Magic In Vienna Part 19

"A room? Well yes, there is Mrs Dyson, about ten minutes from here up the other end of the street.

Third turning on the left, number six. She'll let you have a room but you have to feed yourself. Forty pounds a week. Come in tomorrow about eleven."

She didn't raise her head from the form she was filling in as Cordelia wished her good morning.

The third turning on the left was slightly better than Wyngate Street, the houses were red brick, flat faced and without even a small strip of garden, but Cordelia had hardly expected that. At least the curtains at number six's windows looked tolerably clean.

She banged the knocker and an old woman opened the door.

"Mrs Dyson? Mrs Sharp told me that you might have a room for me, just while I wait for a job?"

"Come in dearie, yer lucky, the second floor back's empty." She began mounting the stairs slowly and Cordelia followed, trying not to notice the smell of cooking and cats and stale air. But the room, when they reached it, was clean, furnished with an iron bedstead, a plastic covered table and chair, a chest of drawers with a book in place of one castor, and a gas ring. There were two shelves holding a saucepan, a kettle and a large enamel jug and a worn rug by the bed.

"Fifty pounds and look after yourself," said Mrs Dyson.

"Mrs Sharp told me ttyat you charged forty pounds."

The old woman shrugged.

"Oh, well, since yer's a nice young lady, yer can 'ave it fer forty. . money in advance."

She held out a hand and Cordelia took out the money.

"No receipt, dearie, don't 'old with 'em, but I'm honest and I can see yer are. There's a key to the door, what about yer luggage?"

"I'll fetch it this afternoon. How does the gas ring work? Fifty pence pieces?"

"Yus and don't expect me to 'ave change, ducks. Yer'll find it quiet 'ere. There's six rooms all let."

Walking back, Cordelia tried to cheer herself up; she had a roof over her head for a week, the prospect of a chance of a job, surely within a day or two, and roughly twenty-five pounds in her pocket. It would be cheaper, she decided, determinedly cheerful, to walk up to Oxford Street and have coffee and a roll each day and something like beans on toast in the evening; she would get tea and sugar and milk and a mug so that she could have tea in the mornings, and a packet of biscuits. She found a cafe as she turned into Oxford Street and had a cup of coffee telling herself that she wasn't hungry, and then she walked all the way to Brown's Hotel to fetch her case. The buses were fairly empty but she sat with her overnight bag on her knee and kept a sharp eye on her case in the luggage rack on the platform.

Wyngate Street seemed endless, she thought that she would never get to the third turning on the left. She went up the two flights of stairs, found the key in the lock of her room and went in. Her heart failed her for a moment, then she told herself briskly not to be silly, put the case on the bed, unpacked, opened the window as wide as she could, and went in search of a bathroom. It was on the floor below, with an old fashioned bath on iron feet, a cracked basin and a geyser which needed money before it produced hot water. She went back upstairs, examined the sheets with a critical eye, shook out the small, worn towel and arranged her odds and ends on top of the chest of drawers. That done, she locked the door and went back to Oxford Street and had a cup of tea and a bun and bought a few groceries. By now she was hungry, breakfast seemed a long way off and her insides were rumbling. She went into a fast food cafe and had another pot of tea and an egg on toast. She felt better after that and walked back to her room, not noticing her dingy surroundings now, deep in plans for the future. Of Charles she refused to think, nor of Vienna or Eileen; to cry over spilt milk wouldn't be of the least use. She arranged her purchases on the shelves, washed as best she could in the bathroom and went to bed.

Tomorrow was another day, she reminded herself, and she was only doing what thousands of other young women were doing, besides, there would be a job for her in the morning.

Only when she went to Mrs Sharp's in the mom- ing, it was to be told that there was nothing at all. "Come back tomorrow morning," said Mrs Sharp, 'you can't expect to get suited all at once."

On the third morning, with/ still no job in sight, Cordelia left the agency and went into Oxford Street; there were agencies there too and she had seen a notice in a rather sleazy cafe offering work as a kitchen help. It would tide her over until something better turned up. It was mortifying to be turned down; the cafe owner looked her up and down, said forthrightly that she really wouldn't do, too cla.s.sy by half. He gave her a contemptuous look and told her to try the Ritz. The agencies were a dead loss too; office workers, high powered typists and telephonists, explained the haughty young woman behind the desk, and the second one wanted a fee often pounds before they would even look in their books.

Cordelia had a reckless coffee and bun and went to the British Musuem where she sat for an hour, staring at exhibits from the Iron Age. The quiet vastness of the place soothed her, she walked through the streets until she could have her modest early supper and then went back to her room. Her morale needed a boost, she decided, and she braved the use of the aged geyser and had a tepid bath, the air was a bit ga.s.sy and there was a lot of steam, which considering that the water was barely warm, seemed strange, but she felt better after it, and got into bed, with an evening paper someone had left in the cafe.

There were columns of jobs being advertised, but not one of them would do for someone of her limited talents. She turned out the light presently and lay in the pale summer dark and thought of Charles. A waste of time, she told herself angrily, he'll have forgotten me already.

He had done nothing of the kind; she had filled his mind and his heart from the moment he had watched her follow his sister through the gate at the airport. The memory of her slim straight back disappearing into the crowds of pa.s.sengers was etched on his mind so sharply that he knew that he would never forget it. He had driven back to the hospital, where he had spent the rest of the day in theatre and doing ward rounds, to return to the apartment at the end of it to snap at Thompson and refuse Mrs Thompson's excellent dinner.

And the faithful Thompson, bearing away the uneaten food to the kitchen gave it as his opinion that the doctor was in love.

"Head over heels, if you ask me, Mabel, with that nice Miss Gibson."

"And high time too," endorsed his wife, 'and who could wish for a better wife for him." She handed the coffee tray to her husband. "Leaving next week, aren't we? Whose to say it won't be tomorrow or the next day?"

Thompson found the doctor in his study, sitting at his desk.

Forewarned by his wife, he wasn't surprised when he was told that they

would be leaving within forty-eight hours."Can we manage to leave early in the morning of the day after tomorrow?There are commitments at the hospital which I must undertake tomorrow,can I leave you and Mrs Thompson to see to everything? I'll take thecar, so there will be no trouble with tickets and so forth. It's justunder nine hundred miles to Boulogne we'll spend the night on the way and leave at six o'clock in the morning. That should get us toLondon/sometime during the evening of the following day.. ."Thompson received the news with calm."We'll be going to the flat.Sir?""Yes, I can't make any plans for the moment, but we'll go down to Wiltshire as soon as I've found Miss Gibson."

"Quite so! Sir." Thompson couldn't quite hide the satisfaction in hisvoice. The doctor looked at him and smiled a little."I've several loose ends to tie up at the hospital, I'd like breakfast at seven o'clock if Mrs Thompson could see to that."

Thompson was at the door when the doctor asked: "How long have you andMrs Thompson been with me, Thompson?""A matter of fifteen years or so. Sir.""Wish me luck, Thompson. I hope that you and Mrs Thompson will want to stay with us after we are married."

"There's nothing we'd like better. Sir. Such a nice young lady.. ."

He beamed his pleasure.

"I'm sure we wish you both the very best."

It was a fine morning when they set off, the luggage" in the boot, the

Thompsons impressively calm and utterly exhausted in the back.

Somehow they had done everything; dealt with tradesmen, the flat's owner, the various bills, the packing; they sank back in comfort, knowing that the doctor intended to drive steadily, possibly for hours on end and that they could doze at will.

He drove fast, going by way of Munich, Stuttgart and Strasburg, where they spent the night. It had been a gruelling trip although they had stopped for coffee and lunch, and mindful of Mrs Thompson's English tastes, tea, but the doctor didn't seem unduly tired, indeed, Thompson was of the opinion that if he had been on his own he would have driven on without stopping. As it was they were on their way again very early the next morning, much refreshed after an excellent dinner and a good night's rest in one of the city's best hotels. Thompson, sitting beside the doctor now, remarked that it would be nice to be home again.

"You'll be taking a bit of a holiday, no doubt Sir?" he enquired.

"Yes--I don't take up my appointment at the Royal County for another month and I've this extra week--I should have left Vienna a week today but luckily I had finished my lectures and the last few days would have been nothing but a round of farewell parties."

He didn't speak again for a long time, concentrating on getting the best out of the powerful car. Thompson, seeing his stern profile, suggested that there was no need for them to stop for coffee, instead it might be more convenient to have an early lunch, something to which he agreed with as little delay as possible before driving on towards the coast.

The evening was well advanced when the doctor drew up in the quiet street of Regency houses a few minutes walk from Wigmore Street.

Thompson, that most efficient of men, had telephoned from Vienna before they had left that city; the resident porter was expecting them, their luggage was taken from the car and when the doctor unlocked his front door on the first floor it was to find the lights on, the table in 7-his dining room laid, and the daily woman who came to help Mrs Thompson waiting.

The beds were made up, a meal ready and the doctor's post arranged neatly in his study. He went there at once with: "I'll be ready in fifteen minutes, Thompson don't stand on ceremony, you and Mrs Thompson must be tired." He paused and went along to the kitchen and thanked Mrs Ba.s.sett for having everything ready, poured himself a whisky and went back again and shut the door behind him and lifted the telephone receiver.

The receptionist at Brown's Hotel was polite but quite certain that Mr and Mrs Kinneard and their daughter had left the hotel on the evening following their arrival.

"And the young lady Miss Gibson with them?"

"Oh, she stayed until the next morning to send on some of the luggage."

"She didn't go with them?"

"No, sir. I heard Mrs Kinneard saying something about how pleased she would be to go to her home instead of going with them to Scotland."

The doctor thanked her calmly, sat for a moment in thought and then rang his mother. Bates answered the 'phone, expressed pleasure at hearing his voice and went to fetch her.

"Charles where are you, dear? Home? How delightful. Are you coming to see me?"

"Not at once, my dear. Mother, why has Cordelia left? I understood that she was going with Sal to Scotland. .."

"Yes, dear, but Sal said something about Cordelia being needed at home she was a bit vague, I did wonder at the time if she had decided that she didn't need her and had made some kind of excuse. You see, I had the impression that Cordelia wasn't very happy at home. .

"Have you the address?"

If Lady Tres...o...b.. felt astonishment at the urgency in her usually cool son's voice, she didn't allow him to hear it. She produced the address and only then did she say, "Bring her to see me when you find her, dear."

"Of course," she thought he might be smiling now. "She's going to be your daughter-in-law."

There was nothing more to do until the morning, he ate what was put before him and went to bed. Not that he slept; how could he with Cordelia's image imprinted on his eyelids?

He was driving through St Albans by half-past nine and by ten o'clock he had stopped before Mrs Gibson's door. In answer to his ring it was opened by an elderly woman in a white ap.r.o.n, looking hara.s.sed.

"Good morning," he smiled from his tired handsome face and Cordelia's old friend the cook beamed suddenly.

"I've come to see Miss Cordelia Gibson."

She cast a look over her shoulder and said almost in a whisper, "She's not been here, sir. . . And then as a door opened behind her, "Come in, sir and I'll fetch Mrs Gibson."

The doctor eyeing the woman coming towards him across the hall, disliked her at once. His mother had been right, Cordelia could never be happy with this hard faced creature, smiling too much at him.

He said with cold civility.

"Good morning, Mrs Gibson. I must apologise for calling so early. I had hoped to find Cordelia here."

The smile became a sneer.

"I haven't the least idea where she is--she left home, the ungrateful girl, weeks ago. If she were to return I wouldn't let her into the house. She was always difficult you know, bossing her small step sisters and brothers. Gave herself airs, too."

She added without thinking, "The governess I've got instead other is much more satisfactory." She saw the doctor's hard eyes and went on hastily, "Not that she was their governess--just gave me a helping hand you know." She switched on the smile again.

"You'll have coffee Mr. . .?"

He didn't say his name.

"I'm afraid I can't stay, I'm sorry to have troubled you." His goodbye was courteous.

He had turned the car into the road from the drive when the woman who had opened the door stepped away from the side of the road. He stopped at once and opened the door.

"You have something to tell me?" tie asked his voice warm and friendly and she didn't hesitate.

"Miss Cordelia wrote once' he was told, 'just to say that she had a job and was happy and I wasn't to worry about her. She said that as soon as she had saved some money I was to go to her. Worked for her Pa and Ma I did, held her when she was a little girl and fell over and needed a bit of comfort. She ain't had none of that since her poor Pa married again--and since he died she 'ad to work like a slave and look after the children--and a nastier bunch I've yet to find."

She paused for breath.

He said gently: "I'll find her my dear, I'm going to marry her, and you shall come and live with us.

I've a housekeeper who will certainly need help."

She shook his hand.

"G.o.d bless you, sir, I'm that happy. I'd better go."

He opened the door for her and watched her trot back up the drive and then he drove back to London. He hadn't learnt anything of Cordelia's whereabouts but he intended to before the day was out.

The porter at Brown's Hotel remembered him from previous visits with his mother. He fetched the receptionist who had spoken to him on the previous evening and went back to stand by the door. It was on his way out again that the doctor paused by him. "I'm trying to find Miss Gibson, who was here a couple of nights ago. You don't happen to know where she went?"

The man shook his head.

"No, sir, but I can tell you this, she asked me the best way to get to Wyngate Street, she wanted an agency there--Mrs Sharp's. Not much of a neighbour hood as I told her. She came back for her case in the afternoon."

He was left with a river in his hand, wondering why such a meagre piece of information had been worth so much.

Charles knew London well, he took the shortest route to Wyngate Street parked the Jaguar outside Mrs Sharp's Agency, and took the wooden stairs two at a time, rang the bell and went in to the waiting room, half full of women of various ages. He wished them a civil good morning, and since a young woman had just emerged from the door at the end of the room, went past her and walked in.

Mrs Sharp lifted her head from the book she was writing in and asked coldly: "What can I do for you, sir?" In a voice which implied that she had no intention of being of the least help.

Charles looking at her didn't like what he saw, but he smiled charmingly. "A matter of urgency, otherwise I would never have come without an appointment. .."

Mrs Sharp's features melted into a kind of smile. "You say it's urgent, Mr. .."

"Tres...o...b... And yes, it is urgent. I need the address of Miss Cordelia Gibson--I believe she is registered with you--' He went on smoothly.

"I have returned from abroad earlier than planned and have been unableto let her know. We are to be married very shortly and I don't wanther to take another job. She wasn't expecting me back." A singularlytruthful man, he was quite enjoying himself.

"Her last employers referred me to you."

Mrs Sharp hesitated.