A Star Looks Down Part 22

"Yes, I cashed the cheque this morning.

I'll leave some in your room before I go," and was rewarded for this sisterly thoughtfulness by a flattering: "Good old Sis--there's a girl I want to take out.

' Beth had heard that one before, many times.

"Do I know her?

' "Harriet King.

There's that film on, I've forgotten its name, but I thought we might go.

' "You won't be here, Beth," struck in the almost silent Dobson.

"I should have liked to have taken you.

' She smiled kindly at him.

"Oh, Dobs, that would have been fun, but I'm leaving again tomorrow afternoon.

Now let's eat or you two will be late back.

' It was lucky it was a fine day; Beth did an enormous wash and hung it on the tiny balcony outside the kitchen, then turned her attention to the important matter of what clothes to take with her.

It was long past teatime by the time she had decided on the suit, yet again; the violet dress for the good reason that the profess or had said that he liked it, and a jersey skirt with a couple of thin sweaters, all of which she intended to supplement in the mo ming.

She ate tea-c.u.m-supper, did the ironing, washed her hair and went to bed, very content.

She was up and out early in the morning, combing the half empty shops for exactly what she wanted; she hadn't had so much money to spend for a long time and it had to be laid out carefully.

She was home before midday with everything she had hoped to buy; rather expensive shoes, because she had small, pretty feet and was proud of them, a jersey dress in a quaker grey which made her eyes more purple than they were, slacks from Marks and Spencer and a couple of blouses to go with them she was perfectly satisfied, and she had spent all the money she had allowed herself.

She packed carefully, put the five pounds she had promised William in his tie drawer, wrote a cheque for the rent and went to have a bath and get ready for her journey, feeling pleased with her small world there was money in the bank; more than enough for William's needs and a little over for a rainy day, and there were still two weeks to come.

Life, she told herself, was good; such a lot of pleasant things had been happening, and all of them since she had met the profess or, for it was he who had made them possible.

She was ready and waiting by one o'clock, and a good thing too, for he arrived half an hour early with all four children, explaining apologetically when she opened the door that they had insisted on coming with him to see where she lived.

They each shook her by the hand and the little girls kissed her as well, and so, after a shy pause, did Hubert, but Dirk, although he greeted her politely, gave her an inimical look which momentarily chilled her, although the chill was dispelled at once by the profess or's cheerful: "Well, since we're all doing it.

' and kissed her too.

And although she hadn't been kissed all that number of times, it wasn't the lighthearted salute she occasionally received from William's friends, but quick and hard and disturbing.

Of course, she told herself confusedly, he was an older man and would have had plenty of practice, and to dispel a vague dissatisfaction at the idea, she plunged into a lightning guided tour of the flat because the children were clamouring for it.

They were excited and also a little tired; the profess or had driven down after his day's work on the previous evening and they had left Caundle Bubb quite early that morning, stopping for lunch on the way.

They told her this, talking in chorus, telling her about Sugar and Beauty and that they were going to have a pony of their own at home now that they could ride a little; they told her that Mrs Burge had cried when they had left and that their father was coming home soon, and when they paused for breath: "How nice to hear all your news," cried Beth, just as though they hadn't seen each other for months instead of days.

"You shall tell me all over again presently, my dears, but now I think we should be going, don't you?

Your mother will be wondering what has happened and your uncle mustn't be kept waiting.

' She smiled across the room at him and was surprised at his serious: "But that is just what he is doing, Beth--waiting.

' "Oh, are you?

' she exclaimed, rather bewildered.

"Then we had best go.

' She took a final look at the sitting room, closed its door and led the party through the tiny hall and down the stairs, the profess or last of all with her luggage.

It took a few minutes to stow everyone comfortably while she greeted Mevrouw Thor becke, and then they were off, the big car sliding with silent power through the shabby streets, making for the Dover road.

Beth had had no time to find out about the journey--indeed, looking back on the last two days, she wondered how she had managed to fit so much in; getting her visitor's pa.s.sport, cleaning the flat and doing all that was.h.i.+ng-and then the shopping; she should have been exhausted, but strangely enough she felt alive with excitement and full of energy; she didn't really care how they were going or how long it would take; the profess or would have arranged everything admirably, she had no doubt.

She sat back in the cramped back of the car and applied herself happily enough to answering the children's endless questions about anything which took their attention, which kept them all occupied until the profess or stopped at Newingreen and they all piled out for tea at the Royal Oak.

It was a boisterous meal and eaten with no lack of appet.i.te, and Beth, watching the profess or stow away b.u.t.tered toast, tea cakes and buns with all the zest of his nephews, guessed that in all likelihood he had had nothing much the day before but a cup of coffee and stale sandwich from the hospital canteen--and not sufficient sleep either, she decided.

Someone really ought to take him in hand.

But if he was tired, the profess or didn't show it; they arrived at Dover, transferred themselves and the car without difficulty on to the Hovercraft and in due course arrived at Ca lais.

Disembarking took a little time, but finally they were on the coast road, heading for Holland.

At De Panne the profess or swept the car on to the road to Bruges, and when they reached that picturesque town went straight through it despite cries from the children, who wanted to stop and sightsee.

"Too late," he told them good-naturedly.

"It'll be late enough by the time we get to Willemstad and your mother will be tired-and so will you.

Another time.

' They tore on, circled Antwerp to reach the motorway to Breda and turned off again before they reached that city, to join a secondary road across pleasant wooded country.

Beth, looking about her, liked it better than the motorway, which, while allowing one to travel at speed, which she liked, gave one little opportunity to see much.

The children, on familiar ground now, were begging her to turn this way and that so that they might show well-remembered bits of scenery, becoming more and more excited with each kilo metre, just as she was; she could hardly wait to see Willemstad.

When they did reach it, it surprised her very much; she had expected quite a large town, instead of which, having pa.s.sed some pleasant villas in their own gardens, they shot up a narrow street and came out quite unexpectedly by a small harbour.

The road was cobbled and the houses lining it were old and charming to see.

In the late spring suns.h.i.+ne the little place glimmered and shone as though it had been polished, and even as they looked the sun slid behind the horizon, leaving a soft not quite dark in which it was possible to distinguish a handful of fis.h.i.+ng boats and some rather splendid yachts, and peering around her, Beth could see a church, not a stone's throw from the water, and what looked like the Town Hall, and across the road from these ancient buildings, a rather staid hotel.

But she had little time to look around her, for they had turned away from the harbour, between an avenue of trees with shops on either side, and presently the profess or turned the car carefully into a narrow cobbled street with a high wall on one side and a row of very small gabled cottages on the other.

The wall was pierced by a gate half-way down its length, left open, presumably for them because he inched through it and drew up before the door of the nice old house only a few yards from it.

"Out you get," he ordered genially, and get indoors--take Beth with you.

I'll bring your mother.

' There was a young woman at the open door, introduced as Maartje, and hovering somewhere at the back of the hall was an older woman in an overall.

"That's the cook," explained Marineka.

"She's called Mies-Maartje does the housework.

' She tugged at Beth's arm.

"Shall we go upstairs?

' Mevrouw Thor becke had joined them and paused in her greeting of Mies and Maartje to say: "Yes, Marineka, take Beth to her room-the one next to yours, Ueffe.

' She smiled at Beth.

"And welcome to my home, Beth.

' Beth's room was charming.

Both little girls had accompanied her and they were embarking on a happy tour of inspection when their uncle's voice, requesting Beth's presence, interrupted them, so she went downstairs to the floor below, to Mevrouw Thor becke's bedroom; a charming apartment containing everything any woman could wish for, although at the moment all Mevrouw Thor becke wanted was her bed.

Beth cast her a sympathetic look and set about the business of getting her out of her clothes and tucked up cosily against her pillows as quickly as possible, and that done, she tidied up, arranged a bedside lamp at a more convenient angle, fetched some magazines and announced her intention of bringing up supper.

"Thank you, Beth, how kind you are, but Maartje will be here in a moment with a tray-perhaps if you would see to the children?

I feel very mean leaving you to see to everything like this.

," Beth smiled cheerfully.

"I'm not in the least tired," she a.s.sured Mevrouw Thor becke.

"T'll have a quick supper with them and get them off to bed, they must be tired out.

' They were in the dining room waiting for her; a large, rather formal room on the ground floor, with double doors leading to an even larger room which she supposed was the drawing room.

The profess or was there too, sitting in a carving chair, reading a paper, but he got up when she looked round the door and called: "Yes, we're here, Miss Partridge, dying from hunger.

Come and sit down at once and have a gla.s.s of something while Mies sends in the food.

' She sat, sipping a delicious Madeira which she feared might go to her head, and left him to finish his paper while she joined in the children's chatter, and presently they all fell to on the Sole Bonne Femme and followed that with a bread and b.u.t.ter pudding; a meal designed for the children, thought Beth, and very nice too, although she wondered if the profess or found it quite to his taste.

By now Alberdina was drooping over her plate, and regretfully refusing a second helping.

Beth excused herself and the little girl and carried her off to bed, quickly followed by the other three.

It was half an hour or more before they were finally settled in their rooms, for Alberdina refused to sleep until Pim the cat had been found and settled on the end of her bed, and then Beth had to be reminded by Hubert that Rufus, the golden retriever who had been at their heels since they arrived, was in the habit of sleeping in his basket in his room, and would she make sure that he did so before she went to bed herself.

Mevrouw Thor becke was asleep by now and Beth went on downstairs; she had to discover what time breakfast was in the morning and what time the children got up.

There was no one about; she opened and shut doors, beginning to feel a little like Alice, and was getting faintly annoyed when she was startled by the profess or's voice.

"My dear girl, are you playing a game?

You have been peering in and out of doors for the last two minutes.

' He spoke from above her and when she looked up she saw that he was leaning over the rail of the gallery above her head.

He was laughing too and she said quite crossly: "I can't find anyone and I'm getting quite demented, if you must know.

There are all sorts of things I have to know and no one to tell me.

' He came downstairs with quiet speed.

"Ask me," he invited.

"Well, at what time do I--and the children--get up?

And when is breakfast?

And is there any kind of routine to their day, and.

' "Let's ask Maartje," he offered, and took her arm and opened the door leading to the kitchen at the end of the hall--a modern, gleaming kitchen in which Maartje and Mies were was.h.i.+ng up.

The profess or spoke to them both and Beth could only guess at what he was saying, but they smiled and replied at some length, and finally he said: "The children get up at half past seven and someone will call you then.

Breakfast at half past eight, though when they go to school it's a good deal earlier.

They go for a walk in the morning and I'm sure that by the time you're back, Mar tina will feel like telling you anything else you want to know.

' "Thank you," Beth smiled at the two women and wished them good night as they went back to the hall, where she said: "T'll go to bed too, I think.