though it matched his size. It was disconcerting when he looked up and caught her peering down, and waved.

Beth got up early on Friday morning, gave William his breakfast and a list of instructions which she knew very well he wouldn’t attend to, and set about cleaning the flat. William, though willing, was unhandy about the house and it would probably be in a shocking state when she got back, but at least she could leave it in apple pie order. She sighed as she Hoovered; a holiday—a real holiday—would have been super, but she cheered herself up with the promise of the shopping expedition she would have—a new suit, she decided happily while she packed a few things in a case; the despised skirt and sweater, a suede jerkin to wear over them if the days proved cool, a raincoat and a jersey dress; the only decent one she had, leaf green and simple enough for it not to matter that it was a year old at least, slacks, she supposed, and a shirt-blouse. She would wear her suit, a bargain in the January sales, Irish tweed and well cut, and she had her good leather shoes and handbag. She dressed quickly, did her face and hair, picked up her case and went downstairs to telephone for a taxi; it wasn’t the sort of neighbourhood where one was easily to be found.

The address which the professor had given her was just off Sloane Square; a quiet cul-de-sac reached by a narrow street and lined on three sides by tall elegant houses. There was an enclosed garden in its centre and it had all the peace of a country village. Very Knightsbridge, thought Beth, paying the driver before picking up her case and ascending the steps of number three.

The door was opened before she could ring the bell. A small, cheerful-faced woman wished her good day and without asking her what her business was, stood aside for her to go in. ‘You’ll be Miss Partridge,’ she declared comfortably, ‘the professor said you’d be arriving about now. If you’ll put your case down someone will bring it to your room presently, miss. I thought you might like to go there straight away and then have a cup of tea. The children are in the park with Nelly, who comes in to help most days; that’ll give you time to look around you. This way, if you please.’

She led the way down the narrow elegant hall to the staircase, curving up from its end wall. Half-way up she paused to get her breath, for she was on the stout side. ‘Your room’s on the second floor, with the children, miss; the professor thought it might be nicer for you as well as easier.’ She beamed kindly at Beth, who smiled back, liking her, before they went on again, across a surprisingly wide landing and up another flight of stairs opening on to a semicircle of thick carpet, lighted by a big bow window and with several doors leading from it. The housekeeper opened the first of these, disclosing a good sized room, furnished tastefully with Regency mahogany and curtained and carpeted in a delicate shade of blue.

‘Oh, charming!’ exclaimed Beth, quite carried away with the idea of having it for her own for a week; it reminded her of her room at Chifney’s, only there were no fields to be seen from its window, only the treetops from the little square in front of the house. She turned to smile again at her companion. ‘You must be the housekeeper—may I know your name?’

‘Mrs Silver, miss. I’ve been housekeeper here for many years now, ever since the professor inherited this house from his grandfather—that was his mother’s father, her being English. He’s not here all that often, not having the time, being such a busy gentleman.’

She turned round as a thin youngish woman appeared in the doorway with Beth’s case. ‘And this is Miss Powers; she comes in daily to help and what a blessing that is, I can tell you.’ She nodded and smiled and went on: ‘And now we’ll leave you to unpack your things, then perhaps you’ll come downstairs when you’re ready, there’ll be a nice tea ready for you. Would ten minutes suit you, miss?’

Beth thanked her and fell to unpacking, a task quickly accomplished so that she had time to tidy her hair and re-do her face and take a closer look at the room. It was really quite beautiful; the professor’s grandfather must have been a man of excellent taste. She looked around her as she made her way downstairs too, and found the same elegance, and promised herself a closer inspection of the pictures hanging on the walls when she had the leisure—if she had any leisure; the professor had warned her that she would have her hands full.

Mrs Silver appeared in the hall as Beth trod the last stair and led the way across the hall and opened a door, inviting her to enter, adding that tea would be brought in a very few minutes. Beth murmured her thanks, wishing to ask if there really was time for her to have tea before the children arrived, but Mrs Silver had already gone, closing the door silently behind her, leaving Beth to look around her.

It was a large, comfortably furnished room, two button-backed sofas flanked the marble fireplace, and there were a variety of easy chairs scattered about, as well as a Sheraton sofa table, a number of lamp tables and a handsome display cabinet against one wall. There were pictures on its panelled walls, too; she began a leisurely tour of them, craning her neck to see those above her head and retracing her steps to take another look at something she had liked. She had reached the fireplace by now and tiptoed to study the portrait above it—bewhiskered old gentleman, smiling a little, with heavy-lidded blue eyes.

‘That’ll be Grandfather,’ Beth told herself aloud. ‘He looks an old poppet—he’s got the same eyes too.’ She turned with a smothered shriek at the chuckle behind her. Deep in the recesses of a porter’s chair, half turned away from the room, sat the professor, watching her.

‘You’re quite right,’ he observed blandly, ‘we do share the same eyes and he was—what was the word?—an old poppet.’ He got up as he spoke and came towards her. ‘Unpardonable of me to remain silent, was it not? But if you had turned this way you would have seen me.’

‘Yes—well I didn’t expect you to be here.’ She was a little indignant.

‘I didn’t expect to be here either, but the last case fell through and it occurred to me that it might be easier for you if I were here to introduce you and the children.’ His kind smile came and went. ‘Do sit down, Miss Partridge. Mrs Silver will be here at any moment with tea—I seldom have the chance to have it at home, and still less to share it with a such a delightful companion.’

Beth frowned horribly, aware that she had gone a bright pink, and he asked in a matter-of-fact way: ‘You do not care for compliments? I assure you that I meant what I said.’

‘Of course I like compliments,’ she spoke a trifle crossly, ‘all girls do, only I never quite believe them. You see, my face…you must have noticed I’m rather plain…’

His heavy lids drooped still further over his eyes and if she had hoped, deep down, that he would disclaim this bald statement, she was to be disappointed, for all he said was: ‘I would have thought that it could be quite an asset in these days, when girls wear their prettiness like a uniform.’