Hardly an enjoyable trip, Eliza thought as he brought the car to a halt at the lodge front door.
And yet it had been wonderful. She had been with the professor for hours, and even if she hadnât been sure before, she knew now that there wasnât another man like himânot for her, anyway.
He came around the hood of the car, opened Elizaâs door and lifted her out to place her gently on the porch.
âGo down to the cottage through the house,â he advised her. âIâll bring the parcels.â
She did as she was told, and found the little place warm and lighted, and a tea tray laid ready. Eliza would put the kettle on and when Christian came they would have a cup of tea. But when the professor did come, five minutes later, he gave her a bleak refusal when she suggested it. At the door he halted, though, when Eliza said in a level little voice, âThank you for my lunch and for driving me, Professor. It was a lovely day.â
He turned right round and looked at her frowningly. He said almost angrily, âA lovely day.â And then, as though the words were being dragged out of him, âAnd a lovely girl.â
THE room was large and well lighted, and by reason of the cheerful fire in the wide chimneypiece and the thick curtains drawn against the grey January afternoon, cosy enough. There were three persons in it; an elderly man, sitting at his ease behind a very large, extremely untidy desk, a thin, prim woman at a small table close by and a tall, broad-shouldered man sitting astride a small chair, his arms folded across its back, his square, determined chin resting on two large and well cared for hands. He was a handsome man, his dark hair silvered at the temples, and possessing a pair of formidable black brows above very dark eyes. In repose he appeared to be of an age approaching forty, but when he smiled, and he was smiling now, he looked a good deal younger.
Miss Trim paused in the reading of the names from a typed list before her and glanced at the two men. They were smoking pipes and she gave a small protesting cough which she knew would be ignored, anyhow.
âThey sound like a line of chorus girls,â commented the younger of her two companions. His smile turned to an engaging grin. âHow do you like the idea of being nursed by a Shirley Anne, or an Angela, orâwhat was that last one, Miss Trim? A Felicity?â
His elderly companion puffed a smoke ring and viewed it with satisfaction. âWe should have tried for a male nurse,â he mused out loud, âbut from a psychological point of view that would not have been satisfactory.â
âThere are still a few names on the list, Professor Wyllie.â Miss Trim sounded faintly tart, probably because of the smoke wreathing itself around her head. She coughed again and continued to read: âAnnette Dawes, Marilyn Jones, Eliza Proudfoot, Heather Coxâ¦â
She was interrupted. âA moment, Miss Trimâthat name again, Elizaâ¦?â
âMiss Eliza Proudfoot, Professor van Duyl.â
âThis is the one,â his deep voice with its faint trace of an accent, sounded incisive. âWith a name like that, I donât see how we can go wrong.â
He glanced at the older man, his eyebrows lifted. âWhat do you say, sir?â
âYouâre probably right. Letâs hear the details, Miss Trim.â
Before she could speak: âFive foot ten,â murmured Professor van Duyl, âwith vital statistics to match.â He caught the secretaryâs disapproving eye. âSheâll need to be strong,â he reminded her blandly, ânot young any more, rather on the plain side and decidedly motherly.â He turned his smiling gaze on Professor Wyllie. âWill you like that?â
His companion chuckled. âI daresay she will do as well as any, provided that her qualifications are good.â He gave Miss Trim a questioning look, and she answered promptly, mentioning one of the larger London hospitals.
âShe trained there,â she recited from her meticulous notes, âand is now Ward Sister of Menâs Medical. She is twenty-eight years old, unmarried, and thought very highly of by those members of the medical profession for whom she works.â She added primly, âShall I telephone Sir Harry Bliss, Professor? He is the consultant in charge of her ward.â