Читать книгу Never too Late - Бетти Нилс - Страница 7

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!