but not the Uncle Charles of her and Eileen’s fancy—this man, while no longer young, was still in his thirties and his dark hair was barely touched by grey. He was, thought Cordelia, quite out of her depth, incredibly handsome in a craggy way, and very large, towering over them all in a rather off putting fashion. Oh, how very nice, she thought inadequately and waited for him to speak.
He had a quiet voice and rather slow; she couldn’t catch what he said to his mother as he stooped to kiss her before turning to Eileen, standing beside her and staring at him with frank surprise.
His, ‘Hullo, Eileen. You don’t remember me, do you? I hope you will be happy here until your parents return,’ was uttered in a somewhat absent minded way, and Cordelia noticed that he held a book in one hand, one finger marking the place. A pity if he was an absent minded scholar who preferred books to people, she mused and then coloured faintly as Lady Trescombe said: ‘This is Miss Gibson, Charles, Eileen’s companion.’
‘How d’you do,’ asked Cordelia politely. The doctor studied her carefully, ‘Mrs Thompson shall take you to your rooms,’ he said at length, ‘we shall be in the drawing room when you are ready. I daresay you would like a drink before lunch.’ He nodded at her and took his mother’s arm and led her across the hall to another door, opened it and went inside with her, closing it behind him.
‘He’s awful,’ whispered Eileen and caught Cordelia’s hand in hers.
‘No, dear. I think perhaps he’s used to living alone and isn’t quite sure what to do with us.’ She didn’t say more because Mrs Thompson had come to take them to their rooms.
It was a large apartment; they mounted half a dozen shallow stairs and went down a long passage, thickly carpeted, with Mrs Thompson leading the way, talking cosily all the while. ‘Side by side, you are,’ she told them, ‘and there’s a bathroom for you to share. The doctor’s along the other corridor and Thompson and I are at the end of his corridor. He thought you’d like to be on your own…’
She opened doors as she spoke, revealing two rooms, furnished very similarly in a rather heavy fashion. There was a connecting door and a view of the street below from their windows. ‘Of course,’ the doctor only rents this place,’ explained Mrs Thompson, tweaking a bedspread into exact lines, ‘he doesn’t care for it overmuch, but it’s handy for the university and the hospitals, and we’ll be going home in a couple of months.’ She beamed at them. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to tidy up. You can find your way to the drawing room? If you want any help with unpacking just you ring. I’ll be in Lady Trescombe’s room putting her things to rights…’
Left alone Eileen looked at Cordelia. ‘I’m not going to like it here,’ she said defiantly, and peeped at her to see what she would say.
‘Well, I don’t see how you can say that until we’ve been here for at least two or three days,’ said Cordelia matter-of-factly. ‘I thought it all looked rather exciting as we drove here, didn’t you? That Palace and those dear little carriages…we might take a ride…’
‘All the same,’ began Eileen, but Cordelia didn’t give her the chance: ‘The thing is,’ she went on calmly, ‘now we’re here, wouldn’t it be a good thing to sample some of the things we’ve been reading about on board; I’d love to see the Schonbrunn Palace and eat a cream cake at Sacher’s Coffee House and to go to the Spanish Riding School.’
She could see Eileen wavering but she was far too wise to say more. ‘Let’s tidy ourselves and have that drink,’ she suggested.
Five minutes later they were ready. They were on the last stair of the steps leading to the hall and about to cross the hall to the half open drawing room door when Dr Trescombe spoke, his deep quiet voice nevertheless very clear.
‘By all means let her stay,’ he sounded bored, ‘I’m sure that I can rely on your opinion, Mother. I can’t say I have felt much interest—a rather dull girl, I should have thought, with no looks to speak of…’
Cordelia had stopped, rooted to the spot, her face had paled and her gentle mouth was half open. She might have stayed there for heaven knew how long but Eileen caught her by the hand and whisked her silently back up the steps. Safely on the landing she whispered fiercely: ‘Don’t believe a word of it Cordelia, you’re not a bit dull and when you smile you’re beautiful. I hate him.’
Cordelia managed a smile. ‘At least I’m to stay.’ She breathed the words into Eileen’s ear. ‘But don’t hate him—he’s quite right, you know.’
Eileen scowled and Cordelia put a finger to her lips and urged her down into the hall again. She said in a high and rather loud voice: ‘I daresay most people living in Vienna have apartments, I remember reading…’
They had reached the drawing-room door, which was a good thing because she had no idea what she was going to say next.
Lady Trescombe was sitting in an over upholstered chair, a glass on the small table by her side. She said unnecessarily: ‘There you are. Eileen, you may have a glass of lemonade. Miss Gibson, you would probably like a glass of sherry.’
The doctor was standing at the other end of the room, looking out of the window. He turned to look at them as they went in but apparently he had no objection to his mother taking over his duties for he said nothing before resuming his study of the street outside.
‘I shall return home in two days time,’ observed Lady Trescombe. ‘You will arrange that for me, Charles? A morning flight I think.’
Cordelia and Eileen had sat down side by side on a massive sofa and he came to sit in a chair opposite his mother.
‘Certainly, my dear, although I should have liked you to stay for longer.’
He transferred his gaze to Cordelia and she was startled to see how very blue his eyes were. ‘You will remain, Miss Gibson? Eileen’s parents will return in rather less than six weeks and I must depend upon you to keep her occupied and happy until then. You must understand that I have my work which keeps me busy and I have little leisure. Your duties are unlikely to be onerous. I have arranged for Eileen to attend a school while she is here,’ and at the girl’s interruption: ‘Don’t worry, Eileen, you will only go to the classes you will enjoy. You like painting and drawing don’t you? You may go three times a week to art class, and perhaps you might like the cookery sessions and the embroidery… Anyway, try them out, and if you don’t like them, we’ll think of something else. Your mother wrote to me and suggested it and I know it would please her, but if the idea of school makes you unhappy, we’ll scrap it.’
Cordelia found this to be a very reasonable arrangement and was relieved to see Eileen’s face brighten. ‘I can really choose for myself?’
‘Of course. There will be plenty of time for you and Miss Gibson to explore Vienna—feel free to go where you like, provided you let Thompson or Mrs Thompson know where you are going.’ He smiled suddenly and looked years younger. ‘I’m afraid I’m not much of an uncle, my dear, you must forgive a middle-aged bachelor.’
‘Probably,’ said Eileen, ‘when Cordelia and I have been here for a week or two, you’ll feel much younger.’
His eyes flickered over Cordelia. ‘Er—quite possibly. Perhaps the two of you would like to unpack?’
Cordelia got up and walked to the door without saying a word, reminding herself that after all he wasn’t any worse than her stepmother, and she was being paid for it. As she waited for Eileen she did a little rapid mental arithmetic—five weeks at the salary she was getting, if she saved most of it, would cushion her nicely against the uncertain future.
She had, while they had been on board, spent some time in deciding what she would buy once they were in Vienna, her wardrobe was, after all meagre, but now she realised that half a dozen sacks would do just as well as far as Uncle Charles was concerned and she wasn’t likely to make many friends. She would be able to manage very well with what she had.
The pair of them unpacked while Eileen discussed her uncle.