'A very biddable animal,' he told her. 'Goes everywhere with me.'
He bade her good evening in a frosty voice and went away, leaving her wondering why he was so aloof.
He's had a busy day, reflected Emmy, he'll be more friendly in the morning.
Only in the morning he wasn't there. Audrey, who always knew the latest gossip, told her as she took over that he had gone to Birmingham.
'Gets around, doesn't he? Going back to Holland for Christmas too. Shan't see much of him-not that he's exactly friendly. Well, what do you expect? He's a senior consultant and no end of a big noise.'
Which was, Emmy conceded, quite true. And a good reason for remembering that next time he might pause for a chat. He was beginning to loom rather large on the edge of her dull, humdrum life, which wouldn't do at all. Sitting there at her switchboard, she reminded herself that they had nothing in common-Well, Charlie perhaps, and being in the hospital when the bomb went off.
Besides, she reminded herself bitterly, he considered her plain and dowdy. If I could spend half as much on myself as that Anneliese of his, reflected Emmy waspishly, I'd show him that I'm not in the least dowdy, and a visit to a beauty salon would work wonders even with a face like mine.
Since neither of their wishes were likely to be fulfilled, she told herself to forget the professor; there were plenty of other things to think about.
It was a pity that she couldn't think of a single one of them-within minutes he was back in her thoughts, making havoc of her good resolutions.
She was in the professor's thoughts too, much to his annoyance. The tiresome girl, he reflected, and why do I have this urge to do something to improve her life? For all I know she is perfectly content with the way she lives. She is young; she could get a job wherever she wishes, buy herself some decent clothes, meet people, find a boyfriend. All of which was nonsense, and he knew it. She deserved better, he considered, a home and work away from London and that pokey little house.
But even if she had the chance to change he knew that she wouldn't leave her home. He had liked her parents; they had fallen on bad times through no fault of her father. Of course, if he could get a post as a schoolmaster again away from London that would solve the problem. Ermentrude could leave St Luke's and shake the dust of London from her well-polished but well-worn shoes.
The professor put down the notes he was studying, took off his spectacles, polished them and put them back onto his nose. He would miss her.
'This is ridiculous,' he said to himself. 'I don't even know the girl.'
He forebore from adding that he knew Ermentrude as if she were himself, had done since he had first seen her. He was going to marry Anneliese, he reminded himself, and Ermentrude had demonstrated often enough that she had no interest in him. He was too old for her, and she regarded him in a guarded manner which made it plain that in her eyes he was no more than someone she met occasionally at work…
The professor was an honourable man; he had asked Anneliese to marry him-not loving her but knowing that she would make a suitable wife-and there was no possible reason to break his word. Even if Ermentrude loved him, something which was so unlikely that it was laughable.
He gave his lectures, dealt with patients he had been asked to see, arranged appointments for the future and always at the back of his mind was Ermentrude. She would never be his wife but there was a good deal he could do to make her life happier, and, when he got back once more to Chelsea, he set about doing it.
CHAPTER FOUR
DESPITE her resolutions, Emmy missed the professor. She had looked forward to seeing him going to and fro at St Luke's, even if he took no notice of her. He was there, as it were, and she felt content just to know that he was. Of course, she thought about him. She thought about Anneliese too, doubtless getting ready for a grand wedding, spending money like water, secure in the knowledge that she was going to marry a man who could give her everything she could want.
'I only hope she deserves it,' said Emmy, talking to herself and surprising the porter who had brought her coffee.
'If it's women you're talking about, love, you can take it from me they don't deserve nothing. Take my word for it; I'm a married man.'
'Go on with you!' said Emmy. 'I've seen your wife, she's pretty, and you've got that darling baby.'
'I could have done worse.' He grinned at her. 'There's always an exception to every rule, so they say.'
'No sign of our handsome professor,' said Audrey when she came on duty. 'Having fun in Birmingham, I shouldn't wonder. Won't be able to do that once he's a married man, will he? Perhaps he's going straight over to Holland and not coming back here until after Christmas.'
'Christmas is still six weeks away.'
'Don't tell me that he can't do what he chooses when he wants to.'
'I think that if he has patients and work here he'll stay until he's no longer needed. I know you don't like him, but everyone else does.'
'Including you,' said Audrey with a snigger.
'Including me,' said Emmy soberly.
Emmy was on night duty again. Her mother was home and so was her father, now inspecting various schools in outer London and coming home tired each evening. He didn't complain, but the days were long and often unsatisfactory. He had been told that the man he had replaced would be returning to work within a week or ten days, which meant that he would be returning to his badly paid teaching post. Thank heaven, he thought, that Emmy had her job too. Somehow they would manage.
Emmy had dealt with the usual early enquiries, and except for internal calls the evening was quiet. She took out her knitting-a pullover for her father's Christmas present-and began the complicated business of picking up stitches around the neck. She was halfway round it when she became aware of the professor standing behind her. Her hand jerked and she dropped a clutch of stitches.
'There, look what you've made me do!' she said, and turned round to look at him.
'You knew that I was here?' He sounded amused. 'But I hadn't spoken…'
'No, well-I knew there was someone.' She was mumbling, not looking at him now, remembering all at once that what was fast becoming friendship must be nipped in the bud.
She began to pick up the dropped stitches, and wished that the silent switchboard would come alive. Since he just stood there, apparently content with the silence, she asked in a polite voice, 'I hope that Charlie is well, sir?'
The professor, equally polite, assured her that his dog was in excellent health, and registered the 'sir' with a rueful lift of the eyebrows.
'Your kitten?' he asked in his turn.
'Oh, he's splendid, and George and Snoodles take such care of him.'
The professor persevered. 'Has he a name?'
'Enoch. Mother had a cat when she was a little girl called Enoch, and now he's clean and brushed he's the same colour. Ginger with a white waistcoat.' She added, 'Sir.'
The professor saw that he was making no headway; Ermentrude was making it plain that she was being polite for politeness' sake. Apparently she had decided that their friendship, such as it was, was to go no further. Just as
