Doctor's Orders (15 page)
Authors: Eleanor Farnes
“This is a little different from the Morgenberg, isn’t it?” she asked.
“It certainly is,” replied Diana, glad of the contrast, hoping that Anthea would see the Morgenberg now divested of some of its glamor.
“Well, baby,” asked her father, “would you care to dance with your old father?”
Anthea rose at once, saying to the others:
“Mock humility. He dances beautifully,
and
he knows it.”
They laughed back at her, admiring her as she was spun away by her father, her clouds of tulle billowing about her.
“Shall we?” asked the doctor, and Diana, trembling a little, rose to dance with him. She felt more nervous than a schoolgirl, as she put her hand against his arm, and felt her waist enclosed by it: but when they started to dance, the nervousness vanished the lilt of the music was irresistible, and she gave herself up to delight. This, she thought, is really more than I would have dared to hope for; this is wonderful. He said, as they went back to their table:
“How nicely you dance.”
“You, too,” she said, smiling.
“No, I’m afraid not, really. I don't have time for it.”
Anthea would not stop dancing. The doctor smiled.
“I can see that that child is back in her element,” he said. “How she must have missed it.”
“Hans has made her forget it,” said Diana.
“But not for long, I think. And how pretty she looks. Prettier in her evening dress than usual.” He looked at Diana. “If I may say so, you both look beautiful.”
“Thank you,” said Diana, thinking that he had only remembered to include her at the last moment; but she knew that she was looking her best and was glad of it.
Anthea and her father returned to the table, and the waiter seized the opportunity to bring their food. Dining and dancing, they spent a pleasant evening, sometimes sitting to talk, often changing partners, so that Diana danced now with Mr. Wellis, now with the doctor; but what she liked best was for Anthea to dance with her father, and for herself and Dr. Frederic to sit at the table alone, talking together. There was a delightful intimacy about sitting alone in the midst of this glittering crowd, and a foolish pride in recognizing that she sat with so handsome and distinguished a companion.
At last, it was time to go. Dr. Frederic said goodbye to them as they went to their cars.
“Rest a little longer in the morning,” he said to Anthea. “It is a good rule for you to remember always—after a late night like this, rest in the morning. You are fortunate in being able to do so.”
“Yes, I will,” promised Anthea.
He took Diana’s hand next.
“It has been a real pleasure,” he said, handing her into the car. She smiled at him, trying not to reveal her whole heart in her smile; and then they were driving smoothly over the streets towards the mountains, while he, behind Gerhardt, was driven in the opposite direction.
The Morgenberg was silent when they reached it. Everybody had gone to bed, except Hans who was waiting to lock up after their return. He sat in the hall, looking at magazines, tired and wanting to go to bed, his dark hair rumpled. He looked very handsome, quite remote from the world they had just left, having no slightest connection with it. He rose to his feet as they came into the hall, Mr. Wellis a fine, upstanding man in his evening clothes, the two girls sparkling and beautiful in their fairylike dresses. Anthea particularly, with her fine blonde hair about her shoulders, wearing her jewels, was, to Hans, more like a fairy princess than a girl from the everyday world. This was the Anthea of the magazine pictures; this was how she always was in her London life; this was the real Anthea. And the Anthea who rested in his arms, gave him kiss for kiss, seemed to be absorbed in him, was not the real girl at all; she was a creature who, being out of her element, tried to acclimatize herself to a new one.
Diana noticed that he still had beautiful, natural manners.
“It has been a happy evening, I hope,” he said, smiling.
“Yes, thank you, Hans. Lovely,” said Anthea.
“You would like something to drink? Some hot milk, some coffee?”
They said they wanted nothing more, and went upstairs. Nearly at the top, Anthea said:
“Oh, I dropped my hanky. You go on. I’ll just run down and get it.”
She ran down, straight to Hans, who was bolting the door.
“Darling Hans,” she whispered, “I had to come and say goodnight.”
She stood expectantly before him.
“I am afraid to touch you in that dress,” he said.
She put her arms round his neck. Her dress was fine and soft and rustled about him, her perfume a fragrance that enveloped him. He held her tightly to him, kissing her with desperation. Then he let her go and they drew apart.
“I must go,” she whispered “Goodnight,
“Gute Nacht, Liebling.”
She ran upstairs again, carrying her mink stole. Hans stood quite still and watched her go. Then he sighed a deep sigh, and turned back to bolt the door.
Katrina sat in the hotel kitchen, and mended linen. There was a little sewing room, but she found it lonely in there by herself, and preferred to sew out in the lively kitchen, where there was always something going on. She was spending more and more time at the Morgenberg, and, in order to do so, was getting up earlier and earlier each morning, to do her share of housework before leaving home. One of the waitresses had left to go to her winter job, and Katrina was helping in the dining room as well as carrying out her usual tasks of mending and ironing. She earned a good deal in this way, and would have liked to think it could be saved for her eventual marriage, but it was now needed to send her young brother Ernst away to school, for it seemed Ernst was a very clever boy and must be given every opportunity. His schooling would be paid for, but he needed clothes and boots and shoes and books, and all these things cost a great deal of
money. So Katrina worked for Ernst, and saw her marriage receding farther and farther from her.
“Katrina, leave the sewing now. The early people are already arriving for dinner.”
“Yes, Frau Steuri.”
“Did you put the bowls of salad on the tables?”
“Yes, Frau Steuri.”
“And the baskets of rolls?”
Katrina nodded. She looked paler than she used, thought Frau Steuri, and small wonder, poor child.
Anna, the other waitress, came in.
“They have left,” she said, knowing that everybody would know to whom she referred.
“What a dress!” exclaimed Hilde, lifting her eyes to the ceiling. “Did you see the dress, the blue one?”
“Miss Wellis’s? Indeed. It must have cost a fortune.”
“But she is pretty, that one.”
“For me,” said Frau Steuri, “I prefer Miss Pevrill. She has more style, more chic. She has a dignity. And that beautiful hair, too, is more to my liking than the pale gold, which must always be dyed to keep it so.”
“Yes, she also looked lovely,” admitted Anna. “I wonder which of them Dr. Frederic likes better.”
“Have they gone to Dr. Frederic’s?” asked Katrina.
“Oh yes, haven’t you heard? He is giving a dinner party for the father of Miss Wellis. It is to be quite a grand affair. Oh that doctor
...
what a man! I wonder which of the two he likes better.”
“Anna! The soup tureen.”
Anna loaded her tray. Katrina went to fetch hers.
“The doctor,” said Frau Steuri, “is to be married to a French lady, one of the old aristocracy. I had it from Madame de Luzy.”
Hans came in by the outside door, holding two large bowls of whipped cream.
“Here, mother,” he said. Then he saw Katrina. “Good evening, Katrina. You still here?”
“I am helping in the dining room,” she said, with a shy smile, and went out with her loaded tray.
“As you should know,” snapped his mother to Hans. “The poor child has been helping for a week in the dining room, and you only just notice it.”
Hans began to help her, although he was not required to do anything in the kitchen. He was thinking that tonight, again, he would not see Anthea. She would be sitting at the doctor’s table, wearing that beautiful blue dress, with her jewels round her neck and on her arm, entirely forgetful of him.
The busy period came to an end. Hans’ mother sat comfortably over her coffee, but Hans, Anna and Katrina had a good meal, while the little kitchen maids started on the washing-up. Then Katrina prepared to go home.
“Katrina, there are some things to take back for your family,” said Frau Steuri.
“Thank you, thank you very much,” said Katrina. There was always something to take back for the family; the remains of a joint, a large flask of soup, a bowl of vegetables, or—chief delight for the young ones of her family—the remains of jellies or mousse or trifles, and some whipped cream. The little ones waited anxiously for her to come back, and often would not go to bed, even if she had to be late, until she arrived. This evening, there were several odds and ends to put in her basket; and Hans said:
“I will walk with you and carry the basket.”
Katrina flushed with pleasure. She knew it was because Anthea was away, but she was still pleased. It was a long time since Hans had walked home with her, and her family would be reassured if they saw him again.
They set off. It was dark, and Katrina’s white apron shone in the darkness. Hans carried a torch but they did not need to use it. Both knew the ragged path too well. Hans asked about the family, and she told him, as she had been longing to tell him for some days, about Ernst. They were so proud of him and his cleverness. It gave the family a prestige among the neighbors. And perhaps Georg and Franz would be clever, too. She saw, in her imagination, fine, clever, upstanding young brothers of whom even the bride of Hans Steuri of the Morgenberg need not be ashamed.
So she walked happily beside Hans, but Hans, in thought, was far away from her, at the doctor’s dinner party.
CHAPTER NINE
Diana
entered the doctor’s drawing room with Anthea, followed by Mr. Wellis, and found that all the other guests were already assembled. The host only was missing, but Antoinette came forward with a smile, her hand extended, to greet them. She was elegant in black, a dress with a pencil-slim skirt and a floating overskirt, and was wearing magnificent diamonds. She welcomed first Anthea, then Diana, and charmed Mr. Wellis with her most brilliant smile.
“Armand has commissioned me to make his apologies for him,” she said. “He was called away to perform an urgent operation, but he has now returned and says he will be dressed in a very few minutes. Let me make you known to your fellow guests. Our dear Madame de Luzy of course, came with you; and here is
...
” They went the round of the guests, and then Antoinette offered them a choice of cocktails or sherry, and dispensed hospitality with a most charming air. Diana thought that
if
she were already the doctor’s wife, she could hardly have been more at home, or more gracious to the guests.
There were thirteen people waiting in the drawing room, chatting together, accepted Antoinette’s offers of sherry and cocktails. Diana looked about the room, and remembered the last occasion she had been in it; when she had been involved in the slight accident, and had been given tea here by the doctor’s secretary, and had afterwards slept on that sofa—on which now three people were engaged in such animated conversation—covered by a warm, soft rug. Listening with but slight attention to the conversation of Mr. Wellis and a man who looked like a professor, Diana remembered more about that evening; the drive to the Morgenberg in the protective circle of Dr. Frederic’s arms through the ever-darkening evening; so that when he came into the room at last, fresh again, immaculate in his evening clothes, she had difficulty in dissociating this man from the man so much in her thoughts, and gave him a shining, intimate smile of whose quality she was quite unconscious. It gave him pause. He hesitated over her hand before going on to greet the remaini
n
g guests, trying to read her eyes and the meaning behind that happy smile; then his duty as host urged him away from her to the others, and he moved on, repeating his apologies, making everybody feel very welcome, saying they would go in at once to dinner.
Dr. Frederic sat at the head of the table, with Madame de Luzy on one side of him, and the wife of the man who looked like a professor on the other side. Diana learned afterwards that the man was a brain specialist of world renown, but as his talk was chiefly of Alpine plants, which he and
h
is wife went to considerable risk to gather, nobody could possibly have guessed his profession. His wife was a quiet little woman, with a dry wit. Both Diana, a little way down the table, and Antoinette, almost opposite her, wished they could change places with these elderly women, and privately thought the doctor wasted on guests who could not possibly appreciate him as they would. Diana was, however, interested in everybody else. She had never moved in circles like this one; she had never mixed with so much wealth, or so much intelligence and culture. She expanded in this atmosphere, which was entirely congenial to her; and running parallel with the conversation which she made with her near neighbors was a stream of thought concerning her future. If she stayed here in Switzerland, working at the children’s home, she would remain a friend of Dr. Frederic. He would perhaps continue to invite her to his home after he was married to Antoinette, and it would be possible for her to become a member of this world. Certainly, if she went back to England, she c
o
uld not expect more than a routine job.
Antoinette invariably enjoyed the doctor’s dinner parties. She saw very little that she would want to alter when she herself became responsible for them
—
a future responsibility which
she
did not doubt would come her way. She thought the two English girls charming and very nicely dressed, but she regarded them as birds of passage across her life and the doctor’s, and did not give them much importance. Anthea was a pretty and spoiled child, completely unlikely to interest the doctor; and Antoinette was shrewd and observant enough to have guessed that Diana was her companion and would, therefore, return to England with her. Diana was more serious, it was true. Antoinette knew that she had been with the doctor to see the children's home, and was interested in child welfare, but she did not know that Diana went every week, and that the doctor had once spent almost an entire Sunday in the mountains with this girl. She had no way of knowing about the evening drive to the Morgenberg, so she sat secure in her ignorance of these things, quite unperturbed by Diana or by anybody else in the room.
After dinner, back in the drawing room, the guests grouped themselves for conversation, regrouping often, sometimes making general conversation in one large group. Everybody seemed to feel particularly at home, and there was a remarkable friendliness about the party. Diana supposed that all these people were intimate friends of the doctor, and only she and Anthea the strangers, but she was later to learn that nearly all his parties were characterized by the same friendliness and feeling of being at home.
Later in the evening, when one or two guests had already departed, having long journeys to undertake, Diana was beckoned to join a group of Anthea, Mr. Wellis and Dr. Frederic.
