He had propelled her gently past the doorman, out into the chilly night and, after towing her along gently, popped her into his car, parked nearby.
Getting in beside her, he asked, ‘Are you going to cry?’
‘Certainly not. And I have no wish to be here in your car. You are being high-handed, Professor.’She sniffed. ‘I’m not a child.’
He looked at her, smiling a little. ‘No, I had realised that. Are you hungry?’
She was taken by surprise. ‘Yes…’
‘Splendid. And, since you are not going to cry and I’m hungry too, we will go and eat somewhere.’
‘No,’ said Julia.
‘My dear girl, be sensible. It’s the logical thing to do.’
He started the car. ‘Let us bury the hatchet for an hour or so. You are free to dislike me the moment I see you to your front door.’
She was hungry, so the prospect of a meal was tempting. She said, ‘Well, all right, but not anywhere grand—the curtain…’
He said quietly, ‘I’m sorry I said that. You look very nice and it was unforgivable of me. We will go somewhere you won’t need to be uneasy.’
He sounded kind and her spirits lifted. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad… He spoilt it by adding, ‘Is your entire wardrobe made up of curtains?’He glanced at her. ‘You must be a very talented young lady.’
She was on the point of making a fiery answer when the thought of a meal crossed her mind. She had no idea why he had asked her out and she didn’t care; she would choose all the most expensive things on the menu…
He took her to Wilton’s, spoke quietly to the maître d’, and followed her to one of the booths, so that any fears concerning her dress were instantly put at rest.
‘Now, what shall we have?’asked the Professor, well aware of her relief that the booth sheltered her nicely from the other diners. ‘I can recommend the cheese soufflé, and the sole Meunière is excellent.’ When she agreed he ordered from the waitress and turned his attention to the sommelier and the wine list. Which gave Julia a chance to study the menu. She need not have bothered to choose the most expensive food; everything was expensive.
When it came it was delicious, and cooked by a master hand. She thought fleetingly of Oscar, and applied herself to her dinner, and, being nicely brought up, made polite conversation the while. The Professor replied suitably, amused at that and wondering what had possessed him to take her to dinner. He went out seldom, and when he did his companion would be one of his numerous acquaintances: elegant young women, dressed impeccably, bone-thin and fussing delicately about what they could and couldn’t eat.
Julia, on the other hand, ate everything she was offered with an unselfconscious pleasure, and capped the sole with sherry trifle and drank the wine he had ordered. And that loosed her tongue, for presently, over coffee, she asked, ‘If you are Dutch, why do you live in England?’
‘I only do so for part of the time. My home is in Holland and I work there as well. I shall be going back there in a few weeks’ time for a month or so.’
‘How very unsettling,’observed Julia. ‘But I suppose you are able to pick and choose if you are a Professor?’
‘I suppose I can,’ he agreed mildly. ‘What are you going to do about Oscar?’
‘I dare say he won’t find me a suitable wife for a junior partner…’
‘And will that break your heart?’
‘No. He sort of grew on me, if you see what I mean.’
He said smoothly, ‘Ah—you have a more romantic outlook, perhaps?’
She took a sip of coffee. ‘It’s almost midnight. Would you take me home, please?’
Not one of the women he had taken out to dinner had ever suggested that it was getting late and they wished to go home. On the contrary. The Professor stifled a laugh, assured her that they would go at once, and signed the bill. On the journey through London’s streets he discussed the weather, the pleasures of the English countryside and the prospect of a fine summer.
The street was quiet and only barely lit. He got out and opened the car door for her, before taking the door key from her. He opened the door and gave her back the key.
Julia cast around in her mind for something gracious to say. ‘Thank you for my dinner,’ she said finally, and, since that didn’t sound in the least gracious, added, ‘I enjoyed the dinner very much and the restaurant was— was very elegant. It was a very pleasant evening…’
She didn’t like his smile in the dimly lit hallway. ‘Don’t try too hard, Julia,’ he told her. ‘Goodnight.’
He pushed her gently into the hall and closed the door soundlessly behind her.
‘I hate him,’ said Julia, and took off her shoes, flung the shawl onto the floor and crept upstairs to her bed. She had intended to lie awake and consider how much she disliked him, but she went to sleep at once.
The Professor took himself off home, to his elegant Chelsea house, locked the Rolls in the mews garage behind it, and let himself into his home. There was a wall-light casting a gentle light on the side table in the hall and he picked up the handful of letters on it as he went to his study.
This was a small, comfortably furnished room, with rows of bookshelves, a massive desk, a chair behind it and two smaller ones each side of the small fireplace. Under the window was a table with a computer and a pile of papers and books. He ignored it and put the letters on his desk before going out of the room again and along the hall, through the baize door at the end and down the steps to the kitchen, where he poured himself coffee from the pot on the Aga and acknowledged the sleepy greetings from two small dogs.
They got out of the basket they shared and sat beside him while he drank his coffee: two small creatures with heavily whiskered faces, short legs and long, thin rat-like tails. The professor had found them, abandoned, terrified and starving, some six months earlier. It was apparent that they weren’t going to grow any larger or handsomer, but they had become members of his household and his devoted companions. He saw them back into their basket, with the promise of a walk in the morning, and went back to his study. There were some notes he needed to write up before he went to bed.
He sat down and pulled the papers towards him and then sat back in his chair, thinking about the evening. What had possessed him to take Julia out to dinner? he wondered. A nice enough girl, no doubt, but with a sharp tongue and making no attempt to hide the fact that she didn’t like him. The unknown Oscar was possibly to be pitied. He smiled suddenly. She had enjoyed her dinner, and he doubted whether Oscar rose much above soup of the day and a baked potato. He acknowledged that this was an unfair thought; Oscar might even now be searching fruitlessly for Julia.
When Julia went down to breakfast in the morning, Ruth and Monica were already at the kitchen table, and without wasting time they began to fire questions at her.
‘Did you dance? Was it a splendid hotel? What did you eat? Did Oscar propose? Did he bring you home?’
Julia lifted the teapot. ‘I danced three and a half times, and the hotel was magnificent.’
She shook cornflakes into a bowl. She didn’t like them, but, according to the TV ad, the girl who ate them had a wand-like figure—a state to which she hoped in time to subdue her own generous curves. She said, ‘I didn’t eat at the hotel.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘Oscar didn’t propose. I don’t think he ever will now. And he didn’t bring me home.’
‘Julia, you didn’t come home alone?’
‘No,