Never Say Goodbye

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.’

‘A sensible girl,’ observed that lady succinctly. ‘All this must go with me.’

Dr Winter was edging round the room looking at its contents. He said with gentle firmness: ‘I’m afraid that you won’t be allowed to take more than the clothing you’re wearing and your most treasured possessions. No money, of course. Small stuff which will go into a suitase, or a well tied cardboard box.’ He went to the door. ‘I’ll be back presently.’

Isobel took off her coat and hat. ‘Men!’ declared Mrs Olbinski pettishly. ‘They’re all alike, so quick to tell us of the unpleasant tasks they want done, and just as quick to go away until they’re completed.’ She darted a look at Isobel. ‘But Mr Thomas is a good man, make no mistake, my dear—too clever, of course, with his head in his books and always working, never finding the time to get himself a wife and children.’

Isobel murmured politely, her mind occupied solely with the problem of how to pack a quart into a pint bottle—something, a great many things, would have to be discarded.

‘What will you wear to travel in?’ she asked. A question which led to a long discussion as to the merits of a shabby winter coat or an equally shabby raincoat. They settled on the coat, a weary felt hat to go with it, a dark dress, gloves and shoes, and Isobel hung them thankfully in the corner cupboard. Underclothes were quickly dealt with, largely because there were not many; and that left mounds of small bits and pieces, all of which Mrs Olbinski declared were vital to her future life in England. Isobel didn’t say much, merely sorted family photos, a few trinkets, and a handful of small ornaments from the old scarves, ribbons, bits of lace and books. These she packed before going in search of something in which to put a few, at least, of the books.

She found a shopping basket in the kitchen and then patiently brought over Mrs Olbinski’s remaining treasures so that she could decide which must be left behind. This took time too, but at last it was done, and Isobel suggested tentatively that there might be someone her companion knew who might be glad to have the remainder of the books and vases and clothes.

The old lady brightened. ‘Go and knock on the door below, Isobel—there’s a pleasant woman living there; she might be glad of these things since I’m not to be allowed to keep them.’ She added crossly: ‘Why doesn’t Mr Thomas come back? He’s doing nothing to help.’

Too true, thought Isobel, wrestling with the lady downstairs’ valiant attempts to speak English. Signs and smiles and a few urgent tugs to an elderly arm did the trick at last; they went back upstairs together and Isobel left Mrs Olbinski to explain to her friend, who was so pleased with the arrangement that Isobel felt near to tears; how poor they must be, she thought, to be so glad with what were no more than clothes fit for the jumble. When she could get a word in edgeways she suggested that once Mrs Olbinski had gone, the lady might like to come back and collect the bedclothes and what food there was left. And that wasn’t much—she had had a look. She had just ushered the delighted lady back to her own flat, deposited her new possessions in the sitting-room and wished her goodbye when the street door below opened. It could be anyone, it could be Dr Winter; she didn’t wait to find out, but skipped upstairs once more to her charge.

It was Dr Winter, calm and unhurried and far too elegant for his surroundings. ‘There you are,’ declared Isobel, quite forgetting her place. ‘Just nicely back when all the work is done!’

He chose to misunderstand her. ‘Oh, splendid. I have rooms at the hotel and there’s a car at the end of the street. I’m taking you out to lunch, Nanny, and since we have time on our hands, we’ll take a short drive this afternoon.’

‘I can’t go like this!’ The old lady was querulous; getting tired.

‘If you wait a few minutes, I’ll help Mrs Olbinski to put on her things,’ suggested Isobel, and when he had gone, fetched the clothes from the cupboard and set about helping the old lady, wondering how she had managed in the lonely months since her husband’s death, with her poor twisted hands and frail bent body. It took a little time, but the doctor made no comment when she called to him that they were ready. He picked up the old lady, reminded Isobel to lock the door behind them, and went down the narrow stairs. Once on the pavement they each took an arm, and made a slow painful progress to the car where the doctor set Mrs Olbinski in the seat beside his and bade Isobel get in the back. It was a small car and he looked out of place driving it.

The hotel was large and once Mrs Olbinski was comfortably settled with the doctor, Isobel was shown to her room, large and well furnished and with a shower room next door. She unpacked her case, did her face and hair and went downstairs again. It was, of course, a pity they couldn’t return to Stockholm at once, but on the other hand it would be a golden opportunity to get even a glimpse of Gdansk. She looked forward to their promised outing with all the pleasure of a child.

They lunched presently in a stylish restaurant, half empty, for as the waiter told them, the summer season had barely started. The meal was wholly Polish—hot beet soup, crayfish, pork knuckle with horseradish sauce, followed by ices. Isobel enjoyed it all, and so, she noticed, did Mrs Olbinski.

They set off once lunch was finished, with the old lady quite excited now. They were to go to Sopot, a seaside resort only a few miles away and which she had known very well in earlier days. ‘We went each year for our holiday here; there was a small hotel, quite near the Grand Orbis Hotel, and we would watch the people staying there in the evening, going in and out in their evening dress,’ she sighed. ‘Such a beautiful place!’

Very beautiful agreed Isobel, but almost deserted. They drove slowly about its streets; there were few people about and the shop windows looked almost empty, and at length they turned towards the sea and parked the car in a long avenue of trees. The sense of solitude was enhanced by the wide beach, quite deserted too, and the chilly grey of the Baltic beyond. ‘We’ll walk nearer so you can have a better view. Nanny will be all right and we can see her easily enough.’

There was a narrow concrete bridge crossing the sands, reached by a spiral staircase. It was a minute’s walk away and Isobel ran up it ahead of the doctor to stand and admire the coast line stretching away on either side of her. ‘This must be lovely on a warm summer’s day,’ she said, ‘and with lots of people here.’ She started to walk beside him towards the stairs at its other end. ‘Where are all the people?’ she wanted to know.

‘The country is under martial law,’ he reminded her. ‘There’s little money for holidays, and still less for food; I daresay tourists from other countries will come here when it’s high summer.’

‘It’s very sad—your nanny must find it sad too.’

‘She has her happy memories. We’ll find somewhere for tea and then drive along the coast. In Poland the main meal in a normal household is eaten about four o’clock, but we should be able to get tea or coffee and then have dinner at the hotel before taking Nanny back. You’ll be good enough to help her to bed and leave everything at hand.’

They were walking back to the car across the path built on the sand.

‘Wouldn’t you like me to sleep there tonight?’ asked Isobel. ‘I’ll be quite comfortable…’

‘There’s no need for that. You’ll go to her after breakfast—I’ll drive you there before going to check her papers—they may arrive by then.’

‘Suppose they don’t?’

‘Then we’ll spend another day here.’

They had coffee in a small café in the town and the owner pulled up a chair, delighted to air his English. He was a middle-aged man, with dark eyes and full of wry humour. They stayed quite a while, so that their drive along the coast wasn’t as lengthy as Isobel had hoped, all the same she listened to Mrs Olbinski’s titbits of information about the country around them and looked at houses and churches and old castles with all the zeal of a tourist.

They had dinner very soon after they got back to the hotel—soup again, grilled beef and dumplings and an ice. Dr Winter drank vodka, which Isobel prudently refused, although she did drink the beer he offered her. Nanny had vodka too, that and the good food and unexpected treat of a drive that afternoon had rendered her nicely sleepy. They took her back to her flat and the doctor waited while Isobel helped her to bed, tidying up afterwards and leaving coffee ready for the morning.

‘You’re a good girl,’ declared Mrs Olbinski, when she went to say goodnight. ‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-five, Mrs Olbinski.’

Nanny gave a chuckle. ‘I shall be eighty in six weeks’ time,’ she declared. ‘I’ll have a proper birthday too with a cake and presents.’

Isobel and Dr Winter went back to the hotel in silence, only when they had gained the foyer did he bid her goodnight. ‘Breakfast at half past eight, Nurse,’ he reminded her, ‘and afterwards we’ll go immediately to Mrs Olbinski’s flat.’

She didn’t ask questions; there was no point, since she was sure that he wouldn’t answer them. She went up to her room, had a shower, washed her hair and went to bed.

She woke early to a grey morning and the sound of early traffic in the street below. It was barely seven o’clock, a whole one and a half hours before she could go to breakfast, and she was wide awake and longing for a cup of tea. She went to peer out of the window and then on impulse, got dressed; there was still more than an hour to breakfast, she would explore a little, it would pass the time, and she had little hope of that meal being earlier if the doctor had said half past eight, then that was the time at which they would breakfast—not a minute sooner, not a minute later; she knew him well enough to know that. He would be a strict father, she mused, brushing her mousey hair, but kind and gentle. And why should I suppose that? she enquired of her neat reflection, he’s never been either of those things to me. She pulled a childish face in the mirror, put on her coat and hat and left the room, locking the door carefully behind her.

There was a woman cleaning the corridor and a porter behind the reception desk in the foyer. Both of them replied to her good morning and the porter gave her a questioning look so that she said: ‘I’m going for a short walk,’ and smiled at him as she reached the big swing door.

Before she could open it, Dr Winter came in from outside, took her by the elbow and marched her back to the foyer.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ he asked in a voice so harsh and so unlike his usual bland coolness that all Isobel could do was gape at him.

Presently she managed: ‘Only going for a walk.’

‘Going for a walk,’ he mimicked mockingly. ‘Of course you can speak Polish, know your way around Gdansk and have your passport with you, not to mention enough money for a taxi back if you should get lost.’

She said reasonably: ‘I was only going a little way—close to the hotel, and you have no need to be so nasty about it, Dr Winter.’

She peered up into his angry face and saw that it was grey with fatigue and needed a shave. ‘And where have you been?’ she asked with disconcerting candour. ‘You’re cross and tired and you haven’t shaved… Out all night?’ She kept her pleasant voice low. ‘At Mrs Olbinski’s flat? She’s ill?’

He shook his head. ‘No, your eyes are too sharp, Nurse, and it’s just my confounded luck to meet you…’

‘There was a curfew.’ She raised troubled eyes to meet his dark ones.

‘Lifted half an hour since. I didn’t like the idea of leaving Nanny alone.’ And at her look: ‘Oh, you were safe enough, the porter knew where I was; he’s a friend of hers anyway, he promised to keep an eye on you.’

He didn’t look angry any more, only faintly amused and impatient.

‘And now, if you’ve finished your questioning, I’ll have a shower and shave and join you for breakfast.’ He caught her arm again. ‘You’ll oblige me by staying in your room until I come for you, and I’d like your promise on that.’

‘I never heard such nonsense!’ said Isobel impatiently. ‘You’ve just said the curfew is over.’

‘Your promise,’ he insisted in a voice she didn’t much like the sound of.

‘Oh, very well.’ She went with him up the stairs and when he took her key and opened her door, went past him without a word, only at the last minute she whizzed round and held out her hand.

Dr Winter put the key into it. He said softly: ‘You are, after all, my responsibility until we’re back in England.’