A Christmas Romance (5 page)

‘I don’t think I would like it …’

‘Probably not. I’m giving it to you as a medicine so toss it off, but not too quickly.’

It made her choke and her eyes water, but it warmed her too, and when she had finished it he said, ‘I’m going to take you back now. Go straight to bed and take your pills and I promise you that you will feel better in the morning.’

‘You’ve been very kind; I’m very grateful. And it was a lovely supper …’

She bade Meg goodbye and thanked her, too, and with Gustavus stowed in the back of the car she was driven back to Mrs Towzer’s.

The contrast was cruel as she got out of the car: the professor’s house, so dignified and elegant, and Mrs Towzer’s, so shabby and unwelcoming. But she wasn’t a girl to whinge or complain. She had a roof over her head and a job and the added bonus of knowing the professor.

He took the key from her and went up the four flights of stairs, carrying her bag and Gustavus in his basket. Then he opened her door and switched on the light and went to light the gas fire. He put the pills on the table and then said, ‘Go straight to bed, Theodosia.’ He sounded like an uncle or a big brother.

She thanked him again and wished him goodnight and he went to the door. He turned round and came back to where she was standing, studying her face in a manner which
disconcerted her. She knew that her nose was red and her eyes puffy; she must look a sight …

He bent and kissed her then, a gentle kiss on her mouth and quite unhurried. Then he was gone, the door shut quietly behind him.

‘He’ll catch my cold,’ said Theodosia. ‘Why ever did he do that? I’ll never forgive myself if he does; I should have stopped him.’

Only she hadn’t wanted to. She took Gustavus out of his basket and gave him his bedtime snack, put on the kettle for her hot-water bottle and turned the divan into a bed, doing all these things without noticing what she was doing.

‘I should like him to kiss me again,’ said Theodosia loudly. ‘I liked it. I like him—no, I’m in love with him, aren’t I? Which is very silly of me. I expect it’s because I don’t see many men and somehow we seem to come across each other quite often. I must stop thinking about him and feeling happy when I see him.’

After which praiseworthy speech she took
her pills and, warmed by Gustavus and the hot-water bottle, presently went to sleep—but not before she had had a little weep for what might have been if life had allowed her to tread the same path as the professor.

T
HEODOSIA
felt better in the morning; she had a cold, but she no longer felt—or looked—like a wet hen. She took the pills she had been given, ate her breakfast, saw to Gustavus and went to work. Miss Prescott greeted her sourly, expressed the hope that she would take care not to pass her cold on to her and gave her enough work to keep her busy for the rest of the day. Which suited Theodosia very well for she had no time to think about the professor. Something, she told herself sternly, she must stop doing at once—which didn’t prevent her from hoping that she might see him as she went around the hospital. But she didn’t, nor was his car in the forecourt when she went home later that day.

He must have gone away; she had heard that
he was frequently asked to other hospitals for consultations, and there was no reason why he should have told her. It was during the following morning, on her rounds, that she overhead the ward sister remark to her staff nurse that he would be back for his rounds at the end of the week. It seemed that he was in Austria.

Theodosia dropped her diet sheets deliberately and took a long time picking them up so that she could hear more.

‘In Vienna,’ said Sister, ‘and probably Rome. Let’s hope he gets back before Christmas.’

A wish Theodosia heartily endorsed; the idea of him spending Christmas anywhere but at his lovely home filled her with unease.

She was quite herself by the end of the week; happy to be free from Miss Prescott’s iron hand, she did her shopping on Saturday and, since the weather was fine and cold, decided to go to Sunday’s early-morning service and then go for a walk in one of the parks.

It was still not quite light when she left the
house the next morning and there was a sparkle of frost on the walls and rooftops. The church was warm, though, and fragrant with the scent of chrysanthemums. There wasn’t a large congregation and the simple service was soon over. She started to walk back, sorry to find that the early-morning sky was clouding over.

The streets were empty save for the occasional car and an old lady some way ahead of her. Theodosia, with ten minutes’ brisk walk before her, walked faster, spurred on by the thought of breakfast.

She was still some way from the old lady when a car passed her, going much too fast and swerving from side to side of the street. The old lady hadn’t a chance; the car mounted the kerb as it reached her, knocked her down and drove on.

Theodosia ran. There was no one about, the houses on either side of the street had their curtains tightly pulled over the windows, and
the street was empty; she wanted to scream but she needed her breath.

The old lady lay half on the road, half on the pavement. She looked as though someone had picked her up and tossed her down and left her in a crumpled heap. One leg was crumpled up under her and although her skirt covered it Theodosia could see that there was blood oozing from under the cloth. She was conscious, though, turning faded blue eyes on her, full of bewilderment.

Theodosia whipped off her coat, tucked it gently under the elderly head and asked gently, ‘Are you in pain? Don’t move; I’m going to get help.’

‘Can’t feel nothing, dearie—a bit dizzy, like.’

There was a lot more blood now. Theodosia lifted the skirt gently and looked at the awful mess under it. She got to her feet, filling her lungs ready to bellow for help and at the same time starting towards the nearest door.

* * *

The professor, driving himself back from Heathrow after his flight from Rome, had decided to go first to the hospital, check his patients there and then go home for the rest of the day. He didn’t hurry. It was pleasant to be back in England and London—even the shabbier streets of London—was quiet and empty. His peaceful thoughts were rudely shattered at the sight of Theodosia racing across the street, waving her arms like a maniac.

He stopped the car smoothly, swearing softly, something he seldom did, but he had been severely shaken …

‘Oh, do hurry, she’s bleeding badly,’ said Theodosia. ‘I was just going to shout for help for I’m so glad it’s you …’

He said nothing; there would be time for words later. He got out of the car and crossed the street and bent over the old lady.

‘Get my bag from the back of the car.’ He had lifted the sodden skirt. When she had done that
he said, ‘There’s a phone in the car. Get an ambulance. Say that it is urgent.’

She did as she was told and went back to find him on his haunches, a hand rummaging in his bag, while he applied pressure with his other hand to the severed artery.

‘Find a forceps,’ he told her. ‘One with teeth.’

She did that too and held a second pair ready, trying not to look at the awful mess. ‘Now put the bag where I can reach it and go and talk to her.’ He didn’t look up. ‘You got the ambulance?’

‘Yes, I told them where to come and that it was very urgent.’

She went and knelt by the old lady, who was still conscious but very pale.

‘Bit of bad luck,’ she said in a whisper. ‘I was going to me daughter for Christmas …’

‘Well, you will be well again by then,’ said Theodosia. ‘The doctor’s here now and you’re going to hospital in a few minutes.’

‘Proper Christmas dinner, we was going ter
’ave. Turkey and the trimmings—I like a bit of turkey …’

‘Oh, yes, so do I,’ said Theodosia, her ears stretched for the ambulance. ‘Cranberry sauce with it …’

‘And a nice bit of stuffing.’ The old lady’s voice was very weak. ‘And plenty of gravy. Sprouts and pertaters and a good bread sauce. Plenty of onion with it.’

‘Your daughter makes her own puddings?’ asked Theodosia, and thought what a strange conversation this was—like a nightmare only she was already awake.

‘Is there something wrong with me leg?’ The blue eyes looked anxious.

‘You’ve cut it a bit; the doctor’s seeing to it. Wasn’t it lucky that he was passing?’

‘Don’t ‘ave much ter say for ‘imself, does ‘e?’

‘Well, he is busy putting a bandage on. Do you live near here?’

‘Just round the corner—Holne Road, number six. Just popped out ter get the paper.’
The elderly face crumpled. ‘I don’t feel all that good.’

‘You’ll be as bright as a button in no time,’ said Theodosia, and heard the ambulance at last.

Things moved fast then. The old lady, drowsy with morphia now, was connected up to oxygen and plasma while the professor tied off the torn arteries, checked her heart and with the paramedics stowed her in the ambulance.

Theodosia, making herself small against someone’s gate, watched the curious faces at windows and doors and wondered if she should go.

‘Get into the car; I’ll drop you off. I’m going to the hospital.’

He stared down at her unhappy face. ‘Hello,’ he said gently, and he smiled.

He had nothing more to say and Theodosia was feeling sick. He stopped at Mrs Towzer’s just long enough for her to get out and drove off quickly. She climbed the stairs and, once in her room, took off her dirty,
blood-stained clothes and washed and dressed again, all the while telling Gustavus what had happened.

She supposed that she should have breakfast although she didn’t really want it. She fed Gustavus and put on the kettle. A cup of tea would do.

When there was a knock on the door she called, ‘Come in,’ remembering too late that she shouldn’t have done that before asking who was there.

The professor walked in. ‘You should never open the door without checking,’ he said. He turned off the gas under the kettle and the gas fire and then stowed Gustavus in his basket.

‘What are you doing?’ Theodosia wanted to know.

‘Taking you back for breakfast—you and Gustavus. Get a coat—something warm.’

‘My coat is a bit—that is, I shall have to take it to the cleaners. I’ve got a mac.’ She should have been annoyed with him, walking in like
that, but somehow she couldn’t be bothered. Besides, he was badly in need of the dry cleaners, too. ‘Is the old lady all right?’

‘She is in theatre now, and hopefully she will recover. Now, hurry up, dear girl.’

She could refuse politely but Gustavus was already in his basket and breakfast would be very welcome. She got into her mac, pulled a woolly cap over her bright hair and accompanied him downstairs. There was no one about and the street was quiet; she got into the car when he opened the door for her, mulling over all the things she should have said if only she had had her wits about her.

As soon as they had had their breakfast she would tell him that she was having lunch with friends … She discarded the idea. To tell him fibs, even small, harmless ones, was something she found quite impossible. She supposed that was because she loved him. People who loved each other didn’t have secrets. Only he didn’t love her.

She glanced sideways at him. ‘You’ve spoilt your suit.’

‘And you your coat. I’m only thankful that it was you who were there. You’ve a sensible head under that bright hair; most people lose their wits at an accident. You were out early?’

‘I’d been to church. I planned to go for a long walk. I often do on a Sunday.’

‘Very sensible—especially after being cooped up in the hospital all week.’

Meg came to meet them as they went into the house. She took Theodosia’s mac and cap and said firmly, ‘Breakfast will be ready just as soon as you’ve got into some other clothes, sir. Miss Chapman can have a nice warm by the fire.’

She bustled Theodosia down the hall and into a small, cosy sitting room where there was a bright fire burning. Its window overlooked a narrow garden at the back and the round table by it was set for breakfast.

‘Now just you sit quiet for a bit,’ said Meg. ‘I’ll get Gustavus.’

The cat, freed from his basket, settled down before the fire as though he had lived there all his life.

The professor came presently in corduroys and a polo-necked sweater. Cashmere, decided Theodosia. Perhaps if she could save enough money she would buy one instead of spending a week next summer at a bed and breakfast farm.

Meg followed him in with a tray of covered dishes; Theodosia’s breakfasts of cornflakes, toast and, sometimes, a boiled egg paled to oblivion beside this splendid array of bacon, eggs, tomatoes, mushrooms and kidneys.

He piled her plate. ‘We must have a good breakfast if we are to go walking, too,’ he observed.

She stared at him across the table. ‘But it is me who is going walking …’

‘You don’t mind if I come, too? Besides, I need your help. I’m going to Worthing to collect a dog; he’ll need a good walk before we bring him back.’

‘A dog?’ said Theodosia. ‘Why is he at Worthing? And you don’t really need me with you.’

He didn’t answer at once. He said easily, ‘He’s a golden Labrador, three years old. He belongs to a friend of mine who has gone to Australia. He’s been in a dog’s home for a week or so until I was free to take him over.’

‘He must be unhappy. But not any more once he’s living with you. If you think it would help to make him feel more at home if I were there, too, I’d like to go with you.’ She frowned. ‘I forgot, I can’t. Gustavus …’

‘He will be quite happy with Meg, who dotes on him.’ He passed her the toast. ‘So that’s settled. It’s a splendid day to be out of doors.’

They had left London behind them and were nearing Dorking when he said, ‘Do you know this part of the country? We’ll leave the main road and go through Billingshurst. We can get back onto the main road just north of Worthing.’

Even in the depths of winter, the country was beautiful, still sparkling from the night frost and the sun shining from a cold blue sky. Theodosia, snug in the warmth and comfort of the car, was in seventh heaven. She couldn’t expect anything as delightful as this unexpected day out to happen again, of course. It had been a kindly quirk of fate which had caused them to meet again.

She said suddenly, ‘That old lady—it seems so unfair that she should be hurt and in hospital while we’re having this glorious ride—’ She stopped then and added awkwardly, ‘What I mean is, I’m having a glorious ride.’

The professor thought of several answers he would have liked to make to that. Instead he said casually, ‘It’s a perfect day, isn’t it? I’m enjoying it, too. Shall we stop for a cup of coffee in Billingshurst?’

When they reached Worthing, he took her to one of the splendid hotels on the seafront where, the shabby raincoat hidden out of sight
in the cloakroom, she enjoyed a splendid lunch with him, unconscious of the glances of the other people there, who were intrigued by the vivid ginger of her hair.

It was early afternoon when they reached the dog’s home. He was ready and waiting for them, for he recognized the professor as a friend of his master and greeted him with a dignified bark or two and a good deal of tail-wagging. He was in a pen with a small dog of such mixed parentage that it was impossible to tell exactly what he might be. He had a foxy face and bushy eyebrows, a rough coat, very short legs and a long thin tail. He sat and watched while George the Labrador was handed over and Theodosia said, ‘That little dog, he looks so sad …’

The attendant laughed. ‘He’s been George’s shadow ever since he came; can’t bear to be parted from him. They eat and sleep together, too. Let’s hope someone wants him. I doubt it—he came in off a rubbish dump.’

The professor was looking at Theodosia; he knew with resigned amusement that he was about to become the owner of the little dog. She wasn’t going to ask, but the expression on her face was eloquent.

‘Then perhaps we might have the little dog as well since they are such friends. Has he a name?’

He was rewarded by the happiness in her face. ‘He may come, too?’ She held out her arms for the little beast, who was shivering with excitement, and he stayed there until the professor had dealt with their payment, chosen a collar and lead for him and they had left the home.

‘A brisk walk on the beach will do us all good,’ said the professor. ‘We must have a name,’ he observed as the two dogs ran to and fro. They had got into the car without fuss and now they were savouring their freedom.

‘Max,’ said Theodosia promptly. ‘He’s such a little dog and I don’t suppose he’ll grow much more so he needs an important
name. Maximilian—only perhaps you could call him Max?’