by Neels, Betty
‘I don’t know,’ said Prudence, then raised her voice sharply. ‘Tony—Aunt Rachel wants to know when we’re getting married.’
Tony had frowned slightly; he did dislike being interrupted when he was speaking and Prudence’s voice had sounded quite shrewish. ‘At the moment I have so many commitments that it’s impossible to even suggest a date.’
His voice held a note of censure for her and Aunt Rachel asked in surprise: ‘But I always thought that the bride chose her wedding date?’
He chose to take the remark seriously, and it struck Prudence, not for the first time, perhaps, that his sense of humour was poor. ‘Ah, but I’m really the one to be considered, you see. I have an exacting profession and Prudence, living quietly at home as she does, need only fall in with my wishes, without any disruption of her own life.’
Mrs Trent looked up at that with a look of doubt on her face and even the Reverend Giles Trent, a dreamy man by nature, realised that something wasn’t quite as it should be. It was left to Prudence to remark in a deceptively meek voice: ‘Nothing must stand in Tony’s way now that he’s making such a success of his career.’
She looked at them all, her green eyes sparkling, smiling widely, looking as though she had dropped a heavy burden. Which she had—Tony.
She didn’t say a word to anyone, least of all Tony, who, the day following the wedding went up to London, explaining rather pompously that there was a good deal of important work for him to do. ‘Stuff I can’t delegate to anyone else. 1 shall probably be back at the weekend.’ He had dropped a kiss on her cheek and hurried off.
She wasted no time. With only the vaguest idea of what she intended to do, she spent every free moment at the typewriter in her father’s study, getting up her speed, and after she had gone to bed each evening, she got out pencil and paper and worked hard at her shorthand. She wasn’t very good at it, but at least she had a basic knowledge of it, enough perhaps to get by in some office. She began to read the adverts in the Telegraph, but most of them seemed to be for high-powered personal assistants with phenomenal speeds. Perhaps she would do better at some other job, only she had no idea what it might be. Nursing had crossed her mind, but she was a bit old to start training— besides, although she had done her St John Ambulance training to set a good example to the village, she had never quite mastered bandaging and finer variations of the pulse had always evaded her. All the same, she didn’t lose heart. She welcomed Tony at the weekend when he called after church, and listened to his plans for the trip to New York with becoming attention, while her head was filled with vague hopeful plans for her own future. It was on the tip of her tongue several times to tell him that she had decided that she couldn’t marry him after all, but that, she realised, would be silly. She must wait until she had a job—any job that would make her independent. He was so sure of her that he wouldn’t believe her; she would need proof to convince him.
August slipped gently into September and Nancy and James came back from their honeymoon to spend a few days at the Vicarage before setting up house in Highgate. It was at the end of this visit that Nancy suggested that Prudence might like to spend a weekend with them. ‘James thinks that we ought to have some of his friends who couldn’t come to the wedding, for drinks one evening—it’ll be a Saturday, so why don’t you come for a couple of nights? I don’t know many of them and it would be nice if you were there too. Let’s see, it’s Thursday—what about Saturday week? Come up on Friday night so that you can help me get things ready.’
Prudence hesitated. ‘It sounds fun, but won’t you and James want to be alone for a bit?’
‘Well, we won’t be alone if we have a party, will we?’ Nancy declared. ‘And Tony’s off to the States anyway. Say you’ll come?’
So it was arranged, and Tony, when he was told, thought it a very good idea. ‘You’ll find it dull without me,’ he pointed out. ‘Besides, I daresay you’ll meet some people who may be useful later on.’ He patted Prudence rather absentmindedly on the shoulder. ‘Never mind, old girl, I’ll be back in a couple of weeks.’
And by then, thought Prudence, I’ll have got myself a job. For a moment she felt a guilty pang, borne away on a tide of indignation when he said casually: ‘There’s a chance I’ll have to go to Portugal in a couple of months; some tycoon wants a villa designed in the Algarve and he wants someone over there for consultation. A bit of luck for me—the weather should be pretty good in November.’ He paused and glanced at her. ‘I don’t care for the idea of a winter wedding, do you, Prudence? And there’s no hurry. I’ll take a couple of weeks off in the spring...’
‘What for?’ asked Prudence in a very quiet voice. ‘It’ll be a convenient time for us to get married. I’ll be able to give you a definite date later on. Though of course, if anything turns up...’ He gave a self-satisfied smile. ‘I am rather in demand.’
Prudence’s eyes glittered greenly. ‘Your career means a lot to you, doesn’t it, Tony?’ she asked.
‘Well, of course it does—darling, you do say the stupidest things sometimes! Well, I must be off. You’re going to Nancy’s next Saturday? I leave on the Monday after that, I’ll give you a ring if I can’t find time to get to Highgate.’
Prudence drove herself up to London in the secondhand Mini Aunt Rachel had given her for her twenty-first birthday. It was a bit battered by now, but it went well enough, and she was a good driver. The flat in Highgate, the ground floor of an imposing Victorian mansion set in a roomy garden, had welcoming lights shining from its windows as she stopped the little car before its door. Nancy had said, ‘Come in good time for dinner,’ but Prudence had cut it rather fine, what with having to type her father’s sermon at the last minute, and round up the choirboys for an extra choir practice for Harvest Festival.
Nancy was at the door before she had time to ring the bell and dragged her inside. ‘Oh, isn’t this fun? You’re late—I was in a panic that you wouldn’t be coming. There’s masses of stuff in the kitchen to see to ready for tomorrow evening.’
She hurried Prudence inside and swept her into the sitting room where James was waiting, and for a time the kitchen was forgotten while they sat with their drinks, talking over the honeymoon and the marvels of Highgate and how marvellous it was to nip into Harvey Nichols or Harrods with absolutely no trouble at all. Prudence listened with pleasure to her sister’s chatter and presently followed her to the back of the flat, to the pretty room she was to sleep in. ‘And when you’ve dolled yourself up, we’ll have dinner and then decide about tomorrow’s food,’ declared Nancy happily. At the door she paused, looking at Prudence. ‘Darling, you really must get married soon—it’s such fun!’
To which Prudence, living up to her name for once, made no reply.
They all repaired to the kitchen after dinner. Mrs Turner, the daily housekeeper, had gone home leaving the way clear for them to prepare whatever was needed for the party, and since Nancy was rather a slapdash cook and James did nothing but eat samples of what was laid out on the table, it fell to Prudence’s lot to make pastry for the vol-au-vents, choux pastry for the little cream cakes Nancy had decided to offer her guests, and bake the sausage rolls. There was to be far more than these, of course. Nancy reeled off a list of the delicacies she had planned and then perched on the kitchen table watching Prudence.
‘You’re such a super cook,’ she said presently. ‘Tony doesn’t know how lucky he is.’
Prudence looked up from her mixing bowl. Tm not going to marry Tony,’ She spoke defiantly.
The two of them stared at her. ‘Not marry...but why not?’
It was James who said slowly: ‘You’ve been engaged a very long time.’
Prudence nodded. ‘Yes, that’s partly it—I mean, we’ve had the chance to marry—oh, ever since we were engaged. It’s gone sour... Tony doesn’t really want me; he wants someone to bolster up his career.’
‘What will you do?’ She blessed James for being so matter-of-fact about it.
‘Get a job. I
’ve been mugging up my shorthand and typing, they’re not very good, but I daresay I could manage some sort of office job. I don’t want to stay at home.’ She added impatiently: ‘I’m twenty-seven, you know.’ ‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t find something,’ observed James reasonably. There are jobs going—receptionists and so on, where even if typing is needed, it’s not essential—shorthand is always useful, of course. If I hear of anything I’ll let you know.’
‘You’re an angel,’ declared Prudence. ‘I can quite see why Nancy married you.’ She beamed at him and went back to her cooking.
The party was for half past six so that those who had evening engagements could go on to them and those who hadn’t could stay as long as they liked. Prudence, hair and face carefully done, wearing a green dress that matched her eyes, went along to the sitting room in good time to help with the last-minute chores, and when the first of the guests arrived, melted into the background. It was, after all, Nancy’s party, and someone was needed to keep an eye on the food and trot to and fro to the kitchen to replenish plates.
It was on one of these trips, while she was piling another batch of vol-au-vents on to plates, that the kitchen door opened and Benedict van Vinke strolled in. His hullo was friendly and casual, and he ignored her surprise. ‘Thought I’d drop in for an hour,’ he observed mildly, ‘and see how James and Nancy are getting on! Nice party—did you make these things?’ He ate a couple of vol-au-vents and turned his attention to the tiny sausage rolls she had taken out of the oven.
‘Yes, I like cooking. What a lot of friends they’ve got.’ She took off her oven gloves and took a sausage roll and began to eat it. ‘Where’s Tony?’ he asked.
She said carefully: ‘I don’t know—somewhere in London, I suppose. He’s going to the States on Monday. He said he might find time to come over.’
He opened blue eyes wide. ‘Surely he allows himself a few hours off at weekends?’
‘He’s very busy—he’s a successful architect, you know.’
‘Yes, I did know—he told me.’ His voice was dry. ‘And what do you do?’ asked Prudence snappily, on edge for some reason she couldn’t understand.
‘I’m a GP.’ He took another sausage roll and picked up the dish. ‘I’ll carry these in for you.’
She led the way back to the sitting room with a distinct flounce, quite out of temper at his mild snub.
The last of the guests left about nine o’clock, but Benedict didn’t go with them; Nancy had invited him to stay for a cold supper later on, and Prudence guessed from his unsurprised acceptance that he was a frequent visitor. Indeed, he seemed to know his way about the place just as well as his host and hostess, laying the small round table in the dining room and going down to the cellar to bring up the wine while James carved a chicken.
They were half way through the meal when Nancy asked: ‘Did you really mean that, Prudence? I mean about not marrying Tony and getting a job?’
Prudence shot a look across the table to Benedict, whose calm face showed no interest whatever. ‘Yes, of course I did,’ and then she tried a red herring: ‘What a success your party was!’ ‘Yes, wasn’t it? Does Tony know?’
‘No. I’ll—I’ll tell him when I see him...’ She was interrupted by the telephone, and when James came back from answering it, he said cheerfully:
‘Well, you’ll be able to do that almost at once— that was Tony saying he can spare us half an hour. He’s on his way.’
‘No,’ said Prudence instantly, ‘I can’t—how can I? I haven’t got a job—he’ll never believe me unless I can prove that I’ve found work—I mean, that’ll make him see that I mean it.’ She stared round at them all. ‘I expect I sound like a heartless fool, but I’m not—I’ve felt—I feel like some Victorian miss meekly waiting for the superior male to condescend to marry me.’ She added strongly: ‘And I won’t!’
‘No, of course not,’ said James soothingly. ‘No one will make you do something you don’t want to do— but it’s a good opportunity to tell him.’ He thought for a minute. ‘If he’s off to the States it’ll make the break much easier—telling people, you know’
Prudence tossed off her wine, choked, spluttered and said between whoops: ‘Could I tell a fib and say I’d found a job, do you think?’
For the first time Benedict spoke. ‘That would hardly become a parson’s daughter,’ he observed mildly, ‘and perhaps there’s no need. It just so happens that I’m badly in need of a genera) factotum— someone to type—you do type, I hope? My English letters, make sure that I keep appointments, do the flowers, keep an eye on the household and my small daughter. Not much of a job, I’m afraid, but a very necessary one.’
Prudence had her eyes on her face. She said slowly: ‘You’re married?’
He smiled a little. ‘A widower—Sibella is six years old. I live in an old-fashioned rambling house which I am told is sheer hell to cope with, in Appeldoorn.’
‘Holland?’ queried Prudence.
‘That’s right,’ he answered her seriously, although his eyes were dancing. ‘Although I spend a good deal of time over here. You could start at once or within a few days, just as you wish.’And as the doorbell rang, ‘You’ll have to decide here and now; that sounds like Tony.’
Nancy had gone to open the door and Tony followed her into the room. His eyes swept the rather untidy table and came to rest on Prudence. ‘I see you’re enjoying yourself, Prudence,’ he remarked, and nodded to James and Benedict. ‘Lucky little girl, aren’t you, while I spend my days hard at work!’
She didn’t answer him, she looked across the table at Benedict. She said very clearly: ‘Yes.’ Being called a little girl had been the last straw; she stood five feet seven in her stockings and she was a big girl.
James broke the silence with some remark about Tony’s trip and they listened to his pompous reply before Nancy asked: ‘Will you have a drink, Tony? Or I’ll make some fresh coffee. James and Benedict were just going to wash up in the kitchen—I expect you two would like to be alone for a bit.’
Prudence cast her sister a telling glance, but before she could answer Tony said: ‘As to that, I don’t give much for these sentimental partings and I won’t stay for coffee—there’s a man I have to see before I leave...’
‘I’m not going to marry you,’ said Prudence suddenly, and the four of them looked at her, Nancy and James with sympathy Tony with outraged astonishment and Benedict van Vinke with faint amusement.
‘Don’t talk rubbish!’ said Tony sharply.
‘It’s not rubbish.’ Prudence took the ring off her finger and put it on the table. ‘We could have been married a dozen times in these last four years, Tony, and now it’s too late.’
‘You’ve decided to be a dutiful daughter and live at home?’ he asked with a faint sneer.
‘No, I’ve got a job.’
‘You’ve never done a day’s work in your life—what can you do?’
‘Prudence has agreed to join my household as a personal assistant to me and companion to my small daughter.’ Benedict’s voice was quiet, but there was a hint of steel in it which made Tony pause before he answered.
He said stiffly: ‘We don’t need anyone interfering in our affairs. I’ll talk to Prudence.’ He turned to her. ‘Come into another room and we’ll settle this once and for all.’
‘No need—it’s settled. I’m sorry, Tony, but I’m not the right wife for you—you must know that, because if I had been, you’d have married me years ago.’ She picked up the ring. ‘Here you are. I hope you have a successful trip.’
She went out of the room rather quickly and went into the kitchen and shut the door. Even though she knew she had done the right thing, it was a little frightening to find herself alone after almost four years, and now she had committed herself to a job she knew nothing about in a country she had never been to with a man she had met only for the second time that evening. She felt lightheaded with relief and regret for what might have been, and at the same time s
cared of the future.
Chapter 2
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.’