Caroline's Waterloo. Бетти НилсЧитать онлайн книгу.
eyed him from the vast folds of her dressing gown. ‘Like this?’ she asked.
He raised thick arched brows. ‘Why not? Juffrouw Kropp will assist you.’ He had gone before she could answer him.
Juffrouw Kropp’s severe face broke into a smile as the door closed. She fetched brush and comb and make-up and produced a length of ribbon from a pocket. She brushed Caro’s hair despite her protests, plaited it carefully and fastened it with the ribbon, fetched a hand mirror and held it while Caro did things to her face, then fastened the dressing gown and tied it securely round Caro’s small waist. Like a well-schooled actor, the Professor knocked on the door, just as though he had been given his cue, plucked Caro from the bed and carried her downstairs where Noakes stood, holding the front door wide. The Professor marched through with a muttered word and Noakes slid round him to open the door of the Aston Martin, and with no discomfort at all Caro found herself reclining on the back seat with Noakes covering her with a light rug and the Professor, to her astonishment, getting behind the wheel.
‘This is never your car?’ she asked, too surprised to be polite.
He turned his head and gave her an unfriendly look. ‘Is there any reason why it shouldn’t be?’ he wanted to know, coldly.
She said kindly: ‘You don’t need to get annoyed. It’s only that you don’t look the kind of man to drive a fast car.’ She added vaguely: ‘A professor…’
‘And no longer young,’ he snapped. ‘I have no interest in your opinions, Miss Tripp. May I suggest that you close your eyes and compose yourself—the journey will take fifteen minutes.’
Caroline did as she was bid, reflecting that until that very moment she hadn’t realised what compelling eyes he had; slate blue and very bright. When she judged it safe, she opened her eyes again; she wasn’t going to miss a second of the ride; it would be something to tell her friends when she got back. She couldn’t see much of the road because the Professor took up so much of the front seat, but the telegraph poles were going past at a terrific rate; he drove fast all right and very well, and he didn’t slow at all until she saw buildings on either side of them and presently he was turning off the road and stopping smoothly.
He got out without speaking and a moment later the door was opened and she was lifted out and set in a wheelchair while the Professor spoke to a youngish man in a white coat. He turned on his heel without even glancing at her and walked away, into the hospital, leaving her with the man in the white coat and a porter.
How rude he is, thought Caro, and then: poor man, he must be very unhappy.
She was wheeled briskly down a number of corridors to the X-ray department. It was a modern hospital and she admired it as they went, and after a minute or so, when the white-coated man spoke rather diffidently to her in English, showered him with a host of questions. He hadn’t answered half of them by the time they reached their destination and she interrupted him to ask: ‘Who are you?’
He apologised. ‘I’m sorry, I have not introduced myself. Jan van Spaark—I am attached to Professor Thoe van Erckelens’ team. I am to look after you while you are here.’
‘A doctor?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I think you would call me a medical registrar in your country.’
The X-ray only took a short while, and in no time at all she was being wheeled back to the entrance hall, but here, to her surprise, her new friend wished her goodbye and handed her over to a nurse, who offered a hand, saying: ‘Mies Hoeversma—that is my name.’
Caro shook it. ‘Caroline Tripp. What happens next?’
‘You are to have coffee because Professor Thoe van Erckelens is not quite ready to leave.’
She was wheeled to a small room, rather gloomy and austerely furnished used, Mies told her, as a meeting place for visiting doctors, but the coffee was hot and delicious and Mies, although her English was sketchy, was a nice girl. Caro, who had been lonely even though she hadn’t admitted it to herself, enjoyed herself. She could have spent the morning there, listening to Mies describing life in a Dutch hospital and giving her a lighthearted account of her own life in London, but the door opened, just as they had gone off into whoops of mirth over something or other, and the porter reappeared, spoke to Mies and wheeled Caro rapidly away, giving her barely a moment in which to say goodbye.
‘Why the hurry?’ asked Caro, hurriedly shaking hands again.
‘The Professor—he must not be kept waiting.’ Mies was quite serious; evidently he had the same effect on the hospital staff as he had on his staff at home. Instant, quiet obedience—and yet they liked him…
Caroline puzzled over that as she was whisked carefully to the car, to be lifted in by the Professor before he got behind the wheel and drove away. Jan van Spaark had been there, with two other younger men and a Sister, the Professor had lifted his hand in grave salute as he drove away.
He seemed intent on getting home as quickly as possible, driving very fast again, and it was a few minutes before Caroline ventured in a small polite voice: ‘Was it all right—my head?’
‘There is no injury to the skull,’ she was assured with detached politeness. ‘Tomorrow I shall remove the stitches from your leg and you may walk for brief periods—with a stick, of course. You will rest each afternoon and read for no more than an hour each day.’
‘Very well, Professor, I’ll do as you say.’ She sounded so meek that he glanced at her through his driving mirror. When she smiled at him he looked away at once.
He carried her back to her room when they reached the house and set her down in the chair made ready for her by the window. ‘After lunch I will carry you downstairs to one of the sitting rooms. Are you lonely?’
His question took her by surprise. She had her mouth open to say yes and remembered just in time that he wanted none of her company.
‘Not in the least, thank you,’ she told him. ‘I live alone in London, you know—I have a flat, close to Oliver’s.’
He nodded, wished her goodbye and went away—she heard the car roar away minutes later. Not a very successful morning, she considered, although he had wanted to know if she were lonely. And she had told a fib—not only was she lonely, but the flat she had mentioned so casually was in reality a bedsitter, a poky first floor room in a dingy street… She was reminded forcibly of it now and of dear old Waterloo, stoically waiting for her to come back. She longed for the sight of his round whiskered face and the comfort of his plump furry body curled on her knee. ‘I’m a real old maid,’ she said out loud, and then called, ‘Come in,’ in a bright, cheerful voice because there was someone at the door.
It was Noakes with more coffee. ‘And the Professor says if yer’ve got an ’eadache, miss, yer ter take one of them pills in the red box.’
‘I haven’t got a headache, thank you, Noakes, not so’s you’d notice. Has the Professor gone again?’
‘Yes, miss—Groningen this time. In great demand, ’e is.’
‘Yes. It’s quiet here, isn’t it? Doesn’t he ever have guests or family?’ Noakes hesitated and she said at once: ‘I’m sorry, I had no right to ask you questions about the Professor. I wasn’t being nosey, though.’
‘I know that, miss, and I ain’t one ter gossip, specially about the Professor—’e’s a good man, make no mistake, but ’e ain’t a ’appy one, neither.’ Caro poured a cup of coffee and waited. ‘It used ter be an ’ouse full when I first come ’ere. Eighteen years ago, it were—come over on ‘oliday, I did, and took a fancy ter living ’ere after I met Marta. She was already working ’ere, kitchenmaid then, that was when the Professor’s ma and pa were alive. Died in a car accident, they did, and he ups and marries a couple of years after that. Gay times they were, when the young Baroness was ’ere…’
‘Baroness?’
Noakes scratched his head. ‘Well,