“You’re a very nice girl, Prudence. Why aren’t you married?” Haso asked gravely.

It was strange that he should annoy her so much, and within minutes it was forgotten. “Aunt Maud is always asking me that….”

“And what do you tell her?”

She laughed a little. “Why, that I’m waiting to be swept off my feet. I know that’s silly—I’m not the right size or shape for that, but it must be marvelous to be showered with roses and diamonds and champagne. Not that it ever happens outside romantic novels.”

“No? Don’t be too sure of that, Prudence….”

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 lives on in all her stories.

Paradise for Two
Betty Neels

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WERE two people in the room, facing each other across the breakfast-table—a small, elderly lady with iron-grey hair and very blue eyes in a pleasantly wrinkled face, and opposite her a girl with a charming face framed by curling russet hair and large hazel eyes, fringed by long, curling lashes.

“It’s a splendid opportunity,” observed the elderly lady in a coaxing voice, “and you would be doing a kindness—after all, Mrs Wesley is your godmother.”

Her companion frowned, her dark brows drawn together quite fiercely. She said in a no-nonsense way, “Aunt Maud, I’ve only just left one job, and that was because I wanted a change—I’ve set my heart on that Ward Sister’s post in Scotland,” she added as an afterthought. “Besides, there’s Walter…”

“Has he proposed again?” asked her aunt with interest.

“Well, yes…”

“You’ve accepted him?”

The girl smiled at the eagerness in her companion’s voice. “It’s a funny thing, Aunt Maud, but I can’t… Perhaps it’s because we’ve known each other for a long time and the gilt’s worn off the gingerbread, or perhaps it’s because Walter thinks I’m extravagant.”

“Well, you are, dear,” her aunt spoke mildly.

“I like clothes,” said her niece simply. “Besides, it’s difficult to find things to fit me. Everyone except me is size eight or ten.”

She stood up, and indeed she was nowhere near either of those sizes. She was a big girl, tall and splendidly built, her long legs clothed in elderly slacks topped by an outsize jersey.

Her aunt studied her thoughtfully. “You won’t marry Walter?” She sighed. “Prudence, he would make a good husband…”

The girl frowned again. “I don’t want a good husband, I want to be swept off my feet, plied with champagne and roses and jewels—I’d quite like to be serenaded, too.” She glanced down at her magnificent person. “But you can see for yourself, dear Aunt, that it would need a giant of a man with muscles of iron to get me off the ground. Shall I tell Ellen to come in and clear the table? I’m going for that job, I shall apply for it and post the letter this morning.”

Her aunt got up, too. “Very well, dear. At your age I would have been delighted at the chance to travel abroad and see something of the world, but I dare say you know your own mind best. Your godmother will be disappointed.”

Her niece crossed the room and gave her a hug. “Dearest Aunt, I have travelled a bit, you know, when Father and Mother were alive—” She paused a moment, and then went on steadily, “They always took me with them. True, I’ve not been to Holland, but I don’t suppose it’s much different from England. Mrs Wesley will be able to find someone only too eager to go with her.”

Her aunt agreed meekly. It was barely half an hour later, as she sat in the sitting-room making out a shopping list, that Ellen announced a visitor.

Miss Rendell put down her pen and got up with every sign of pleasure. “My dear Beatrix, how providential! I’ve been sitting here wondering if I should telephone you. Dear Prudence is even now applying for a post in Scotland, but perhaps you might dissuade her? She has no real reason for refusing to go with you to Holland, you know—indeed, she’s very fond of you, and a complete change might check her restlessness.” She added vaguely, “She wants to be swept off her feet.”

“And I know the very man to do it,” declared Mrs Wesley. She sat down. “Let me have a try.”

Prudence, nibbling her pen and frowning over her application form, listened to Ellen’s request that she should join her aunt downstairs with some impatience. The Vicar, she supposed, wanting someone to take a stall at the church bazaar, or old Mrs Vine from the Manor bent on getting Prudence to fill a gap at her dinner-table. Prudence, who had made her home with her aunt in the small Somerset village ever since her parents had died in a car crash, knew everyone who lived there, just as they knew her, and when she went to London to train as a nurse she still returned whenever she had leave. She loved the place and liked the people living there, from crusty old Colonel Quist living in solitary state in one wing of the vast house at the end of the village to Mrs Legg, who owned the village stores and ran the Post Office besides. She loved her aunt, too, and the nice old house which had become her home, but she loved her work as well; she had spent the last six years in London, first training as a nurse and then taking over a surgical ward at the hospital where she had trained. It was on her twenty-fifth birthday, a month or so previously, that she had decided she needed a move right away from London before she got into a rut from which so many of her older colleagues either could not or would not escape. Scotland would do nicely; she would be really on her own there and it would be a challenge, finding her feet in a strange hospital and making new friends. She let her thoughts wander as she went downstairs. Perhaps she would meet the man of her dreams—a vague image, but she was sure she would know him if they met.

She hadn’t expected to see her delightful godmother sitting with her aunt. She crossed the room and kissed the proffered cheek. Mrs Wesley was a formidable lady, not very tall but possessed of a well-corseted stoutness, a handsome face and a slightly overbearing manner. Prudence was very fond of her and said warmly, “How nice to see you, Aunt Beatrix. I thought you were in London.”

“I’m staying there, my dear, but I’ve been the guest of Mrs Vine for a day or so, and I thought I’d call and see you both before I go back.”

“Oh—you mean to Holland? But you aren’t going to return there to live, are you?”

“Certainly not, but my sister is ill—did your aunt not tell you? She has had a heart attack and needs great care, so I shall go to her and do what I can. I had hoped…” Mrs Wesley paused and heaved a shuddering sigh. “But I expect we shall manage. In a few weeks I dare say she’ll be stronger. It’s a pity I’ve been told by my own doctor that I must take things quietly for a few months, but at such a time one doesn’t think of oneself.”

“Why, Aunt Beatrix, what’s wrong?” Prudence felt quite shaken; she couldn’t remember her godmother being anything but in the best of health.

“Diabetes, of all silly things, my dear. I spent a few days at a nursing home while they decided what I couldn’t eat and explained that tiresome insulin to me. I’m not yet stabilised, they tell me, but when that’s corrected I need only take tablets.”

“You’re having injections?”

“At the moment, yes. So tiresome, as I have to arrange for someone to come and give them to me—the district nurse here has been most kind…” She gave Prudence a quick look. “That was why I’d suggested that you might like to accompany me to Holland, but of course, you young people must lead your own lives…”

Prudence shifted uneasily in her chair. She was being got at, and since she was a kind-hearted girl she could see nothing for it but to accept her godmother’s invitation; the idea of Aunt Beatrix wandering around suffering from a condition she didn’t fully understand, even in her own native country, wasn’t to be entertained for one moment. She mentally tore up the letter she had just written to the hospital in Scotland, reflecting ruefully that here was one young person who was being thwarted from doing as she wished…

“When do you go?” she asked, and saw the pleased smiles on her companions’ faces. “I had intended to apply for a job in Edinburgh, but I’ll see if they might have a vacancy at a later date.”

“Dear child!” Aunt Maud addressed her magnificently proportioned niece with no awareness of inappropriateness. “Your dear godmother will be safe with you, and I dare say this hospital will be only too glad to offer you a job later on.”

Prudence smiled at her kindly; Aunt Maud, having lived her life in sheltered security, had no idea of the harsh world outside it and there was no point in disillusioning her. No hospital was going to wait while an applicant for a job waltzed off to Europe before taking up her job.

“How long do you intend to stay in Holland?” she asked.

“Oh, well—a month, no longer, by that time my sister should be well again, should she not?” Mrs Wesley added, “She’s in hospital, but if all is well she should be going home very shortly. I thought I might go next week.”

Prudence remembered without much regret that Walter had invited her to an exhibition of paintings on either Tuesday or Wednesday of the following week. He had told her rather importantly that it depended on whether he could get away from his desk; he was a junior executive in a firm of stockbrokers and took his work seriously; he also fancied himself as something of an expert on modern art. Prudence, who liked paintings to look like something she could recognise, had done her best to go along with his views, without much success.

“We shall fly,” observed her godmother, “and naturally we shall be met at Schiphol and driven to Dornwier. Whether we shall remain there or accompany my sister on a holiday in order that she may recuperate from her illness, I don’t as yet know.”

“You’re sure your own doctor has no objections to you travelling, Aunt Beatrix?”

“Oh, yes, he quite saw my point of view.” Which was Aunt Beatrix’s way of saying she had browbeaten the poor man into agreeing with her.

“Do you want me to meet you in London,” asked Prudence, “or at the airport?”

“Perhaps you would come to my flat the day before we leave? Then we can travel to Heathrow together. Shall we say Tuesday of next week—provided I can get a flight then. I dare say you may have one or two things to see to before you leave.”

Clothes, thought Prudence and then, as a guilty afterthought, Walter. He would be annoyed: he didn’t believe in young women being too independent. A woman’s place, he had told Prudence on many occasions, was in the home.

Which was all very well, she had pointed out, but whereabouts in the home? Lying at ease on a chaise longue in the drawing-room, covered in jewels and pure silk, would be nice… Walter had no sense of humour; he had told her, in his measured tones, not to be foolish. It struck her suddenly that she didn’t love him, never had, and that this invitation from her godmother presented her with an opportunity to make Walter understand that once and for all she really did not want to marry him. They had known each other for years now, and she wasn’t sure when they had drifted into the idea of marriage. Certainly he had shown no overwhelming desire to make her his wife; on the other hand, she had been expected to tag along with him whenever she was at home, and in the village at least they were considered to be engaged.

She said now, “If you’ll let me know when you want me to come, Aunt Beatrix, I’ll be there. There’s nothing of importance to keep me here.”

She thought guiltily that Walter would be very annoyed to be designated as nothing of importance.

Ellen came in with coffee and the next half-hour was pleasantly taken up by Aunt Beatrix’s plans; she had obviously got everything organised to suit herself, and Prudence wondered just how she would have reacted if she hadn’t got her way. Aunt Maud was looking pleased with herself, too; Prudence looked at her two elderly companions with real affection, and when her godmother got up to go, bade her a warm goodbye.

“Tot ziens,” said Aunt Beatrix, who occasionally broke into her native tongue.

Prudence replied cheerfully, “And tot ziens to you, Aunt Beatrix, though I’m not quite sure what that means! I must try and learn some Dutch while I’m staying with you.”

Walter called in that evening on his way home from his office in Taunton. His greeting of, “Hello, old girl,” did nothing to make her change her mind about going away.

He sat down in the chair he always used and began at once to go into details about an argument he had had with one of the partners that day. Prudence sat opposite him, listening with half an ear while she took the chance to study him carefully. He was an inch or two shorter than she was and already showing a tendency to put on weight, but he was good-looking and, when he chose, could be an entertaining companion with charming manners. Only, over the years, the charm and the manners weren’t much in evidence—not with her at any rate. She said suddenly, cutting through his monologue, “Walter, when did you last look at me—I mean, really look?”

He gave her stare of astonishment. “Look at you? Well, I see you several times a week when you’re here, don’t I? Why should I look at you? Have you changed your hair-style or lost weight or something?”

“I don’t need to lose weight,” she said coldly. “I sometimes feel, Walter, like your daily newspaper or the old coat you keep behind the back door in case it rains…”

He gave an uneasy laugh. “My dear girl, what’s got into you? You’re talking nonsense. It’s a good thing you’re going to this new job, you’ve been too long at that hospital of yours in London.”

“You’ve asked me to marry you several times.”

“Yes, well—there’s time enough for you to make up your mind about that, in the meantime you need to be occupied.”

“You don’t want to sweep me off my feet? Rush off with me and get married?”

She felt sorry for him, because he was quite out of his depth; stockbrokers didn’t like to be rushed.

“Certainly not; marriage is a serious undertaking.”

Prudence nodded. “Yes, it is. Walter, I don’t want to marry you. I’m sorry if it puts you out—I mean, you expected me to marry you when it was convenient, didn’t you?”

“I say, old girl, that’s a funny way of putting it!”

“But it’s true.” She got up and wandered over to the window. “I’m going to Holland for some weeks to stay with an aunt who’s ill.”

“You haven’t any aunts in Holland.” She heard the tolerant amusement in his voice.

“Courtesy aunts, one of them is my godmother and I’m fond of her. I think it would be a good idea if we parted, Walter—we can stay good friends if you want that, but don’t expect me to change my mind. I really will not marry you.”

He had got to his feet, too. “Suits me. You’re a nice girl, Prudence, but you like your own way too much—men like a degree of meekness in a woman, especially in their wives.”

“I’ll remember that.” Her eyes, large, brown-flecked with tawny spots, thickly fringed, flashed sudden anger. “I hope you find a suitably meek girl willing to marry you, Walter.”

He said seriously, “Oh, I have no doubts that I shall.”

He looked so smug that she itched to throw something at him, especially when he added prosily, “But I doubt if you’ll—what did you say?—find a man to sweep you off your feet. No hard feelings, Prudence?”

“None at all, Walter.” She watched him go without a pang, but deep inside her she was conscious of panic; she was, after all, twenty-five years old and, although she had never lacked for men friends, she had never wanted to marry any of them. Perhaps she would never meet a man she could love and marry…

Aunt Maud bustling in to ask if Walter was staying to supper dispelled her thoughts. Prudence wandered across the room and shook up a number of cushions which were perfectly all right as they were. “What would you say if I told you that I’m not going to marry Walter? We’ve parted quite definitely.”

Aunt Maud said: “Well, dear, since you ask me, I feel bound to say I feel profound relief. Walter is an estimable young man, but in ten years’ time he’ll be pompous and bossy. None the less, he would be a good husband if one considers the material things of life—he would never allow his wife to be shabby, and the children would go to the right schools.” Aunt Maud sighed deeply. “But no romance, and that’s something I think you might not be able to do without.”

Prudence flung her arms wide. “Oh, you’re so right, Aunt Maud, but where am I to find romance? And for the next few weeks there’ll be no chance to find it at all—Aunt Beatrix is a darling, but she hasn’t any family other than her sister, has she? And I feel in my bones that any doctors I may meet will be elderly and bald.”

Her aunt agreed placidly and kept her thoughts to herself.

There was a good deal to do during the next few days; according to Aunt Maud, Prudence’s godmother came from a well-to-do family and her sister lived in some style.

“Somewhere in Friesland, isn’t it?” asked Prudence, her pretty head on one side, critically examining a dress she wasn’t sure she wanted to take with her. And, before her aunt could reply, “Do you suppose it will be good weather there? I know it’s May, but it’s a good deal farther north actually than it is here.”

“A knitted suit?” suggested her aunt. “And tops and skirts—you could take a couple of thinner dresses in case it should really warm up.” She added casually, “I should put in a pretty dress for the evening, dear—your Aunt Beatrix knows a number of people there, and you might get asked out to dinner.”

Prudence thought it unlikely, but her aunt looked wistful, so she packed a slim sheath of corn-coloured silk, deceptively simple and very elegant, and a silk jersey dress with long sleeves, a sweeping skirt and a square neckline cut rather low. It was of indigo blue, an excellent foil for her hair. It would give the balding elderlies a nice change from thermometers and stethoscopes.

Prudence drove herself up to London in her down-at-heel little Fiat. She had friends at the hospital where she had been working, and one of them, the junior in the team of theatre Sisters, had agreed to garage the car at her flat provided she might have the use of it, a plan which suited Prudence very well. She left the car, took out her luggage from its boot and hailed a taxi to take her to her godmother’s flat. It was in an Edwardian building along the Embankment, very ornate outwardly, but a haven of quiet luxury once past its well-guarded entrance. Prudence left her luggage with the hall porter and took herself up to the first floor, to be admitted by her godmother’s elderly maid, a dour, middle-aged spinster with the unlikely name of Miss Pretty.

Prudence greeted her cheerfully, knowing that beneath the gloomy face there lurked a loyal, kind heart. “The porter’s bringing up the luggage, Pretty. Is Aunt Beatrix in?”

“Waiting for you, Miss Prudence, and tea on the table.”

“Good, I could do with a cup. You are coming with us, Pretty?”

“Madam couldn’t manage without me,” said Pretty austerely. “Not that I care for foreign parts myself, although it’s quite nice where we’re going.” Her stern features relaxed slightly. “Madam’s that pleased that you’ll be coming with her.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” declared Prudence, and added, “Shall I go in? The drawing-room?”

Mrs Wesley offered a cheek to be kissed. “Dear child, how nice you look! Sit down and let’s have tea. I thought a quiet evening? We shall be leaving after breakfast. That good man Best will drive us to Heathrow.” Best carried on a hired car business from the mews behind the flats, and Aunt Beatrix would have no other.

“And at Schiphol?” prompted Prudence, sinking her splendid teeth into a scone.

“My sister is sending her car to meet us.” Mrs Wesley sipped her milkless tea and watched her goddaughter make a splendid meal. She said with a trace of envy, “You can eat anything you like? You don’t put on weight?”

“Not an ounce, and that’s a blessing, since I’m what our Vicar calls a fine figure of a woman, which is a polite way of saying that I’m a big girl.”

Her godmother glanced down at her own ample proportions. “You’re tall enough to carry it,” she observed, “and I flatter myself that I’m able to do the same.”

Prudence nodded a cheerful agreement and began on a cucumber sandwich.

They left the next morning, and Prudence, in the habit of throwing a few things into the back of the Fiat and driving away, was taken aback by her godmother’s elaborate preparations for a journey which would take less than half a day. For a start, the amount of luggage was sufficient for a stay of several months, and comprised a number of old-fashioned and very bulky hatboxes, an awkwardly shaped leather case which Pretty clung to as though her very life depended on doing so, a large trunk which required two men to lift it, and a variety of suitcases. Prudence, with one case and an overnight bag, began to wonder if she had packed enough clothes to compete with such a vast wardrobe. It took some considerable time to hoist everything into the boot, and even then poor Pretty, sitting in front with Best, had a conglomeration of umbrellas, travelling rugs and the awkward box, as well as her own modest luggage. The sum of money to pay on excess baggage would be considerable—something which of course Aunt Beatrix, with a more than adequate supply of the world’s riches, could ignore.

Prudence admired her almost regal indifference to the hustle and bustle of Heathrow when they reached it; it was left to herself, Pretty and Best to organise porters, find the right desk and settle the question of excess baggage, although to give Aunt Beatrix her due, she paid up without a murmur when asked to do so before making her stately progress towards the departure gate. Prudence, a law-abiding girl, had always thought one should arrive, as asked, one hour before the plane departed, but this was something her godmother had either overlooked or considered unnecessary. They bade Best goodbye and made their way through the security check and into the area set aside for outgoing passengers. It was almost empty and they were among the last on board. First class, of course, and Aunt Beatrix, in the nicest possible way, wanting her seat changed, a cushion for her head and the promise of a glass of brandy as soon as they were airborne. She disliked air travel, she informed the stewardess in a ringing voice, and expressed the hope that the Captain was an experienced man. Having been reassured about this and having had her seat-belt fastened, she gave Prudence, sitting beside her, her handbag to hold, arranged herself comfortably and went to sleep. The stewardess, coming presently with the brandy, gave it to Prudence instead. She drank it, since it was a pity to waste it, and ordered one for Pretty, who sipped it delicately, making it last for almost the whole of their flight.

Mrs Wesley woke as the plane started its descent to Schiphol, observed that the flight had been a pleasant one, and warned Prudence, who had the tickets, to be sure she didn’t lose them.

The rather slow business of getting from the plane to the airport exit went without a hitch; with the luggage piled high on three trolleys, they arrived in the open air to find a uniformed chauffeur waiting for them.

He greeted Mrs Wesley with great politeness, acknowledged Prudence’s polite good morning with a bowed head and grinned at Pretty. The car waiting for them was a very large Mercedes into which Aunt Beatrix stepped and settled herself comfortably, leaving everyone else to load in the luggage, with Prudence giving advice which only Pretty understood and the porters taking no notice of anyone at all. But at length everything was stowed away to the chauffeur’s satisfaction; he held the door politely for Prudence to get in beside her godmother, saw Pretty into the seat beside him and drove off.

“We go around Amsterdam,” explained Aunt Beatrix, “and join the motorway going north. We shall cross the Afsluitdijk into Friesland, and from there we drive across Friesland very nearly to Groningen Province. I think you’ll find the country pleasant enough; there should be a map in the pocket beside you, dear, so you can see exactly where you are. I shall compose myself and take a nap—I find travelling very fatiguing.”

Prudence somehow choked back a giggle, and presently opened the map.

She hadn’t realised quite how small Holland was. They were on the Afsluitdijk within two hours, speeding towards the distant coastline of Friesland; they must be almost there. Aunt Maud had warned her that she might expect to find her hostess’s home somewhat larger than her own. “I visited there once, a long time ago,” Aunt Maud had said, “and I remember I was rather impressed.”

The car swept on, skirting Franeker and Leeuwarden, racing along the main road towards Groningen. What was more, Prudence had seen very few country houses, but numerous villages, each with its church, offering useful landmarks in the rolling countryside, and any number of large prosperous farms. She was wondering just where they would end up when the chauffeur turned the car on to a narrow brick road, and within minutes they had left the modern world behind them. There were trees ahead of them and a glimpse of red roofs, and, as though Mrs Wesley had secreted an alarm clock about her person, she opened her eyes, sat up straight, and said in a satisfied voice, “Ah, we’re arriving at last,” just as though she had been awake all the time. She said something to the chauffeur in Dutch and he replied at some length as they slowed through a small village; a pretty place surrounded by trees and overseen by a red brick church in its centre. The road was cobbled now and the car slowed to a walking pace as it rounded the centre of the village and took a narrow road on the other side.

“A lake?” asked Prudence. “How delightful!” She was still craning her neck to get a better view when the car was driven between stone pillars and along a curved drive, thickly bordered by shrubs and trees. It was quite short and ended in a wide sweep before a large, square house with a gabled roof, a very large front door reached by double steps and orderly rows of large windows. There was a formal flower garden facing it beyond the sweep, and an assortment of trees in a semicircle around it. Prudence, getting out of the car, decided that it was rather nice in a massive, simple way. It might lack the mellow red brick beauty of Aunt Maud’s home, but it had charm of its own, standing solidly in all the splendour of its white walls in the May sunshine.

The procession, led by Mrs Wesley with Prudence behind her and tailed by Pretty and the chauffeur, carrying the first of the baggage, mounted the steps, to be welcomed by a stout man with cropped white hair and bright blue eyes. He made what Prudence supposed to be a speech of welcome, and stood aside to allow them into a vestibule which in turn opened into an oval entrance hall. Very grand, reflected Prudence, with pillars supporting an elaborate plaster ceiling and some truly hideous large vases arranged in the broad niches around the walls. The floor was black-and-white marble and cold to the feet.

There were numerous doors, and the stout man opened one and ushered them into a large room furnished in the style of the Second Empire, with heavy brocade curtains at its windows and a vast carpet on its polished floor. Aunt Beatrix took off her gloves, asked Pretty to see that the luggage was brought in and taken to their rooms, and sat down in a massive armchair. “Wim will let my sister’s maid know that we have arrived,” she observed, “but first we’ll have coffee. I suggest that while I’m seeing my sister you might like to stroll through the gardens for half an hour.”

Prudence agreed cheerfully. “And when do you take your insulin?” she wanted to know.

“Ah, yes, I mustn’t forget that, must I, my dear? And my diet…”

“You have it with you? Shall I go and see someone about it? It’s very important.”

Her godmother was searching through her handbag. “I have it here, but I shall need to translate it. How many grammes are there in an ounce?”

They worked out a lunch diet while they drank their coffee, and gave the result to Wim, and Mrs Wesley said comfortably, “I shall leave you to arrange dinner for me, dear; if you’ll write it out I can translate it…I dare say you’re clever enough to ring the changes.”

Prudence agreed placidly, concealing the fact that she was a surgical nurse and had always loathed diabetics anyway. “You’d like me to see to your insulin, too?” she asked.

Her godmother nodded. “But of course, Prudence.”

A small, stout, apple-cheeked woman came presently to take Mrs Wesley to her sister. Before she went, she suggested once again that Prudence should go into the garden around the house. “My sister will want to meet you,” she concluded, “but first we must have a chat.”

When she had gone, Prudence wandered over to the doors opening on to the terrace behind the house and went outside. The gardens were a picture of neatness and orderliness. Tulips stood in rows, masses of them, with clumps of wallflowers and forget-me-nots between them. All very formal and Dutch, she reflected, and made her way past the side of the house, down a narrow path and through a small wooden gate. The path meandered here, between shrubs she couldn’t name, and there were clumps of wild flowers, ground ivy and the last of a splendid carpet of bluebells. She turned a corner and ran full tilt into a man digging. He straightened up, and said something in Dutch and turned to look at her. He was tall and heavily built, so that she felt quite dwarfed beside him. She had read somewhere that the people of Friesland and Groningen were massively built, and this man was certainly proof of that; he was handsome, too, with lint-fair hair, cut unfashionably short, bright blue eyes, a disdainful nose and a firm mouth. The gardener, she assumed, and murmured a polite good day.

He stood leaning on his spade, inspecting her so that after a moment she frowned at him. And when he grinned and spoke to her in Dutch she said sharply, “Don’t stare like that! What a pity I can’t speak Dutch.” And at his slow smile she flushed pinkly and turned on her heel. So silly to get riled, she told herself, walking away with great dignity. He hadn’t said a word—or at least, none that she could understand.

She went back into the house and presently she was taken upstairs to a vast bedroom and introduced to Aunt Beatrix’s sister—Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga, a rather more stately version of Aunt Beatrix, if that were possible, sitting up in bed against a pile of very large linen-covered pillows. Despite her stateliness, she looked ill, and Prudence eyed her with some uneasiness. She enquired tentatively after her hostess’s health, and was reassured to hear that her doctor visited her daily and was quite satisfied with her progress. “He should be here any minute,” declared Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga, and, exactly on cue, there was a tap on the door and he came into the room. The gardener, no less.

CHAPTER TWO

AUNT BEATRIX swam forward and enveloped him in her vast embrace. “My dear boy, how delightful to see you again and to know that you are taking such good care of your aunt! We’ve only just arrived…” She had spoken in English and turned to glance at Prudence, standing with her mouth deplorably half-open and with a heightened colour. “Prudence, this is my nephew—at least, he’s my sister’s nephew; Haso ter Brons Huizinga. Haso, this is Prudence Makepeace who has kindly come with me so that there’s someone to look after me. She’s a nurse.”

Prudence offered a hand and nodded coldly. He didn’t look like a gardener any more; he had rolled down his shirt sleeves and put on a beautifully tailored jacket, and his hands looked as though he had never done a day’s work, let alone dig a garden. He held her hand firmly and didn’t let it go. “Ah, yes, Prudence, I’ve heard a good deal about you.”

A remark which annoyed her. She said sharply, “You could have said who you were!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

She was stumped for an answer.

He said thoughtfully, “You aren’t my idea of a Prudence.”

“Indeed?” She had managed to get her hand back at last.

He put his handsome head on one side, contemplating her. “Small and pink and white and clinging.”

He shook his head and she said tartly, “What a disappointment I must be, Doctor—er—ter Brons Huizinga, not that your opinion interests me…”

“Oh, dear, we’ve started off on the wrong foot, haven’t we?”

Aunt Beatrix had gone over to her sister’s bed, but now she paused in what she was saying and turned to look at them. She said in her rather loud voice, “Getting to know each other? That’s right, you young people will have a lot in common.”

“Young?” murmured Prudence unforgivably, and looked pointedly at his hair—there was quite a lot of grey in it. She was annoyed when he laughed. “Well, I dare say you must seem young to my aunt,” she added kindly.

He didn’t answer, but strolled over to the bed. “Aunt Emma, I should like to take a look at you as I’m here. Would you like your maid here? Or better still, could Prudence help you?”

Aunt Beatrix got up. “Why, of course she will. I shall go to my room until luncheon. Before you go, Haso, will you arrange a diet for me? I have a letter from Dr Lockett in London. Insulin, you know,” she added vaguely.

He opened the door for her. “Of course, Aunt Beatrix.” He added something in Dutch to make her laugh and then returned to the bedside.

He was very much the doctor now. For Prudence’s benefit he spoke English, although from time to time he lapsed into his own language while he talked to his aunt. When he had finished his examination he sat down on the side of her bed. “You’re doing very nicely, and now you’re in your own house you’ll do even better. You may get up tomorrow for a short time: I’m sure you’re in capable hands.” He glanced at Prudence, who looked rather taken aback; she had been prepared to keep an eye on Aunt Beatrix, but now here was a second elderly lady to worry about.

“Aunt Emma has a splendid maid, quite able to cope if you would prefer that.” His eyes were on her face, but she refused to look at him. Instead she turned a smiling look towards the bed’s occupant.

“I shall enjoy looking after you,” she said firmly.

“That’s settled, then—we’d better deal with this diet, had we not?” He glanced at his watch. “I have ten minutes to spare. Perhaps you could get the diet sheets and instructions about the insulin and bring them down to the small sitting-room.”

Prudence hadn’t the least idea where the small sitting-room might be—indeed, she reflected, neither did she know where her room was. Presumably someone would tell her in their own good time. She wished Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga a temporary goodbye and went through the door he was holding open. She had swept past him rather grandly, only to stop short in the corridor outside. She had not the least idea where to go.

“Aunt Beatrix will be in her usual room—go to the end of this corridor and turn left, it’s the first door on your right.” He caught her arm. “It will be quicker if I show you. Do you know where your room is?”

“No, but I hope someone will tell me before bedtime.”

He stopped, and she perforce stopped with him. “Not much of a welcome. You should have been warned that the Aunts take it for granted that their minds are read and their wishes carried out without the necessity of them needing to put them into words.” He walked on again, turned a corner and nodded towards a door. “There’s Aunt Beatrix’s room. The sitting-room is on the left at the bottom of the staircase.”

Aunt Beatrix was resting on her bed watching Pretty unpack. “There you are, dear child. Luncheon will be in twenty minutes—in the family dining-room. Do you want something?”

Prudence collected the diet sheets, the insulin and the doctor’s letter and went downstairs. Dr ter Brons Huizinga came to the door as she reached the last stair. “In here, Prudence—you don’t mind if I call you Prudence?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer but started reading the letter, having first invited her to sit down. The room was rather pleasant, although she found the furniture rather heavy. But it was beautifully cared for, and the ornaments and silver scattered around were museum pieces. She glanced up and found the doctor’s eyes upon her. He smiled suddenly, and just for a moment she liked him, but the smile went as quickly as it had come, and he turned away to a chair opposite hers.

“There couldn’t be a worse diabetic than Aunt Beatrix,” he observed in his faintly accented English. “Keeping her to a diet won’t be too bad, but once she’s stabilised and off injections, the chances of her remembering to take her pills are slight. However, we’ll do our best.”

He got out his pen and spread the diet sheet on his knee and began to write it out in Dutch. Prudence sat and looked at him; he really was very good-looking, and far too sure of himself, almost arrogant. She wondered where he lived, and as he put his pen away she asked, “Do you live here, too?”

“No. Now, the insulin…”

Prudence blushed at the snub, although she supposed she had deserved it. She listened to his instructions, received back the diet sheet and his own written instructions as well as the doctor’s letter and the insulin, and got up to go.

“Presumably you’re on the telephone if I should need you?”

“Indeed I am.” He opened the door and then shut it again before she could reach it. “Tell me, did you expect there to be a nurse here to look after Aunt Emma?”

She raised her eyes to his. “Well, yes, I did—I mean, Aunt Beatrix asked me to come along, too because she was a little uncertain about the diabetes.”

“The naughty old thing,” he observed softly. “I’ll get a nurse from Leeuwarden; she can be here by this evening.”

“No, please don’t do that, Doctor. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself all day, and there’ll be very little to do for your aunt.”

“Coals of fire, Prudence?”

“Pooh,” said Prudence roundly, “such rubbish! Perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell me what you want done.” She went on loftily, “I’ve been in charge of a twenty-bedded ward for some years, so I’m quite capable of looking after both your aunts.”

“I have no doubt of it. I’ll stay to lunch, and afterwards we can decide what’s best for the pair of them.”

He opened the door and she went past him into the hall, not knowing where to go next. “In here,” he said, and opened another door. “Time for a drink before we lunch.”

“I should like to go to my room.”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ll get someone to take you up; come back here and I’ll have some sherry poured for you.” He added carelessly, “Don’t be too long.”

A remark calculated to convince Prudence that it would take her at least fifteen minutes to see to her face and do her hair to her liking. And who did he think he was, giving orders in his aunt’s house? She followed a cheerful young girl up the staircase and down a corridor at the end of which was the pleasant room she was shown into, with windows overlooking the grounds at the back of the house. Her clothes were already unpacked, she noticed, and there were towels and soap arranged in the adjoining bathroom. She sat down before the dressing-table mirror and peered at her reflection. Her face needed very little done to it; she dabbed on some powder, applied lipstick and took down her hair and did it up again, not because it needed it, but because the doctor had told her not to be long. Really, she admonished her reflection, it wouldn’t do at all; she would have to see quite a lot of him at least for the next few days, and she must at least pretend to like him. Which reminded her that it would be a step in the right direction if she didn’t keep him waiting too long.

If he had noticed that Prudence had been at least twice as long as he had expected, he gave no sign, and presently Aunt Beatrix joined them and they crossed the hall to the dining-room, a forbidding apartment with a massive sideboard weighed down with quantities of silver and a table large enough to seat a dozen people. The meal was simple but elegantly served, and her companions carried on a conversation about nothing much, taking care to include her in it. They must be longing to lapse into their own tongue, she reflected, but neither of them gave a hint of wanting to do so, and when they had had their coffee the doctor invited her into a small room leading off the dining-room and asked her to sit down.

The next half-hour was spent in a résumé of Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga’s state of health, with a polite request for Prudence to keep an eye on her and call him if she was worried, and a somewhat detailed discussion about Aunt Beatrix. At the end of it he thanked her with cool politeness, begged her to say immediately if she found her responsibilities too heavy for her, observed that he would be in on the following day and wished her goodbye.

Prudence sat where she was for a little while, contemplating the next week or so. It was obvious to her that this was to be no ordinary visit; Aunt Beatrix, much as she loved her, had behaved quite ruthlessly, no doubt pleased with herself for having found someone to look after both herself and her sister. On the other hand, in all fairness, she was going to live in the lap of luxury, and possibly when she had found her feet there would be the chance to do some sightseeing. She allowed her thoughts to dwell on the delicious cheese soufflé which had been served at lunch, and decided that the pros more than outweighed the cons.

Both ladies snoozed in the afternoons; Prudence took herself into the gardens and explored. They were too formal for her liking, but since it was a warm afternoon she found them pleasant enough, and presently found a nice sheltered corner in the sun and curled up on the grass and went off to sleep.

“Sleeping Beauty?” asked a gently mocking voice which brought her wide awake, just for the moment quite scattered in her wits so that she blinked up at the doctor leaning over her.

“Oh, it’s you again!” she declared crossly. “I might have known!”

“Not Sleeping Beauty,” he observed blandly, “just a cross girl. I came in on my way back from hospital to tell you that I shall be in Amsterdam tomorrow and probably for the next few days as well. I’ve left a telephone number on the hall table; my partner will come at once if you need anyone. He speaks English.” He turned on his heel. “Your hair’s coming down,” he told her, and walked away towards the house.

She watched him go; never in her whole life had she met a man she disliked so much!

She went back to the house presently, but only when she had heard a car driving away. Aunt Beatrix was in the drawing-room, the tea-tray in front of her. “Go and tidy yourself, my dear, and we’ll have tea together. My sister is still sleeping. Haso has been here again—I expect you saw him.”

Prudence said that yes, she had, and she would only be two ticks tidying herself for tea, and sped away to her room. She got back to the drawing-room just in time to remove a large chocolate cake from Aunt Beatrix’s vicinity.

“You’re on a diet,” she reminded her. “You must keep fit so that you can help Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga…”

“You’re quite right, dear. I think you might address my sister as Aunt Emma. We’re to be together for some time, and I have always thought of you as my niece.”

Prudence thanked her nicely and eyed the chocolate cake; it seemed mean to have some when her companion was nibbling at a dry-looking biscuit. She would probably lose a lot of weight, she reflected gloomily, and gave herself another cup of tea with plenty of milk and sugar.

She spent an hour or so with Aunt Beatrix after tea, then went to see Aunt Emma. Aunt Emma’s maid, Sieke, seemed pleased enough to have help in getting her mistress settled for the night, a by no means simple task, since Aunt Emma was a law unto herself, knowing better than anyone else and determined to have her own way at all costs. Sieke cast her a grateful look when at last they had the lady with her incongruous wishes nicely settled against her pillows with the promise of a light supper to buoy her up. They had not, of course, been able to talk together—Sieke had no English and Prudence had no Dutch—but they had had no need of words; it was apparent that Sieke was quite willing for Prudence to take over any nursing care necessary and felt no animosity about it.

Prudence went along to her own room, showered and changed into one of the pretty dresses Aunt Maud had advised her to pack. “And a good thing, too,” she muttered as she poked at her hair, “if I’m to live up to the splendour of the dining-room.”

It was indeed splendid—white damask, shining silver and polished glass and a massive centrepiece which effectively blocked her view of Aunt Beatrix, resplendent in black velvet. Conversation, carried on in raised voice over the length of the table, was concerned wholly with Aunt Beatrix’s diet and her sister’s health. Prudence managed to make a splendid meal before joining her godmother in the drawing-room for coffee, and then she sat listening to a somewhat rambling history of the family. “Of course, your Aunt Emma married very well: her husband was a younger brother of Haso’s father and they’re a wealthy family. One wonders why the dear boy works so hard at being a doctor when he might be living quietly at his home.”

“Perhaps he likes being a doctor?” suggested Prudence mildly.

“Possibly. But his mother would like to see him married—there are several suitable young women…”

Not very interested, Prudence observed, “Perhaps he’s a confirmed bachelor. He’s not young.”

Her godmother sighed and said reprovingly, “A mere three and thirty, a splendid age at which to marry.”

Prudence longed to ask why, but decided not to.

Her godmother proceeded, “There’s no lack of young women who would be only too glad to marry him.”

“Oh, really?” said Prudence politely. “Then why doesn’t he? Marry, I mean?”

“You don’t like him,” observed her godmother suddenly.

“I don’t know him, Aunt Beatrix. How could I possibly dislike or like him after only a few minutes’ conversation with him?”

“That is, of course, true,” conceded her godmother. “You’ll naturally get to know each other during the next week or so.”

An unnecessary exercise as far as Prudence was concerned.

The following day gave her a very good idea of what was to come. She awoke refreshed from a sound night’s sleep to find her aunt’s maid standing by her bed with early morning tea.

Her “Good morning, Pretty” was answered a little sourly.

“Well, good morning it may be for some,” declared Pretty, “but I’m sure I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Prudence; it couldn’t be too dire, the house’s inmates were barely awake.

“There’s Madam, wanting rolls and butter and croissants with more butter and marmalade, with scrambled eggs and bacon, and sugar in her coffee…”

Prudence scrambled up higher against her pillows. “That won’t do. I’ll come and see my aunt, Pretty—it’s no good her having a diet if she’s not going to keep to it. Don’t you worry now, go and have your breakfast, if you like. I’ll let you know what’s happening.”

She got out of bed and flung on her gown, a gossamer affair of crêpe-de-Chine and lace which matched her nightie.

“That cost a pretty penny,” declared Pretty severely.

Prudence agreed readily. “I like pretty things.” She smiled at Pretty and stuck her feet into satin slippers trimmed extravagantly with satin bows, then took herself out of the room to visit her aunt.

Mrs Wesley was sitting up in her bed sipping milkless tea in a discontented fashion, and it took all of ten minutes to coax her to have the breakfast she was allowed and not the one she wanted, but Prudence was used to dealing with recalcitrant patients, and presently she went away to dress and go downstairs for her own breakfast—the last peaceful minutes she was to have until lunch time, as it happened. Between them, Mrs Wesley and her sister kept her busy for the entire morning; their demands for this and that and the other were numerous, uttered with charm and a stately determination to have their own way. It was a relief to everyone when they consented to rest on their beds after lunch. Prudence tucked them up with soothing murmurs, waited until she heard their gentle snores, and escaped into the gardens. It was a splendid day, warm for the time of year. She found a pleasant seat in a quiet corner and opened her book.

It was obvious that each meal was going to be a battle of wills between herself and her godmother. Prudence reflected that it was a good thing that Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga had a well-staffed household, devoted to her. There was to be no lack of help when Prudence was summoned to get that lady from her bed, an undertaking which took a great deal of time and almost all her patience. All in all, she thought as she got ready for bed that night, a busy day, and as far as she could see, all the other days would be the same.

They were, at least for the next three days, but by now she had a routine, frequently disrupted by the vagaries of the two elderly ladies, but none the less workable. Not speaking Dutch was a disadvantage, of course, but it was amazing what could be done with arm-waving and pointing.

The fourth day came and went and there was no sign of Haso, and although Prudence reminded herself that she disliked the man intensely, none the less, she wished he would come. It had been rather unfair, she reflected, giving way to a self-pity she seldom indulged in, that she had been left with the responsibility of the aunts. Of course, she could get his partner at any time, but that wasn’t the same thing… She got into bed with something of a bounce and declared to the empty room, “Well, I suppose he’ll turn up sooner or later.”

Sooner, as it turned out.

She wakened to the sound of Pretty’s urgent voice hissing at her.

“Miss Prudence, for heaven’s sake, wake up—there’s something wrong with Madam, and there you are snoring your head off!”

Prudence opened one eye. “I never snore.”

Pretty gave her shoulder a little shake. “Oh, do listen—you must listen! I know there’s something wrong, Madam’s lying there and I can’t rouse her! I can’t think why I went to see if she was all right, but she’s not…”

Prudence was out of her bed, feeling around for her slippers with her feet.

“Hyperglycaemic coma,” she said, although she still wasn’t quite awake.

Pretty said sharply, “Call it anything you like, my Madam’s ill.”

She was quite right; Mrs Wesley, as far as Prudence could judge, was in a diabetic coma, although they couldn’t think of a reason for it. She had eaten her diet, every morsel, at dinner—Prudence herself had seen to that—and her insulin had been the correct dosage. She took a brief look at her godmother and went swiftly to the telephone.

It was Dr ter Brons Huizinga who answered her, and she didn’t waste time with so much as a hello. “Mrs Wesley—she’s in a hyperglycaemic coma—deep, sighing breaths. I’m unable to rouse her at all…”

He cut her short. “I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.”

Prudence went back to her godmother and then got out the insulin and syringe. “And if you’d go down to the front door and let the doctor in, Pretty?”

He was as good as his word; she was bending over Mrs Wesley when he came into the room.

He didn’t bother to greet her, his, “Well, what has she been eating?” was uttered in a voice which, while not accusing, certainly held no warmth.

“Her normal diet. I had all my meals with her and I’m certain of that.”

He was examining the unconscious figure on the bed. “Aunt Emma—dined in her bed?”

“Yes, of course. She only gets up for an hour or two in the afternoon.”

“She had a normal meal this evening?”

Prudence’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, my goodness! Aunt Beatrix went to sit with her…but that was after Pretty had taken the tray away. She had coffee…” She gave a small gasp. “Some friends called to see her today and left a large box of chocolates.” She stared as his expression changed. “You think…?”

“Let us assume that it’s the chocolates.”

He had nothing more to say, but set about the business of dealing with his patient, an intravenous saline drip, soluble insulin given intravenously, following this with an even larger dose by injection, a blood sugar test and specimens taken for testing. He worked quietly, quickly and calmly, talking only when it was necessary, taking it for granted that Prudence knew what she was doing, too.

It was early morning, two hours later, before Mrs Wesley showed signs of coming out of her coma. An hour later, after a small injection of insulin and glucose to counterbalance its effect, she was completely conscious. Prudence heaved a relieved sigh and longed for a cup of tea, just as Pretty poked her head round the door in a cautious manner and hissed, “Tea?”

It was Dr ter Brons Huizinga who answered her in a normal voice.

“A splendid idea, Pretty—and while you are getting it perhaps you, Prudence, would go and get a fruit drink for my aunt.”

There was a beautiful dawn breaking as she went down to the kitchen; she fetched the drink, gave it to a remarkably subdued patient and then accepted a cup of tea from the tray Pretty had fetched.

“I’m going back home,” observed the doctor. “I want two-hourly testing, and for the time being around thirty grams of carbohydrate four-hourly. I’ll be back after morning surgery, but please phone if you’re worried.”

Prudence looked at him with cold dislike, but said with deceptive meekness, “Very well, Doctor. Presumably you’ll arrange for someone to take over while I dress, eat breakfast and cast an eye over your other aunt?”

He said cordially, “Most certainly, since you feel you can’t cope.”

She said tartly, “Don’t be so unreasonable—of course I can cope, and you know it, but I doubt if you intend to take your surgery dressed as you are and with a bristly chin, too. So why should I spend the morning in a dressing-gown until you choose to do something about it?”

“It’s a charming garment; for my part, you have no need to dress.”

Her dark eyes flashed with temper; she said with chilling civility, “I suppose you can’t help being rude!”

He looked as if he was going to laugh, but all he said was, “If you could dress yourself and eat breakfast in half an hour, I’ll stay—but not a moment longer.”

Prudence sniffed, “How kind!” She cast a glance at Aunt Beatrix, lying with her eyes shut, looking more or less normal again, and whisked herself away.

Pretty, encountered on her way to her room, promised breakfast in ten minutes, and Prudence, with years of practice at dressing at speed in hospital, showered, donned a cotton top and a wide, flower-patterned skirt, tied her hair with a ribbon, and, since the ten minutes was up, left her face unmade-up before going down to the kitchen where the faithful Pretty was waiting with coffee and toast.

“Mevrouw’s cook may be out of the top drawer, but she hasn’t an idea how to cook a decent breakfast. All this bread and bits and pieces to put on it—give me bacon and eggs and a mushroom or two…”

Prudence, her teeth buried in her first slice of toast, agreed indistinctly. “When in Rome, do as Rome does,” she added, and helped herself to a slice of cheese.

“Madam will be all right now?” asked Pretty anxiously.

“I believe so—we caught her in time. I do hope she won’t do it again.”

She munched steadily for a few minutes, swallowed her coffee and got up. “I’ll take a quick peep at Aunt Emma. Will someone see to her breakfast?”

“Don’t you worry, miss, there’s help enough in this place. Has the doctor gone yet?”

“No, but he will the moment I get back to Aunt Beatrix.”

“Such a nice young man!” Pretty allowed her stern features to relax into a sentimental smile.

Prudence didn’t think this remark worth answering. She thanked her companion for her breakfast and flew upstairs, two minutes in hand.

Aunt Emma was still snoring peacefully; she skimmed along the corridor and went into Aunt Beatrix’s room.

“Ah, there you are.” Dr ter Brons Huizinga glanced at his watch, an observation which did nothing to improve her opinion of him, uttered as it was in a tone of pained patience.

“Half an hour exactly,” she pointed out. “If you’d give me your instructions…?”

He did so, watched by his patient, lying back on her pillows now, with the drip taken down, looking almost normal again. “Perhaps you would be good enough to fetch the notes I left by my aunt’s bed when I last visited her?”

He watched her with a slightly sardonic expression while she bit back the desire to tell him he could fetch them for himself on his way downstairs. With a slightly heightened colour, she went out of the room and Aunt Beatrix remarked from her bed, “You don’t like each other?” She sounded so disappointed.

Haso was strolling about the room, his hands in his pockets. “My dear Aunt—given the fact that we’ve both been out of our beds since about one o’clock this morning, and are in consequence a trifle edgy, I hardly think your observation applies.”

“Well, I do hope not. She’s a sweet girl, and so sensible.” She studied his face. “She’s extremely pretty, Haso.”

“Indeed she is. Also not very biddable and a little too sharp in the tongue. Probably due, as I’ve already said, to having to get out of her bed so very early in the morning.”

“I’m very sorry…but the chocolates were most tempting.”

He smiled very kindly at her. “I’m sure they were, only don’t be tempted again. Be a good soul and keep to your diet, and in no time at all you’ll be able to have all sorts of little extras. They make special chocolate for diabetics, you know.”

Mrs Wesley brightened. “Oh, do they? Good. How is your Aunt Emma, my dear?”

“Doing very nicely. I’ll go and see her now.” He kissed his aunt’s cheek, nodded casually to Prudence, who had just returned, took his notes from her and went away, whistling cheerfully.

The day passed uneventfully; it was amazing how quickly Mrs Wesley recovered. By teatime she was sitting in her sister’s room, exchanging somewhat exaggerated accounts of their illnesses. The doctor had been back again, pronounced himself satisfied as to their conditions, and gone again after a brief talk with Prudence. Very professional and standoffish he was, too, she thought, watching his vast back disappearing down the staircase.

She wondered where he lived, but she hadn’t liked to ask anyone, and certainly not him; she could imagine how he would look down his arrogant nose at her and tell her, in the most polite way possible, to mind her own business.

Mrs Wesley appeared to have learnt her lesson, and her sister was making steady progress; Prudence felt free to spend a little time on her own, exploring. The lake she had glimpsed on her arrival was close by; she found her way to it without much difficulty, circled it, poking her pretty nose into a boathouse on its near shore and then on the following afternoon wandering down to the village, where she bought postcards and stamps at the one shop; easily done by pointing to whatever she wanted and offering a handful of coins she had borrowed from her aunt. It had been foolish of her not to have thought of getting some Dutch money before she had left England; traveller’s cheques were of no use at all.

The doctor called briefly on the following days. It was at the end of one of these visits that he surprised Prudence very much by suggesting that she might like to go to Leeuwarden. “My aunts are well enough to leave to Pretty and Aunt Emma’s maid for a few hours; you must wish to see a little of the country while you’re here.”

She said baldly, “I want to go to a bank and change my cheques. I had no idea that Aunt Emma lived so far away from a town…”

“Not far at all,” he corrected her. “I’m going to Leeuwarden after lunch tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift.”

“How kind. How do I get back?”

“I’ll show you where to wait until I pick you up.” He was refusing to be nettled by her faintly cross voice.

She thanked him with cool politeness, and since he just stood there, looking at her and saying nothing, she felt compelled to make some sort of conversation.

“The lake is charming,” she commented, “and I walked to the village—are there other villages close by?” She gave him an innocently questioning look in the hope that he might say where he lived.

His laconic “several” was annoyingly unhelpful.

Her two patients behaved in an exemplary fashion. She helped get Aunt Emma out of her bed before lunch, had her own meal with Aunt Beatrix, an eagle eye on that diet, and then hurried away to change.

She was not dressing to impress the doctor, she assured her reflection as she got into a jersey three-piece in a flattering shade of pale green, thrust her feet into high-heeled, expensive shoes, found their matching handbag and, with a last look at her pleasing appearance, went downstairs.

Haso was in the hall, sitting on the edge of a console table, reading a newspaper and whistling cheerfully. He got up when he saw her, wished her good day and added blandly, “Oh, charming—for my benefit, I hope?”

“Certainly not, pray disabuse yourself of any such idea.”

“Not an idea, just a faint hope. I thought it would be nice if we could cry truce for a couple of hours.”

Prudence said calmly, “I’m quite prepared to be friendly, Dr ter Brons Huizinga…”

“Call me Haso, it’s quicker. Good, let’s go, then.”

There was a dark grey Daimler outside on the sweep before the house. He opened her door and she settled herself comfortably, prepared to enjoy the drive.

She certainly did. Haso took a small country road to begin with, joined a quiet main road after a few miles and then went across country until they traversed the outskirts of Leeuwarden. The scenery was green and calm, with cows in the wide fields and every so often a canal cutting through the quiet landscape. The doctor was on his best behaviour; he discoursed at length about their surroundings in a serious voice which none the less gave Prudence the uneasy feeling that he was secretly amused. But he had cried truce for the afternoon, and she for her part was prepared to keep to that. She answered him when called upon to do so, and felt vague relief when they reached the outskirts of the town—a relief which turned to indignation when he observed silkily, “Boring, isn’t it, being on our best behaviour? Shall we agree to disagree when we feel like it?”

She swallowed her astonishment, but before she could decide what to say he had stopped the car in a quiet street.

“Out you get,” he told her. “Turn left at the corner and you’ll find you’re within yards of the centre of the town. You’ll see the Weigh House across the street—I’ll be there two hours from now. You can’t get lost, the shops are all close by and there are several banks where you can change your cheques. Tot ziens.”

He had driven off before Prudence could frame a reply. She hadn’t known quite what to expect, but certainly she hadn’t imagined she would be dumped off with so little ceremony. She wasn’t going to waste time over him; she went to the corner, and sure enough it was exactly as he had said.

She cashed her cheques, took a closer look at the Weigh House and then strolled around the shops; there were several small things she needed; it was rather fun to pick them out for herself and compare the prices. She spent quite a considerable time at a silversmiths, choosing beautifully made coffee-spoons for Aunt Maud, and then browsing around its counters. Indeed, it was pure chance that she glanced at the clock and saw that it was five minutes past the two hours she had been allowed.

The Weigh House wasn’t far way; she could see the Daimler parked nearby and approached it with some trepidation; the doctor might be someone she didn’t like, but he was also a man to be reckoned with.

She braced herself for whatever he was going to say.

Nothing. He got out of the car, opened her door for her and got back in only then, saying mildly, “We’ll have tea, shall we? I telephoned the aunts—everything is quite all right, so Pretty tells me. We’ll go home—my mother would like to meet you.” He spoilt it all by adding silkily, “And I’m sure you’re dying to know where I live.”

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