The Quiet Professor

She and Oscar left early the next morning. Her home in Buckinghamshire was in a small village north of the country town of Thame. Her father was senior partner in a firm of solicitors and had lived most of his life at Little Swanley, driving to and from his offices in Thame and Aylesbury. She had been born there, as had her younger sister and much younger brother, and although she enjoyed her job she was essentially a country girl. She had a small car and spent her free weekends and holidays at home, and she had hoped—indeed, half expected—that Oscar would get a partnership in a country practice; his determination to stay in London had shaken her a little. Sitting beside him as he drove out of London, she hoped that a day spent at her home would cause him to change his mind.

Little Swanley was a little over sixty miles’ drive from Regent’s and once they were out of the suburbs Oscar took the A41, and, when they reached Aylesbury, turned on to the Thame road before taking the narrow road leading to Little Swanley.

‘It would have been quicker if we had taken the M40,’ he pointed out as he slowed to let a farm cart pass.

‘Yes, I know, but this is so much prettier—I don’t like motorways, but we’ll go back that way if you like.’

She felt a twinge of disappointment in his lack of interest in the countryside; after the drab streets round the hospital, the fields and hedges were green, there were primroses by the side of the road and the trees were showing their new leaves. Spring had come early.

Another even narrower road led downhill into the village. Megan, seeing the church tower beyond it, the gables of the manor house and the red tiles of the little cluster of houses around the market cross, felt a thrill of happiness. ‘Go through the village,’ she told Oscar. ‘Ours is the first house on the left—there’s a white gate…’

The gate was seldom closed. Oscar drove up the short drive and stopped before the open door of her home, white-walled and timber-framed with shutters at its windows, a roomy seventeenth-century house surrounded by trees with a lawn before it and flowerbeds packed with daffodils.

She turned a beaming face to Oscar. ‘Home!’ she cried. ‘Come on in, Mother will be waiting.’

Her mother was already at the door, a still pretty woman almost as tall as her daughter. ‘Darling, here you are at last, and you’ve brought Oscar with you.’ She embraced Megan and shook hands with him. ‘We’ve heard so much about you that we feel as though we know you already.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Come and meet my husband.’

Mr Rodner came into the hall then, the Sunday papers under one arm, spectacles on his nose, a good deal older than his wife, with a thick head of grey hair and a pleasant scholarly face. Megan hugged him before introducing Oscar. ‘At last we’ve managed to get here together. Are the others home?’

‘Church,’ said her mother. ‘They’ll be here in half an hour or so; there’s just time for us to have a cup of coffee and a chat before they get back.’

Melanie and Colin came in presently. Melanie was quite unlike her mother and sister; she was small and slim with golden hair and big blue eyes and Oscar couldn’t take his eyes off her. Megan beamed on them both, delighted that they were instant friends, for Melanie was shy and gentle and tended to shelter behind her sister’s Junoesque proportions. She left them talking happily and went into the garden to look at Colin’s rabbits, lending a sympathetic ear to his schoolboy grumbles, then she went to help her mother put lunch on the table.

Oscar, she saw with happy relief, had made himself at home, and her parents liked him. She had thought they might have taken a walk after lunch and discussed their future but he was so obviously happy in their company that she gave up the idea and left him with her father, Colin and Melanie and she went into the kitchen to gossip with her mother while they cleared away the dishes and put things ready for tea.

‘I like your young man,’ said her mother, polishing her best glasses. ‘He seems very sensible and steady. He’ll make a good husband, darling.’

‘Yes.’ Megan hesitated. ‘Only I don’t see much chance of us marrying for a while—for a long while. He’s rather keen on settling in London and I would have liked him to have found a country practice. I like my work, Mother, but I don’t like London, at least not the part where we work.’

‘Perhaps you can change his mind for him,’ suggested Mrs Rodner comfortably. ‘He doesn’t want to specialise, does he?’

‘No, but he’s keen to get as many qualifications as he can and that means hospital posts for some time.’

‘Did you like his parents, darling?’

Megan put down the last of the knives. ‘Well, his father is quite nice—not a bit like Father, though. I tried hard to like his mother but she doesn’t like me; she says she has no patience with career-minded girls.’

‘You won’t work once you are married, will you?’

‘No. Oscar wouldn’t like that. He thought it would be a good idea if he were to get a senior registrar’s post at one of the big teaching hospitals and I were to live with his parents…’

‘That won’t work,’ said Mrs Rodner with some heat. ‘What would you do all day? And it wouldn’t be a home of your own. Besides, after running a ward for a year or two you won’t settle down easily to playing second fiddle to Oscar’s mother, especially if you don’t like her.’

‘What shall I do?’ asked Megan. ‘It’s a problem, isn’t it?’

‘Wait and see, darling. Very hard to do, I know, but it’s the only way.’

Oscar drove her back to Regent’s after supper, waiting patiently while she hugged and kissed her family in turn, cuddled the elderly Labrador, Janus, made a last inspection of the family cat, Candy, and her various kittens, and picked a bunch of daffodils to cheer up her room. He was seldom put out, she thought contentedly as she got into the car at last.

‘Well,’ she asked him as they drove away, ‘did you like my family?’

‘Very much. Your brother is pretty sharp, isn’t he? Does well at school, I dare say.’

‘Yes, and a good thing, for Father wants him to go into the firm later on.’

‘Your sister is—she’s charming, like a shy angel—you’re not a bit alike,’ and when Megan laughed at that he said, ‘That sounds all wrong but you know what I mean. Has she got a job?’

‘No, she helps Mother at home, but she’s a marvellous needlewoman and she paints and draws and makes her own gloves—that kind of thing. She’s a good cook, too.’

‘Those scones at tea were delicious,’ said Oscar warmly. ‘I like to think of her in the kitchen…’

Megan, faintly puzzled by this remark, refrained from telling him that she had knocked up a batch of scones while he had been talking to Melanie in the drawing-room. It was natural enough, she supposed, that he would think that being a ward sister precluded a knowledge of the art of cooking.

At the hospital they parted in the entrance hall.

‘It was a delightful day,’ said Oscar warmly. ‘I haven’t enjoyed myself so much for a long time.’

A remark which caused Megan to feel vaguely put out. All the same she said in her matter-of-fact way, ‘Good, we must do it again. Don’t forget I’m moving into my flat this week. If you’re free on Thursday evening, you can come for supper.’

He kissed her cheek, since there was no one there to see. ‘That’s a date. What will it be? Baked beans on toast and instant coffee?’

She smiled. ‘Very likely. You’d better bring a bottle of beer to help it out. Goodnight, Oscar.’

Before she went to sleep she had planned a supper menu which would put all thoughts of baked beans out of his head.

Theatre Sister left on Monday and on Tuesday evening Megan went round to the flat. She had already met the landlord and someone had been in to give the flat a good clean; it only remained for her to set the place to rights and since she had the evening before her she went back to the hospital, packed a case with most of her clothes, filled a plastic bag with books and went off once more. She had gone through the entrance door when the case was taken from her hand.

‘Allow me,’ said Professor van Belfeld. ‘The car’s over here…’

Megan stopped to look at him. ‘Car?’ she asked stupidly. ‘But I’m only going—’

He interrupted her. ‘To your new flat, no doubt. I’ll drop you off as I go.’

‘Well, that’s very kind,’ began Megan, ‘but really there’s no need.’

He didn’t answer, but put a large hand under her elbow, took the bag of books away from her and steered her to his car. It was extremely comfortable sitting there beside him, only she didn’t have time to enjoy it to the full; the journey took less than a minute.

Outside the shabby house he got out to open her door, took the key from her and unlocked the door of the flat, switching on the lights and then going back for her case and the books. The place looked bare and unlived-in but it was clean and needed only a few cushions, some flowers and photos and the small gas fire lighted. She was standing in the tiny lobby thanking the professor when the cat sped past them.

‘Yours?’ asked the professor.

‘Well, yes. Theatre Sister said that she’d been feeding him. I’ll get some milk, he must be hungry.’

A small group of children had collected round the car, staring in, and the professor turned round to look at them, picked out the biggest boy and beckoned him over. ‘Go to the shop at the end of the street; I fancy it is still open. Buy two tins of cat food and some milk—any kind of milk.’ He gave the lad some money. ‘Fifty pence if you’re quick about it.’

‘Really,’ protested Megan, ‘there was no need…’

‘The beast is hungry.’ He stated the fact in his quiet voice, putting an end to further argument. ‘You do not mean to stay here tonight?’

‘No. I’m moving in tomorrow. I’ve a day off on Thursday and I’m going to cook a splendid supper. Oscar’s coming.’ She added, ‘Dr Fielding.’

‘Yes. I do know him,’ said the Professor drily. He sounded impatient too and she was glad when the boy came racing back with the cat food and the milk. ‘Give them to the lady,’ advised the professor, and put his hand in his pocket again. ‘Get yourself and your friends some chips.’

The boy took a delighted look at the money. ‘Yer a bit of all right!’ he shouted cheerfully as he and his friends scattered down the street…

Which gave Megan the chance to thank her companion all over again for his help, wish him goodnight and watch him drive away before going into her new home to feed the cat and unpack her case.

The cat, nicely full, sat and watched her. He was too thin and uncared for but she thought that with a little pampering he would turn into a splendid animal. ‘You haven’t a name,’ she observed, ‘and since you’re not a stray but belong here you must have a name. I wonder where you come from and how long you have been wandering around Meredith Street?’

She stroked his grubby head. ‘Of course, that’s your name—Meredith.’

There was a miserable little yard at the back of the flat where the tenants kept their dustbins and the patch of grass struggled to keep green. She opened the door in the tiny kitchen and he went outside but presently crept in again. She locked the door again, opened the small window beside it so that he could get in and out if he wished, put food down for him and wished him goodnight. She wasn’t very happy about the window but she wasn’t going to turn him out so late in the evening and the brick wall round the yard was very high.

The ward was busy the next day and take-in had started again. She had felt guilty at taking her day off during their busy week but it was Jenny’s weekend and she would probably be on duty for very long hours then. She was tired by the evening but she was free until Friday morning. She took the rest of her things to the flat, welcomed by Meredith, and then made up the bed, which pretended to be a divan during the day, cooked herself supper, fed the cat and sat down by the fire to make a list of the things she would need for the supper she had planned for the next day. That done, she turned the divan back into a bed again, had a shower in the cupboard-like apartment squeezed in between the kitchen and the back yard, and, well content, slept soundly with the cat Meredith, who had climbed cautiously on to the end of the bed.

Megan opened an eye as he wriggled into the blankets. ‘You need a good wash and brush-up,’ she muttered, and then slept again.

CHAPTER TWO

MEGAN got up early, for there was a lot to do. She breakfasted, fed Meredith, tidied her small home and went shopping. A bus took her to the Mile End Road, where she filled her basket and hurried back to the flat. The daffodils she had brought back with her had brightened up the rather dark room and there was a shaft of pale sunlight shining through its window. New curtains, she decided happily as she unpacked the basket, pale yellow and tawny, and some new lampshades instead of the rather severe ones Theatre Sister had favoured. They could wait for a few days; supper was what mattered. She made herself some coffee, buttered a roll, fed the cat again and found an old woolly scarf for him to sit on, then spread her shopping on the table in the tiny kitchen.

She chopped onions for the onion soup, peeled potatoes, cut up courgettes and carrots, trimmed lamb chops, got everything ready to make a baked custard and arranged the Brie and Stilton on a dish. Oscar would be off duty at six o’clock, which meant he would arrive half an hour later than that. She had plenty of time; she made a batch of cheese scones and put them in the oven, then went into the living-room to lay the table and light the fire, then, well satisfied with her efforts, she put on one of her pretty dresses and did her hair and face, made a cup of tea and ate one of the scones and then started to cook. The stove was adequate but there was very little room; it meant cooking the soup first so that there would be room for the other saucepans later. The chops she dressed with a few sprigs of rosemary and put into a warm oven while she made the custard and presently put that in the oven too. She hadn’t been sure which wine to buy so she had settled for a rosé and cans of beer; she should have bought a bottle of sherry, she thought worriedly, something she had quite forgotten, but going to look at the table once more she felt satisfied that the tiny room looked welcoming with its one shabby armchair by the fireplace with the table beside it. The rest of the room was more or less filled by the dining table under the window, the two chairs with it and the built-in cupboard and shelves along one wall. There was a padded stool and another small table by the divan and with the two lamps switched on the place looked almost cosy. She opened the kitchen window and let Meredith out, promising him his supper when he returned, then she went back to the stove. Oscar would be coming in half an hour or so and it was time to get the vegetables cooked.

Everything was just about ready by half-past six but there was no sign of Oscar; ten minutes went by and she was worrying about everything being overdone when the phone—a necessity laid on by the hospital only for theatre sisters—rang. Oscar sounded very cheerful. ‘Megan? Something’s come up—you won’t mind, will you, if I don’t come round? One of the housemen has just got engaged and we’re having a bit of a party.’

That was true enough; she could hear laughter and singing in the background and she could hear women’s voices, too. She reminded herself that there were several women doctors at Regent’s before she asked in what she hoped was a matter-of-fact voice if he was coming later.

‘Not a chance. We’ll be going strong for several hours yet.’ He chuckled in what she considered was an infuriating manner. ‘I’m glad I’m not on call.’

She boiled silently. ‘A pity—supper’s all ready…’

‘Put the baked beans back in the tin for next time,’ said Oscar.

That was a bit too much. She hung up.

The smells from the stove were mouthwatering. She turned off the gas and found that she was shaking with rage and disappointment. She would open the wine and drink the lot, she thought wildly, and was scarcely aware that there were tears running down her cheeks. She wiped them away furiously when there was a knock on the door; Oscar had come after all…she flung the door open and found Professor van Belfeld with the cat Meredith tucked under one arm, standing there.

He didn’t wait to be asked in but went past her and put the cat down on the divan. ‘He was at the end of the road, a cyclist came round the corner and knocked him down. I happened to be passing. I don’t think he’s injured, but if you like I’ll take a look.’

He glanced at her with casual swiftness so that she hoped he hadn’t seen the tears. ‘Oh, please—and thank you for rescuing him. I thought it quite safe in the yard. I’ll get a little towel…’

The professor took his time; Megan had the chance to wipe her tear-stained cheeks and blow her nose as soundlessly as possible. The only looking-glass was in the tiny shower-room and she had to trust to luck that she looked normal again. She made a mental note to acquire another for the kitchen as soon as possible. She didn’t look normal, she looked woebegone and red about her pretty nose, but the professor refrained from comment, merely remarked that the cat had no bones broken although he was probably badly bruised. He lifted him on to the scarf before the fire and stood up.

‘You’re expecting a guest. I’m sorry if I’ve held things up in the kitchen.’

‘It—it doesn’t matter—he’s not coming. Oscar—there’s a party at the hospital.’ Her lip quivered like a small girl’s. ‘I cooked supper and now there’s only me to eat it all.’ She gave a sniff and added, ‘So sorry…’

The professor took off his coat. ‘Would I do instead? Something smells delicious and I’m very hungry,’ and when she looked doubtful, ‘I had no lunch.’

‘Really? You’d like to stay? But haven’t you a home…?’

‘Yes, yes, of course I have, but there’s no one there this evening.’

He sounded very convincing and he didn’t spoil it by adding anything to that.

‘Well, it would be nice if you stayed. Will your car be all right outside?’

‘I left some boys on guard.’

‘Won’t they get cold?’

‘They’re sitting inside.’ He went to the table and picked up the wine. ‘If you have a corkscrew I’ll open this.’

She went back to the stove and turned the gas on again and presently served the soup. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t anything to offer you—no sherry or whisky—I’m not quite settled in yet.’

‘This soup needs nothing. You made it yourself?’

‘Yes, I like cooking.’ It helped a lot to see the soup, so carefully made with its round of toast and parmesan cheese on top, being eaten with such enjoyment. The lamb chops were eaten too, washed down with the rosé, which the professor drank with every appearance of enjoyment. It was perhaps the first time in his life that he had drunk wine at three pounds twenty-five pence a bottle; the price had been on the cork and he suspected that she had chosen it because it was a pretty colour.

He laid himself out to be pleasant and she was surprised to discover that he was a good companion, not saying much and never raising his voice, but what he said was interesting and had nothing to do with hospital life. Here was a different man from the one who had stared down at the broken dish and raked her with such a cold blue gaze. She discovered suddenly that she was enjoying herself. The cheese and biscuits followed the chops and since there wasn’t much room to sit anywhere else they had their coffee at the table with the plate of cheese scones between them.

Thinking about it afterwards, Megan wasn’t sure what they had talked about; certainly she had learned nothing of the professor’s private life, as she hadn’t dared to ask questions and he had volunteered no information, although he had told her that he had a dog and a cat, but he had only mentioned them casually while he was taking another look at Meredith, lying at his ease before the fire, comfortably full of supper.

Much to her surprise, he had helped her wash up before he had thanked her quietly for his supper and a pleasant evening, not once saying a word about Oscar—she had been grateful for that—and then he had gone out to his car, sent the boys home gleefully clutching small change, and driven himself away, lifting a casual hand as he went.

There was no chance of seeing Oscar the next day. The usual spate of cases were warded and the ward was full again, and it was a good thing, Megan decided, for it would take her a day or two to get over her disappointment at Oscar’s casual treatment. It was two days later before she did see him on her way back from her midday dinner.

‘Sorry about the other evening, Megan,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I knew you would understand. How about tomorrow? I’m off in the evening unless there’s any kind of emergency.’

Megan mentally arranged the off duty. ‘No good—I’m on duty and I’ll be too tired even to open a can of beans.’ She gave him a brilliant smile. ‘Can’t stop—there’s a case going to Theatre. Bye.’

In her office she got out the off-duty book and went in search of Jenny. ‘I particularly want an afternoon off tomorrow; would you mind changing?’

Jenny was only too glad to agree and Megan sailed back to her office, feeling that at least she had got some of her own back. It wasn’t nice of her, she admitted to herself, and indeed she was a kind-hearted and thoughtful girl by nature, but Oscar had upset her, she had to admit, and had made her uneasy. It wasn’t as if they saw a great deal of each other, there was no question of that, and didn’t absence make the heart grow fonder? Or did it?

There was no sign of the professor, but that was quite normal; he seldom came on to the wards and when he did he wasted no time in conversation unless it was of a professional nature. It was quite by chance that she overheard Mr Bright telling Will Jenkins that the professor had gone off to Holland. ‘Won’t be back for a few days,’ grumbled Mr Bright, ‘but I suppose he wants to see his family from time to time.’

So he was married—the thought gave Megan the strange feeling that she had lost something.

Take-in finished and the ward reverted to its normal busy state, without the sudden upheavals of accident cases, and Megan, relenting, spent an evening with Oscar, having a meal at a quiet restaurant near Victoria Park. She enjoyed herself and Oscar was so nice that she felt mean about changing her off duty the week before and when he suggested that he might go to her home with her on her next free weekend she agreed happily.

‘I can get a weekend,’ he pointed out. ‘Heaven knows I’m due for one.’

‘That will be marvellous. Can we go home on Saturday morning and stay until Sunday evening?’

He saw her back to the flat and stayed for ten minutes or so. ‘Not much of a place, is it?’ he pointed out, and she tried not to mind that. She had the new curtains up and cushions to match, fresh flowers and her books on the bookshelves. Even the cat Meredith looked glossy and well fed. A sensible girl, she understood that to a man the flat appeared to lack the comfort and convenience of home, and she contented herself by telling him that she was very happy with it. ‘If I want to go to bed early I can,’ she explained. ‘At the nurses’ home there is always a good deal of noise and people popping in and out and playing their cassettes. You’d be surprised how quiet this street is.’

He laughed and kissed her. ‘Take care; you’ll be turning into a regular old maid unless you look out!’

‘That’s easily remedied. We could get married.’ She didn’t know why she had said that and she regretted it when she saw his frown.

‘Time enough to talk about that when I’ve finished here and applied for another post,’ he told her, and, because he saw that she was feeling awkward, added another kiss to the one that he had already given her.

Megan, left alone, turned the divan into a bed, put on a kettle for a cup of tea and brushed Meredith’s coat. He was filling out nicely and since his accident had prudently stayed in the back yard. He scoffed the saucer of milk she offered him now and composed himself for sleep before the fire, although the minute she turned out the light and got into bed he would creep stealthily on to the end of it and stay there all night.