Never Too Late

by Neels, Betty

  The house was large with a surprisingly large number of rooms. Prudence, if she hadn’t been worrying about the letters, would have enjoyed herself enormously. Besides the rooms she had already seen, there was a small sitting room behind the drawing room, a vast conservatory running the width of the house at the back, a large kitchen with a pantry and utility room and a back stairs, and on the floor above, a number of large beautifully furnished bedrooms with dressing rooms and bathrooms. And still higher, several smaller rooms reached by a circular staircase, and at the back of the house, the flat where Ork and Sitska lived. It was well after eleven o’clock by the time they had finished peering into all the room, and Prudence, coffee cup in hand, hurried to the room she had been told of and sat down behind the desk to sort out the letters. There were several bills, two requests for Benedict to lecture in Bristol and Edinburgh, a bank statement which she left in its envelope and an invitation from someone called Thelma, asking him to stay next time he was in England. She was a bit uneasy about reading this one, but after all, he had given them to her to sort out, and thank heaven that he had; at least she had some idea of the replies she would have to take down later on.

  She arranged them neatly, put paper ready, found a notebook and pencil and tried out the typewriter. Pray heaven he wouldn’t use any long words!

  What time there was left before lunch was completely taken up with fetching Sibella, smartening her up for lunch and then going downstairs to meet Benedict coming into the house.

  He kissed his small daughter, asked Prudence to pour him a drink and get one for herself and supposed that she had had a quiet morning.

  ‘Very pleasant, thank you,’ said Prudence quietly, and he went on:

  ‘I’ve someone I must see before I go to the hospital after lunch—I’d like to get those letters dealt with before I leave.’

  Lunch was a cheerful meal, but no time was wasted, Sibella was sent to the kitchen with Sitska and Prudence repaired to her little room, fetched the letters and her notebook and presented herself in Benedict’s study.

  He was businesslike to the point of brusqueness, but thank heaven he had no taste for long letters. Somehow she had managed to take down his replies, promised, rashly, to have them ready for him when he got back late that afternoon, and made a note of the phone calls that he wished to make when he got home. And once he had gone, she went along to find Sibella. It was a fine afternoon, even if chilly, and a walk with Henry was priority number one.

  By dint of cutting her teatime to a minimum and leaving Sibella in Sitska’s charge for a time, Prudence was able to get the letters finished, but only just. When Benedict got home, she was on her way to the kitchen to fetch Sibella, looking a little flushed and with her red hair ruffled round her pretty face.

  ‘You look as though you’ve been busy,’ observed Benedict. He looked faintly disbelieving as he spoke, so that she was forced to deny that she had had anything much to do, telling herself silently that it would be much easier once her typing and shorthand had improved.

  Her work had been all right, though, and she had gone to bed after another solitary dinner feeling that she had achieved something.

  The next two days were of the same pattern, except that Benedict had been home for dinner, a leisurely meal that she had enjoyed. They had a lot in common, she had discovered, and once or twice she had quite forgotten that she was working for him in a humble capacity, and, remembering, had suffered acute unease after some particularly forthright statement in disagreement with him. But she had decided not to stay downstairs after dinner, and indeed, the decision was unnecessary, because he didn’t ask her to. His good-nights were friendly but definite and she presumed that he spent his evenings in his study or reading.

  It was on the third day that things were a little different. There had been more letters than previously, so Prudence was hard put to it to get them done by the time he got home, and indeed, there were still two to type and no chance to do them before dinner, for Sibella had demanded that the three of them should play cards until it was her supper time, so that when Prudence came downstairs after putting her to bed and tidying herself for the evening, she was met in the hall by Benedict with a mild: ‘You haven’t finished the letters?’

  ‘Two more—I’m sorry I haven’t got them done. I’ll type them now while you’re having your drink.’

  He smiled at her very nicely. ‘Indeed you will not. Time enough after dinner, surely? I shan’t be going out this evening, you can let me have them before you go to bed.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’m not working you too hard? Sibella must take up a good deal of your time.’

  He was far too kind to ask her what she did with her mornings while the child was at school, and it would sound as though she was making excuses if she told him that she had taken over several little jobs from Sitska round the house; jobs that the daily woman wasn’t allowed to do; the silver and glass had to be cleaned and polished, and although Ork usually did that, if he was busy in the garden it left him little leisure if he had the whole lot to do. But of course, Benedict wouldn’t know that and no one was going to tell him. Prudence had no doubt that if and when he married again, his wife would see to it that there was more help in the house. The flowers alone took hours to do.

  All the same, she was enjoying life. It was what she had wanted, to be busy, feel that she was needed, doing something useful. She had agreed quietly to finish the letters after dinner and gone to sit with Benedict for the pleasant few minutes before dinner—a few minutes she did find herself looking forward to.

  She was at her desk presently, putting the first sheet into the typewriter, when she heard the clang of the doorbell and Ork cross the hall to answer the door. The caller was a woman. Prudence, typing briskly, tried not to listen to the tinkling laughter and the rather high-pitched voice followed by Benedict’s deep tones. The voices faded and a door closed; they had gone into the drawing room. She finished her letters and then sat for a minute or two wondering what to do. Leave them on the desk? Take them along to Benedict’s study? She had her hand on the study door when he came out of the drawing room.

  ‘Finished? Good—I was just coming to find you. Come and meet Myra again—she was here the other evening, but I suspect that you won’t remember her.’

  Prudence remembered her very well—a tall, curvy girl with ash-blonde hair, rather startling eye make-up and clothes bought regardless of expense. They shook hands warily and Myra laughed her tinkling laugh and said: ‘Oh, I remember you very well—your hair, you understand, it is so very red.’

  To which Prudence said nothing, only allowed her green eyes to linger on the other girl’s artfully tinted locks with an eloquence which spoke volumes. Benedict hid his smile. ‘Won’t you have a drink?’ he invited, his voice very placid.

  ‘No, thanks—I want to get a letter finished before I go to bed, so I’ll say goodnight, if you won’t think me rude.’ She smiled at Myra. ‘Nice seeing you again—and what is it you say? Tot liens’ She glanced at Benedict. ‘Goodnight, Doctor.’

  She went to the door and he went ahead of her to open it. She didn’t look at him as she went past, which was a pity; the look on his face would have given her food for thought—amusement, gentle mockery? A little of both.

  She made no attempt to write letters when she reached her room, but went and sat down in one of the armchairs pulled up to the window. The house was too solidly built for her to hear voices downstairs, but that didn’t stop her wondering what Benedict and his pretty visitor were talking about. ‘Brazen creature!’ muttered Prudence waspishly, and got up to run a bath, telling herself that it was no concern of hers who Benedict had for a friend—indeed, she had absolutely no interest in him whatever. That he was kind and placidly goodnatured, she had to admit, although he was proving a much harder taskmaster than she had supposed he would be, but beyond that she couldn’t care less. He had been the means of getting her away from a too sheltered life at home, and from Tony; she was grateful for that.


  Benedict wasn’t at breakfast the next morning; Ork told them in his strangely accented, sparse English that he had been called out in the early hours of the morning. ‘He leaves letter for me,’ he explained. He shrugged. ‘I do not know when he comes.’

  He came ten minutes later in slacks and a sweater, with a bristly chin and lines of tiredness etched into his face. He came in quietly, wished them good morning in his usual placid manner, begged to be allowed to eat his breakfast before making himself presentable, and sat down.

  Curiosity got the better of Prudence. ‘Did you have to go to the hospital or just a patient?’

  Benedict wolfed down the best part of a croissant. ‘A patient—he’s in hospital now.’

  ‘He’ll get better?’

  ‘I’ll give him a fifty-fifty chance.’ He passed his cup for more coffee and said mildly: ‘I didn’t know you were interested in medical matters, Prudence?’

  Something behind the mildness made her glance at him. She said quickly: ‘I don’t mean to be nosey, and I am interested.’ She looked away from the blue eyes staring at her. ‘It was thoughtless of me; you’re tired, the last thing you would want to talk about is your work...’

  ‘On the contrary, Prudence, you would be surprised to know that there are times when I come home and long for someone to talk to; an ear to fill with my doubts and petty annoyances and small triumphs.’

  Sibella had been listening, more than half understanding. Then she piped something urgent to her father. He smiled kindly and shook his head, answering her gently.

  ‘Sibella asks why I cannot confide in her—I have told her that she isn’t quite old enough...’ He paused as the child interrupted him. ‘She suggests, most sensibly, that I should marry someone—just so long as she approves of her.’ He opened the first of his letters and glanced up from it. ‘What do you think about that, Prudence?’

  She said sedately: ‘I imagine it might be an excellent idea, but I can hardly judge, can I?’ And when he pushed the pile of letters towards her she began to open them neatly with the paper knife Ork never failed to put on the breakfast table, but when she passed the open envelopes back to him Benedict pushed them on one side. ‘I’m late already,’ he said. ‘Get them sorted, will you—keep the English ones for later and leave the others on the table in the hall, F11 pick them up as I go.’

  He got up, kissed Sibella and with a friendly nod to Prudence, went away. Sibella hadn’t quite finished her breakfast, so she had time, but only just, to pile the letters neatly before walking to school with her. Benedict hadn’t appeared before they left. Prudence supposed she wouldn’t see him again all day; he had said something about not being home for lunch, a remark which for some reason she had found depressing. She gave herself a mental shake and embarked on one of the long rambling conversations which Sibella so enjoyed. Walking back presently, she planned her day. There was plenty to keep her occupied; Sitska had promised to take her shopping, there was Henry to take for a run, the letters to attend to, a dress of Sibella’s which needed shortening. It was surprising how much she enjoyed the mundane jobs that filled her days. Not for the world would she admit to herself that she was, just now and then, lonely.

  The shopping was fun. Since Sitska spoke no English and Prudence, beyond half a dozen words, spoke no Dutch, it took rather longer than it should have done; the dress would have to wait until the evening, she decided as she raced across the grass with Henry, throwing sticks for his benefit. He came and sat with her in her little room while she sat at the desk reading the letters. If she knew what they were about it made it much easier when she came to take down the replies, and Benedict seemed to take it for granted that she should see them all. They were almost always bills relating to the flat he apparently used when he was in London, dry-as-dust letters from other medical men, appeals from charities and requests for him to attend some meeting or other. A busy man. She wondered, for all his calm manner, if he was a happy one. True, he had a delightful home, enough money and Sibella and quite possibly several more girl-friends like Myra. ‘Horrid creature!’ declared Prudence loudly, and startled Henry from his snoozing.

  They were having tea round the small fire Ork had lit in the playroom when Benedict walked in, followed by Sitska with more tea.

  ‘Buttered toast!’ he exclaimed. ‘And sandwiches and cake! Just what I could do with.’ He took the cup of tea Prudence had poured for him. ‘What a heavenly time Henry’s having—he’ll get fat.’

  ‘Well, he’s taken us for a long, long walk this afternoon, he really deserves a bit of toast. You’ve had a busy day?’

  ‘Yes. How’s school, Sibella?’ His voice was friendly enough, but she could recognise a snub when she got one. She really must remember that she was a paid member of his household and act accordingly. She sat listening to Sibella’s chatter, not understanding it, concentrating on plans for her half day on Saturday. She would take the car and drive somewhere, do some shopping and have tea out and perhaps a cinema in the evening. If she had a half day, was she allowed to have dinner as usual or was she supposed to stay out? And who on earth was she going to ask about that? She had been so pleased at the idea of having half of Saturday and Sunday morning to herself, but there were a number of things.. .what about breakfast and lunch on Sunday?...

  ‘You’re looking worried, Prudence.’ Benedict’s voice cut across her thoughts and she said instantly:

  ‘Well, I’m not, thank you. Do you want to do the letters before dinner or later on—there aren’t many.’

  ‘Oh, before dinner, I think. Perhaps Sibella could have her supper with Sitska while we brush through them.’ He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘I expect you’d like half an hour to yourself while Sibella and I play Racing Demon.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll take the tray with me.’ She escaped thankfully.

  By the time she had got everything ready for Sibella’s bedtime, pinned up the dress for sewing later, and added a few lines to the letter she was writing home, it was time to fetch the little girl for her supper, and then go along to the office, collect her notebook and pencil and tap on the study door.

  Benedict was already there writing at his desk. He looked up briefly and asked: ‘What have we got?’ and held out a hand. Prudence sat down on a chair near the desk, notebook open and pencil poised, looking, she hoped, the picture of efficiency, and indeed, for the first three letters she was in fine form, but the fourth letter was from a doctor and Benedict’s reply was full of long medical terms beyond her primitive shorthand. She had to stop him twice and ask him how to spell diverticulitis and, worse, fibroelastosis. He answered her patiently, but she saw the small frown on his face which made her panicky, so that when she had to ask yet again if rachitis had two t’s or one, he paused in his dictating to observe:

  ‘I can quite see that the medical terms are difficult for you, Prudence, but surely the simpler words aren’t beyond you?’

  She put down her pencil with a hand which shook. Try as she might, her voice shook a little too. She said tartly: ‘Dr van Vinke, I’m employed by you as a kind of general assistant, not as a highly proficient shorthand-typist. I’m doing my best!’ She almost added, And if you don’t like it you can sack me, but bit the words back in time. But other words came tumbling out, things she had been thinking and wanted to say. ‘You’re a busy man, and a clever one, I have no doubt, with no time to spare on mundane things, but you’ve— you’ve flung me in at the deep end. Oh, I know you’ve told me what my duties are, but I daresay you’ve no idea how anyone sets about them and the time it takes. I’m not whining that I have too much to do, but it’s all strange to me—the life, the language, working for someone... I’ve never done that before, you see, and I expect that’s why I’m slow and awkward.’

  He had sat back in his chair, quietly watching her. Now he asked: ‘You regret coming? You aren’t happy with us?’ ‘Oh, but I am—you’ve no idea... Sibella is a darling , and Sitska and Ork are so kind, even the daily help... and
it’s lovely to be busy all day, not just doing the flowers or going to the village shop or typing Father’s sermons and knowing that there was only Tony...’ She stopped and Benedict said quietly: ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think I mean that nothing was exciting any more.’ She thought for a moment. ‘There was nothing to get my teeth into.’

  Benedict got up and came round the desk and sat on its edge in front of her. ‘I’m glad we’ve cleared the air, and you’re quite right, I flung you into the deep end with hardly a backward glance. You see, I knew you’d cope; you are coping so well that I quite forgot that you aren’t a first class secretary, that you don’t understand a word of our language, that you have to find everything out for yourself with the aid of a dictionary. I daresay any other girl would have fled screaming by now.’ He turned to look out of the window. ‘I’m sorry, Prudence, will you forgive me?’

  ‘Well, I don’t see that I have anything to forgive. It must be quite ghastly to have to stop and spell words and answer silly questions when you’ve so much on your mind.’

  Benedict grinned at her. ‘For a girl with red hair and green eyes you’ve got a lot of common sense.’

  ‘What’s so strange about that?’ asked Prudence.

  ‘Well, you don’t need it really, do you? You can get by on your looks.’ He added deliberately: Tony must have been mad to let you go.’

  ‘I let him go, if you remember.’

  ‘And you don’t regret that either?’

  She gave him a level look. ‘No. Would you like these before dinner?’

  ‘Please. Before you go, Prudence, there’s something you should know; I believe we’re in for a whooping cough epidemic; there are already more than the usual number of cases for this time of the year and so many parents have neglected to have their children immunised.’ He paused, and Prudence asked quickly: