Читать книгу Paradise for Two - Betty Neels, Бетти Нилс - Страница 8

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.”