by Betty Neels
They were on the E10, the motorway taking them to Rotterdam, before she said in a little voice, ‘Benedict, I must know—I don’t even know where we’re going.’
‘The Hoek, my love—to catch the night ferry. We can just about get to Mull by tomorrow evening.’
‘Mull?’ she echoed stupidly.
‘Christmas with your sister. Do you suppose she will invite me if I ask her?’
There was a short silence while Cassandra, her wits addled, digested this. ‘Paula?’ she asked at length.
‘My dear darling, Paula will be married before the New Year.’
‘Yes, but you let me think that you and she—when I came to see you and you were b-beastly...’
He took a hand briefly from the steering wheel and laid it over hers.
‘Cassandra, you remember when we met in the hospital, and I was cruel—Viske had just told me that it seemed possible that I was going to lose my sight again. You were quite right when you asked me if my eyes were troubling me. There were, only I wouldn’t admit it. You see, I had waited all those weeks to be sure—how could I ask you to marry a man who could become blind? And then everything came right, didn’t it? And just to be quite sure, I made myself wait just a little while longer, and on the very day I had promised myself that I would ask you to marry me, Viske telephoned to say that he had grave doubts, and so I let you go, believing that ridiculous story about Paula and me, and I must say, my darling, that a worse case of putting two and two together and making five I have yet to meet—and then, after two days in Utrecht with Viske, he finally decided this afternoon that there will be no permanent blindness, a chance of temporary weakness perhaps, from time to time, unless I’m careful...’
‘Oh, darling Benedict, I’ll see that you’re careful,’ said Cassandra huskily.
‘Are you crying, darling Miss Darling?’
‘Yes—no, not really. I mean, I’m so happy. Did Jan know?’
‘Of course, and van Tromp. I telephoned him a few minutes before you left—and Jan, who promised to see about the boat for me.’
‘But how did the Customs man know—he stopped me from going on board the plane.’
Benedict sounded pleased with himself. ‘It just so happened that I did a rather tricky operation on him last year—remembered him just in time when I was wondering how to stop you.’
‘There are a lot of things I don’t quite...’
He said decisively, ‘We have all night on board to talk, my darling.’
He pulled the car off the road into a deserted lay-by and Cassandra asked, ‘Why have we stopped?’
‘Because before we go any further, my dearest, I think I should ask you to marry me. I must warn you that I shall probably be a very difficult man to live with, but at least I shall love you until the day I die, and beyond.’
‘In that case,’ said Cassandra without any hesitation whatever, ‘I’ll say yes.’
It was a few minutes later when she lifted her head from his shoulder to ask, ‘But why were you so pleased when Paula told you she wasn’t going to Canada?’
‘Why, Jan had cabled her to say that he had the chance of a job in Utrecht and there was no need for her to go out there—they merely put off getting married until he returns in a few days’ time.’
‘Oh,’ said Cassandra, ‘I thought...’
‘And now let us tear our thoughts away from Paula and Jan, my darling, and talk about us. There is a great deal to decide. We must get married...’
* * *
AND THEY WERE, on a cold blustery January day in the little village church on Mull, with only a handful of family to see them wed, but the entire village filling its pews to capacity. The austere little building was overflowing with flowers and, Cassandra, walking down the aisle on Tom’s arm, sniffed their scent appreciatively and caught Benedict’s eye and smiled her thanks, for he had promised her that she should have all the flowers he could buy for their wedding and he had more than fulfilled his promise. He had given her a mink coat too. She was wearing it over the blue velvet dress she had gone to Edinburgh to buy—it had had to be blue because the ring he had given her was a sapphire. She had no doubt that he would give her anything she asked for and a lot more besides, and that was nice to know, but there was only one thing she wanted, and that was his love. She raised her nice hazel eyes to his grey ones and saw the love there, shining out at her.
The reception was at Rachel’s house, a cheerful happy gathering where everyone knew everyone else and had a great deal to say in consequence. Which was probably why no one noticed when the bride and groom disappeared, to reappear very shortly, clad in sheepskin jackets and tweeds, looking for all the world as though they were going for an energetic hike, as indeed they were, for five minutes later, their brief good-byes said, they started up the path to Ogre’s Relish. They paused to take their breath half way up and Cassandra said, ‘We’re a little mad, you know. People go to the south of France or Bournemouth or Paris for a honeymoon, and we choose to spend it in a cottage miles from anywhere—we’ll have to wash up and cook and light the fires.’
Benedict laughed and hugged her close. ‘I light a lovely fire,’ he told her, ‘and as for the rest, Jan has busied himself for days making things easy for us.’
They went on together, holding hands. ‘Shall we come here every year?’ Cassandra wanted to know, as they were on the last leg of the path.
‘Yes, why not? The children will have to pitch tents or swing hammocks.’
‘How ever many?’ she gasped.
‘I hated being an only child, my darling, and I’ve money enough for a dozen.’
They stopped because Ogre’s Relish was in sight. Someone had put the lights on, the windows shone a welcome, a wisp of smoke curled up from the chimney to get lost in the darkening sky.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Cassandra, ‘I’m prepared to compromise. How about half a dozen, assorted?’
They stood together at the end of the path, laughing, until Benedict caught her close and kissed her soundly before they walked, arm-in-arm, to the cottage door.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460315750
Copyright © 1997 by Betty Neels
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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a by Chance