Текст книги "Britannia All at Sea"
Автор книги: Betty Neels
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 10 страниц)
Marinus had to wait a moment or two before he could speak to the professor; there was a patient with him, explained his secretary, who would be gone in a very short time; just time enough to give Marinus the leisure to wonder if he was being needlessly foolish. After all, Miss Smith was returning to England that very evening and the professor hadn’t even mentioned the fact; perhaps dear Emmie was wrong.
But she wasn’t, he could tell that by the sound of the professor’s voice when he started asking questions. How long had Miss Smith been gone? Had Mevrouw Veske said anything about searching for her? Had she been warmly clad?
Marinus, being unable to answer any of these enquiries with any degree of accuracy, was told sharply to see that the professor’s horse was saddled and ready for him, together with a torch and blanket. ‘I shall be home almost immediately, and I want the dogs as well.’
‘You know where Miss Smith is?’ asked Marinus.
‘I believe so.’ The professor’s voice sounded harsh as he replaced the receiver.
He was as good as his word. Caesar, his great roan horse, was being led round to the front door as he got out of the Rolls and went indoors. Marinus, hovering in the hall, hurried to meet him. ‘I’ve put out your riding things, Professor—’ he began, to be cut short with: ‘No time. I’ll go as I am. Telephone Mevrouw Veske, will you, and see that there’s a room ready just in case Miss Smith needs to stay the night.’
He had gone again, taking Caesar at a careful trot down the drive, the dogs at his heels.
It was a dark evening and the overhanging trees made it even darker. The professor kept the beam from his torch steady, not bothering to turn its light from side to side of the road, he was so sure where Britannia would be. He urged his horse along now, holding the reins with easy assurance, his face without expression, giving no hint of the mounting impatience he felt. At the crossroads he was forced to slow down, for the ground had become even more treacherous, but he whistled to the dogs and urged them on ahead, watching their progress. He paused for a moment where he and Britannia had first stopped, but there was no sign of her and he went on again, searching the thicket on either side of him until he heard Jason’s deep bark and Willy’s excited yap. He could just make them out by the torch’s light, standing one each side of Britannia, sprawled across the lane.
The professor swung himself off his horse with the agility of a much younger man and knelt down beside her. Britannia was still unconscious. Her white face, with a nasty bruise down one side of it, looked quite alarming by the light of the torch, but the professor wasted no time in exclaiming over her appearance. He took her pulse, found it to be strong and regular, noted her grossly swollen ankle and said briskly: ‘Wake up, Britannia, we have to get you home.’
He repeated himself several times, interlarded with several pungent remarks in his own language although Britannia, recalled to consciousness by the insistence of his voice, really had no idea of what he was saying. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her, looking so formidable that she frowned and closed her eyes again. She opened them almost immediately though, because there were two dogs looking at her too. She said in a very small voice: ‘The Bouvier and the Corgi,’ and then: ‘You’re wearing a good suit…it’ll be spoilt.’
The professor didn’t smile. He said something forceful in his own language again and Britannia thought it prudent not to ask what it was. She said helpfully: ‘I’ve hurt my ankle. I’m sorry I can’t walk, I crawled for a while, but I don’t think I got very far. If you wouldn’t mind just helping me to the end of the lane, I’d be all right there while you go and telephone Mijnheer Veske. He’ll take me to hospital and they can strap it…’
The professor was busy; he had cut the shoe lace of the sensible shoe she was wearing and was carefully slicing it open so that he could ease it off her injured ankle. He held her foot steady in one large gentle hand and worked with the other, and only when she stopped talking because the pain was so bad did he speak. ‘Stop issuing instructions like a demented great-aunt, Britannia. You must know that I shan’t listen to a word of them, nonsensical as they are. And now grit your teeth, my girl, this is going to hurt.’
It did, but she didn’t utter a sound, only shivered and shook and felt sick, and then, when the shoe was off and she felt the warmth of the blanket about her, so relieved that the tears she had so sternly held in check escaped at last.
Her rescuer turned the torch on her face then and examined the bruise, muttering to himself so that she managed at last: ‘Please don’t be so angry, Jake, I know it’s awkward—I mean meeting again after we’ve said goodbye.’ Some of her spirit returned. ‘And it’s very rude to mutter and mumble so that no one knows what you’re saying.’
‘You want to know what I was saying?’ He picked her up effortlessly, although she was a big girl. ‘That if you had listened carefully, you would know that I didn’t say goodbye.’
He strode over to where Caesar stood waiting and Britannia let out a squeak of surprise. ‘A horse—he’s huge!’ She added apprehensively: ‘I can’t get up there…’
He didn’t even bother to answer; she was lifted and laid across the great beast’s neck and while she was still panicking about holding on, the professor had swung himself up behind her, picked up the reins, whistled to the dogs and had turned for home.
He went slowly and carefully, but all the same her ankle was agonisingly painful. It was quite dark now and the road when they reached it was deserted. She said suddenly: ‘It’s a good thing it’s dark, we must look quite extraordinary.’ She gave a tired little chuckle and when he didn’t speak, she asked: ‘Are you still angry?’
His voice came from the darkness above her. ‘I am not angry.’
She drew a sharp breath as Caesar stumbled on a stone and she felt the professor’s arm, holding her firmly round the shoulders, tighten. After a moment he said quietly: ‘We’re almost home.’
He hadn’t once spoken a word of sympathy, she reflected in a rather woolly fashion. Any other man…but then any other man might have wasted time doing just that, while he had done everything possible with a swift efficiency and a minimum of talk, and he had known where to find her… She was framing a question about that when Caesar came to a halt and she was aware of lights and voices.
Being lifted down was a painful business; Britannia gritted her teeth and kept her eyes shut as the professor carried her indoors, suddenly too tired to mind about anything any more.
CHAPTER SIX
HALFWAY UP the staircase Britannia roused herself sufficiently to say: ‘I’m too heavy,’ but the professor didn’t speak, keeping up a steady, unhurried pace until he reached the gallery above. Emmie was ahead of him, ready with the door open of a room at its end. She had the bed turned down too and a blanket spread on it on to which he laid Britannia, who, feeling its warm security and seeing Emmie’s kind face peering at her, not surprisingly went immediately to sleep.
She didn’t sleep for long, although when she woke it was to find that someone had got her out of her clothes and put her in a nightgown; she vaguely remembered lifting arms and raising her head and Emmie’s voice murmuring comfortingly, and now she lay, nicely propped up with pillows, the bedcovers turned back, disclosing an ugly, swollen ankle. She was frowning at it when Emmie came back with the professor at her heels.
His ‘Hullo, feeling better?’ was laconic, but his examination of her foot was meticulous and very gentle. He hadn’t quite finished when Britannia asked: ‘Please will you telephone Mijnheer Veske? If someone could lend me a dressing gown he could take me to Arnhem…’
‘And what do you propose to do in Arnhem?’ the professor wanted to know without bothering to look at her.
‘Well, get this strapped, then…’
‘I believe that I am still capable of strapping an ankle.’ His voice was silky.
‘Oh, I’m sure you are,’ soothed Britannia. ‘What I mean is, I wanted to get away from here—at least, I don’t want to, if you see what I mean, but it would be so much nicer for you.’
‘You have a quite nasty contusion over your left eye, probably a little concussion as a consequence, which would account for your muddled conversation.’
Indeed her head did ache; she had done her best and she suspected that her ankle would become even more painful before it was strapped. ‘I don’t feel quite the thing,’ she admitted.
‘That is hardly surprising.’ He sounded austere. ‘I am going to strap that ankle. It is a sprain. I was able to take a look at it while you were in a faint. Tomorrow you will go to the hospital and have an X-ray of it, and also of your head.’
‘But I’m going home—all the arrangements…’ Her tired head whirled at the very thought.
‘Leave the arrangements to me. You’ll not be going home for a few days. And now let us attend to your ankle.’
Britannia lay still, willing herself not to let out so much as a squeak of pain. She clasped Emmie’s kind hand and squeezed it hard, and when the professor had finally done, thanked him in a trembly voice.
She got a grunt in reply and an injunction to drink the tea which would be fetched to her and then to go to sleep. ‘There’s nothing much wrong with your head that a good sleep won’t cure,’ remarked the professor with impersonal kindness.
She opened her eyes to look at him, leaning over the end of the bed, staring at her. ‘Then I don’t need to have it X-rayed tomorrow—I’ve put you to enough trouble.’
‘And probably will put me to a great deal more.’ He nodded carelessly and went to the door, and Emmie drew up a chair and sat down by the bed. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t speak a word of English; she helped Britannia to drink her tea, shook up her pillows for her and then held her in a comfortable embrace while she cried her eyes out. She felt better after that and went to sleep almost at once, her head, very tousled, still against Emmie’s plump shoulder.
She woke hours later to a darkened room lighted by a bedside lamp, by which the professor was reading. He looked up almost immediately and came to the bed, took her pulse, looked at her pupil reactions, turned her head gently to examine the great bruise colouring one side of it and asked: ‘How do you feel, Britannia?’
She studied his face before she replied. His calm expression gave no hint as to his feelings. She sighed: ‘Not at all bad, thank you. My head feels much better—my ankle’s a bit painful but quite bearable. What’s the time?’
‘Two o’clock. Emmie has some soup for you, you will drink it and go to sleep again.’
‘Two…but you ought to be in bed, you’ll be tired out in the morning.’
There was the glimmer of a smile on his face. ‘I shall go to bed very shortly. Here is Emmie.’
The housekeeper looked even cosier than she did by day, wrapped in a thick woollen dressing gown. She bore a small tray upon which was a pipkin of soup, a dazzling white napkin and a glass of lemonade. The soup smelled delicious and Britannia’s pinched nose wrinkled in anticipation. The professor stood, book in hand, one long finger marking his place, while Emmie arranged Britannia’s pillows, tucked the napkin under her chin, removed the pipkin’s lid and offered her the soup. Only when Britannia had taken the first spoonful did he go to the door and with a quiet ‘Goodnight, Britannia,’ go out of the room. Undoubtedly he was annoyed at her having to be in his house at all. He was a good host and a good surgeon so she would receive nothing but courtesy and the best of attention while she was there, but that was all. Her lip quivered and tears filled her lovely eyes and she put the spoon down, to be at once comforted by Emmie’s ‘Nou, nou,’ and the offer of a clean handkerchief. ‘Drink,’ commanded Emmie with kindly firmness and Britannia picked up her spoon once more. She drank down the lemonade too because her attendant expected her to, but by then she was feeling tired again and her head was aching. She had barely thanked Emmie before she was asleep again.
It was daylight when she awoke for the second time, the curtains drawn to show a bright morning, a fire crackling in the steel grate. Britannia sat up cautiously and looked around her. She felt much better. There would be no need for her to be X-rayed and she would say so; she would also have to find out what had happened to Joan and whether she was to get back to the Veskes that morning…and when would she be able to go back to England? She closed her eyes and frowned, then opened them again to have a good look at the room she was in.
It was a large, airy room, with two tall windows draped in rose pink silk, a colour echoed in the bed-cover of quilted chintz and the upholstered armchairs, the furniture was painted white picked out with gilt and the floor was carpeted in a soft misty blue, very restful to the eye. A charming room, and luxurious. Britannia closed her eyes once more and wondered what could be the time. She opened them almost at once, though, because someone was knocking at the door, and in answer to her ‘Come in’, Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien entered.
‘Good morning, my dear,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Jake told me to wait until you were awake before giving you your breakfast. I’m glad to see that you have slept. Emmie is coming in a few minutes with tea and toast for you—he said to give you nothing more than that until you have been to hospital. He will be back for you at ten o’clock.’
‘Oh—I was going to ask him if I need be X-rayed. I feel so much better.’
The professor’s parent shook her elegant head. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t do that if I were you.’ She sat herself down in a chair close by the bed. ‘One must always do as one’s doctor says.’
Britannia was on the point of saying that the professor wasn’t her doctor anyway, but stopped herself in time because it might have sounded rude. Instead she thanked her companion for her kindness in offering her shelter for the night.
Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien looked surprised and then laughed. ‘But, my dear child, it had nothing to do with me, this is Jake’s house. I stay with him from time to time, that is all. When he left this morning he put you into my care and I am more than happy to do what I can for you. I have three daughters of my own, you know, they are all married and I can assure you that when they are all here with their husbands and children, it is indeed a houseful, something Jake enjoys very much.’
‘Does he?’ cried Britannia in surprise. ‘I thought—that is, he never seems…’
Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien’s features relaxed into a smile again. ‘No, he doesn’t does he?’ she agreed. ‘And yet he loves children and his home and family.’
‘He told me that he was something of a hermit,’ said Britannia indignantly.
‘Well, so he is, if by that he means that he doesn’t have a busy social life or escort a variety of young women to some night club or other far too often.’ The lady’s tone made it plain what she thought of night clubs. ‘He enjoys a pleasant life; he has a great many friends and he loves his work, as you have no doubt seen for yourself.’ She broke off to say: ‘Ah, here is Emmie, I will leave you to enjoy your breakfast. When you have finished, she will help you to dress.’
It was only when she was at the door that Britannia remembered to ask: ‘I quite forgot to ask you. What did Mevrouw Veske say? And has Joan, my friend, you know—gone back?’
‘Of course—I forgot too—I was to tell you that Mevrouw Veske will be over to see you this afternoon, and Joan has returned as it had been arranged. She will see the Directrice of your hospital and explain what happened. You may be sure that Jake has not overlooked anything.’
Britannia tackled her breakfast with a healthy appetite, her painful ankle notwithstanding, and when Emmie came back presently with her clothes, brushed and neat, she began the business of getting them on cheerfully enough. The problem of washing had been solved by Emmie bringing a basin to the bedside, but dressing didn’t prove quite as easy as she had expected. But somehow she wriggled and twisted her way into her slacks and sweater, pausing for minutes at a time to allow the pain in her ankle to lessen, and the slacks had had to be cut in order to get her swollen foot into the leg. More or less dressed, she surveyed her person carefully and deplored her appearance. Emmie had brushed her hair and tied it back and then fetched a mirror reluctantly enough, and when Britannia saw her face in it she quite understood why; she was a sorry sight, one side of her face swollen and discoloured and a bump on her forehead the size of a billiard ball. Even if the professor had taken a fancy to her, which he hadn’t, it would have needed to have been a very strong fancy. She was still staring at her reflection when he said from the doorway: ‘May I come in?’ and then: ‘You’re going to have a black eye.’
He said something to Emmie, asked: ‘Are you ready?’ and scooped Britannia up and carried her downstairs to the car. He had very much the manner, she considered, of a man removing a misbehaving kitten to the garden; kind, firm and faintly resigned that he had had to do it in the first place.
He stowed her into the front seat beside him while Emmie and Marinus proffered cushions with which to protect her foot. This done to his satisfaction, he got in, asked her in a rather perfunctory manner if she were quite comfortable and drove to Arnhem, wasting no breath in conversation on the way and wasting no time either. Britannia, seeking in vain for a topic of conversation and unable to think of anything at all to say, was relieved when they reached the hospital, where he lifted her from the car and set her in the wheelchair a porter was sent to fetch. She felt at a distinct disadvantage with no make-up, her hair austerely brushed back by Emmie and Mevrouw Veske’s amply cut anorak dragged on anyhow; moreover, there was no vestige of glamour about a wheelchair. Not that it mattered; the professor muttered to the porter, said ‘I’ll see you in a minute,’ and stalked away, leaving her to be trundled to X-ray, past a long line of fractured arms and legs, broken collarbones, barium meals and the like, all waiting patiently for their turn. Presumably this wasn’t to be her lot; she was taken directly into the X-ray room where she was arranged on the table by a pretty nurse who nodded and smiled at her and then melted into the background as a thick-set bearded man and the professor ranged themselves beside her.
‘That is indeed a splendid bruise,’ observed the bearded man cheerfully. ‘Let us hope that there is no hairline fracture beneath it.’ He smiled broadly and held out a hand. ‘Berens—Frans Berens.’ He wrung her hand in a crushing grip and turned to the professor. ‘The skull first, I think, Jake, and then the ankle.’
It was quickly done, but she was told to stay where she was while the plates were developed, and lay, cosily wrapped in a blanket in the half dark, half asleep until the professor’s voice caused her to open her eyes.
‘No bones broken,’ he told her, ‘just a nasty sprain. Bed for a few days and then massage and exercises.’
‘But can’t I go home?’
Doctor Berens rumbled disapprovingly. ‘Indeed you cannot. You have had a nasty fall and you must have time to get over it; besides, that ankle must lose its swelling…’
‘You will return with me, Britannia,’ stated the professor in a no-nonsense voice, ‘and when you are fit, you may return home.’
‘To the Veskes?’
‘I imagine not—they will be going away for St Nikolaas.’
‘But I can’t…’
The porter had returned with the wheelchair and Britannia was whisked into it, had her hand shaken once more by the genial Doctor Berens and was wheeled away while she was still gathering her wits. It wasn’t until she had been settled in the car once more, and the professor was driving through the city, that she said again: ‘I can’t…’
Her companion’s voice was silky. ‘If you do not like the idea of staying under my roof, Britannia, I must point out that the house is large enough to shelter the pair of us with little risk of meeting.’
‘Oh, no—it’s not that at all. But if I stay with you I’m—I’m a continuing source of embarrassment to you.’
His surprise was quite genuine. ‘Why on earth should you be?’ he wanted to know. ‘We shan’t be on our own, you know. It is December—or had you overlooked that? My sisters, their husbands and children, not to mention nursemaids, my mother, an uncle or two and—er—Madeleine will be celebrating St Nikolaas with me.’
Put like that it made her feel lonely. ‘You’re very kind, but won’t I be a nuisance?’
His careless: ‘Lord, no—I’ll get a nurse to look after you,’ was really all she needed to round off a horrid morning, but she wasn’t going to let it show. ‘You will be good enough to let me have the bill for her fees,’ she said haughtily, ‘and I should like to be home—among my friends and family—for Christmas.’
‘Long before that, I hope,’ he assured her with offhand cheerfulness, ‘and it is your fault, if I may say so, Britannia, that you’re not in the bosom of my family for St Nikolaas—but you turned me down, if you care to remember.’
Britannia’s bosom heaved under the ample folds of Mevrouw Veske’s anorak. ‘You’re quite awful!’ she snapped. ‘I didn’t turn you down—at least, it was because…you know why it was.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Couldn’t I please go home?’
‘No. Not unless you don’t mind having giddy fits and falling down and spraining the other ankle.’
They had been travelling fast, now he slowed to turn into the drive. ‘Mevrouw Veske is coming to see you this afternoon, she will bring your things with her. If you can bear to take my advice I suggest that you stay in bed for the rest of today. Emmie will look after you and I’ll bring a nurse back with me this evening.’
Britannia bit her lip; she had no arguments left and now her head was beginning to ache. She said, ‘Thank you, Professor,’ in a meek voice, and when he reminded her: ‘Jake,’ repeated ‘Jake,’ just as meekly.
Mevrouw Veske came after lunch, escorted to Britannia’s room by Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien. She was cosily sympathetic, and full of motherly advice and barely concealed excitement, because here was Britannia, as lovely and sweet a girl as she had ever set eyes on, and moreover, she felt sure, as lovely and sweet a girl as the professor had ever set eyes on too, actually guest in his house, and likely to stay for a few days at least.
She embraced Britannia gingerly with an anxious eye on the bruise, and began to voice her regrets about St Nikolaas: ‘All arranged weeks ago, you understand, my dear,’ she protested, ‘otherwise we would have loved to have had you with us…’
‘Your loss is our gain, mevrouw,’ interposed Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien. ‘We shall be delighted to have Britannia with us.’
‘She will perhaps be confined to her room?’
‘So I understand, but my son is bringing back a nurse this evening.’
Britannia, sitting up in her pretty bed between her two visitors, thought that it was very evident that however merry the celebrations were to be she was to have no part in them. She said a little desperately: ‘Look, surely I could travel? If someone could take me to the plane…’
‘Jake has said that you are to stay here, my dear.’ The two ladies looked at her in a kindly fashion, each of them quite sure in her own way that Jake was right. Britannia gave up, for the time being at least; when the professor returned, she would have another go at him.
But he gave her no opportunity of doing this; indeed, thinking about it afterwards, she suspected that he had guessed her intention and made sure that she was unable to carry it out, for he had visited her on his return that evening but had stayed only long enough to introduce Zuster Hagenbroek, examine her bruises and ankle, assure her with cool sympathy that no great harm had been done to her person, and that she would be as right as a trivet in no time at all, before going away again, leaving her to the ministrations of Zuster Hagenbroek, a middle-aged, bustling person with a wide smile and kind eyes, who spoke surprisingly good English, assured Britannia that she was perfectly able to massage the offending ankle as well as exercise it, and that Britannia would be up and about before she knew where she was. Precisely the same sentiments as the professor had voiced, but with a great deal more warmth.
The next day or two passed pleasantly enough, the pain was less now and although her face was all colours of the rainbow down one side from eye to chin, Britannia’s headache had gone. She sat out of bed on a chaise longue before the fire, playing endless games of cards with Zuster Hagenbroek, writing reassuring letters to her mother and father, and sustaining lengthy visits from the professor’s mother, who, now that she had got to know her better, proved not to be in the least severe.
Of the professor she saw very little and never alone, either he came when Zuster Hagenbroek was on duty, or was accompanied by his mother or Emmie, and even then he didn’t stop long, confining his conversation to her state of health, the weather, and any instructions he might have for Zuster Hagenbroek. Just as though, thought Britannia sadly, they were strangers.
It was on the following morning, after a particularly pointless conversation with him which had led to an almost sleepless night on her part, that the first of the visitors arrived for St Nikolaas—the professor’s eldest sister, Emma, a young woman of thirty-five or so, accompanied by three daughters ranging from twelve years to six. There was a very small son, too, already whisked away to the nursery by his nanny: ‘But you shall see him later,’ said his proud mother, ‘though you mustn’t let the children bother you.’
She was very like her brother, tall and graceful and elegant, and, unlike him, warmly friendly. They were getting to know each other when another sister arrived, to be introduced as Francesca. She had two children, six-and seven-year-olds, who shook Britannia’s hand and exhibited endearing gap-toothed grins before they were led away for their lunch. But the mothers remained until Marinus brought drinks upstairs, sitting around happily gossiping in their excellent English until Zuster Hagenbroek came in with Britannia’s tray. Eating the delicious little meal, she reflected that perhaps St Nikolaas wasn’t going to be so bad after all. And for the rest of that day it wasn’t; the professor’s youngest sister Corinne arrived before tea with a placid baby boy who slept through the not inconsiderable noise which his numerous cousins made. Dumped on Britannia’s lap while his mother went on some errand, he tucked his head, with its wisps of pale hair, into her arm and closed his eyes. He had, she thought, the faintest resemblance to his uncle.
And presently the professor came home. Britannia, watching his sisters launch themselves at his vast person with cries of delight, wished with all her heart that he would look like that for her, laughing and relaxed and content, but when he broke loose at length and came across to where she lay on the chaise longue, and she looked hopefully up into his face, it was to meet cold eyes and an unsmiling mouth, although he asked her civilly enough if she had had a pleasant day and how she did. Conscious of three pairs of eyes upon them, she answered quietly that yes, her day had been pleasant, and she did very well, adding a conventional hope that he had had a good day at the hospital.
His ‘So-so,’ was laconic in the extreme.
She didn’t see him for the rest of that evening, although his sisters poked their heads round the door from time to time, for there was a good deal of coming and going getting the children to bed, and when the various husbands arrived just before dinner, they were brought along to be introduced before everyone trooped downstairs to the dining room. But not Britannia; she thought wistfully of the family party downstairs and wished she were there too, but that of course was impossible; dressing would have been a bit of a problem, she reminded herself sensibly, and then there was the question of getting someone to carry her downstairs, and as no one had suggested it, presumably no one had thought of it, either. She ate her dinner in solitary state because Zuster Hagenbroek had the afternoon and evening free and wouldn’t be back until bedtime.
Emmie came to take her tray and ask her if she wanted anything, but she had all she wanted; books, magazines, a book of crossword puzzles to solve, cards for Patience, all arranged on the little table beside her. She played a game of Patience, cheating so that it came out, and then lay back with her eyes closed. She kept them closed when the door opened and someone came in because if they thought she was asleep they wouldn’t feel guilty about not entertaining her. No one else came, not until Zuster Hagenbroek returned and that astute lady, taking one look at Britannia’s lonely face, embarked on a description of her visit to her family in Arnhem, which lasted through the preparations for bed and until she put out the light, saying firmly that Britannia was tired and must go to sleep immediately. She sounded so sure that she would do as she was told that Britannia did just that.
The professor came the next morning after breakfast, examined the ankle and pronounced it to be mending well. ‘I will take the strapping off tomorrow,’ he promised, ‘put on an elastic stocking and you can try a little—a very little, weight on it. Exercises and massage as usual today, and see that you rest it.’ He gave her a pleasant nod, added a few instructions to Zuster Hagenbroek, and went off, leaving Britannia with a number of questions she wanted answered and hadn’t even had the chance to ask. To get away as quickly as possible was her one wish; whatever the professor had felt for her had obviously been transitory, for now he treated her with the scrupulous politeness of a good host entertaining a guest he didn’t really want. And she must be a great embarrassment to him too, and hadn’t he said that Madeleine de Venz would be there for St Nikolaas? Britannia pondered her problems until a headache threatened and then was fortunately prevented from worrying any more for the moment by the arrival of the professor’s sisters, wandering in in ones and twos, some with their children, all talking cheerfully about the evening’s festivities.
