A Star Looks Down

‘Yes, of course,’ she assured him. What was curtailed freedom when it meant William’s new shoes and some clothes for herself as well? ‘I’ve days off on Friday and Saturday. I could go along on Friday afternoon if you would like that. Where am I to go?’

He scribbled an address in his pocket book, tore out the page, and handed it to her. ‘Take a taxi,’ he advised her, ‘your expenses will be paid.’

She glanced at the address he had written down and then looked again because his writing was almost illegible. William had been right, it was somewhere close to Harrods—a rented house, presumably—possibly someone he knew; doctors helped each other… She was aware that he had got to his feet and jumped up briskly. ‘It was kind of you to come—I quite thought you had found someone else.’

She smiled as she spoke, but he answered seriously: ‘No—you seemed so suitable, and Professor MacDonald thinks highly of you—I am sure that I could have done no better.’

She found this speech a little damping, so that her good-bye was stiff, but once she had shut the door on his broad back, she whisked to William’s bedroom window which overlooked the street, and looked cautiously out, in time to see him getting into the Citroën. She craned her neck in order to get a better view; he must be very successful if he could afford to run a car costing almost seven thousand pounds, even though it matched his size. It was disconcerting when he looked up and caught her peering down, and waved.

Beth got up early on Friday morning, gave William his breakfast and a list of instructions which she knew very well he wouldn’t attend to, and set about cleaning the flat. William, though willing, was unhandy about the house and it would probably be in a shocking state when she got back, but at least she could leave it in apple pie order. She sighed as she Hoovered; a holiday—a real holiday—would have been super, but she cheered herself up with the promise of the shopping expedition she would have—a new suit, she decided happily while she packed a few things in a case; the despised skirt and sweater, a suede jerkin to wear over them if the days proved cool, a raincoat and a jersey dress; the only decent one she had, leaf green and simple enough for it not to matter that it was a year old at least, slacks, she supposed, and a shirt-blouse. She would wear her suit, a bargain in the January sales, Irish tweed and well cut, and she had her good leather shoes and handbag. She dressed quickly, did her face and hair, picked up her case and went downstairs to telephone for a taxi; it wasn’t the sort of neighbourhood where one was easily to be found.

The address which the professor had given her was just off Sloane Square; a quiet cul-de-sac reached by a narrow street and lined on three sides by tall elegant houses. There was an enclosed garden in its centre and it had all the peace of a country village. Very Knightsbridge, thought Beth, paying the driver before picking up her case and ascending the steps of number three.

The door was opened before she could ring the bell. A small, cheerful-faced woman wished her good day and without asking her what her business was, stood aside for her to go in. ‘You’ll be Miss Partridge,’ she declared comfortably, ‘the professor said you’d be arriving about now. If you’ll put your case down someone will bring it to your room presently, miss. I thought you might like to go there straight away and then have a cup of tea. The children are in the park with Nelly, who comes in to help most days; that’ll give you time to look around you. This way, if you please.’

She led the way down the narrow elegant hall to the staircase, curving up from its end wall. Half-way up she paused to get her breath, for she was on the stout side. ‘Your room’s on the second floor, with the children, miss; the professor thought it might be nicer for you as well as easier.’ She beamed kindly at Beth, who smiled back, liking her, before they went on again, across a surprisingly wide landing and up another flight of stairs opening on to a semicircle of thick carpet, lighted by a big bow window and with several doors leading from it. The housekeeper opened the first of these, disclosing a good sized room, furnished tastefully with Regency mahogany and curtained and carpeted in a delicate shade of blue.

‘Oh, charming!’ exclaimed Beth, quite carried away with the idea of having it for her own for a week; it reminded her of her room at Chifney’s, only there were no fields to be seen from its window, only the treetops from the little square in front of the house. She turned to smile again at her companion. ‘You must be the housekeeper—may I know your name?’

‘Mrs Silver, miss. I’ve been housekeeper here for many years now, ever since the professor inherited this house from his grandfather—that was his mother’s father, her being English. He’s not here all that often, not having the time, being such a busy gentleman.’

She turned round as a thin youngish woman appeared in the doorway with Beth’s case. ‘And this is Miss Powers; she comes in daily to help and what a blessing that is, I can tell you.’ She nodded and smiled and went on: ‘And now we’ll leave you to unpack your things, then perhaps you’ll come downstairs when you’re ready, there’ll be a nice tea ready for you. Would ten minutes suit you, miss?’

Beth thanked her and fell to unpacking, a task quickly accomplished so that she had time to tidy her hair and re-do her face and take a closer look at the room. It was really quite beautiful; the professor’s grandfather must have been a man of excellent taste. She looked around her as she made her way downstairs too, and found the same elegance, and promised herself a closer inspection of the pictures hanging on the walls when she had the leisure—if she had any leisure; the professor had warned her that she would have her hands full.

Mrs Silver appeared in the hall as Beth trod the last stair and led the way across the hall and opened a door, inviting her to enter, adding that tea would be brought in a very few minutes. Beth murmured her thanks, wishing to ask if there really was time for her to have tea before the children arrived, but Mrs Silver had already gone, closing the door silently behind her, leaving Beth to look around her.

It was a large, comfortably furnished room, two button-backed sofas flanked the marble fireplace, and there were a variety of easy chairs scattered about, as well as a Sheraton sofa table, a number of lamp tables and a handsome display cabinet against one wall. There were pictures on its panelled walls, too; she began a leisurely tour of them, craning her neck to see those above her head and retracing her steps to take another look at something she had liked. She had reached the fireplace by now and tiptoed to study the portrait above it—bewhiskered old gentleman, smiling a little, with heavy-lidded blue eyes.

‘That’ll be Grandfather,’ Beth told herself aloud. ‘He looks an old poppet—he’s got the same eyes too.’ She turned with a smothered shriek at the chuckle behind her. Deep in the recesses of a porter’s chair, half turned away from the room, sat the professor, watching her.

‘You’re quite right,’ he observed blandly, ‘we do share the same eyes and he was—what was the word?—an old poppet.’ He got up as he spoke and came towards her. ‘Unpardonable of me to remain silent, was it not? But if you had turned this way you would have seen me.’

‘Yes—well I didn’t expect you to be here.’ She was a little indignant.

‘I didn’t expect to be here either, but the last case fell through and it occurred to me that it might be easier for you if I were here to introduce you and the children.’ His kind smile came and went. ‘Do sit down, Miss Partridge. Mrs Silver will be here at any moment with tea—I seldom have the chance to have it at home, and still less to share it with a such a delightful companion.’

Beth frowned horribly, aware that she had gone a bright pink, and he asked in a matter-of-fact way: ‘You do not care for compliments? I assure you that I meant what I said.’

‘Of course I like compliments,’ she spoke a trifle crossly, ‘all girls do, only I never quite believe them. You see, my face…you must have noticed I’m rather plain…’

His heavy lids drooped still further over his eyes and if she had hoped, deep down, that he would disclaim this bald statement, she was to be disappointed, for all he said was: ‘I would have thought that it could be quite an asset in these days, when girls wear their prettiness like a uniform.’

She shook her head. ‘Not for me, though I know what you mean, but there are some quite beautiful girls around.’

‘Ah, beauty is quite a different matter and there aren’t all that number, you know.’

‘There’s a very beautiful girl on the Surgical Block,’ Beth told him. ‘Maureen Brooks, you’re bound to see her while you’re at St Elmer’s—she’s super; black hair and…’

‘She lisps.’

‘Oh, you’ve met her already. Most people think a lisp’s rather nice.’

He looked amused. ‘My dear Miss Partridge, has somebody told you that I am still a bachelor? I assure you that I am very content to be so, and although I am sure that you mean to be helpful, I’m quite able to find myself a wife should I wish for one.’

She went scarlet and jumped out of the chair where she had perched herself. ‘You know very well that I didn’t mean anything of the sort,’ she declared indignantly. ‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t know you weren’t married, although,’ she added honestly, ‘I thought perhaps you weren’t.’

The professor had got to his feet too, standing so close to her that she was forced to put her head back to see his face. ‘Perhaps I won’t do,’ she stated flatly.

He gave a crack of laughter. ‘Of course you’re going to do—the children will like you, I’m sure of it, and I could think of no one I would rather have to look after them. You’re a nice change from the usual girl, Miss Partridge; it’s pleasant to meet a girl who is different.’

He went back to his chair. ‘And now sit down again, dear girl, here is tea at last, and if it makes you happier we will discuss the weather or some such topic, which will be very dull but should guarantee us not arguing.’

But there was no need for them to talk about anything as mundane; they fell to discussing books and music and a surprisingly large number of other subjects which they found they had in common, although Beth, munching her way daintily through anchovy toast, sandwiches and a rich chocolate cake, noticed that he kept the conversation impersonal; at the end of it she was just as ignorant as to where he lived in Holland and where he worked as she had ever been. Not, she thought vaguely, that that mattered in the slightest, for he would be going back to his own country very shortly, no doubt, and it could be of no consequence to her where he went or what he did.

Tea had been eaten and cleared away before the children arrived back. They came rushing in, all talking at once and in Dutch, making a beeline for their uncle, who sat back in his chair, apparently unworried by their delighted onslaught upon his vast person. It was only after they had talked themselves to a standstill that he said in English: ‘I told you that while your mama was in hospital I would find someone to look after you all. This is Miss Elizabeth Partridge, who will do just that. Say how do you do and shake hands with her, if you please.’

He had told Beth that they were as disobedient as most children, but not at that particular moment they weren’t. They came forward in turn to do as their uncle had bidden them, saying, ‘How do you do?’ and giving their names with almost old-fashioned good manners.

‘How nice to meet you all,’ declared Beth, beaming down at them all, ‘and do you suppose that you might call me Beth? I should much prefer it.’

The professor had got to his feet; now he had done his duty in introducing the children to her, it seemed that he now felt free to go. ‘Why not?’ he agreed placidly. ‘Do whatever Miss Partridge asks of you, my dears. Now I have an evening engagement and will bid you all good night, for you will be asleep by the time I get home. I shall see you tomorrow, no doubt.’

Left alone with the children, Beth sat down again and invited them to tell her about themselves, something they were ready enough to do and which gave her the opportunity to observe them rather more closely. Dirk, the obvious leader of the quartet, was tall for his age, fair-haired and blue-eyed and thin as only boys of ten can be. Marineka, who came next, was blue-eyed and fair-haired too and almost as tall as Dirk, although a good deal plumper, and Hubert was nicely chubby too, with the same ash-blond hair. It was the littlest one, Alberdina, who wasn’t like any of them; she was short and decidedly plump, with large dark eyes and long brown hair. She could be only just five, Beth decided, for she still had a babyish way of sidling close and holding any hand which happened to present itself.

She was holding Beth’s hand now, smiling up at her and saying something in Dutch.

‘You have to speak English, Alberdina,’ Dirk told her, and then explained: ‘We all know how, because we had a nanny, but she’s married now, and Alberdina hasn’t had as much time to learn it as we have.’

‘You all speak English beautifully,’ Beth hastened to assure him. ‘I only wish I could speak Dutch. And now will you tell me what you do now? Have you had your tea? And what do you do before bedtime?’

They all told her, so that it took her a little while to discover that they had their supper at six o’clock and then, starting with Alberdina, they went to bed—Dirk last of all at eight o’clock. ‘Although sometimes I go to bed earlier than that,’ he took pains to tell her, ‘so that I can read, and of course on Saturdays, while we are here with Uncle Alexander, we stay up later.’

‘What fun—why?’

‘We go out with him in the afternoon, to the Zoo or for a ride in his car, and then we have tea somewhere special, and when we come home we play cards. We’re good at cards. You play also?’

‘Well, yes, though I’m not very good, I’m afraid, but I don’t expect…that is, I daresay your uncle would like to have you to himself.’

They all nodded agreement so cheerfully that she felt quite disappointed.

It was evident that they were on their best behaviour; they took Beth over the house, much larger than it looked from the outside, showing her everything, even the cupboards and attics. They would have shown her their mother’s room as well as their uncle’s if she had given them the smallest encouragement. She declined a conducted tour of the kitchen too, merely asking where it was, just in case she should need to go there, though that seemed unlikely because Mrs Silver, stopping for a chat when she came to call the children to their supper, informed her in a kindly way that she was expected to do nothing at all save be with the children. ‘And a great relief that will be to us all, miss, if I might say so—dear little things though they are and quite unnaturally quiet this evening, but that’s because you’re here. It will be nice to be able to get on with our work knowing they’re in good hands.’ With which heartening words, she nodded and smiled and went off to the kitchen.

Supper was in a small room at the back of the house, given up to the children’s use while they were staying there. It was a pleasant place, furnished comfortably and obviously well lived in. Beth, presiding over the supper table, pouring hot chocolate and cutting up Alberdina’s scrambled egg on toast into small pieces, found herself enjoying the children’s company; it was a nice change to talk about fast cars, the dressing of dolls and the star footballers instead of the everlasting shop which was talked at the hospital, and even when she was home, William liked to tell her about his cases; many a meal she had eaten to the accompaniment of a blow-by-blow account of the appendix which had ruptured, the ulcer which had perforated on the way to theatre, the stitching he had been allowed to do…it was pleasant to forget all that and listen to the children’s chatter. To sit at such a table with children such as these, but her own, watching them gobble with healthy appetites, hearing their high, clear voices, would be wonderful, she thought wistfully. She was deep in a daydream when she was roused by Hubert’s asking why her eyes were a different colour from everyone else’s.

‘I don’t really know,’ she told him. ‘It’s just that they’re mauve—everyone has different coloured eyes…’

‘We all have blue eyes,’ said Dirk, ‘not Alberdina, of course, hers are brown, but Mama and Papa have blue eyes too and so has Uncle Alexander.’