Never Say Goodbye
‘Heaven!’ said Isobel.
Which earned her a pleased look from her host. ‘Almost,’ he agreed. ‘But come in and meet Christina.’
He led the way between the little gardens to a small door and opened it. There was a steep staircase inside and Isobel, urged on by a friendly voice from above, climbed it. The girl at the top was about her own age, a big, fair-haired girl who took her hand as she reached the top and exclaimed: ‘You are the nurse? Yes, my name is Christina.’
‘Isobel.’
‘That is pretty. Come in. Thomas, how wonderful to see you again!’
She flung her arms around the doctor’s neck and kissed him warmly, and Isobel, standing back a little, thought how different he looked when he smiled like that. A pity he didn’t do it more often. And discovering that his name was Thomas made him seem different.
Not that he was. He gave her a look which clearly was meant to keep her at a distance, said formally: ‘Mr and Mrs Janssen are old friends of mine, Miss Barrington,’ and stood aside politely so that she might walk into the narrow hallway.
It led to a roomy square hall from which doors led, presumably to the rest of the flat. Christina opened one of them and said gaily: ‘Come in and sit, and we will have tea and then you shall see your rooms. Yours is the usual one, Thomas, and we have put Isobel in the corner room because from there she sees the garden below.’
She bustled round the large, comfortably furnished room, offering chairs, begging Isobel to take off her jacket, promising her that she should see the baby just as soon as he was awake. ‘He is called Thomas, after this Thomas,’ she laughed at Dr Winter, ‘and we think that he is quite perfect!’
She went through another door to the kitchen and Carl started to talk about their trip. ‘You have all the necessary papers?’ he wanted to know. ‘Without these there might be delays.’ He smiled at Isobel. ‘It is most sensible that you take Isobel with you, a good nurse may be most useful, especially as Mrs Olbinski is crippled.’ He turned to Isobel. ‘You are not nervous?’
‘No, not at all—you mean because it’s Poland? The Poles are friendly—they like us, though, don’t they?’
‘They are a most friendly people, and full of life.’ He got up to help his wife with the tea tray and the talk centred upon Carl’s work and where they intended to go for their summer holiday. ‘We have a boat,’ he told Isobel, ‘and we sail a great deal on Lake Malaren and the Baltic. The islands offshore are beautiful and extend for miles—one can get lost among them.’
‘You take little Thomas with you?’
‘Of course. He is nine months old and a most easy baby.’
‘You’ll still be here when we get back?’ Dr Winter asked casually.
‘We go in three days’ time, and if you are not back, but of course you will be, we will leave the key with our neighbours in the flat below. But you have ample time, even allowing for a day or so delay for one reason or another.’ He looked at Dr Winter. ‘She is well, your old nanny?’
‘I telephoned last week—I’ll ring again later if I may. She was very much looking forward to seeing us. And to coming home.’
‘Well, you will stay as long as you wish to here,’ declared Christina. ‘Isobel, I will show you your room and when you have unpacked, come back here and we will talk some more.’
The room was charming, simply furnished, even a little austere, but there were flowers on a little table under the window and the gardens below with the old houses encircling them reminded Isobel of Hans Andersen’s Fairy Tales. She looked at the plain pinewood bed with its checked duvet cover, and knew she was going to sleep soundly. It was a pity Dr Winter wasn’t more friendly, but that was something which couldn’t be helped. She had a shower, changed into a fresh blouse, did her face and hair and went back to the sitting room.
They ate in a tiny alcove off the sitting room after the baby had been fed and bathed and put to bed. The meal was typically Swedish, with a great dish of sprats, potatoes, onions and cream, which Carl translated as Janssen’s Delight. This was followed by pancakes with jam, a great pot of coffee and Aquavit for the men.
The girls cleared the table, but once that was done, Isobel was amazed to see Dr Winter follow his friend into the splendidly equipped kitchen and shut the door.
‘Thomas washes the dishes very well,’ said Christina, and Isobel found herself faced with yet another aspect of the doctor which she hadn’t even guessed at. Washing up, indeed! She wondered if the dignified manservant in London was aware of that and what he would have said.
She went to bed early, guessing that the other three might have things to talk about in which she had no part, and it wasn’t until breakfast on the following morning that she learnt that Dr Winter had been unable to make his call; he had been told politely enough that there was no reply to the number he wanted. He was arguing the advantages of getting seats on the next flight to Gdansk when Carl said: ‘Exactly what would be expected of you, Thomas. Keep to your plan and take the boat this evening,’ and Dr Winter had stared at him for a long minute and then agreed.
‘So that’s settled,’ said Christina. ‘Thomas, you will take Isobel to see something of Stockholm, and when you come back I shall have made you the best smörgasbörd table you ever tasted.’
So presently Isobel found herself going under the archway, back into the narrow cobbled streets with Dr Winter beside her. He had raised no objection to accompanying her, neither had he shown any great enthusiasm.
‘Do you want to go to the shops?’ he asked her as they edged past a parked van and paused outside a small antique shop.
‘No, thank you. I should like to see St George and the Dragon in the Storkyrkan, and the Riddarholmskyrkan, and then take a look at the lake. There won’t be time to go inside the palace, but if it wouldn’t bore you too much I should enjoy just walking through some of the older streets.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘Then we’d better begin with St George,’ was all he said.
He proved to be a good guide, for of course he had been before and knew the names of the various buildings and how to get from one place to the next without getting lost. And he waited patiently while she pottered round the churches, bought a few postcards with the money he offered before she realised that she would need to borrow some, and stood gazing at the lake. It was a bright morning, but cool, and she was glad of her jacket as she stood, trying to imagine what it must be like in the depths of winter.
‘Have you been here in the winter?’ she wanted to know.
‘Oh, yes, several times. It’s delightful. One needs to be able to ski and skate, of course.’ He took it for granted that she could do neither of these things, and she saw no reason to correct him.
They had coffee at a small, crowded restaurant in one of the narrow paved streets, and she made no demur when he suggested that they should make their way back to the Janssens’ flat. As they turned in under the arch once more, Dr Winter observed: ‘One needs several days at least in order to see the best of Stockholm; there are some splendid museums if you’re interested.’
‘Well, yes, I am—and there’s Millesgarden…all those statues—they’re famous, aren’t they? But I knew we couldn’t have got there this morning.’ She added hastily for fear he should take umbrage: ‘Thank you very much for taking me round. I’ve enjoyed it enormously, it was most kind of you.’
They were standing outside the Janssens’ door and it was very quiet and peaceful. He said harshly: ‘No, it wasn’t in the least kind, Miss Barrington. It never entered my head to take you sightseeing; I did it because Christina took it for granted that I would.’
Isobel opened the door. ‘Well, I know that,’ she said matter-of-factly.
After the smörgasbörd—a table weighted down with hot and cold dishes—the men went off together, leaving the girls to clear away, then put little Thomas into his pram and take him for a walk. They went through the narrow streets once more and came out by the water, finding plenty to talk about, although never once was Dr Winter mentioned.
The boat left in the early evening and after tea Isobel packed her case once more, said goodbye reluctantly enough, cheered by the thought that she would be back within the week, and went down to Carl’s car.
The drive wasn’t a long one, and once at the quay Isobel waited quietly while the two went off to see about their tickets, reappearing with a porter, and Carl then shook hands and dropped a friendly kiss on her cheek.
‘We look forward to seeing you very soon, Isobel,’ he told her. ‘Even little Thomas will miss you.’
But not big Thomas, standing there, looking as impatient as good manners would allow.
The boat was large and comfortable. She had a splendid cabin with a small shower room and set about unpacking her uniform and hanging it up ready for their arrival in the morning. Dr Winter had handed her over to a stewardess with the suggestion that she should meet him in the restaurant once the ship had sailed—that meant an hour’s time. She was ready long before then, and filled in the time reading the various leaflets she had collected about Gdansk and its harbour, Gdynia. They didn’t tell her a great deal, but she studied them carefully. Once they were there, probably Dr Winter would have his hands full seeing to Mrs Olbinski’s possessions and getting her to the ship, so she studied the map of those towns carefully too—one never knew.
He was waiting for her when she reached the restaurant, greeted her with the cool politeness she found so unnerving, and gave her a drink, and they dined presently—Swedish food, she was glad to discover; kott bullarand then fried boned herring and, once more, pancakes with jam. She didn’t linger over their coffee and he didn’t try and persuade her to stay. She wished him a cheerful goodnight and went back to her cabin, aware that he had been expecting her to ask any number of questions about the next day. In truth she had longed to do so, but had held her tongue. His opinion of her was already so low that she had no intention of making it lower. Let him tell her anything it was necessary for her to know. She fell asleep at once, rather pleased with herself.
CHAPTER TWO
ISOBEL WAS up early. She had slept well and now she was ready for her breakfast, but Dr Winter had suggested that they should meet in the restaurant at half past seven, and it was still only half past six. She rang, a shade apprehensively, for tea, then showered and dressed in her uniform and went on deck. They were close to land, she saw with a rising excitement, rather flat and wooded land with houses here and there. It was a pearly, still morning and chilly, and somehow London and home seemed a long way off. Isobel buttoned her navy gaberdine coat and wished she had put on her rather ugly nurse’s blue felt hat. There wasn’t any one else on deck and she started to walk along its length, to be confronted by Dr Winter coming out of a door.
His ‘good morning’ was polite and distant, and she was surprised when he fell into step beside her. ‘I should perhaps mention,’ he began casually, ‘that there will probably be a delay in Mrs Olbinski’s return. Carl told me there had been some trouble…’ He didn’t say what kind of trouble and Isobel didn’t ask. She was surprised when he added: ‘Are you a nervous person, Miss Barrington?’
She turned to face him. ‘If you mean do I have hysterics and screaming fits if things go wrong, no. But if a situation got out of hand, I would probably behave like most women and scream for help.’
He said seriously: ‘I must ask you not to do that; a calm, serene front is important.’
She started walking again. ‘Is there something you should have told me before we left England?’ she asked in a voice which she managed to keep calm.
‘Certainly not, Miss Barrington. I must remind you merely that each country has its own laws. Mrs Olbinski’s husband was unfortunately a dissident, so naturally they may be somewhat more strict…’
She stopped again and eyed him thoughtfully. ‘You have got all the permits?’ she asked.
‘Of course. I’m only saying that because of her circumstances there may be some delay.’ He frowned. ‘We might as well go and have our breakfast.’
‘Oh, good—I’m hungry. But before we go, where exactly are we now?’
‘Coming into Gdynia, which is the port of Gdansk. Mrs Olbinski lives in the old town of Gdansk and you’ll have a chance to see it.’
Isobel scanned the nearing coastline. ‘Oh, good—Poland isn’t a place I’m likely to come to again. Do they speak English?’
‘A great many do, but I doubt if you’ll have time to go sightseeing.’
She felt snubbed. Did he really think she would disappear the moment they landed, intent on enjoying herself? Her splendid appetite had had the edge taken off it.
Going through Customs took a good deal of time; she had to admire Dr Winter’s calm patience in the face of the courteous questioning that went on at some length. When finally they were free to go, one of the officials apologised for the delay with the utmost politeness and the doctor waived the apologies with an equal politeness. As they got into the taxi he said: ‘Sorry about that; understandably I had to give my reasons for our visit and they had to be checked.’
He told the driver where to go. ‘There’s nothing much to see here, but you’ll find Gdansk interesting, I believe.’
They drove through a dock area which might have been anywhere in the world and presently came to Gdansk, where the taxi stopped before an enormous gateway, its centre arch opening into a wide paved street.
‘This is where we walk,’ observed Dr Winter, and got out.
He wasted no time in giving more than a glance at the enormous edifice before them but took her arm and walked her briskly through the archway and into the street beyond. It was a splendid sight, lined with Renaissance houses, many of them with small shops at street level. Isobel, going along a great deal faster than she wished, did her best to look everywhere at once and as they reached a square at the end of the street asked in a voice which demanded an answer. ‘Is that the Town Hall we’ve just passed? And is that the Golden House I read about? And this fountain in the centre…?’
The doctor didn’t pause in his walk. ‘Miss Barrington, may I remind you that you’re here for one purpose only; sightseeing is quite another matter.’
‘If this is sightseeing then I’m a Dutchman,’ declared Isobel roundly, ‘and I only asked you a question!’
He looked at her, trotting along beside him, very sober in her uniform, and said harshly: ‘If you remember, Miss Barrington, I said at the time of your interview that you weren’t suitable.’
Unanswerable. They were going through another enormous gate with water beyond and warehouses on the opposite bank. But Dr Winter turned left, making his way along the busy street bordering the water, left again into a narrow street lined with lovely old houses. Half way down he stopped before an arched door and rang one of the many bells on the wall. To Isobel’s surprise he turned to look at her. ‘The city was in ruins after the last war. The Poles rebuilt it, brick by brick, many of them original, the rest so skilfully done that it’s hard to detect the one from the other.’ He then turned his back on her as the door opened, revealing a short narrow hall and a staircase beyond. ‘Third floor,’ he told her over his shoulder, and began to mount.
Isobel followed perforce, liking her surroundings very much; the wooden stairway, the small circular landings, the two solid wooden doors on each of these. On the third floor one of the doors was open. The doctor went in without hesitation, and Isobel, a little breathless, followed him.
The door opened on to a tiny vestibule with two doors and they stood open too. The doctor unhesitatingly went through the left-hand one, with Isobel so close on his heels that she almost overbalanced when he halted abruptly.
The room was small, nicely furnished and far too warm. The table in the centre of the room was polished to a high gloss and so were the chairs. The wooden floor shone with polish too and the curtains at the windows, although limp with age, were spotless. Isobel registered vaguely that the room looked bare before turning her attention to the old lady sitting in a chair whose tapestry was threadbare with age. She was a very small lady with bright bootbutton eyes, white hair strained back into a knob, and wearing a black dress covered by a cotton pinafore.
She said in a surprisingly strong voice, ‘Mr Thomas…’ She glanced at the small carved wooden clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Punctual, I see. You always were as a little boy.’ Her eyes darted to Isobel. ‘And who is this?’
Dr Winter bent and kissed and hugged her gently. ‘Hullo, Nanny. Nice to see you again. This is Nurse Barrington, I brought her along to give you a hand.’
Mrs Olbinski pushed her specs up her nose and stared at Isobel through them. ‘H’m—rather small. Come here, young lady, so I can see you properly.’
Isobel did as she was asked. Old people said strange things sometimes, just as though one wasn’t there, listening, but she didn’t mind; probably she would do the same one day. ‘How do you do?’ she asked politely.
‘Almost plain,’ commented the old lady to no one in particular, ‘but nice eyes and a nice smile too!’ She bristled suddenly. ‘Not that I need a nurse; I’m quite able to get around on my own…’
‘Well, of course you are.’ Isobel had never heard the doctor speak in such a soft, coaxing voice. ‘I asked her to come for purely selfish reasons; there’ll be people to see and so on, and I didn’t want the worry of leaving you while I dealt with them.’
He had struck the right note. Nanny nodded in agreement. ‘When do we leave?’ she asked.
‘By this evening’s ferry, my dear. Have you packed?’
‘There are still one or two things, Mr Thomas. I daresay this young lady will help me?’
‘Of course, Mrs Olbinski—and my name is Isobel.’
‘Now that’s a good name, and one I’ve always liked. You can go into the kitchen and make the coffee, while I hear all the news.’
Isobel was in the minute kitchen, stealthily opening cupboards, looking for things, when she heard several pairs of feet coming up the stairs. The door wasn’t quite shut, and she had no hesitation in going and standing as close to it as she could get. She didn’t dare look round the door’s edge, but she judged the feet to be either policemen or soldiers because of the hefty boots.
Soldiers. A rather nice voice, speaking excellent English, pointing out with regret that a final paper which was needed by Mrs Olbinski had not yet arrived. It was therefore necessary that she should stay until it did.
‘And when will that be?’ The doctor’s voice sounded friendly, unhurried and not in the least put out.
‘Tomorrow—the day following that at the latest. We deeply regret any inconvenience.’
‘I quite understand that it is unavoidable and not of your making.’ There was a short silence. ‘I will get rooms for myself and the nurse I have brought with me at the Orbis Monopol. Mrs Olbinski will prefer to stay here, I expect.’
There was the faintest question in his voice.
‘Of course, she will be perfectly all right, Dr Winter. As soon as the papers come, I will let you know so that you may complete your plans.’
The goodbyes sounded friendly enough—and why not? Isobel reasoned. The Poles and the English liked each other; whoever it was who had just gone had had a delightful voice… She wasn’t quite quick enough at getting away from the door; she found the doctor’s austere good looks within inches of her head. ‘Next time you eavesdrop, young lady, control your breathing—you sounded like an overwrought female from an early Victorian novel.’ He looked round the kitchen. ‘Isn’t the coffee ready yet?’
‘No, it’s not, and I wish someone would explain…’
‘But there’s nothing to explain. As you must know, anyone leaving the country must have their papers in order; Nanny’s are not quite completed, that is all. You should be delighted; we shall have a day for sightseeing.’
She looked at him thoughtfully. ‘Would you like me to stay here with Mrs Olbinski?’
He smiled for the first time, so nicely that she found herself almost liking him. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, but there’s no need. You shall enjoy the comfort of the best hotel here and tomorrow we’ll take Nanny sightseeing; I daresay she’ll be glad to say goodbye to as many places as possible; she hasn’t had the opportunity, you see.’
The kettle boiled and Isobel poured the water into the enamel coffee pot she had found in one of the cupboards, set it on the tray with the cups and saucers off the shelf above the stove, and handed the doctor the tray. She smiled very faintly at the look of surprise as he took it. She didn’t think he was a selfish man, merely one who had never had to fend for himself. Too clever, no doubt, with his splendid nose buried in books or people’s insides while others ministered to his mundane wants.
Mrs Olbinski was sitting in her chair, looking impatient. ‘You took a long time,’ she observed tartly. ‘I have always been under the impression that nurses are able to do everything anywhere at any time.’ She sniffed: ‘Not that I believe it for one moment.’
‘Well, no, I shouldn’t think you would, because that’s a load of nonsense,’ said Isobel forthrightly. ‘I suppose we’re trained to do some things others might not be able to do, but that’s all—besides, this is a foreign land to me and your kitchen isn’t quite the same.’ She added hastily: ‘Though it’s charming and very cosy.’
Mrs Olbinski accepted her coffee and took a sip. ‘The coffee isn’t bad,’ she conceded, ‘and you seem a sensible young woman. Where did Mr Thomas find you?’
Isobel didn’t look at the doctor, looming on the other side of the little dark table. ‘Dr Winter asked an agency to send him a nurse,’ she explained in a colourless voice. ‘It was me or no one.’
Dr Winter made an impatient movement and she waited for him to say something, but he didn’t, so she went on: ‘It might make your journey a little easier if I give you a hand from time to time, just while Dr Winter sees to papers and passports and things…’
‘You don’t look very strong. Why do you keep saying Dr Winter in that fashion?’
Isobel sighed and went red as Dr Winter said repressively: ‘Miss Barrington and I…’ he stopped and began again. ‘We’ve only recently met, Nanny.’
Nanny made a sound which sounded like Faugh! and then Phish! ‘Well, I shall call her Isobel; it’s a pretty name even if she isn’t a pretty girl. And you can do the same, Mr Thomas, because you must be old enough to be her father. I’ll have some more coffee.’
She took no notice of the doctor’s remote annoyance but sat back comfortably in her chair. ‘If we’re to be here for another day, perhaps you’d take me to Oliwa; there’ll be organ recitals in the afternoons now that it’s summer, and I should dearly love to hear one before I go.’
Her old voice crumbled and the doctor said quickly: ‘What a splendid idea, Nanny. I’ll rent a car and we’ll drive over there tomorrow—how about a quick look at Sopot as well?’
‘Oh, I’d love that above all things—we used to go there in the summer…’ She launched into a recital of her life while her husband had been alive, until Dr Winter interrupted her gently: ‘Well, you shall see as much as possible, but in the meantime I think you might let Nurse… Isobel finish your packing, don’t you?’ He got up. ‘Suppose I leave you for an hour while I see about a car and our rooms at the hotel?’
He stooped and picked her up out of her chair and carried her through the second door into a small bedroom. He paused on the threshold—and no wonder; there wasn’t an inch of space, there were boxes, bundles and an old trunk taking up every available corner. Isobel cleared a pile of books off a chair, remarking comfortably: ‘If you’ll tell me what has to be done, I’ll do it, Mrs Olbinski.’