Pineapple Girl. Бетти Нилс

my father—he had a bookshop, he sold rare books and engravings.’

      ‘Straight from books to patients—no fun, then. How old are you?’

      She had answered him before she had had time to think that it was no business of his. ‘Twenty-three.’

      He nodded his head thoughtfully. ‘Just right,’ he observed, and taking no notice of her puzzled look, went on in a practical voice: ‘Now this is what we will do. Mevrouw Pringle is to do exactly what she wishes—shopping trips, visits to friends…do you drive, by the way?’

      ‘Well, Father had a little van, and I used to drive that, but I haven’t driven much since we moved to London.’

      ‘You have your licence with you? Good; it will be best if you go everywhere with her and if you’re driving she’ll not suspect.’

      Eloise said helplessly, not liking the idea: ‘But it’s years—besides, it’s on the other side of the road…’

      The doctor got to his feet, unfolding his enormous frame slowly, until he seemed to tower over her. ‘We’ll have ten minutes in my car now,’ he told her. ‘I’ll soon see if you can cope.’

      She found herself being led outside to where a dark grey Rolls-Royce convertible stood before the front door. She stopped short when she saw it. ‘Is that yours?’ she wanted to know urgently, ‘because if it is I can’t possibly drive it.’

      He didn’t even bother to answer her, but opened the door and stood there holding it until she got in, then he settled himself beside her and said: ‘Off we go.’

      She went; there was nothing else to do anyway, pride forbade her from getting out again. She fumbled for a few minutes, not understanding the gears, terrified of accelerating too hard and shooting through the bushes on either side of them, turning on the lights—even blowing the horn. To none of these errors did he respond, merely sitting quietly looking ahead of him while she wobbled down to the gate, to turn obediently when he uttered a laconic: ‘Left.’ But on the road her terror gradually subsided; true, she was driving a Rolls and if she damaged it heaven only knew what its owner would do to her, even though the whole thing had been his idea. She gripped the wheel firmly; she would show him, after all, even if the van had been small and old, she had driven well. After a few kilometres along the quiet road she even began to enjoy herself.

      ‘Very nice,’ said the doctor, ‘and perfectly safe. One doesn’t expect to find a girl driving with such cool. On the rare occasions—the very rare occasions, when I have been persuaded to let a girl take the wheel, she has invariably flung her hands into the air and squawked like a frightened hen after the first few yards.’ His sidelong glance took in the pinkness of her cheeks. ‘Mevrouw Pringle has a Citroën, easy to drive and quite small. You’ll be all right. Now stop, and we’ll go back. I’ve several more calls to make.’

      He didn’t talk as he drove back, fast, relaxed and very sure of himself, and Eloise, in a splendid muddle of vexation at his manner towards her and pride at her prowess, didn’t speak either.

      At the house he opened the door for her and ushered her into the hall, saying quietly: ‘If I know Deborah Pringle, she will be in the sitting room…’ And he was right; she was, smiling from a white face while she greeted them, assuring him that she was rested and had never felt better and was already planning some amusements for Eloise. ‘And Timon,’ she begged, ‘don’t dare suggest examining me today.’

      He laughed gently and took her hand. ‘It’s delightful to see you again, Deborah, and I’ve no intention of spoiling your homecoming—besides, I’ve two more patients to see on my way home and then evening surgery. How about tomorrow? In the morning before you get up—ten o’clock. Nothing much, you know, just a check-up.’

      He said goodbye and wandered to the door. ‘I’ll see myself out.’ He gave Eloise a casual nod as he went.

      ‘Such a dear man,’ murmured Mevrouw Pringle. ‘You’d never think he was a doctor, would you? So relaxed—I always feel he should be sitting by a canal, fishing.’

      ‘Perhaps he does when he’s got the time,’ suggested Eloise.

      ‘He’s too much in demand, and not only as a doctor. He’s something of a catch, my dear, only no one’s caught him yet, although there are one or two girls…’ She paused, leaving Eloise to conjure up pictures of any number of raving beauties doing their best to snap up the prize. The idea made her feel a little low-spirited and she told herself it was because not being a beauty herself, she couldn’t have the fun of competing with them, rather the reverse; she could see that their relationship was going to be strictly businesslike, excepting of course when he chose to find her amusing.

      ‘I daresay he feels very flattered,’ she remarked airily, and went on to suggest that her patient might like to have an early night, and how about supper in bed. She was glad she had suggested it, because Mijnheer Pringle threw her a grateful look and added his voice to hers, and she spent the next hour making Mevrouw Pringle comfortable for the night and then went downstairs again to sit and read in the drawing room while Mijnheer Pringle went to have a chat with his wife; he took a bottle of sherry and some glasses with him and Eloise applauded his action.

      Presently he came downstairs again and they dined in the rather severe dining room on the other side of the hall, while her host kept the conversation to trivialities, concealing his true feelings with a flow of small talk which lasted until she felt she could excuse herself and go up to bed. She went to see Mevrouw Pringle on the way, to give her her tablets and warn her that she was to ring for her if she needed anything during the night, and an hour later, when she crept back to take another look, it was to find her patient sleeping quietly, so that she could go to her own bed with a quiet mind. It had been a long, eventful day, and surprising too. She had never expected to meet the doctor again, although she admitted to herself that she hadn’t really forgotten him, only tucked him away in the back of her mind. It was a pity that he had no interest in her whatever, but then why should he? Especially if he could take his pick of all those girls her patient had hinted at.