by Betty Neels
The glow of her pleasure was still in her face when the doctor came home. He had come silently into the house as he so often did, to be welcomed by Humphrey. Bas hurried to greet him, offered tea or coffee, and took his overnight bag. The doctor went into his study, put away his bag, tossed his jacket on a chair and went upstairs two at a time, to pause in the open doorway of the nursery where the two boys and Araminta were crouched on the floor before a cheerful fire playing Happy Families.
They looked round as he went in and the boys rushed to greet him. Araminta got to her feet and he stared at her for a long moment. He had thought about her while he had been away, unwillingly, aware that she disturbed him in some way, and he had returned home determined to relegate her to where she belonged—the vague background, which he didn’t allow to interfere with his work.
But the face she turned to him wasn’t easily dismissed; she looked happy. He was so accustomed to her quiet face and self-effacing manner that he was taken aback. Surely that look wasn’t for him? He dismissed the idea as absurd and knew it to be so as he watched the glow fade and her features assume their usual calm.
He wished her good evening, listened while she gave him a report on the boy’s progress, expressed himself satisfied and, when Bas came to tell him that he had taken his coffee to the drawing room, bore the two boys downstairs with him.
‘Fetch them in an hour, if you will, Miss Pomfrey. When they are in bed we can discuss their progress.’
Left alone, she tidied up the room, got everything ready for bedtime and sat down by the fire. Why was a fire so comforting? she wondered. The house was already warm but there were handsome fireplaces in the rooms in which fires were lighted if a room was in use. She had got used to living in comfort and she wondered now how she would like hospital life.
In a few weeks now they would be returning to England. She thought of that with regret now that she had met Dr van Vleet. She wondered if she should ask for a day off—she was certainly entitled to one—but Dr van der Breugh hadn’t looked very friendly—indeed, the look he had given her had made her vaguely uncomfortable…
She fetched the boys presently, and once they were finally in their beds went to her room to change for the evening. The skirt and one of the blouses, she decided. There seemed little point in dressing up each evening, for the doctor was almost never home. But she felt that if Bas took the trouble to set the table with such care, and Jet cooked such delicious dinners for her, the least she could do was to live up to that. She heard the doctor come upstairs and go into the boys’ room, and presently, making sure that they were on the verge of sleep, and with a few minutes so spare before Bas came to tell her dinner was ready, she went downstairs.
There was no sign of the doctor, but she hadn’t expected to see him. He would probably tell her at breakfast of any plans for the boys. Bas, crossing the hall, opened the drawing room door for her and she went in.
The doctor was sitting in his chair, with Humphrey at his feet. He got up as she went in, offered her a chair, offered sherry and when he sat down again, observed, ‘I think we may regard Peter and Paul as being almost back to normal. I think we should keep them from school for another few days, but I see no reason why they shouldn’t have a short brisk walk tomorrow if the weather is fine. Children have astonishing powers of recovery.’
Araminta agreed pleasantly and sipped her sherry. She hoped he wasn’t going to keep her for too long; she was hungry and it was already past the dinner hour.
‘You must have a day to yourself,’ said the doctor. ‘I’m booked up for the next two days, but after that I will be at home, if you care to avail yourself of a day. And this time I promise to make sure that you enjoy yourself. You may have the Jaguar and a driver, and if you will let me know where you would like to go, I will arrange a suitable tour for you.’
Araminta took another sip of sherry. So she was to be given a treat, was she? Parcelled up and put in a car and driven around like a poor old relative who deserved a nice day out.
She tossed back the rest of the sherry and sat up straight. ‘How kind,’ she said in a voice brittle with indignation, ‘but there is no need of your thoughtful offer. I have other plans.’
The doctor asked carelessly, ‘Such as?’ and when she gave him a chilly look he said, ‘I do stand, as it were, in loco parentis.’
‘I am twenty-three years old, doctor,’ said Araminta in a voice which should have chilled him to the bone.
He appeared untouched. ‘You don’t look it. Had I not known, I would have guessed nineteen, twenty at the most.’ He smiled, and she knew that she would have to tell him.
‘Dr van Vleet has asked me to spend the day with him.’
She had gone rather red, so that she frowned as she spoke.
‘Ah, a most satisfactory arrangement. And it absolves me from the need to concern myself over you. Telephone him and make any arrangements you like; I am sure you will enjoy yourself with him.’ He put down his glass. ‘Shall we go in to dinner?’
‘Oh, are you going to be here?’ Araminta paused; she had put that rather badly. ‘What I meant was, you’re dining at home this evening?’
The doctor said gravely, ‘That is my intention, Miss Pomfrey.’ She didn’t see his smile, for she was looking at her feet and wondering if she should apologise.
He, aware of that, maintained a steady flow of small talk throughout the meal so that by the time they had finished she felt quite her normal calm self again.
Getting ready for bed later, she even decided that the doctor could, if he chose, be a pleasant companion.
The next few days went well. The boys, making the most of their last free days before going back to school, took her about the city, spending their pocket money, feeding the ducks in the park, taking her to the Oudegracht to look at the ancient stone—a legendary edifice which, they told her, with suitable embellishments, had to do with the devil.
She saw little of the doctor, just briefly at breakfast, with occasional glimpses as he came and went during the day, but never in the evenings. Somehow he made time to be with his nephews before their bedtime, when she was politely told that she might do whatever she wished for a couple of hours, but they didn’t dine together again.
Not that Araminta minded. She had phoned Dr van Vleet and, after gaining the doctor’s indifferent consent, had agreed to spend the day with him on the following Saturday.
She worried as to what she should wear. It was too chilly for the two-piece; it would have to be a blouse and skirt and the jacket. A pity, she reflected crossly, that she never had the time to go shopping. In the meantime she would have to make do with whatever her meagre wardrobe could produce. She had money, the doctor was punctilious about that, so the very first morning she had an hour or two to herself she would go shopping.
The sun was shining when Dr van Vleet came for her; the doctor had already breakfasted, spent a brief time in his study and was in the garden with the boys, but they all came to see her off, the boys noisily begging her to come back soon. ‘As long as you’re here in the morning when we wake up,’ said Peter.
Dr van Vleet drove a Fiat and she quickly discovered that he liked driving fast. ‘Where are we going?’ she wanted to know.
‘To Arnhem first. We go through the Veluwe—that’s pretty wooded country—and at Arnhem there’s an open-air village museum you might like to see. You’ve seen nothing of Holland yet?”
‘Well, no, though I’ve explored Utrecht pretty thoroughly. With the boys.’
‘Nice little chaps, aren’t they?’ He gave her a smiling glance. ‘My name’s Piet, by the way. And what is it the boys call you?’
‘Mintie. Short for Araminta.’
‘Then I shall call you Mintie.’
He was right, the Veluwe was beautiful: its trees glowing with autumn colours, the secluded villas half hidden from the road. They stopped for coffee and, after touring the village at Arnhem, had lunch there.
After lunch he drove to Nijmeg
en and on to Culemborg, and then north to Amersfoort and on to Soestdijk so that she could see the royal palace.
They had tea in Soest and then drove back to Appeldoorn to look at the palace there. Piet finally took the Utrecht road, and she said, ‘You’ve given me a lovely day. I can’t begin to thank you; I’ve loved every minute of it…’
‘It’s not over yet. I hope you’ll have dinner with me. There’s rather a nice hotel near Utrecht—Auberge de Hoefslag. Very pretty surroundings, woods all round and excellent food.’
‘It sounds lovely, but I’m not dressed…’ began Araminta.
‘You look all right to me.’
And she need not have worried; the restaurant was spread over two rooms, one modern, the other delightfully old-fashioned, and in both there was a fair sprinkling of obvious tourists.
The food was delicious and they didn’t hurry over it. By the time they had driven the ten kilometres to Utrecht it was almost eleven o’clock.
Piet got out of the car with her and went with her to the door, waiting while she rang the bell, rather worried as it was later than she had intended. Bas opened the door, beamed a greeting at her and ushered her inside. He wished Dr van Vleet a civil goodnight and shut the door, and just for a moment Araminta stood in the hall, remembering her happy day and smiling because before they had said goodnight he had asked her to go out with him again.
‘A happy day, miss?’ asked Bas. ‘You would like coffee or tea?’
‘A lovely day, Bas.’ Her eyes shone just thinking about it. ‘I don’t want anything, thank you. I do hope I haven’t kept you up?’
‘No, miss. Goodnight.’
She crossed the hall to the staircase. The doctor’s study door was half open and she could see him at his desk. He didn’t look up, and after a moment’s pause she went on up the stairs. He must have heard her come in but he had given no sign. She wouldn’t admit it, but her lovely day was a little spoilt by that.
At breakfast he asked her if she had enjoyed her day out, and, quite carried away by the pleasure, she assured him that she had and embarked on a brief description of where they had been, only to realise very quickly that he wasn’t in the least interested. So she stopped in mid-sentence, applied herself to attending to the boys’ wants and her own breakfast, and when he got up from the table with a muttered excuse took no notice.
He turned back at the door to say, ‘I see no reason why the boys shouldn’t attend church this morning. Kindly have them ready in good time, Miss Pomfrey. And, of course, yourself.’
So they went to church, the boys delighted to be with their uncle, she at her most staid. The sermon seemed longer than ever, but she didn’t mind, she was planning her new clothes. Piet had said he would take her to Amsterdam, a city worthy of a new outfit.
The doctor, sitting so that he could watch her face, wondered why he had considered her so plain—something, someone had brought her to life. He frowned; he must remember to warn her…
There was a general upsurge of the congregation and presently they were walking home again.
They had just finished lunch and were full of ideas as to how they might spend their afternoon when Christina Lutyns was ushered in.
She kissed the doctor on both cheeks, nodded to the boys and ignored Araminta, breaking into a torrent of Dutch.
The doctor had got up as she entered, and stood smiling as she talked. When she paused he said something to make her smile, and then said in English, ‘I shall be out for the rest of the day, Miss Pomfrey.’ When the boys protested, he promised that when he came home he would be sure to wish them goodnight. ‘Although you may be asleep,’ he warned them.
They had been asleep for hours when he came home. He went to their room and bent to kiss them and tuck the bedclothes in, and Araminta, who had had a difficult time getting them to go to sleep, hoped that he would have a good excuse in the morning.
Whatever it was, it satisfied the boys, but not her, for he spoke Dutch.
That evening he asked her when she would like her free day. Piet had suggested Thursday, but she felt uncertain of having it. If the doctor had work to do he wouldn’t change that to accommodate her. But it seemed that Thursday was possible. ‘Going out with van Vleet again?’ asked the doctor casually.
‘Yes, to Amsterdam.’ She added, in a voice which dared him to disagree with her, ‘I hear it is a delightful city. I am looking forward to seeing it.’
‘Miss Pomfrey, there is something I should warn you about…’
‘Is there? Could it wait, Doctor? The boys will be late for school if I don’t take them now.’
‘Just as you like, Miss Pomfrey.’ And somehow she contrived not to be alone with him for the rest of the day; she felt sure he was going to tell her that they would be returning to England sooner than he had expected, and she didn’t want to hear that. Not now that she had met Piet.
Rather recklessly she went shopping during the morning hours while the boys were in school. Clothes, good clothes, she discovered, were expensive, but she couldn’t resist buying a dress and loose jacket in a fine wool. It was in pale amber, an impractical colour and probably she wouldn’t have much chance to wear it, but it gave her mousy hair an added glint and it was a perfect fit. She bought shoes, too, and a handbag and a pretty scarf.
Thursday came and, much admired by the boys, she went downstairs to meet Piet. He was in the hall talking to the doctor and turned to watch her as she came towards them. His hello was friendly. ‘How smart you look—I like the colour; it suits you.’
‘We told her that she looks beautiful,’ said Peter.
‘She does, doesn’t she, Uncle?’ Paul added.
The doctor, appealed to, observed that indeed Miss Pomfrey looked charming. But his eyes when he glanced at her were cold.
Amsterdam was everything that she had hoped for, and Piet took her from one museum to the other, for a trip on the canals, a visit to the Rijksmusee and there they had a quick look at the shops. They had coffee and had a snack lunch and, later, tea. And in the evening, as the lights came on, they strolled along the grachten, looking at the old houses and the half-hidden antique shops.
He took her to the Hotel de L’Europe for dinner, and it was while they drank their coffee that he told her that he was to marry in the New Year.
‘Anna is in Canada, visiting her grandparents,’ he told her. ‘I miss her very much, but soon she will be home again. You would like each other. She is like you, I think, rather quiet—I think you say in English, a home bird? She is a splendid cook and she is fond of children. We shall be very happy.’
He beamed at her across the table and she smiled back while the half-formed daydreams tumbled down into her new shoes. She had been a fool, but, thank heaven, he had no idea…
‘Tell me about her,’ said Araminta. Which he did at some length, so that it was late by the time they reached the doctor’s house.
‘We must go out together again,’ said Piet eagerly.
‘Well, I’m not sure about that. I believe we’re going back to England very shortly. Shall I let you know?’ She offered a hand. ‘It’s been a lovely day, and thank you so very much for giving me dinner. If we don’t see each other again, I hope that you and your Anna will be very happy.’
‘Oh, we shall,’ he assured her.
‘Don’t get out of the car,’ said Araminta. ‘There’s Bas at the door.’
It was quiet in the hall, and dimly lit. Bas wished her goodnight and went away, and she stood there feeling very alone. She had only herself to thank, of course. Had she really imagined that someone as uninteresting as herself could attract a man? He had asked her out of kindness—she hoped he hadn’t pitied her…
She was aware that the study door was open and the doctor was standing there watching her. She made for the stairs, muttering goodnight, but he put out an arm and stopped her.
‘You look as though you are about to burst into tears. You’ll feel better if you talk about it.’
‘I
haven’t anything to talk about…’
He put a vast arm round her shoulders. ‘Oh, yes, you have. I did try to warn you, but you wouldn’t allow me to.’
He sounded quite different: kind, gentle and understanding.
‘I’ve been such a fool,’ began Araminta as she laid her head against his shoulder and allowed herself the luxury of a good cry.
CHAPTER SIX
THE doctor, waiting patiently while Araminta snivelled and snorted into his shoulder, became aware of several things: the faint scent of clean mousy hair under his chin, the slender softness of her person and a wholly unexpected concern for her. Presently he gave her a large white handkerchief.
‘Better?’ he asked. ‘Mop up and give a good blow and tell me about it.’
She did as she was told, but said in a watery voice, ‘I don’t want to talk about it, thank you.’ And then she added, ‘So sorry…’ She had slipped from his arm. ‘You’ve been very kind. I’ll wash your hanky…’
He sat her down in a small chair away from the brightness of his desk lamp.
‘You don’t need to tell me if you don’t wish to.’ He had gone to a small table under the window and come back with a glass. ‘Drink that; it will make you feel better.’
She sniffed it. ‘Brandy? I’ve never had any…’
‘There’s always a first time. Of course, van Vleet told you that he was going to be married shortly.’ He watched her sip the brandy and draw a sharp breath at its strength. ‘And you had thought that he was interested in you. He should have told you when you first met him, but I imagine that it hadn’t entered his head.’ He sighed. ‘He’s a very decent young man.’
Araminta took another sip, a big one, for the brandy was warming her insides. She felt a little sick and at the same time reckless.
She said, in a voice still a little thick from her tears, ‘I have been very silly. I should know by now that there is nothing about me to—to make a man interested. I’m plain and I have no conversation, and I wear sensible clothes.’