Winter of Change. Betty NeelsЧитать онлайн книгу.
a generous measure of whisky. It was a drink she detested, but now it represented an act of defiance, she tossed off a second glass too. It was unfortunate that Mr van der Blocq chose to return after five minutes, by which time the whisky’s effects upon her hungry inside were at their highest; by then her head was feeling decidedly strange and her feet, when she walked to a chair, didn’t quite touch the floor. It was unfortunate too that he saw this the moment he entered the room and observed coldly, ‘Good God, woman, can’t I turn my back for one minute without you reaching for the whisky bottle—you reek of it!’ An exaggeration so gross that she instantly suspected that he had been spying upon her.
She said carefully in a resentful voice, ‘You’re enough to drive anyone to drink,’ the whisky urging her to add, ‘Are you married? If you are, I’m very sorry for your wife.’
He took her glass from her and set it down and poured himself a drink. ‘No, I’m not married,’ he said blandly, ‘so you may spare your sympathy.’ He sat down opposite her, crossed his long legs and asked, ‘What did you do before you took up nursing? Were you ever here, living permanently?’
She cleared her fuzzy mind. ‘No, I went to a boarding school, although I came here for the holidays, and then when I left school—when I was eighteen—I asked Grandfather if I might take up nursing and I went to Pope’s. I’ve only been home once a year since then.’
‘No boy-friends?’ She hesitated and he added, ‘I shall be your guardian, you know, I have to know a little about you.’
‘Well, no.’ Her head was clearer now. ‘I never had much chance to meet any—only medical students, you know, and the housemen, and of course they always went for the pretty girls.’ She spoke without self-pity and he offered no sympathy, nor did he utter some empty phrase about mythical good looks she knew she hadn’t got, anyway. He said merely, ‘Well, of course—I did myself, but one doesn’t always marry them, you know.’
She agreed, adding in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘Oh, I know that, I imagine young doctors usually marry where there’s some money—unless they’re brilliant with an assured future, and you can’t blame them—how else are they to get on?’
‘A sensible opinion with which I will not argue,’ he assured her, his tone so dry that her slightly flushed face went slowly scarlet. It was fortunate that Mrs Body created a diversion at that moment by telling them that dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes and would Mary Jane like to take a quick peep at the Colonel first?
She was up in his room, pottering around because she sensed that he wanted company for a few minutes. When Doctor Morris arrived she waited while he examined his patient, adjusted his treatment, asked if he was through with his business, nodded his satisfaction at the answer and wished him a good night. Downstairs again, he accepted the drink offered him, muttered something to Mr van der Blocq and turned to Mary Jane.
‘Your grandfather’s happy; he’s put his affairs in order, it’s just a question of keeping him content and comfortable. You’ll do that, I know, Mary Jane.’ He stood up. ‘I must be off, I’ve a couple more visits. Fabian, come to the car with me, will you?’
They talked very little over their meal and anything which they said had very little to do with the Colonel or what he had told them that day—indeed, Mr van der Blocq kept the conversation very much in his own hands, seeming not to notice her long silences and monosyllabic replies. She went to bed early, leaving him sitting by the fire, looking quite at home, with Major at his feet and still more papers on the table before him.
Once ready for bed, she went through to her grandfather’s room, to find him awake, so she pulled up a chair to the dim lamp and made herself comfortable, declaring that she wasn’t sleepy either. After a while he dozed off and so did she, to waken much later to find Mr van der Blocq standing looking down at her. She wasn’t sure of the expression on his face, but what ever it was it changed to faint annoyance as she got silently to her feet. He said briefly, ‘Go to bed,’ and sat down in the chair she had vacated.
She was awakened by his hand on her shoulder. She sat up at once with an urgent whispered ‘Grandfather?’ and when he nodded and handed her dressing gown from a chair, she jumped out of bed, thrust her arms into its sleeves anyhow and was half way to the door in her bare feet when he reminded her, ‘Your slippers—it’s cold.’ Before she quite reached the door he caught her by the arm. ‘Your grandfather wants to say something to you—don’t try and stop him; he’s quite conscious and as comfortable as he can be. I’ve sent for Morris.’
The Colonel was wide awake and she went straight to the bed and took his hand with a steady smile. He squeezed her fingers weakly.
‘Plenty of guts—like me,’ he whispered with satisfaction. ‘Can’t abide moaning women. Something I want you to do. Always wanted you to meet my friend—Fabian’s uncle—he’s ill too. Go and look after him—bad-tempered fellow, can’t find a nurse who’ll stay. Promised Fabian you’d go.’ He looked at her. ‘Promise?’
She said instantly, ‘Yes, Grandfather, I promise. I’ll look after him.’
‘Won’t be for long—Fabian will see to everything.’
She glanced across at the man standing on the other side of the bed, looking, despite pyjamas and dressing gown, as impassive and withdrawn as he always did. She wondered, very briefly, if he had any feelings at all; if so, they were buried deep. He returned her look with one of his own, unsmiling and thoughtful, and then went to the door. ‘That’s Morris’s car—I’ll let him in and wake Mrs Body.’
The Colonel died a couple of hours later, in his sleep, a satisfied little smile on his old face so that Mary Jane felt that to cry would be almost an insult—besides, had he not told her that she had guts? She did all the things she had to do with a white set face, drank the tea Mrs Body gave her, then had a bath and dressed to join Mr van der Blocq at the breakfast table, where she ate nothing at all but talked brightly about the weather. Afterwards, thinking about it, she had to admit that he had been a veritable tower of strength, organising a tearful Mrs Body and a still more tearful Lily, arranging everything without fuss and a minimum of discussion, telephoning the newspapers, old friends, the rector…
She came downstairs from making the beds just as he came out of the study and Mrs Body was coming from the kitchen with the coffee tray. He poured her a cup, told her to drink it in a no-nonsense voice, and when she had, marched her off for a walk, Major at their heels. It was a fine morning but cold, and Mary Jane, in her sweater and slacks and an old jacket snatched from the back porch, was aware that she looked plainer than even she thought possible—not that she cared. She walked unwillingly beside her companion, not speaking, but presently the soft air and the quiet peace of the countryside soothed her; she even began to feel grateful to him for arranging her day and making it as easy as he could for her. She felt impelled to tell him this, to be told in a brisk impersonal way that as her guardian it was his moral obligation to do so.
He went on: ‘We need to talk; there is a good deal to be arranged. You will have to leave Pope’s—you realised that already, I imagine. I think it may be best if I wrote to your Matron or whatever she is called nowadays, and explain your circumstances. Your grandfather’s solicitor will come here to see you—and me, but there should be no difficulties there, as everything was left in good order. I think it may be best if you return to Holland with me on the day after the funeral; there’s no point in glooming around the house on your own, and I can assure you that my uncle needs a nurse as soon as possible—his condition is rapidly worsening and extremely difficult.’ He paused to throw a stone for Major. ‘He was a good and clever man, and I am fond of him.’
Mary Jane stood still and looked at him. ‘You’ve thought of everything,’ she stated, and missed the gleam in his eyes. ‘I only hope I’ll be able to manage him and that he’ll like me, because I promised Grandfather…’
Her voice petered out and although she gulped and sniffed she was quite unable to stop bursting into tears. She was hardly aware of Mr van der Blocq whisking her into his arms, only of the nice solid feel of his shoulder and his silent sympathy. Presently