Never Too Late

by Neels, Betty

  ‘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 doer 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. Stem-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. Til 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!

  Chapter 3

  Prudence had to admit to herself after the first few days, that in the challenge she had welcomed, she had bitten off just as much as she could chew. Sunday had presented no problems; Benedict had told her that she was free to do as she chose until lunchtime, but if she would like to accompany him and Sibella to church she was welcome. So she had gone to church with them, to sit in a high pew between them, with Sibella shrilling away at the hymns and Benedict, several octaves lower, deafening her on the other side. But she had enjoyed it; the service was not unlike the one she was used to, even though she didn’t understand a word of it, and her father would be interested to read about it. She sat through the very long sermon, wondering what the afternoon held in store for her.

  A drive round Appeldoorn and its surroundings so that she would be able to find her way, sitting beside Benedict with Sibella squeezed between them. The town was delightful with its broad tree-lined streets, colourful now with the leaves already tinted with red and yellow, and the surrounding villages; Loenen with its sixteenth-century castle, the echoing well at Soeren, Beekbergen with its old church and Ugchelen with its springs and wide moorland. They stopped for tea in Loenen and took a roundabout way home so that Prudence could see as much as possible as they went. And in the evening there had been friends in for drinks. Sibella, because it was Sunday, was allowed to stay up for an hour longer and sat still as a mouse beside Prudence, watching her father’s guests. Prudence, quietly elegant in one of the wool dresses, made no attempt to draw attention to herself, although her red hair and extraordinary eyes caused a good deal of interest. Benedict was meticulous in introducing her to everyone, but she was so quiet and retiring in her manner that his guests decided that while she was a very pretty girl and pleasant, she wasn’t very exciting—exactly the impression she had wished to convey. She had stationed herself beside Sibella, quietly watching the company. The women were for the most part young, smart and married to the rather sober men there. Only a handful stood out from the rest; young and not quite so young, dressed in the latest fashions regardless of expense, their hair tinted and styled to perfection, their make-up delicately perfect.

  Prudence admired them without envy and answered readily enough when one or other of them stopped to talk to her for a few minutes. Any one of them, she decided would make an excellent wife for Benedict, but he showed no particular preference for any of them—but then, she suspected,
she knew he wasn’t a man to show his feelings in public.

  And afterwards, when she had put Sibella to bed, listening to the sound of cars being driven away from the house, she went downstairs again and found that she was to dine alone. The doctor, Ork told her, had accepted a last-minute invitation to dine with some friends and begged she would excuse him.

  So she ate her meal at the large table, feeling lost in the formal room, reminding herself that Benedict was perfectly at liberty to do exactly what he wished; indeed, hadn’t he employed her so that he might have more time for himself? She went to bed rather early, after wishing Ork a composed goodnight.

  It wasn’t difficult to get up early the next morning; she had always done so at home—besides, she had slept soundly all night. She went along to Sibella’s room when she was ready, and together they went downstairs to find Benedict already at table, opening a pile of letters and drinking coffee. He wished them both good morning, begged his daughter not to strangle him as she hugged him and told Prudence to help herself to whatever she wanted.

  There was plenty to choose from; rolls and toast and croissants, cheese, jam and marmalade and boiled eggs. She served Sibella and herself and looked at his empty plate.

  ‘And you, Dr van Vinke?’ she asked.

  He looked up briefly from his letters. ‘Oh, anything—I’ve not much time.’

  So she buttered toast and put it on his plate, cut the top off an egg and poured him another cup of coffee. He ate and drank in an absentminded fashion and when he had finished his letters observed: ‘There are several letters for you, Prudence; there’ll be time to see to them directly after lunch. There’s a small room next to my study with a desk and a typewriter—you can work there.’ He got up, dropped a kiss on Sibella’s head and laid the letters beside Prudence’s plate. ‘Get them sorted, will you?’

  So her morning had been fully occupied, what with getting Sibella to school, ten minutes’ walk away, and then being met in the hall by Sitska, who insisted that she should go round the house with Ork trailing behind acting as interpreter. ‘So that you will not feel lost,’ he pointed out kindly.