THE HOUSE WAS surprisingly light inside and furnished with large, comfortable furniture. The whole party crossed the hall and went into a lofty sitting room with a splendid view of the cathedral in the distance, and the Baroness, still talking, was transferred from her wheelchair to a high-backed winged chair while coffee and little cakes were served by a cheerful young woman whom the Baroness’s sister introduced as Luce. She added, smiling at Becky, ‘And you do not mind if we call you Becky?’ Her English was as good as her sister’s.
‘Please do,’ said Becky, and was interrupted by her patient with: ‘And tomorrow morning, my dear, you shall go to the shops as soon as you have helped me, and buy yourself some pretty clothes. It is a good idea to wear uniform, I know, but now you will get some free time each day and then you will want to go out and enjoy yourself.’
Her three companions turned to look at her kindly, but she could also see doubt in their elderly faces. If she had been pretty, she thought wryly, she would probably have a simply super time, as it was she would have to content herself with a round of museums and places of interest. She gave herself a mental shake, appalled at her self-pity; good fortune was smiling on her at last, and she had no need to be sorry for herself. She agreed with enthusiasm tempered with a reminder that exercises for the day hadn’t yet been done and since the family doctor was going to call that evening, it might be as well if they were done and over before he arrived—a remark which was the signal to convey the Baroness to her room on the ground floor. It was a charming apartment and extremely comfortable with a bathroom leading from it and on the other side of that, a smaller but just as comfortable room for Becky. The exercises over, she settled her patient back into a chair by the window and prepared to unpack, a task which was frequently interrupted by her companion who was watching the traffic in the distance and declared that she could see the coachloads of passengers off the ship on their way to the cathedral. ‘You must go there,’ she declared. ‘It is quite beautiful— I should like to see it again myself.’
‘Then we’ll go together,’ said Becky instantly. ‘It’s no distance. I’ll push the chair—the exercise will do me good.’
The Baroness was doubtful. ‘Tiele said that you weren’t to do too much heavy lifting—he seems to think you’re not very strong.’
Becky gave a snort. ‘Then he’s mistaken—I’m as strong as a horse! When I was at home I used to do almost all the housework; it was quite a big house, too, with miles of flagstoned floors and stairs to polish and heavy furniture to shift about.’
‘Disgraceful!’ the Baroness sounded indignant. Your stepmother should be brought to justice for treating you in such a way.’ She considered a moment. ‘Of course, the maids at home have a good deal of housework to do, but they are well paid and none of them is overworked.’ She turned away from the window and watched Becky hanging a black velvet dress in the wardrobe. ‘What clothes will you buy?’
‘Well, I thought a couple of cotton dresses because it’s warm, isn’t it? I thought it would be much cooler…’
‘It can be cool, but a cotton dress or two could be useful—get a jacket or something to wear with them—what else?’
‘Slacks? Some thin tops, perhaps a sweater, some light shoes or sandals…’
‘A pretty dress for the evening, of course. Two.’
Becky, who hadn’t had a new dress for so long, heaved a sigh of great content.
The Baroness was unusually docile the following morning; she allowed Becky to assist her to dress, did her exercises with exemplary perfection, the while discussing Doctor Iversen’s visit. He had come just before dinner on the previous evening and he knew so much about the Baroness’s injuries that Becky felt sure that the Baron had taken care to give him every last detail. He applauded her progress, agreed that the exercises should be stepped up and went away again, promising to call in two days’ time bringing with him some gutter crutches so that the Baroness might start to walk again. ‘The quicker you are on your feet the better,’ he had pointed out. ‘You are here for two—three weeks? Then by the time you leave us, Baroness, I believe you will be able to manage very well.’ He had given Becky one or two instructions in his excellent English, and smiled at her very kindly.
Becky walked to the shops. The city was spread widely and easy to find one’s way about. There were two department stores, Mevrouw van Denne had told her—Sundt & Co in Kongens Gate and Steen & Strom, Olav Tryggvasonsgate, fairly close to each other. She prowled happily round them in turn and finally returned to the Consul’s house, laden with parcels, all of which she had to undo and display their contents to the Baroness, who had been stationed strategically in the hall, waiting for her. Two cotton dresses and a cardigan to go with them, blue slacks and a couple of cotton tops, sensible flat sandals and a pair of pretty slippers, a flowered cotton skirt and a lace-trimmed blouse to go with it, and a pale green jersey dress, very simple but, as the Baroness remarked approvingly: ‘In excellent taste.’ She added: ‘Is that all, Becky?’
Becky had spent just about all the money she had, but she didn’t say so. When she had her next pay she would buy another dress perhaps, but from now on she was determined to save as much as she could. Her job here in Norway was more like a holiday; once she got to Holland and got work in a hospital there she would need all the money she could spare—there would be food for herself and the animals, lodgings and light and heating and all the other mundane things which cost money; besides, the clothes she had bought had been rather expensive. ‘I’ll look around,’ she told the Baroness placidly, ‘and when I see something nice I’ll buy it,’ a statement with which the Baroness was in complete agreement since that was something she had always been able to do herself.
The Baron telephoned again that evening and this time Becky was called to speak to him. She faithfully relayed Doctor Iversen’s remarks, assured him that his mother was doing very nicely and was surprised, when she had finished, to be asked if she was enjoying herself and having enough time in which to see the city for herself.
She told him she had plenty of free time and enquired about Bertie and Pooch. ‘They’re in excellent condition and perfectly happy. Have you had a free day yet, Becky?’
‘Me? No—what would I do with it?’ she asked him in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘I’m very happy, and the Baroness is a perfect patient.’
Which wasn’t quite true; her patient liked her own way and was used to getting it and she could be imperious at times, but Becky liked her. The work wasn’t arduous; she considered that she was over-paid and the question of a day off hadn’t entered her mind.
‘You will probably meet someone of your own age,’ persisted the Baron, ‘and wish to spend a day with them—there are some interesting trips you can make…’
‘I don’t think I’ll meet anyone—in any case,’ she reminded him severely, ‘I’m not on holiday, you know.’
But during the next week or so it seemed as though she was. True, the Baroness took up the major portion of her day; the crutches had to be mastered and since her patient had taken exception to them on the grounds that they were clumsy and ugly, it took a good deal of coaxing to get her to use them. But after the first few days she began to make progress, although her confidence was so small that she refused to go anywhere, even across the room, without Becky beside her, but as there was a constant stream of visitors to the house, Becky was able to get an hour here and an hour there. She met people too. The Consul lived fairly quietly, but there was a good deal of coming and going between the Consulates, small dinner parties, coffee in the morning, people dropping in for tea in the afternoons, and since the Baroness couldn’t go out to any great extent, the visits were more frequent. The Baroness was meticulous in introducing Becky to anyone and everyone who called, and despite her protests, she attended all the dinner parties and was treated more like a daughter of the house than a nurse. And she was liked by everyone too, although she didn’t realise that herself. As the Baroness said to her sister: ‘Becky may be a plain girl, but she has charm and a restful manner and the sweetest smile. She is also a splendid nurse. I must tell Tiele to see that she gets a really good job when we get back. The child deserves it after these last few wretched years.’
The two ladies, quite carried away, discussed the matter at some length.
Becky, true to her promise, took the Baroness to the cathedral. It was a bright sunny day and not too warm and the journey there wasn’t too arduous. The Nidras Cathedral loomed before them, its dark granite exterior almost forbidding. It was dark inside, too, but its beautiful windows softened the darkness to a dim peace which Becky found soothing as well as awe-inspiring. And once inside they joined one of the groups of visitors being led round by students, picturesque in their long red gowns, addressing their audiences with apparently no difficulty at all in whatever language was needed. Becky, on the fringe of their group because of the awkwardness of the wheelchair, missed a good deal of what was said and made up her mind to go again, on her own, and this she was able to do the very next day when several ladies came for coffee and she was dismissed kindly by the Baroness and told to go and enjoy herself until lunch time. And this time she kept well to the fore in the group following the guide so that she missed nothing at all, inspecting the Gothic interior to her heart’s content, treading the dark passages behind the altar to see the spring in the walls and then going all round the outside to admire the great building. It gave her a taste for sightseeing and after that she visited the wooden houses along the waterfront and the veits, the narrow medieval lanes between the main streets, as well as paying a visit to Stiftsgaarden, the large wooden palace in the middle of the city. There was only one place she hadn’t managed to visit; the Folk Museum on the outskirts of Trondheim. It was too far to walk in the brief periods of freedom she had and even if she treated herself to a taxi she would be worrying all the time that she would be late back; the Baroness was a dear, but she liked everyone to be punctual, although it wasn’t one of her own virtues.
The Baron telephoned regularly, sometimes asking to speak to her, but more often or not sending some casual message about Bertie and Pooch. In another week they would be going to Holland and she could hardly wait to see her old friends again, although she felt regret that she had seen so little of Norway. She had loved every minute of it and she had been luckier than she had deserved. The thought of a new job and freedom went to her head like strong drink, so that she bought a knitted top and skirt in a pleasing shade of old rose, just because she found it pretty. She tried it on again that evening when she was getting ready for bed and pranced around her room, her mousey hair done in an elaborate whirl and her best shoes on her feet. Life was fun, she told herself.
It was still fun in the morning; it was glorious weather and she put on her uniform dress and cap with something like regret; a cotton dress would have been so much more suitable, but the Baroness had old-fashioned ideas about nurses; she liked Becky in uniform unless she was free. She perched her cap tidily, made sure that her face was nicely made up and went along the hall as was her custom to get the post for the Baroness and fetch the coffee tray which would be in readiness on the sitting room table. It was still early, barely eight o’clock, and the house was quiet. She whistled softly as she went and, still whistling, opened the sitting-room door.
The last person she had expected to see was standing in the big bay window, hands in the pockets of his beautifully cut trousers, looking out into the street. He turned as she paused in the doorway and gave her a long, considering look. ‘Good morning, Becky,’ said the Baron.
‘Well!’ said Becky, and was annoyed to find herself blushing. ‘Good morning—I didn’t expect to see you…’
‘Why should you?’ he asked coolly. ‘I didn’t tell you I was coming.’ He smiled across the room, not at her but at someone else. He wasn’t alone; there was a tall, graceful girl sitting on the arm of a chair in a corner of the large room. She was wearing slacks and a loosely belted tunic and looked exactly as Becky longed to look and never did. She was pretty too, with strong features and bright blue eyes, and when she turned them on Becky it was very plain to see that she was the Baron’s sister. She smiled now in a friendly way while the Baron contented himself with a brief glance before turning his head to look out of the window again.
‘You’re surprised to see us,’ he commented idly. ‘Tialda, this is Becky, who is looking after Mama.’ He nodded vaguely in his sister’s direction. ‘Becky, this is my sister Tialda.’
Becky said how do you do and pondered her reason for feeling so relieved when she had realised that it was the Baron’s sister and not some girl-friend; she had no reason to feel relief. She frowned a little and the Baron said briskly: ‘We have decided to take a short holiday here.’
‘Oh? Well, that’s nice.’ Becky felt the inadequacy of her words and beamed at them warmly to make up for it.
The girl’s smile deepened. ‘You said she was plain,’ she observed to her brother. ‘A half starved mouse.’
He gave Becky another look. ‘And so she was— it must be the food and the fresh air.’ He gave Becky a bland smile. ‘You filled out very nicely, Becky.’
He was impossible! Becky hated him, although she didn’t hate him in the same way as she hated Basil. There was a difference, like hating a thunderstorm and something nasty under an upturned stone…
‘If you have finished discussing me,’ she said haughtily, ‘I’ll tell the Baroness that you’re here.’ At the door she paused to say: ‘Such manners!’
Tialda crossed the room and tucked an arm under her brother’s. ‘And that puts you in your place, my boy.’ She looked up at him. ‘We were abominably rude, you know—I shall apologise; I think she’s rather a sweetie.’
He smiled down at her. ‘Yes? She would be disappointed if I did. She is grateful—rather touchingly so—because I rescued her, but that doesn’t prevent her having a rather poor opinion of me. I fancy that I’m overbearing as well as rude and too much given to getting my own way.’
‘What a nice change from girls melting all over you, though you’re quite nice really.’
Tialda turned round as the door opened and Becky came in. ‘The Baroness would like you to go in immediately,’ she announced in a cold little voice. ‘It’s the door on the right of the stairs. Would you like your coffee with her or later?’
Tialda had crossed the room to stand before her. ‘I’m sorry I was rude,’ she said gently, ‘it was unforgivable of me; you’ve been so kind to Mama, I hope you’ll not mind too much.’ She held out an exquisitely manicured hand. ‘I should like to be friends.’
Becky took the hand in her own small capable one. She said rather gruffly: ‘I don’t mind a bit, really I don’t, especially as it was true. And it would be nice to be friends.’ She looked up and caught the Baron’s eye fixed on her and saw the mocking light in it.
He threw up a protesting hand and said silkily: ‘Don’t look at me like that, Becky—I have no manners, you know.’
But when she saw him next he wasn’t silky at all, he was impersonally polite, just like a consultant doing a round of a ward; it was ‘If you please, Nurse,’ or ‘Lift the leg, will you, Nurse?’ or ‘Be so good as to hand me that tendon hammer, Nurse.’ Just as though he’d never seen her before in his life! And she for her part behaved exactly as she sensed he expected her to, a quiet, well-trained nurse, only speaking when spoken to, anticipating his wants a split second before he voiced them, waiting ready with the crutches so that his mother could demonstrate her progress, re-bandaging the injured knee with neat speediness… Doctor Iversen was there too, and the two men conferred together, occasionally turning to her for information while the Baroness sat on a chair between them, looking impatient. At length she asked with some asperity:
‘Well, will you not tell me how I progress? All this solemn talk…is it so necessary? I am a little bored.’ She glanced at Becky. ‘I expect Becky is too, but of course she has been trained not to show it.’
Her son laughed at her. ‘Allow us a little self-importance, Mama,’ he begged, ‘and yes, we’re delighted with your progress. You have done very well indeed, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t use your leg normally provided you’re careful—you’ll have to wear a supporting bandage for a little longer, of course, and in a couple of weeks the plaster on the other leg can come off. We’ll see to that when we get home.’ He looked at Becky. ‘I hope you will stay with my mother for a week or so in Holland— just until she can walk with a stick. It will give you time to get another job, too.’
Becky said yes, thank you, relieved that she would have a little time in which to get used to the idea of working in a foreign land and to find herself somewhere to live. She did a few rapid sums in her head and decided that she wouldn’t buy anything else but save every penny. Rent in advance, she thought worriedly, and food and probably bus fares…‘Becky,’ said the Baron softly, and she realised that he had said her name several times. ‘I was only saying,’ he said patiently, ‘that the exercises might be lengthened considerably…’
She was kept busy for the rest of the morning. The Baroness was excited and impatient and wanted to skip her usual routine, which Becky wouldn’t allow, but she recovered her good humour presently when everyone gathered for drinks before lunch and over that meal she dominated the table with her amusing conversation, and afterwards she declared that she would have her rest in the drawing room so that she could gossip with Tialda, and Becky could have an hour off and go to Sundt and match up the embroidery silks. ‘And don’t be long, my dear,’ she added. ‘You said you would massage my shoulders.’
Becky whisked away, changed into one of the cotton dresses and walked to the shops. She would have liked more time; it was exactly the kind of weather in which to take a long walk—she could have gone down to the harbour and watched the coastline express come in, a daily event of which she never tired; it fired her imagination that the miniature liner went to and fro together with its sister ships every day of the year, whatever the weather, calling at each small village all the way to Kirkenes on the very border of Russia. One day, she promised herself, she would make the journey, but now she did her errand and hurried back, to thread the Baroness’s needle because the little lady declared that her eyesight was worsening and then go to her room to fetch a shawl she wanted Tialda to see. It was after their afternoon tea, while Becky was encouraging the Baroness to put her weight on the almost sound leg, that her son joined them, and presently, when the exercises were finished and the Baroness was sitting once more and Becky had gone to find Tialda so that her mother could continue their pleasant chat, he asked: ‘Has Becky had any days off, Mama? You have been here two weeks as well as several days on board ship.’
The Baroness looked unhappy. ‘Oh, dear—I did tell you that I would see that she had a day, or was it two—each week, but somehow I forgot, and she is such a sweet little thing and such good company…she has had several hours each day, though, most afternoons, you know.’
‘And have you had to rouse her at night, my dear?’
‘Once or twice—if I have wanted a drink or could not sleep.’ She looked a little shamefaced. ‘Have I been selfish, Tiele?’
He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘No, my dear, but I think we might arrange a few days for her, don’t you agree? I was talking to Iversen, he knows of a nurse who will come in each day and look after you while Becky has her little holiday.’
‘Of course, dear. But where will she go?’
The Baron got to his feet and strolled to the window. ‘Tialda thinks it might be a good idea if we drove over to Molde and took Becky with us. For three—perhaps four days, and when we come back she can get you ready to come back with us. Do you think you could manage the car journey if we spend three nights on the way? We’ll make you comfortable in the back of the car and you’ll have Becky.’
‘I shall enjoy it,’ declared his parent. ‘Is it very far?’
‘Seven hundred miles, perhaps a little more. We’ll stop whenever you’re tired and we can cross from Kristiansand to Hirtshals and drive down from there.’
‘I wonder what Becky will say?’ asked his mother.
‘I’ll let her know this evening,’ he said carelessly. ‘I thought we might go tomorrow—it’s only a hundred and seventy miles or so. We can leave after lunch—I don’t suppose she’ll need much time to put a few things in a bag.’
The Baroness looked at him thoughtfully. ‘No,’ she said at length, ‘the child has pitifully few things to put into a bag, she has bought almost no clothes since we have been here.’
‘Very sensible of her. She’s presumably saving for her future comfort.’
‘Don’t you like her?’
He laughed gently. ‘It depends what you mean by that, Mama. I like Becky, she’s a good nurse, and she’s gone through a nasty patch, but she’s hardly a beauty, is she? and her conversation hardly sparkles. Shall we say that she’s not quite my type—I’m not attracted to thin mice.’
It was a pity that Becky heard him as she came back into the room. The self-confidence she had so painfully built up since she had been with the Baroness oozed out of her sensible shoes and her face went rigid in an effort to compose it to a suitably unaware expression. She was aware that she was being looked at quite searchingly, but her voice was nicely normal as she informed her patient that Tialda would join them in a few minutes. She didn’t look at the Baron at all, but murmured some vague nothing at the Baroness and made for the door. The Baron reached it at the same time, held it open for her and followed her into the hall, shutting the door behind him. ‘A few words with you?’ he suggested, and Becky, boiling with rage and humiliation behind her quiet face, said ‘certainly’ in a voice just as quiet. It seemed likely that he was going to give her the sack or at least express displeasure at something or other. After all, she had just heard him…her face didn’t alter, but her eyes spoke volumes.
‘No, you’re not getting the sack,’ observed the Baron disconcertingly. ‘On the contrary, I am delighted with my mother’s progress and the care you have given her—she never ceases to sing your praises. You have had no days off, I believe? I’m sorry about that, my mother forgot about them, but you shall have them at once. Tialda and I are going to drive over to Molde for a few days tomorrow, and we should like you to come with us. We shall leave after lunch.’
Becky stared at his tie, because that was on a level with her eyes. Nothing, she told herself fiercely, would make her do any such thing—the arrogance of the man, throwing her a holiday with the careless concern of one throwing a bone to a hungry dog! She went bright pink and said: ‘No, thank you,’ in a tight voice.
‘Oh—why not?’ He spoke easily as though he didn’t much mind.
‘You wouldn’t enjoy my company.’
‘Probably not,’ he sounded amused, ‘but Tialda wants you to come, you’ll be company for each other and leave me in peace.’
Becky eyed him thoughtfully. He might have saved her from Basil and her stepmother, but she couldn’t for the life of her think why. She perceived then that she was a convenience to him; his sister had looked considerably younger than he, it was more than likely that he would be glad to share her society with someone else. She couldn’t very well refuse—besides, he had been the means of her starting a new life as well as saving Bertie and Pooch from a horrid fate. ‘When do you want me to be ready?’ she asked.
‘Sensible girl! After lunch tomorrow. Don’t bother with clothes, something to travel in and a dress for the evening.’
Which was about all she had anyhow.
They left immediately after lunch the following day with brother and sister sitting together and Becky, looking small and a little lost, in the back of the Rolls. She had had a busy morning, explaining just how the Baroness liked things done, to the Norwegian nurse who was to take her place while she was away—a very pretty girl with excellent English and dark curly hair. The Baron had talked to her for quite a time and as they drove away from the house he remarked: ‘Margarethe seems a charming girl, Mama will enjoy her company. Come to that, I’d quite enjoy her company myself.’
Tialda laughed and Becky, who had had a glass of claret with her lunch as well as sherry before it and was feeling quite reckless in consequence, observed tartly: ‘Quite your type in fact, Baron Raukema.’
His eye caught and held hers in the mirror above his seat. ‘I wondered if you overheard me yesterday. It seems that you did.’ She stared at him like a mesmerised rabbit and only a sudden spate of traffic saved her, as he had to keep his eyes on the road.
But that was all he said about it. Presently, free of Trondheim and on the road south, he began to tell her about the country they were passing through and with Tialda joining in, the conversation seemed nothing but a rather lighthearted resumé of their holiday, to which Becky added only a guarded remark from time to time. But presently she began to relax. Tialda was full of fun, telling her of their previous holidays in Molde: ‘Winter sports, you know, Becky—we have been several times; last year we came with my husband, Pieter.’ She sighed loudly. ‘He is away in America for a few weeks and I miss him.’ The sigh turned to a laugh. ‘I have to put up with Tiele instead and he is only a brother, you understand.’
They were driving quite fast now through magnificent country, the Rolls making light of the steep road and the hairpin bends. ‘Where shall we stop for tea?’ asked the Baron. ‘I told the hotel we’d get there some time before dinner; we’ve time enough, although the road climbs a bit presently.’
Becky, looking a little nervously out of the window, considered that the road was doing that already. She didn’t fancy heights, but there was so much to see and with Tialda keeping up a continuous chatter, she had no time to worry about that. The Baron’s blue eyes encountered hers once more in the mirror. ‘Enjoying it?’ he wanted to know.
‘Oh, yes, it’s—it’s—I’ve never seen anything like it.’ The words were commonplace enough, but her eyes shone with excitement and there was a faint colour in her cheeks. She had washed her hair the night before and now, tied back neatly, it hung in a pale brown cloud round her shoulders, making her eyes look darker than they really were and although her cotton dress was ordinary enough, it was a pretty green check which showed up her creamy skin. She looked a very different girl from the waif he had encountered and befriended, thought Tiele; he must remember to see that she got a good job when they got back…
Becky stared out at the towering mountains. She was getting used to the scenery now and she had no reason to feel nervous. The Baron was a superb driver, taking no risks but keeping up a good speed with nonchalant calm while Tialda kept up a ceaseless stream of chatter; what they would do, where they would go, what they would buy. ‘You’ve no idea how glad I am to have you here, Becky,’ she remarked happily. ‘You see, I’ve just started a baby and Tiele wouldn’t have any idea what to do if anything were to go wrong…’
‘But the—the Baron is a doctor,’ exclaimed Becky.
‘Not that kind of a doctor. He’s a physician— hearts and lungs and things.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Becky politely. She saw very well. She was still the nurse in the Baron’s employ— he might call it days off, but she had merely switched from one patient to the other. She glanced at the broad back in front of her and frowned at it. He was a domineering man who was manipulating her to suit himself under the guise of the generous offer of a holiday. She should have felt very angry, but all she felt was very sad.
They stopped for tea at an hotel built on a terrifying curve half way up a mountain, and Becky was surprised at its luxurious appearance. It wasn’t all that large, but it was built in a chalet style and there was a lake behind it in whose steel blue waters the mountains were reflected. She paused at the door to take in the view while Tialda hurried inside, intent on tea, and the Baron, who had been with her, turned back and came to stand beside Becky. ‘It’s not like that at all,’ he explained in a gentle voice which took her by surprise. ‘I haven’t brought you along for convenience, and strange though it may seem, I am quite capable of dealing with any emergency which Tialda might spring on me. You’re here for a short holiday, Becky—I want you to enjoy it.’
‘You don’t like thin mice,’ Becky reminded him coldly.
His eyes twinkled and his smile very nearly made her change her mind about him. ‘I’m not sure about that any more.’ He eyed her without haste. ‘And you aren’t so thin, you know.’
He took her arm and turned her round and walked her into the hotel where they found Tialda happily deciding which of the splendid array of cakes offered her she should choose.
‘You’ll get fat,’ observed her brother.
‘I have to keep my strength up. Becky, sit here by me—isn’t it lucky that we don’t have to diet or anything dreary like that? I shall eat two cream cakes.’
Becky ate two as well while the Baron sat back drinking his tea and making do with a small slice of plain cake, entertaining them with light conversation the while.
They reached Molde in the early evening and the Baron slowed to idle through the little town so that Becky had time to look around her. And there was plenty to see. Molde lay on the north bank of a fjord with mountains towering behind it and the fjord before it, its calm water besprinkled with a great many islands and beyond them in the distance, the Molde Panorama—eighty-seven mountains, snow-capped, providing a magnificent backdrop to the charming little place. Becky, almost twisting her neck off in order to see everything, allowed her gaze to drop finally on to the street they were driving through; the main street, lined with shops and filled with people on holiday and ending presently at the quay side, where it changed abruptly into a pleasant road lined with villas. They didn’t go as far as this, though. The Baron drew up opposite the quay, said ‘Here we are,’ and got out.
The hotel was modern and large, overlooking the fjord, and after the bright sunshine outside the foyer looked cool and welcoming. And the Baron was known there; they were taken at once to their rooms overlooking the loch, each with a balcony. Becky, after a quick look round the comfortable apartment, went straight outside. There was a ferry coming in and a good deal of bustle on the quay only a few hundred yards away, and coming up the fjord from the open sea was a liner, its paintwork gleaming in the evening sun. She rested her elbows on the balcony rail and watched its speedy approach until the Baron’s voice, very close, interrupted her.
He was on the balcony next to hers, doing just as she was doing. ‘Nice, isn’t it?’ he asked mildly. ‘I’ve been here several times and I never tire of it. What shall we do first? Drinks and dinner and then a stroll? We can explore the town tomorrow.’
‘But you must know it very well already?’ said Becky practically.
‘Oh, I do—but there’s always a certain smug satisfaction in showing people around when you know it all and they don’t.’
She laughed then and he said: ‘You should laugh more often, Becky—there’s no reason why you shouldn’t now, you know.’ He smiled at her and nodded. ‘I’m going to have a shower and change. About half an hour suit you? Tialda takes ages…’
He went into his room and Becky stood where she was and didn’t say a word. She should laugh more often, should she? Was he implying that she was dull and incapable of enjoying herself? What was it he had said? No beauty and no sparkle. She went inside herself. What did he suppose she had to laugh about, in heaven’s name?