A Star Looks Down

‘Don’t be dim. The thing is, if you’ve nothing to do I know of someone who wants to borrow you…’

‘Borrow me? Whatever for? Anyway, I’m on holiday—is it one of those agencies?’

‘No, as a matter of fact, it’s Professor van Zeust. You had his sister in theatre today, didn’t you? Well, he’s been left high and dry with her four children; they’re staying with him. He mentioned it to old Mac, and he knew—lord knows how—that you had a holiday coming up, and he suggested that you might step into the breach—just for a week, you know, and look after them. You’d be paid.’

Beth’s bosom swelled with indignation. ‘Well, whatever next—why me? Aren’t there agencies for nannies and mothers’ helps? Why can’t he go to one of them? I’ve no intention…’

She caught William’s eye and something in it made her say: ‘You wretch—you said I would!’ She drew a deep breath, her eyes very purple, but before she could speak he said hastily:

‘Oh, be a sport, Beth—after all, you’re not doing anything and it might be fun.’

‘Fun?’ Her voice was shrill with annoyance. ‘Have you ever looked after four children? They’re not even English!’ She paused and added triumphantly: ‘So I can’t.’

‘They’ve had an English nanny for years. I don’t know much about it, but I believe they live somewhere behind Harrods—quite super, and you’re bound to get heaps of free time.’ He looked at her anxiously. ‘It’s only for a week.’

She stared at him across the table. ‘And supposing I should decide to do it, who is going to tell me what and when and where?’

He brightened. ‘Professor van Zeust said he’d make a point of seeing you tomorrow—there’s another kidney transplant, isn’t there? I shall be in theatre too,’ he paused to contemplate this pleasure, then went on: ‘There’s sure to be an opportunity to talk about it. I say, Beth, it would be jolly decent of you if you would, it’d do me a good turn—I mean, they’re more likely to remember me later on if there was the chance of a registrar’s job.’

Beth got up and started to collect the dishes. ‘Well, dear, I’m not going to say yes now, but I do promise to have an open mind if he says anything to me about it tomorrow, though probably he’ll have got someone else by then.’

But while she washed up she found herself hoping that the professor wouldn’t be able to find anyone else, even though before she went to bed she told William firmly that she hadn’t made up her mind…all the same, when she got into bed, she stayed awake quite a long while thinking about him.

CHAPTER TWO

BETH was on duty at eight o’clock the following morning and within a very short time the theatre was in full swing. She had fetched the kidney transplant case—a young girl in her teens—handed her over and gone again to collect the first of a long list of cases for the other theatres. The kidney case lasted a long time; it was early afternoon before she received the girl in the Recovery Room and although Professor van Zeust came with his colleague to see her, he had nothing to say other than a few quiet directions. They went away presently and later, after Beth had taken her case to ICU, an emergency came in and she was kept busy until some time after she was due off duty. Of the professor there was no sign, and she left the hospital feeling a bit let down; he might at least have given her the chance of refusing the job which he had so surprisingly suggested she might take. True, there had been no time to say anything at all for most of the day, but he could have left a message. Probably he had found someone else after all and forgotten about the whole thing.

She arrived at the flat rather cross, and over a cup of tea decided that nothing would persuade her to take the job now, even if he begged her to, and as this was highly unlikely she stopped thinking about it, drained the teapot, ate a piece of toast left over from breakfast, and fell to washing the smalls before getting the supper. William would be home shortly, before going back to St Elmer’s at ten o’clock to be on call for twenty-four hours, and he would be hungry, as usual. It was unfortunate that the kitty was at a low ebb, but it always was just before pay day. She settled on a macaroni cheese, made it rather impatiently and went to her room to tidy herself.

The flat, the top floor of a Victorian house which had seen better days, was cramped and a bit dark and her room was small and cramped too, but she rather liked the view over the chimneypots; it was better than the houses opposite and the sky gave her a feeling of space. She wasted a few minutes now, looking out and thinking about Chifney, where there were only trees and fields, and the chimney-pots, when visible, fitted cosily into the scenery around them. Her room was nicely furnished, though, with bits and pieces her stepbrother had allowed them to take with them when they had left home, and she kept the flat sparklingly clean and somehow managed to have flowers in it.

She brushed her hair and tied it back, so that it hung in a thick shower down her back, re-did her face without much enthusiasm, not seeing her lovely eyes and splendid hair, only the ordinariness of her features, then twitched and pulled her brown tweed skirt and sweater into place. She was heartily sick of them both, but William needed shoes again and the money he had been saving for them he had spent, naturally enough, he conceded, on a wildly expensive waistcoat; she would have to help him out and put off buying a new outfit for herself for just a little longer.

She wandered back to the sitting room, shook up a few cushions and then pottered into the kitchen to see how the macaroni cheese was coming along. When the front door bell rang she banged the oven door shut with a touch of irritation and went to answer it, with a rather cross: ‘You’ve forgotten your key again…’

Only it wasn’t William, it was Professor van Zeust, looming over her in the narrow doorway. She peered round him as far as she could, and quite forgetful of her manners, demanded: ‘Where’s William?’

His bland: ‘Good evening, Miss Partridge,’ reminded her of them.

‘Oh, good evening, Professor. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude—I thought you were William. Have you come to see him? He’s late, I’m afraid, but if you would like to come in and wait?’

He smiled down at her. ‘William has had to fill in for the Casualty Officer. He asked me to tell you that he won’t be home tonight.’

‘Oh.’ She stood uncertainly. ‘Then why—that is…’ She stopped, not quite sure what to say next. After all, he was a consultant, an important man at the hospital and probably even more important in his own country, and she wasn’t sure how she should address a professor off duty.

‘If I might come in?’ His voice was pleasantly friendly.

‘Of course. You—you took me rather by surprise.’ She led the way into the sitting room and he paused on its threshold and looked about him with interest, drawing an appreciative breath as he did so. ‘Toasted cheese?’ he inquired.

‘Supper,’ she told him succinctly, and waved a well kept hand towards a chair, then sat down herself, waiting patiently for him to say whatever it was he had to say.

‘Your brother was kind enough to tell Professor McDonald that you might consider looking after my sister’s children while she is in hospital,’ he began without any beating about the bush, ‘but before I say any more, I should like to know if the suggestion is agreeable to you. I understand from Professor MacDonald that you have a week’s holiday and I feel bound to point out that the job is no sinecure. I had intended applying to an agency for some sort of help, but I should very much prefer that it should be someone whom I know.’

‘But you don’t know me.’

‘You are thought of very highly at St Elmer’s, and I have seen for myself that you don’t flap.’

Beth blinked at him. ‘Are they the sort of children who might make one flap?’ she asked forthrightly.

He burst out laughing. ‘Perhaps, they need firm handling. What do you say?’

She studied him carefully. He was nice; never mind that he was one of the best-looking men she had ever met, never mind the charm of his smile and his deep, quiet voice; he would have been just as nice if he had had a squint and outstanding ears. His hair, she noticed, was grey at the temples and his eyes were very blue. ‘All right,’ she said quietly, ‘I’ll take them on. I’d like to know something about them though, and does your sister want me to live in or go each day?’

‘Oh, if you would live there, I think, and regarding your fee…’ he mentioned a sum which sent her arched brows flying upwards.

‘But that’s heaps too much—four times as much as nannies and people like that get.’

‘But you will have four times as much as that to do.’ He spoke firmly and she had the feeling that if she were to argue he would get annoyed.

‘Very well, thank you.’ She smiled across at him. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’

His reply astonished her. ‘I should like to stay to supper,’ he said.

She hadn’t been Miss Partridge of Chifney House for nothing, she hastened to invite him with just the right degree of pleasure and served the simple meal with an aplomb which would have done justice to something far more elaborate. ‘I’m afraid there’s no beer,’ she informed her guest, ‘but there’s orange squash…’

The professor assured her that orange squash was exactly what he would have chosen and when Beth poured him a glass of this innocuous beverage, drank it with every sign of enjoyment, he ate his portion of macaroni cheese with a flattering appetite too, talking gently about this and that, so that she hardly realized that she was answering any number of skilfully put questions. By the time they were drinking their coffee she had told him quite a lot about Chifney as well as revealing, quite unknowingly, a good deal about her stepbrother.

‘You have a pleasant home here,’ remarked the professor, and sounded as though he meant it, ‘and some delightful pieces of furniture.’

‘Aren’t they? Philip allowed us to bring them with us, you know. They don’t quite suit the flat, but we grew up with them.’ She poured more coffee for them both, feeling wonderfully at ease with this large, quiet man. She would have liked to have told him so many things and might have done so if she hadn’t reminded herself with her usual good sense that all good medical men had the power of making one feel at ease and able to talk freely. She frowned, hoping she hadn’t talked too much; perhaps she should change the conversation.

‘You were going to tell me something about your nephews and nieces,’ she prompted him.

‘Ah, yes—but first I think we should wash up.’

‘Wash up? Good heavens, no! I’m sure you’ve never washed up in your life.’

He smiled faintly. ‘I wonder what makes you think that?’ His voice held a note of inquiry and she flushed a little.

‘I didn’t mean to sound rude,’ she assured him, ‘and I can do it later.’

For answer he began to pile the plates tidily and carried them through to the kitchen, and it struck her that he was a man who, once he had made up his mind, didn’t like it changed for him. They washed up together, talking in a casual friendly way which she found very pleasant, then went back to the sitting room, where the professor settled himself in a chair again with the air of one staying for the rest of the evening.

‘About the children,’ he began, ‘the eldest is Dirk, he’s ten, then there is Marineka, who is eight, Hubert, seven and Alberdina, the littlest, who is five. They are normal healthy children, that is to say they are as naughty and disobedient as most children of their ages. On the whole their manners are passable, they don’t sulk and I should say that they have a strong sense of fair play. They adore their mother, who spoils them, and hero-worship their father, an archaeologist of some repute, at present somewhere in Chile leading an expedition of some sort or other. He will be away for several more weeks, and since I had already accepted an invitation from St Elmer’s to give a series of lectures, Martina—my sister—decided that it would be a good idea if they were to come over to England at the same time. The children, by the way, speak tolerable English; they had an English nanny until she left to get married a short time ago.’ He paused to smile. ‘You are still willing to come?’

Beth’s wide mouth turned up its corners in a delightful smile. ‘Oh, yes. When do you want me to start?’

‘I am told that your holiday starts on Sunday.’ He paused to ask if he might light his pipe and Beth sat composedly watching him, saying nothing, and presently he went on: ‘There is a housekeeper and daily help, but they aren’t suitable for the children—besides, they have enough to do. You would have to be with them for most of the day, although I will undertake to have them with me if and when I am there. You are prepared for that?’