“But it so happens that I don’t particularly want to marry. Once bitten, twice shy, you know.

“I’m going to be very cautious next time. I certainly shan’t do anything as silly as falling in love without very careful consideration first.”

His blue eyes danced with amusement, but he didn’t smile. “I agree with you. Compatibility and friendship without heaving passion are much more likely to make a successful marriage, especially for us older ones.” He ignored the indignant sound she made. He went on gently, “I think it might be a good idea if you and I married on those terms, Prudence.” He turned back to the study. “Give it some thought, will you? Good night.”

She felt she would explode with indignation. She had had proposals before, but never one like that, offered casually and without waiting to find out what she thought about it. The arrogant wretch!

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

Never Too Late
Betty Neels

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THE ANCIENT CHURCH of the village of Little Amwell was crowded to its massive Norman door, its pews brimming over with flowery hats, their wearers keeping up a steady murmur of conversation which vied with Mrs Broad, the organist, as she laboured through a selection of suitable wedding music. The groom was already there, and his best man, it lacked only the bride for the ceremony to begin.

She was at the door now; Mrs Broad’s sudden burst of chords sent every head over its shoulder as she began the short journey down the aisle on her uncle’s arm to where her bridegroom was waiting and her father stood ready to marry them. She was a very pretty girl, fair-haired and blue-eyed and slim, a vision in white silk and lace, followed by four very small bridesmaids, enchanting in pale blue with wreaths in their hair, and behind them, shooing them gently along, came the only other bridesmaid, a tall curvy girl with a face as pretty as her sister’s, only her hair was a burnished golden red and her eyes green. She was in blue too, a colour in which she didn’t look her best, but since the bride had strong views about the unlucky properties of green, she had resigned herself to pale blue silk and a wide-brimmed hat of the same shade. She followed slowly down the aisle, looking demurely ahead of her and still managing to see that old Mrs Forbes from the Grange was wearing a quite astonishing mauve hat, and Lady Byron from the Manor House was in her everlasting beige. She saw Tony, too, standing on the bride’s side, looking devastating in his morning coat; a pity he had refused categorically to be one of the ushers. He was marvellous, of course, but sometimes she wished he wasn’t quite so conscious of his dignity. She supposed that once she was married to him, at some not yet decided date, she would have to mend her ways; there were several things for which he had already gently but firmly reproved her.

She came to a halt behind Nancy, took her bouquet and hushed the youngest of the bridesmaids. James was beaming at his bride in a most satisfactory way and her father, while not actually smiling, was looking pleased with himself. And why not? she mused. Nancy had done well for herself; James was something up and coming in the business world and had a rather grand flat in Highgate Village, besides which he was a thoroughly nice young man.

Her father began the service and presently, bored with standing still, the bridesmaids began to play up. It was in the course of preventing one of them from prancing off down the aisle that Prudence became aware of the best man. True, she had known that he was there, conspicuous even. From the back he was a large man, topping James by a good head and with massive shoulders. He turned round now, for the very good reason that the bridesmaid had him by the trouser leg, and Prudence could see his face—nicelooking in a rugged way, with fair hair already sprinkled with grey. He removed the small girl’s arms from his leg and handed her back and smiled at Prudence. His eyes were very blue and crinkled nicely at the corners. Not a patch on Tony, of course, but he might be fun to know… She smiled back, and then composed her features into suitable solemnity as the choir launched itself into ‘The voice that breathed o’er Eden’, the little boys cast their eyes to heaven in an unlikely piety and the men behind them rolled out their notes in a volume of sound. Prudence, from under her brim, watched Mr Clapp, the butcher, bellowing his way through the hymn; he had a powerful voice, used frequently in his shop to cry the virtues of his meat. She took a quick peep at the best man, although there wasn’t much to see; broad shoulders and a ramrod back, and when he turned his head slightly, a high-bridged nose and a firm chin. She looked down at her bouquet. The choir had filled their lungs ready for the last verse, but she wasn’t heeding them. Traditionally, the chief bridesmaid and the best man paired off at a wedding; it might do Tony a lot of good if he were to be given a cold—well, cool—shoulder; he was, she suspected, getting too sure of her. She hadn’t met the best man yet; he had been abroad, James had told her, and had only arrived in time to see that James got safely to the church. Really she knew nothing at all about him. Married most likely, certainly engaged; it would be fun to find out.

The choir, conscious of a job well done, subsided into their pews and her father began the little homily he must know by heart, for she had heard it at countless weddings at which he had officiated. By turning her head very slowly, she could see her mother, still a pretty woman, wearing a Mother of the Bride’s hat, and a slightly smug expression. She caught Prudence’s eye and smiled and nodded. Prudence was well aware what her mother was thinking—that she would be the next bride, with Tony standing where James was standing now. She would have liked a quiet wedding, but there would be little chance of that. It would be exactly the same as Nancy’s, white silk and chiffon and more little bridesmaids. No plans had been made, of course, but she was quite sure that her mother had it all arranged. That lady had been puzzled and disappointed that Prudence hadn’t been the first to marry anyway. She was, after all, the eldest, and she was twenty-seven, with a long-standing engagement behind her, there had seemed no reason why she and Tony shouldn’t have married before Nancy and James, but Tony had lightheartedly declared that they had plenty of time, there was no hurry. He had a splendid job with a big firm of architects, a pleasant house on the edge of Little Amwell and the prospect of a trip to New York within the next month or so. ‘After I’m back,’ he had told Prudence easily. ‘After all, you’re perfectly content and happy at home, aren’t you?’

She had been aware of a faint warning at the back of her mind, so absurd that she had ignored it, and then, in the excitement and bustle of the wedding, forgotten it.

But now it came back to tease her. She was by no means content to sit at home and wait for Tony; there had been no reason at all why she shouldn’t have married him months ago and gone to New York with him; somehow, the excitement of marrying him had fizzled out like a kettle going off the boil—and yet surely, after three, almost four years, she should know if she loved him or not? Something, she wasn’t sure what, would have to be done.

Her father had finished, Mrs Broad was thumping out the opening lines of ‘Oh, perfect love’ and the choir had surged to its feet with the congregation hard on its heels. The signing took on a new lease of life; the choir thinking of their dinner, the guests of the champagne and buffet lunch awaiting them in the marquee erected on the roomy lawns surrounding the solid Victorian vicarage. It was a bit of an anticlimax to sit down again while the wedding party trailed into the vestry, and presently out again. There had been the usual kissing and congratulations there, but beyond a rather casual greeting from the best man, Prudence had had no chance to speak to him. She went down the aisle beside him presently, her pretty face and vivid hair drawing a good many admiring glances, none of which came from the best man. Benedict van Vinke—a foreign name. Later, if he was disposed to be friendly, she would ask him where he came from.

But although he was friendly enough, he wasn’t disposed to tell her much. He parried her questions with lazy good humour, smiling at her with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. She ended up discovering almost nothing. He was a Dutch doctor, he travelled a good deal, he had known James for a number of years, they had in fact been at Cambridge together. Beyond these snippets of information he didn’t go, and presently she wandered off, still wondering about him, to do her duty by the other guests.

Tony joined her presently, and it pleased her to see that he looked annoyed. He gave her a severe look. ‘Even if you are chief bridesmaid, there’s no need to sit in the best man’s pocket. Everyone here knows that we’re going to get married and it’s hardly the thing for you to spend the entire time with him.’

‘Are you jealous, Tony?’ she wanted to know.

‘Certainly not! Jealousy is a complete waste of good sense, I merely observed that other people might think…’

‘You mind what they think?’ Prudence asked, her green eyes very bright.

‘Naturally I mind. The opinion of other people is important to a professional man.’

‘And that’s the reason you’re annoyed with me?’ Prudence lowered long dark lashes over her eyes. ‘I must go and say hullo to Lady Brinknell.’

She sauntered off, but not to the lady in question. She fetched up again beside Benedict van Vinke, waited patiently until the couple he was talking to wandered away, and asked: ‘If you were going to marry a girl and she spent a lot of time with another man, at a function like this one, would you be annoyed?’

He smiled down at her. ‘Very.’

‘Why?’

His eyes widened. ‘Obvious reasons. If she were my girl, she wouldn’t be allowed to wander off with any Tom, Dick or Harry around.’

‘You’d be jealous?’

‘Very.’

‘And you wouldn’t mind what everyone said? I mean, you wouldn’t object just because it might make people gossip?’

‘Good lord, no! Who cares what other people think? It’s none of their business, anyway.’

Prudence heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, well—thank you…’ She glanced without knowing it in Tony’s direction, and Benedict van Vinke said kindly: ‘You mustn’t take him too seriously, you know.’

She said sharply: ‘I don’t know what you mean! It was a purely hypothetical question.’

He only smiled and asked lazily: ‘When are you going to marry?’

She said crossly: ‘I have no idea—and anyway, it’s none of your business,’ and then, quite forgetting to be annoyed, added wistfully: ‘We’ve been engaged for years and years…’

He ignored the last bit. ‘No, it isn’t,’ he agreed equably, ‘but after all, it was you who brought the subject up in the first place.’

She was on the point of turning away when Tony joined them. He put a proprietorial arm on Prudence’s shoulder. ‘May I suggest,’ he began, and she wished that he wouldn’t preface so many of his wishes with that remark—’ that you circulate, Prudence. Lady Byron remarked to me only a few minutes ago that she’d barely set eyes on you, and the Forbeses—people at the Manor, you know,’ he explained kindly to Benedict, ‘were asking to meet you.’

His voice implied that this was an honour indeed, but the large man standing before him, looking at him with a tolerant good humour which set his teeth on edge, only smiled at him. ‘I’ll be delighted to meet them later on,’ he conceded. ‘I’ve a number of old friends to chat with first.’

He made no effort to move away; after a small silence Tony took Prudence’s elbow and walked her off. ‘It’s fortunate that van Vinke is unlikely to see much of us,’ he observed frostily. ‘I dislike that type of man.’

‘What type is he?’ asked Prudence; she had her own ideas on that, but it would be interesting to hear Tony’s opinion.

‘Arrogant, conceited, not bothering to make himself agreeable. I suggest that you avoid him for the rest of the day, Prudence—besides, he’s a foreigner.’

She was struck dumb by the appalling thought that over the years she had allowed herself to be dictated to by Tony. After all, they weren’t married yet; he had no right to expect her to conform to his ideas. She said baldly: ‘I like him.’ She picked up a glass of champagne from the buffet table they were passing, tossed it off, shook his hand from her arm and joined a group of aunts and uncles she barely knew except for the exchange of Christmas cards each year. The champagne, coupled with her indignant feelings, gave her unwonted vivacity, so that her elderly relatives, watching her as she left them presently, remarked among themselves that dear Prudence seemed to have changed a good deal. ‘Of course, she is twenty-seven,’ observed the most elderly aunt, and pursed her lips and nodded her head wisely, as though twenty-seven was a dangerous age when anything might happen.

The reception, following a time-honoured pattern, drew to its end. The bride and bridegroom disappeared, to reappear shortly in tweed outfits suitable for their honeymoon in Scotland. It was still late August and warm, but Little Amwell, buried in the heart of Somerset, was undoubtedly milder in climate than the far north where Nancy had decided they should go. When Prudence had asked her why, she had said simply: ‘It sounds romantic.’

Prudence, handing out bags of confetti among the guests, remembered that remark. Only that morning when Tony had called in on his way to the church, he had made some measured remark about combining business with pleasure when he and Prudence went on honeymoon. There were clients in Hamburg and Oslo who were considering giving his firm a big contract— as he had said, time enough to talk about that when he got back from America; she was content enough at home. Suddenly she knew that she wasn’t.

The guests went away slowly, stopping to chat, mull over the wedding and discuss each other’s appearance. When the last one had gone, Prudence kicked off her slippers, flung her hat on to a chair and went to the kitchen to give Mabel, grown old in her parents’ service, a hand with the tea-tray.

With it in her hands, she kicked open the creaking baize door leading to the front hall and paused to say over her shoulder: ‘I’ll be back presently, Mabel, and we’ll think about supper. Did you enjoy the wedding?’

‘A fair treat, Miss Prudence, but you’ll look just as pretty when your turn comes.’

Crossing the hall, Prudence had the strange feeling that Mabel’s words sounded like a death sentence.

Her parents were in the drawing room. Not alone, for old Aunt Rachel, who lived miles away in Essex, was to stay for a day or two before going home by train. And Tony was there, stretched out in one of the comfortable rather shabby armchairs, looking, thought Prudence crossly, as though he owned the place. To make matters worse, he looked up and grinned at her as she went in, without bothering to get up and take the tray from her. Was he so sure of her already? She dumped it on the sofa table near her mother’s chair and sat down, a slow buildup of ill-usage creeping over her. Furthermore, her teeth were set on edge by his careless, ‘Tired, old girl?’

She was not his old girl, she argued silently, she was his fiancée, to be cherished and spoilt a little, and certainly not to be taken for granted.

She said haughtily: ‘Not in the least,’ and addressed herself to Aunt Rachel for almost all of the time they took over tea. And when the elegant little meal was finished, she picked up the tray once more, observing that Mabel needed a hand in the kitchen and adding in a decidedly acidulated tone: ‘And perhaps you would open the door, Tony?’

She dumped the tray on the kitchen table and then went to the stove, where she clashed saucepan lids quite unnecessarily until Mabel looked up from the beans she was stringing.

‘Now, now! Hoity-toity!’ said Mabel.

Prudence didn’t answer; she had heard Mabel say just that whenever she or Nancy had displayed ill humour since early childhood, for Mabel had joined the Trent household when Mrs Trent had married and had taken upon herself the role of nanny over and above her other duties, and since Mrs Trent was still, at that time, struggling to be the perfect vicar’s wife, Mabel had taken a large share in their upbringing, a process helped along by a number of old-fashioned remarks such as ‘Little pitchers have long ears,’ and ‘Little girls should be seen and not heard,’ and ‘Keep little fingers from picking and stealing.’

And when Prudence didn’t answer, Mabel said comfortably: ‘Well, tell old Mabel, then.’

‘I don’t think I want to get married,’ observed Prudence in a ruminating voice.

‘And what will your dear ma and pa say to that?’

‘I haven’t told them—you see, I’ve only just thought about it in the last hour or so.’

‘The wedding’s unsettled you, love—seeing our Nancy getting married—girls always have last-minute doubts, so I’m told. Not that you ought to have with such a nice long engagement. They do say, “Marry in haste…”’

‘Repent at leisure. I know—but, Mabel, Tony and I have been engaged for so long there doesn’t seem to be anything left. I think if I married him I’d regret it to my dying day. I want to stay single and do what I want to do for a change, not sit here at home, doing the church flowers and helping with the Mothers’ Union on Thursdays and waiting for Tony to decide when we’re to be married. I want a career…’

‘What at?’ Mabel’s voice was dry.

‘Well, I can type, can’t I? And do a little shorthand and I’ve kept the parish accounts for Father for years. I could work in an office.’

‘Where?’ Mabel put the bowl of beans on the table and went to the sink to wash her hands.

‘How should I know? London, I suppose.’

‘You wouldn’t like that. You listen to me, love. You go back to the drawing room and talk to your Tony, he’s a steady young man, making his way in the world.’

‘Oh, pooh!’ Prudence started slowly for the door. ‘For two pins I’d slip out of the garden door!’

‘And what’s unsettled you, my lady?’ asked Mabel. ‘Or is it who?’

But Prudence didn’t answer, only the door closed with a snap behind her.

Tony was still there when she got back to the drawing room and he barely paused in what he was saying to her father to nod at her. Prudence went and sat down by her mother and listened to that lady’s mulling over of the wedding in company with Aunt Rachel.

‘And when is it to be your turn?’ asked her aunt.

‘I don’t know,’ said Prudence, then raised her voice sharply. ‘Tony—Aunt Rachel wants to know when we’re getting married.’

Tony had frowned slightly; he did dislike being interrupted when he was speaking and Prudence’s voice had sounded quite shrewish. ‘At the moment I have so many commitments that it’s impossible to even suggest a date.’

His voice held a note of censure for her and Aunt Rachel asked in surprise: ‘But I always thought that the bride chose her wedding date?’

He chose to take the remark seriously, and it struck Prudence, not for the first time, perhaps, that his sense of humour was poor. ‘Ah, but I’m really the one to be considered, you see. I have an exacting profession and Prudence, living quietly at home as she does, need only fall in with my wishes, without any disruption of her own life.’

Mrs Trent looked up at that with a look of doubt on her face and even the Reverend Giles Trent, a dreamy man by nature, realised that something wasn’t quite as it should be. It was left to Prudence to remark in a deceptively meek voice: ‘Nothing must stand in Tony’s way now that he’s making such a success of his career.’

She looked at them all, her green eyes sparkling, smiling widely, looking as though she had dropped a heavy burden. Which she had—Tony.

She didn’t say a word to anyone, least of all Tony, who, the day following the wedding went up to London, explaining rather pompously that there was a good deal of important work for him to do. ‘Stuff I can’t delegate to anyone else. I shall probably be back at the weekend.’ He had dropped a kiss on her cheek and hurried off.

She wasted no time. With only the vaguest idea of what she intended to do, she spent every free moment at the typewriter in her father’s study, getting up her speed, and after she had gone to bed each evening, she got out pencil and paper and worked hard at her shorthand. She wasn’t very good at it, but at least she had a basic knowledge of it, enough perhaps to get by in some office. She began to read the adverts in the Telegraph, but most of them seemed to be for high-powered personal assistants with phenomenal speeds. Perhaps she would do better at some other job, only she had no idea what it might be. Nursing had crossed her mind, but she was a bit old to start training—besides, although she had done her St John Ambulance training to set a good example to the village, she had never quite mastered bandaging and finer variations of the pulse had always evaded her. All the same, she didn’t lose heart. She welcomed Tony at the weekend when he called after church, and listened to his plans for the trip to New York with becoming attention, while her head was filled with vague hopeful plans for her own future. It was on the tip of her tongue several times to tell him that she had decided that she couldn’t marry him after all, but that, she realised, would be silly. She must wait until she had a job—any job that would make her independent. He was so sure of her that he wouldn’t believe her; she would need proof to convince him.

August slipped gently into September and Nancy and James came back from their honeymoon to spend a few days at the Vicarage before setting up house in Highgate. It was at the end of this visit that Nancy suggested that Prudence might like to spend a weekend with them. ‘James thinks that we ought to have some of his friends who couldn’t come to the wedding, for drinks one evening—it’ll be a Saturday, so why don’t you come for a couple of nights? I don’t know many of them and it would be nice if you were there too. Let’s see, it’s Thursday—what about Saturday week? Come up on Friday night so that you can help me get things ready.’

Prudence hesitated. ‘It sounds fun, but won’t you and James want to be alone for a bit?’

‘Well, we won’t be alone if we have a party, will we?’ Nancy declared. ‘And Tony’s off to the States anyway. Say you’ll come?’

So it was arranged, and Tony, when he was told, thought it a very good idea. ‘You’ll find it dull without me,’ he pointed out. ‘Besides, I daresay you’ll meet some people who may be useful later on.’ He patted Prudence rather absentmindedly on the shoulder. ‘Never mind, old girl, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.’

And by then, thought Prudence, I’ll have got myself a job. For a moment she felt a guilty pang, borne away on a tide of indignation when he said casually: ‘There’s a chance I’ll have to go to Portugal in a couple of months; some tycoon wants a villa designed in the Algarve and he wants someone over there for consultation. A bit of luck for me—the weather should be pretty good in November.’ He paused and glanced at her. ‘I don’t care for the idea of a winter wedding, do you, Prudence? And there’s no hurry. I’ll take a couple of weeks off in the spring…’

‘What for?’ asked Prudence in a very quiet voice.

‘It’ll be a convenient time for us to get married. I’ll be able to give you a definite date later on. Though of course, if anything turns up…’ He gave a self-satisfied smile. ‘I am rather in demand.’

Prudence’s eyes glittered greenly. ‘Your career means a lot to you, doesn’t it, Tony?’ she asked.

‘Well, of course it does—darling, you do say the stupidest things sometimes! Well, I must be off. You’re going to Nancy’s next Saturday? I leave on the Monday after that, I’ll give you a ring if I can’t find time to get to Highgate.’

Prudence drove herself up to London in the secondhand Mini Aunt Rachel had given her for her twenty-first birthday. It was a bit battered by now, but it went well enough, and she was a good driver. The flat in Highgate, the ground floor of an imposing Victorian mansion set in a roomy garden, had welcoming lights shining from its windows as she stopped the little car before its door. Nancy had said, ‘Come in good time for dinner,’ but Prudence had cut it rather fine, what with having to type her father’s sermon at the last minute, and round up the choirboys for an extra choir practice for Harvest Festival.

Nancy was at the door before she had time to ring the bell and dragged her inside. ‘Oh, isn’t this fun? You’re late—I was in a panic that you wouldn’t be coming. There’s masses of stuff in the kitchen to see to ready for tomorrow evening.’

She hurried Prudence inside and swept her into the sitting room where James was waiting, and for a time the kitchen was forgotten while they sat with their drinks, talking over the honeymoon and the marvels of Highgate and how marvellous it was to nip into Harvey Nichols or Harrods with absolutely no trouble at all. Prudence listened with pleasure to her sister’s chatter and presently followed her to the back of the flat, to the pretty room she was to sleep in. ‘And when you’ve dolled yourself up, we’ll have dinner and then decide about tomorrow’s food,’ declared Nancy happily. At the door she paused, looking at Prudence. ‘Darling, you really must get married soon—it’s such fun!’

To which Prudence, living up to her name for once, made no reply.

They all repaired to the kitchen after dinner. Mrs Turner, the daily housekeeper, had gone home leaving the way clear for them to prepare whatever was needed for the party, and since Nancy was rather a slapdash cook and James did nothing but eat samples of what was laid out on the table, it fell to Prudence’s lot to make pastry for the vol-au-vents, choux pastry for the little cream cakes Nancy had decided to offer her guests, and bake the sausage rolls. There was to be far more than these, of course. Nancy reeled off a list of the delicacies she had planned and then perched on the kitchen table watching Prudence.

‘You’re such a super cook,’ she said presently. ‘Tony doesn’t know how lucky he is.’

Prudence looked up from her mixing bowl. ‘I’m not going to marry Tony.’ She spoke defiantly.

The two of them stared at her. ‘Not marry…but why not?’

It was James who said slowly: ‘You’ve been engaged a very long time.’

Prudence nodded. ‘Yes, that’s partly it—I mean, we’ve had the chance to marry—oh, ever since we were engaged. It’s gone sour… Tony doesn’t really want me; he wants someone to bolster up his career.’

‘What will you do?’ She blessed James for being so matter-of-fact about it.

‘Get a job. I’ve been mugging up my shorthand and typing, they’re not very good, but I daresay I could manage some sort of office job. I don’t want to stay at home.’ She added impatiently: ‘I’m twenty-seven, you know.’

‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t find something,’ observed James reasonably. ‘There are jobs going—receptionists and so on, where even if typing is needed, it’s not essential—shorthand is always useful, of course. If I hear of anything I’ll let you know.’

‘You’re an angel,’ declared Prudence. ‘I can quite see why Nancy married you.’ She beamed at him and went back to her cooking.

The party was for half past six so that those who had evening engagements could go on to them and those who hadn’t could stay as long as they liked. Prudence, hair and face carefully done, wearing a green dress that matched her eyes, went along to the sitting room in good time to help with the last-minute chores, and when the first of the guests arrived, melted into the background. It was, after all, Nancy’s party, and someone was needed to keep an eye on the food and trot to and fro to the kitchen to replenish plates.

It was on one of these trips, while she was piling another batch of vol-au-vents on to plates, that the kitchen door opened and Benedict van Vinke strolled in. His hullo was friendly and casual, and he ignored her surprise. ‘Thought I’d drop in for an hour,’ he observed mildly, ‘and see how James and Nancy are getting on! Nice party—did you make these things?’ He ate a couple of vol-au-vents and turned his attention to the tiny sausage rolls she had taken out of the oven.

‘Yes, I like cooking. What a lot of friends they’ve got.’ She took off her oven gloves and took a sausage roll and began to eat it.

‘Where’s Tony?’ he asked.

She said carefully: ‘I don’t know—somewhere in London, I suppose. He’s going to the States on Monday. He said he might find time to come over.’

He opened blue eyes wide. ‘Surely he allows himself a few hours off at weekends?’

‘He’s very busy—he’s a successful architect, you know.’

‘Yes, I did know—he told me.’ His voice was dry.

‘And what do you do?’ asked Prudence snappily, on edge for some reason she couldn’t understand.

‘I’m a GP.’ He took another sausage roll and picked up the dish. ‘I’ll carry these in for you.’

She led the way back to the sitting room with a distinct flounce, quite out of temper at his mild snub.

The last of the guests left about nine o’clock, but Benedict didn’t go with them; Nancy had invited him to stay for a cold supper later on, and Prudence guessed from his unsurprised acceptance that he was a frequent visitor. Indeed, he seemed to know his way about the place just as well as his host and hostess, laying the small round table in the dining room and going down to the cellar to bring up the wine while James carved a chicken.

They were half way through the meal when Nancy asked: ‘Did you really mean that, Prudence? I mean about not marrying Tony and getting a job?’

Prudence shot a look across the table to Benedict, whose calm face showed no interest whatever. ‘Yes, of course I did,’ and then she tried a red herring: ‘What a success your party was!’

‘Yes, wasn’t it? Does Tony know?’

‘No. I’ll—I’ll tell him when I see him…’ She was interrupted by the telephone, and when James came back from answering it, he said cheerfully:

‘Well, you’ll be able to do that almost at once—that was Tony saying he can spare us half an hour. He’s on his way.’

‘No,’ said Prudence instantly, ‘I can’t—how can I? I haven’t got a job—he’ll never believe me unless I can prove that I’ve found work—I mean, that’ll make him see that I mean it.’ She stared round at them all. ‘I expect I sound like a heartless fool, but I’m not—I’ve felt—I feel like some Victorian miss meekly waiting for the superior male to condescend to marry me.’ She added strongly: ‘And I won’t!’

‘No, of course not,’ said James soothingly. ‘No one will make you do something you don’t want to do—but it’s a good opportunity to tell him.’ He thought for a minute. ‘If he’s off to the States it’ll make the break much easier—telling people, you know’

Prudence tossed off her wine, choked, spluttered and said between whoops: ‘Could I tell a fib and say I’d found a job, do you think?’

For the first time Benedict spoke. ‘That would hardly become a parson’s daughter,’ he observed mildly, ‘and perhaps there’s no need. It just so happens that I’m badly in need of a general factotum—someone to type—you do type, I hope? My English letters, make sure that I keep appointments, do the flowers, keep an eye on the household and my small daughter. Not much of a job, I’m afraid, but a very necessary one.’

Prudence had her eyes on her face. She said slowly: ‘You’re married?’

He smiled a little. ‘A widower—Sibella is six years old. I live in an old-fashioned rambling house which I am told is sheer hell to cope with, in Appeldoorn.’

‘Holland?’ queried Prudence.

‘That’s right,’ he answered her seriously, although his eyes were dancing. ‘Although I spend a good deal of time over here. You could start at once or within a few days, just as you wish.’ And as the doorbell rang, ‘You’ll have to decide here and now; that sounds like Tony.’

Nancy had gone to open the door and Tony followed her into the room. His eyes swept the rather untidy table and came to rest on Prudence. ‘I see you’re enjoying yourself, Prudence,’ he remarked, and nodded to James and Benedict. ‘Lucky little girl, aren’t you, while I spend my days hard at work!’

She didn’t answer him, she looked across the table at Benedict. She said very clearly: ‘Yes.’ Being called a little girl had been the last straw; she stood five feet seven in her stockings and she was a big girl.

James broke the silence with some remark about Tony’s trip and they listened to his pompous reply before Nancy asked: ‘Will you have a drink, Tony? Or I’ll make some fresh coffee. James and Benedict were just going to wash up in the kitchen—I expect you two would like to be alone for a bit.’

Prudence cast her sister a telling glance, but before she could answer Tony said: ‘As to that, I don’t give much for these sentimental partings and I won’t stay for coffee—there’s a man I have to see before I leave…’

‘I’m not going to marry you,’ said Prudence suddenly, and the four of them looked at her, Nancy and James with sympathy Tony with outraged astonishment and Benedict van Vinke with faint amusement.

‘Don’t talk rubbish!’ said Tony sharply.

‘It’s not rubbish.’ Prudence took the ring off her finger and put it on the table. ‘We could have been married a dozen times in these last four years, Tony, and now it’s too late.’

‘You’ve decided to be a dutiful daughter and live at home?’ he asked with a faint sneer.

‘No, I’ve got a job.’

‘You’ve never done a day’s work in your life—what can you do?’

‘Prudence has agreed to join my household as a personal assistant to me and companion to my small daughter.’ Benedict’s voice was quiet, but there was a hint of steel in it which made Tony pause before he answered.

He said stiffly: ‘We don’t need anyone interfering in our affairs. I’ll talk to Prudence.’ He turned to her. ‘Come into another room and we’ll settle this once and for all.’

‘No need—it’s settled. I’m sorry, Tony, but I’m not the right wife for you—you must know that, because if I had been, you’d have married me years ago.’ She picked up the ring. ‘Here you are. I hope you have a successful trip.’

She went out of the room rather quickly and went into the kitchen and shut the door. Even though she knew she had done the right thing, it was a little frightening to find herself alone after almost four years, and now she had committed herself to a job she knew nothing about in a country she had never been to with a man she had met only for the second time that evening. She felt lightheaded with relief and regret for what might have been, and at the same time scared of the future.

CHAPTER TWO

PRUDENCE WAS vaguely aware of voices, the faint thump of the front door closing and a moment later the door behind her opening.

‘Tea?’ Benedict’s voice sounded matter-of-fact as he crossed to the sink, filled the kettle and set it to boil. He didn’t look at her as he went on: ‘Your habit of drinking tea at all times is one to which I strongly subscribe.’

‘You’re Dutch?’ Prudence hadn’t given it a thought until now. ‘Why is your English so good?’

‘Perhaps because I spend a good deal of time in England. I went to school here and then Cambridge, but I am still a Dutchman, through and through.’

‘I don’t know a thing about you.’ And then because she couldn’t help herself: ‘Has he gone?’

‘Yes.’ He gave her a lightning glance and poured water into a teapot. ‘There’s not much to tell—I’m a G.P. My home is in Appeldoorn, a rather pleasant town in the centre of Holland—I’ve already told you that, haven’t I?’ He found a mug and filled it to the brim. ‘Drink that—we won’t talk any more about it tonight, you’re not registering anyway. I’ll come round tomorrow morning and we’ll go for a walk and discuss your duties.’ And when she looked at him in a puzzled way: ‘You agreed to come and work for me.’

‘Yes—yes, and I meant it, that is if you think I could cope?’

‘Why shouldn’t you cope?’ he wanted to know coolly. ‘There’s almost no skill involved.’

Prudence frowned. ‘That sounds rude.’

‘It’s not meant to be—what I mean is that it’s a job that any sensible woman could do, and you seem sensible.’

‘Oh—do I? Well, I can type and do a shaky shorthand and I can cook and keep house and do simple accounts, and I’ve taught in Sunday School for ten years.’

‘Exactly the kind of person I’m looking for.’ He smiled at her and opened the kitchen door. ‘Let’s join the others.’

Nancy and James didn’t say anything; they were making rather a thing of clearing up, and it wasn’t until Benedict began a lighthearted conversation about the party that they joined in, looking relieved. Benedict went shortly after that with the casual remark that he would be along about ten o’clock the next morning; he wished Nancy and James goodbye, then stopped in front of Prudence. ‘We all get our bad moments,’ he told her kindly. ‘They don’t last, if that’s any consolation to you, though they’re the very devil while they’re there.’

He squeezed her shoulder with an enormous hand and she felt strangely comforted.

She hadn’t expected to sleep, but she did, and woke feeling such relief that everything was all over and done with that it quite washed out any other feeling. Nancy and James, prepared to treat her with cautious sympathy, were surprised to see her eat a good breakfast and listen to her cheerful comments about the party. ‘And you don’t have to worry about me,’ she assured them. ‘I ought to have done it ages ago—I’m sure that Tony’s as relieved as I am—he’ll find himself an American heiress, I’ve no doubt.’ She looked at her sister. ‘Was he very upset when he went?’ Her voice faltered a little. ‘I should have stayed, but I just couldn’t.’

‘Of course you couldn’t,’ said Nancy warmly. ‘If you mean was he unhappy about it—no, I don’t think he was; his pride had had a nasty jolt and he was worried about people talking. Are you really going to work for Benedict?’

‘Oh, yes, it sounds the kind of job I can manage without falling flat on my face, he said he’d tell me about it when he comes this morning.’

‘He’d better stay to lunch,’ said Nancy.

Benedict arrived at ten o’clock, declined coffee, enquired if Prudence was ready and when she had got a jacket to cover her jersey dress, walked her briskly to Highgate Ponds, across Parliament Hill and so on to Hampstead Heath. He didn’t talk about anything much until they were turning back in the direction of Highgate Ponds once more, and as for Prudence, she was happy to walk and enjoy her surroundings and not think too much.

They had been silent in a comfortable companionship way for a minute or two when he asked to surprise her: ‘Do you have any money of your own?’

She stared at him in surprise. ‘Me? Yes, a small income from some money my godmother left me. Why?’

‘It makes it so much easier,’ he explained. ‘If you don’t like the job you won’t feel that you must stay because you need the money.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that. But I’m sure I’ll like it; I do want to do something, not just stay at home. Mother and Father don’t actually need me there, in fact Mother has been hinting for months that it would be nice when Tony and I got married.’

He made no comment, but asked: ‘You’re sure it is what you want? It’s not in the least exciting and there will be no regular hours—though I’ll see that you get a day to yourself each week. Bring your car over if you like so that you can get around.’

‘Thank you. I can’t speak a word of Dutch.’

‘You’ll soon pick it up,’ he dismissed that airily, ‘and you’ll be dealing with my English correspondence.’

‘Yes, but does your little girl speak English?’

‘After a fashion. I’d be glad if you’d speak nothing but your own language with her.’

‘And what else would you want me to do?’

‘Be a Girl Friday, or if that’s too frivolous for you, a Universal Aunt.’

Prudence frowned; she might be removed from her first youth, but she felt that she was hardly eligible to be something as staid as a Universal Aunt. ‘I think a household assistant sounds better,’ she observed coldly.

‘Whatever you like,’ agreed Benedict suavely, ‘but I shall continue to call you Prudence.’

‘Shall I have to call you Dr van Vinke?’

‘I think it might be a good idea if you’re taking letters or if there are patients present, don’t you?’

They were almost back at the flat and he slowed his steps. ‘Would you like me to come down and see your parents? They don’t know me, only as James’ friend…’

‘That would be kind if you can spare the time.’

‘I’ll give you a ring. Now as to salary—how about seventy pounds a week—or the equivalent in gulden?’

‘That’s far too much!’ Prudence was quite shocked.

‘Wait until you’ve worked for a couple of weeks before you say that,’ he counselled. ‘I shall expect value for my money.’

She wasn’t sure if she liked that. She said stiffly: ‘I shall do my best.’

And that seemed to be the end of it, for the time being at least. Over lunch he and James argued good-naturedly as to the best route for her to take and before he went he remarked casually that he would let her know more when he next saw her at Little Amwell. His goodbye was casual in the extreme.

He arrived at Little Amwell four days later, which gave Prudence time to tell her parents what she intended doing and allowed them to recover from the shock, although she rather suspected that they weren’t unduly upset about her broken engagement. It was, of course, a little awkward having to tell people, but luckily in a village the size of Little Amwell news travelled fast if not always with accuracy. Mabel was told as befitted an old friend, but it wasn’t until Mrs Pett, who ran the general stores and Post Office, made a coy reference to Tony’s absence that Prudence observed flatly that she was no longer engaged and was on the point of taking a job. Mrs Pett’s rather bulbous eyes almost popped from her head. ‘My dear soul—and after all this long time, too!’

‘Almost four years,’ Prudence reminded her, and looked pointedly at the list of groceries she had to buy. ‘I’d better have tasty cheese, Mrs Pett,’—she only sold two kinds, tasty and mild, ‘I should think half a pound would do.’

Mrs Pett dealt with the cheese. ‘So you’re going away, Miss Prudence—you’ll be missed.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Pett.’ Prudence wasn’t going to be drawn into details; no doubt Mrs Pett would invent those when she passed on the news. She finished her shopping and went back home and spent the rest of the morning going through her wardrobe, deciding what she should take with her. She must remember to ask Benedict what the weather was like in Holland and should she take winter clothes as well or would she be able to come home and collect them later, if she stayed. She might not be suitable—his small daughter might not like her, her shorthand might not stand up to dictation. She had the sneaking feeling that Benedict, placid and friendly as he was, might present quite a different aspect once he got back to his own home and took up a busy routine again. It was a sobering thought, and she spent most of the next day taking down imaginary letters and typing them back not always as successfully as she could wish. Still, she told herself, if she was to look after the little girl and help around the house, there wouldn’t be all that time to do his correspondence, and anyway, he couldn’t have all that much in English. The thought cheered her so that she flung her notebook down and took Podge the elderly spaniel for an extra long walk.

When she got home there was an Aston Martin Volante outside the front door, dark blue, elegant and powerful. She and Podge circled it slowly before she went indoors, admiring it. ‘Very expensive,’ said Prudence to the dog, ‘and fast—it must drink petrol like I drink tea!’

In the sitting room her mother and father were entertaining Benedict, but they stopped talking as she went in. She greeted him unselfconsciously, adding: ‘What a nice car you’ve got—I didn’t know that you had one over here.’

‘James drove me down for the wedding and I don’t always use it in London. It gets me around, though.’

‘So I should imagine.’ Prudence looked at her mother. ‘I’ll help Mabel with tea, shall I?’ She turned to Benedict. ‘Are you staying the night?’

‘Your mother kindly suggested it, but I can’t—I’m on my way to Bristol. But tea would be delightful.’ He smiled as he spoke and she remembered the last time they had had tea together and went a little pink.

‘I’ll get it,’ she said to no one in particular.

Over tea Benedict enlarged upon her duties, more for the benefit of her parents than herself, she suspected; he also detailed her journey. ‘I’m going home in a couple of days’ time, perhaps you could follow—let’s see—would Friday suit you? That gets you to Appeldoorn on Saturday, which will give you the weekend in which to find your way around and get to know Sitske, my housekeeper—her husband’s the gardener and odd job man. I believe they’re known as married couples over here—and of course Sibella, she knows you’re coming to live with us, but I warn you she’s quite a handful. I spend as much time with her as I can, but not as much as I should like. I’m sure you’ll fill a much-needed gap for her.’

‘Prudence has a way with children,’ declared Mrs Trent comfortably. ‘If she can keep the Sunday School class in order she can certainly cope with one little girl. I think—we both think—that it will be very nice for Prudence to go away for a while and earn her living—it’s quiet here; that didn’t matter when she expected to marry, but now it’s a chance for her to be independent. How providential that you happened to need someone, Benedict.’

He agreed gravely. ‘And how fortunate that I have found Prudence.’

He got up to go presently, bidding them quiet goodbyes, adding that he would see Prudence on the following Saturday.

She went with him to the door, where he paused for a moment. ‘I’ll see you get your tickets in good time,’ he promised, and before she could say anything, had got into the Aston Martin and zoomed away.

Prudence watched the car turn out of the short drive and go down the village street. She was a good driver herself; she thoroughly approved of the lack of fuss with which he had handled the big car. Tony, she remembered, could never just get in and drive off; things had to be adjusted, knobs turned, lights tested, windows wound up or down, she hadn’t realised until now how that had irritated her. She thought that on the whole she was going to like working for Benedict. Of course, she didn’t know him; he might be a tyrant in his own home, although she didn’t think so.

She wandered back to the sitting room, wishing vaguely that he had told her more about himself, for in fact he had told her very little. He was a widower, she knew that, and she wondered how long he had been without a wife. Perhaps he had told her father. She found the chance to ask him during the evening, and for some reason felt relief when she heard that his wife had died soon after his daughter was born. ‘Very sad,’ observed her father, and she agreed sincerely; it was very sad.

‘He should marry again,’ she observed. ‘It would be so much nicer for his little daughter too.’

‘And for him,’ observed her mother quietly. ‘It must be difficult for him, especially with a child. But you won’t be looking after her all the time, will you, dear? He said something about dealing with his English correspondence and giving a hand where it was needed most. How very fortunate that you have your St John Ambulance certificate.’

‘I hardly think that I’ll be expected to help out in the surgery.’ Prudence looked up from the letter she was writing to Nancy. ‘Heaven help the patients if I do!’

She had forgotten to ask about the weather in Holland, but surely Benedict would be biddable about her coming back home to collect more clothes? She packed skirts and blouses and a few woollies and a couple of pretty dresses, and planned to travel in the Jaeger suit she had just bought. Someone had told her that it rained a lot in Holland and was almost always windy, so she stowed her elderly Burberry in the boot and added a handful of headscarves.

‘Nothing for the evening, dear?’ enquired her mother.

Prudence looked doubtful. ‘Well, I didn’t think so— I mean, I’m not a guest, you know.’

‘But you’re bound to meet some people.’ Her mother meant young men, of course. ‘Why not take a couple of those pretty chiffon blouses and your black moiré skirt?’

The tickets arrived two days later—first class, she noticed, and wondered if she was supposed to pay Benedict back out of her salary. There was no note with them, just a slip from a travel agency, but then he had no reason to write.

She left home early in the morning to call first at Highgate and say goodbye to Nancy and have an early lunch with her before driving on to Harwich. It was raining, a fine drizzle which dulled the countryside to an overall mud colour, but Prudence didn’t allow that to worry her. True, she had hated saying goodbye to her mother and father and Mabel, and Podge, uncannily aware that he would no longer get the long walks she took him each day, looked so forlorn that she felt like throwing the whole thing up and staying at home. But she didn’t—after all, it wasn’t for ever.

By the time she reached Nancy’s flat the sun, rather on the watery side, had broken through the clouds, which somehow made all the difference, and Nancy made her feel even better.

‘You know, Prudence, I’d envy you if I weren’t married and perfectly happy. Just think, going to another country and working for someone as nice as Benedict! James says he’s a splendid man.’

Prudence picked over the fruit in the centre bowl and chose a peach. ‘Well, if he isn’t I can always come back home!’ she said flippantly.

She drove up to Harwich without haste; in any case the Mini just wasn’t able to get up much of a speed, and once there she went unhurriedly about the business of getting herself and the Mini on board, and that done, had dinner and went to bed. She was a level-headed girl, despite the red hair. A good night’s sleep was essential if she was to be at her best when she arrived in Appeldoorn. She woke early, had tea and toast in her cabin and had another look at the map. The trip didn’t look too difficult and once she had reached that town all she had to do was to look out for the palace, Het Loo, take the left-hand turn at the crossroads and turn left again up a tree-lined avenue bordering the royal park. She dressed and went up on deck and found it raining again and Holland’s coastline, flat and grey as the sky, only a few miles distant.

She had expected it to be flat, of course, but a few more trees would have improved the skyline. She looked about her with interest as the ferry crept slowly into the quayside and then, obedient to the polite voice requesting drivers to rejoin their cars, went down to the car deck.

Customs and Passport control were slow but friendly and she found herself on the road, looking for the signpost to Rotterdam. Motorway for almost the whole trip, Benedict had told her, and rather dull, but by far the quickest way to travel.

He was probably right, decided Prudence, sandwiched between giant transports and very fast Mercedes, but there wasn’t much pleasure in it, and it was a good thing that there wasn’t much scenery, for she didn’t dare take her eyes off the road for more than a few seconds at a time. What with driving on the wrong side of the road and getting used to dark blue signposts and traffic lights twice as high as those at home… But presently, with Rotterdam safely negotiated, she relaxed. The motorway stretched before her and according to her map she would bypass almost every other town en route. The grey skies were getting lighter and presently a thin sunshine filtered through the clouds, turning the fields into a brilliant green and bringing to life the farms and villages. Prudence looked about her and decided that the country was charming in a peaceful, old-fashioned way. Once off the main roads, there might be a great deal to see. Beyond Gouda she remembered that she was hungry and pulled in at the next café, where she had coffee and a cheese roll. Probably there would be lunch when she arrived at Benedict’s house.

Mindful of her instructions, she left the motorway just outside Arnhem and took the road north to Appeldoorn, and the country was delightful. She slowed down so that she could take a good look at the woods and heath on either side of the road, and when she saw a picturesque restaurant standing back from the road, stopped for more coffee. This was where she would come on her free days, she determined; there were countless narrow sandy lanes leading away into the woods, just asking to be explored. She lingered longer than she had intended and was relieved to find that she was almost at the end of her journey.

She hadn’t been particularly worried about finding Benedict’s house; she wasn’t the worrying kind and since the palace, Het Loo, was on the outskirts of the town, all she had to do was keep her eyes open. The palace stood well back from the road, linked to it by long tree-lined avenues and vast areas of grass, and once past this, she could see where she had to go; another avenue, also tree-lined, with the park on one side and on the other rather grand ornately built houses, each standing in large well kept grounds. The third one up from the road, Benedict had told her, and since its wrought iron gate was open she drove up the short sanded drive and stopped before the massive porch. Just for a moment she had a pang of sheer fright, squashed it firmly and got out, rang the ponderous bell beside the door and waited composedly.

A small round man answered the bell so quickly that she suspected that he might have been on the lookout for her. He was any age between fifty and seventy, quite bald and immensely dignified, but his smile was warm.

‘Miss Trent, you will come in, please, and welcome. Dr van Vinke is in his study awaiting you.’

Thank God he speaks English, thought Prudence and followed him briskly down a long wide hall to a door at the end. Her companion, a few steps ahead of her, had almost reached it when it was opened and Benedict came out.

His hullo was friendly and casual—just as though, thought Prudence rather peevishly, I’d popped in from next door. ‘No problems?’ he asked, and didn’t wait for her to answer. ‘You’d like coffee while your bags are taken upstairs. Ork will see to them and put the car away.’ He nodded to the round man, who murmured something and trotted off, while Benedict led the way back across the hall to double doors set in the panelled walls, opened them and invited her inside.

It was an impressive room, furnished with comfortable chairs and sofas. Some quite beautiful cabinets stood along its walls, a satinwood rent table between its two long windows and a very lovely Persian carpet on its polished wood floor. The velvet curtains were elaborately draped and echoed the muted colours of the carpet and the various chairs and sofas.

‘Come and sit down,’ invited Benedict. ‘You had a good journey?’

‘Splendid, thank you, though it needn’t have rained quite so much.’ She smiled at him; it was nice to see him again, he was a calm man and somehow soothing, and for some reason she was feeling ruffled. ‘It’s nice to be here, I only hope I’ll be able to make myself useful.’

‘No doubt of it. Here’s the coffee and this is Sitska, my housekeeper and Ork’s wife. Ork speaks English more or less, but she doesn’t—that won’t be a problem for long, you’ll soon pick up a few useful words. Sibella will be home presently—she goes to morning school and sometimes she goes to a friend’s house to play until lunchtime.’ And in answer to her questioning looks ‘Next door—she is not allowed out on her own.’

He lounged back in his chair. ‘Do pour the coffee.’ And when she had: ‘I’ve rounds to do this afternoon and then the hospital, if you like to unpack after lunch and get to know Sibella—take her for a walk, if you like. Ork will bring you tea when you want it, Sibella will bear you company until I get back, and if we can get an hour this evening, we’ll discuss your—er—duties.’

He went on to ask about her family, putting her at her ease with his placid voice until the door opened and Sibella came in. She was small for her age, with her father’s blue eyes and fair hair, cut short with a fringe. She had his calm too, crossing the room to kiss him and then slipping a hand in his while she studied Prudence. After a moment she said something to her father and smiled at them both.

Benedict laughed. ‘She says you’re very pretty.’ He gave her a gentle push and spoke in Dutch and the child went to Prudence and offered a small paw.

‘Hullo,’ she said gravely.

‘Hullo,’ said Prudence, and smiled as she shook the hand and, wise after years of Sunday School classes, didn’t say any more.

‘I speak English,’ volunteered Sibella.

‘Oh, good. I can’t speak Dutch, not one word.’

‘I shall help you.’ She went back to her father and climbed on to his knee. ‘You will help also, Papa.’

‘Oh, certainly I will.’ He added something in Dutch and Sibella got off his knee. ‘She’ll take you to your room—you’ll find Sitska already there, I believe.’ He got to his feet. ‘Lunch in ten minutes?’

She must remember that he was a busy man, Prudence told herself as she climbed the rather grand staircase behind the little girl and then accepted the hand held out to her as they reached the gallery which ran round three sides of the hall. They turned into a small passage through an archway and went into a room beyond, and Prudence uttered a cry of delight when she saw it. It was a fair size, with a bed of mahogany, matched with a bow-fronted table holding a triple mirror. There was a vast cupboard, two little easy chairs and pretty rose-coloured lamps on either side of a bowl of late roses. The carpet was thick and cream-coloured and the bedspread and curtains were flower-patterned chintz.

‘Oh, this is delightful!’ said Prudence, waltzing from the bed to the mirror-backed door leading to the bathroom and then to the window and the bedside table to examine the books thoughtfully laid upon it.

‘You like?’ asked Sibella.

‘Oh, yes, my dear. It’s beautiful.’ Prudence got out a comb and her make-up and made short shrift of tidying herself, watched from the door by the little girl. She was turning away from the mirror when there was a tap on the half open door and the housekeeper bustled in. She was a tall, thin woman with a pleasant face who beamed at Prudence and then advanced to shake hands with her. ‘Sitska,’ she said, and added, ‘Welcome’.

Prudence shook hands and smiled and murmured a quite useless ‘How d’ you do?’ then waved a hand round the room. ‘The room is charming,’ she said, and tried again: ‘Pretty…’

Sibella came to her rescue. ‘Pretty—I know that word.’ She entered into a lengthy conversation and Sitska smiled and nodded and then waved a hand towards the stairs. Presumably lunch was ready.

The dining room was on the opposite side of the hall to the drawing room. It held a large circular table capable of seating a dozen persons, as well as a great side table, chairs, and a William and Mary display cabinet whose glass-fronted shelves were filled with old Delft plates and dishes.

Benedict was standing at a window, a glass in his hand, but he turned round as they went in and offered Prudence a drink. ‘Sorry to rush you, but my first appointment’s in half an hour; you’ll get used to my comings and goings—at least I hope you will.’

‘It shouldn’t be difficult,’ said Prudence, ‘Father’s job isn’t exactly nine to five!’

Lunch was a pleasant meal; cold meats and salad and a basket of breads of every kind, and accompanying these, hot creamy coffee. The talk was pleasant too, mostly about Appeldoorn and its history and the surrounding countryside. Benedict got up to go presently and Prudence, with Sibella in tow, went up to her room and unpacked.

This was a lengthy business, since Prudence had to explain her wardrobe garment by garment to Sibella, who, anxious to be helpful, told her the Dutch in return. By the time they had finished the rain had stopped and Benedict’s suggestion of a walk seemed a good one, especially as they were joined on their way to the front door by a large woolly dog, intent on keeping them company. He was introduced as Henry, and a lead having been found, led them both at a brisk pace across the road and into the grass between the avenues leading towards the palace. Once there, he was released and set off on his own business, although he was obedient enough when he was called, something for which Prudence was thankful. Sibella was a chatterbox, quite undeterred by having to repeat almost everything she said two or three times; her boast that she could speak English wasn’t quite true, although between them they carried on a lively conversation. Prudence was careful to keep talk to general things; although she was longing to ask questions about Benedict and his work and whether he went out a lot or entertained, but even if she had slipped in one or two leading questions she doubted if Sibella would have answered them. The child was friendly and anxious to please, but Prudence had the feeling that she would shut up like a clam if she wanted to.

They raced around the grass with Henry making a delighted third until they were all tired and Prudence suggested that they might go back for tea, a meal set ready for them in a small room behind the dining room, very cosy with a small fire burning in the old-fashioned grate and tea set out on a round table covered with a fringed tablecloth; rather Victorian but charming, Prudence decided, and sat down behind the teapot.

Someone had done their best to offer them an English tea; not the modern version of a cup of tea and a biscuit, but thin bread and butter, little cakes and scones. The pair of them ate with appetite while Henry sustained his hunger with crusts and bits of cake and a bowl of tea.

‘You do not find it bad?’ asked Sibella anxiously.

‘Good gracious, no! I’ve got a dog called Podge, he always has his tea with us.’

‘There are two cats, also—Miep and Poes. You like cats?’

‘Very much,’ said Prudence, and offered Henry a last morsel of cake and stood up. ‘What would you like to do now?’

‘You come to my…’ Sibella’s small face wrinkled in a heavy frown, ‘speelkamer,’ and when Prudence only shook her head, took her hand and led her upstairs.

‘Playroom,’ said Prudence the moment she had put her head round the door. ‘What fun! What shall we do?’

There was a doll’s house on a table between the two windows, they pulled up chairs before it, opened its front door and became absorbed in its contents. It was a splendid thing with electric lights, and furnished down to the last spoon, and they went over it room by room; they were putting the inmates of the nursery on the second floor into their tiny beds when Benedict came quietly in.

He kissed his small daughter, patted Prudence’s shoulder in an absentminded fashion and enquired as to their afternoon. Sibella, naturally enough, answered in Dutch. Prudence said carefully: ‘I’ve enjoyed myself very much, I hope Sibella has too.’ She stood up. ‘I expect you like to be together for a while when you get home—if you tell me when you would like me to give Sibella her supper…?’ It made her sound like a mid-Victorian governess, but she felt rather at sea.

Benedict chuckled. ‘You’re right, we usually spend an hour together about this time—I see private patients before dinner, but there’s usually time to spare before then. Would you like to phone your mother? Use the telephone in my study, but do join us when you’ve done that; we might manage a wild game of Snakes and Ladders, it’ll be more fun with three.’

Ork, appearing from nowhere, led the way to the study, opened the door for her, gave her a kindly smile and left her there. It was a large room with a partner’s desk at one end of it, loaded with books and papers, and three of its walls were covered with book shelves; the third had a dark red paper and was covered, too, with paintings—family portraits, Prudence decided, going from one to the other. Stern-faced gentlemen with whiskers and high collars, mild-faced ladies in rich dresses, and over the hooded fireplace a large painting of an Edwardian lady. Benedict’s mother? No, he wasn’t as old as all that. His grandmother, perhaps. She was very pretty, and Prudence looked around to find her husband. He was high up on the wall, near the desk; it might have been Benedict with a flowing moustache and side whiskers. Their child would be there too, somewhere on the crowded wall, but she really hadn’t the time to look. She sat down on the leather armchair behind the desk and made her call—a rather lengthy one, for her father had to be fetched from his study and her mother wasn’t content with Prudence’s rather sketchy description of the house and the people in it.

‘I’ll write,’ promised Prudence. ‘I’ll post it tomorrow and you’ll get it in a day or two—and I’ll give you a ring once a week.’

And after that the evening passed pleasantly enough. While Benedict saw his patients, Prudence supervised Sibella’s supper, then helped her bath and when she was ready for bed, went downstairs with her to the drawing room where Benedict was sitting, with Henry across his feet, reading the paper. He put it down as they went in and Sibella climbed on to his knee with the speed of time-honoured custom, so Prudence murmured gently and left them together. Dinner was at eight o’clock and there was still half an hour to go. She changed out of her suit and put on a thin wool dress, did her face and hair and got out her writing pad. She was halfway through her letter when she judged it time to go in search of Sibella and was rewarded by Benedict’s look of approval.

‘Did you know this infant goes to bed at ten minutes to eight, or was it a clever guess?’

‘A guess—not very hard, because I did know that dinner is at eight o’clock,’ she smiled. ‘Is there anything special about going to bed? Does Sibella say goodnight here or do you go up…?’

‘Oh, here, unless I’ve been held up and not got home early.’ He kissed his small daughter and submitted to a throttling embrace. ‘Come down as soon as you’re ready,’ he added. ‘We can talk over dinner.’

The dinner table was elegant with lace mats, shining silver and sparkling glass. Ork served them with soup, roast pheasant and a chocolate mousse and poured claret for them to drink. Benedict lived in some style, but despite that, Prudence thought, the house had the casual well lived in comfort of home. It wasn’t until they had gone back to the drawing room that he abandoned the gentle flow of small talk and said briskly: ‘Now let’s get down to business, shall we? I’ll tell you what I would like you to do and you can find fault and make alterations when I’ve finished. We get up early— seven o’clock; surgery starts at eight o’clock, and I have to drive there. Sibella has breakfast with me at half past seven, and you will too, and then take her to school; it starts at half past eight. You will fetch her again at a quarter to twelve—she doesn’t go in the afternoons. During the morning would you make yourself useful. Do the flowers, see to Sibella’s clothes, open the post—I’ve got a secretary at my surgery, but a good deal of post comes here. Sort it out and let me have it when I get in. I’ll skim through it and deal with the English letters if there are any. You’ll have the afternoon with Sibella—with variations, of course; she goes to play with friends and they come here. You’ll have precious little time to yourself, for while Sibella’s at school you can fit in the letters. If you don’t have time then, it’ll have to be in the evening after dinner.’ He paused and looked at her thoughtfully.

‘Too much for you?’ he asked.

‘Certainly not. What else?’

‘I’ve thought about your free time—how about Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning? We might have to change from time to time, though.’

‘That will do nicely.’ Prudence gave him a bright smile. She was going to earn every penny of her salary, as far as she could see she would be on the go from morning to night. But that was what she wanted, wasn’t it? A job, something to do, something useful and demanding so that she could fill the hole Tony had left. She had done the right thing, she told herself silently, leaving the placid shelter of her home, where she might have stayed for the rest of her life if she hadn’t made a push to change things. Perhaps she hadn’t expected quite such a stern routine as Benedict had outlined in such a businesslike manner. It behoved her to be businesslike too and accept his challenge. She looked up and saw that he was watching her narrowly. Probably he expected her to wilt at the prospect he had set out before her; a young woman who had led a pleasant, easygoing life in a comfortable home. Her green eyes shone; she would show him—a challenge was just what she needed!

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.