Paradise for Two

Mrs Wesley woke as the plane started its descent to Schiphol, observed that the flight had been a pleasant one, and warned Prudence, who had the tickets, to be sure she didn’t lose them.

The rather slow business of getting from the plane to the airport exit went without a hitch; with the luggage piled high on three trolleys, they arrived in the open air to find a uniformed chauffeur waiting for them.

He greeted Mrs Wesley with great politeness, acknowledged Prudence’s polite good morning with a bowed head and grinned at Pretty. The car waiting for them was a very large Mercedes into which Aunt Beatrix stepped and settled herself comfortably, leaving everyone else to load in the luggage, with Prudence giving advice which only Pretty understood and the porters taking no notice of anyone at all. But at length everything was stowed away to the chauffeur’s satisfaction; he held the door politely for Prudence to get in beside her godmother, saw Pretty into the seat beside him and drove off.

“We go around Amsterdam,” explained Aunt Beatrix, “and join the motorway going north. We shall cross the Afsluitdijk into Friesland, and from there we drive across Friesland very nearly to Groningen Province. I think you’ll find the country pleasant enough; there should be a map in the pocket beside you, dear, so you can see exactly where you are. I shall compose myself and take a nap—I find travelling very fatiguing.”

Prudence somehow choked back a giggle, and presently opened the map.

She hadn’t realised quite how small Holland was. They were on the Afsluitdijk within two hours, speeding towards the distant coastline of Friesland; they must be almost there. Aunt Maud had warned her that she might expect to find her hostess’s home somewhat larger than her own. “I visited there once, a long time ago,” Aunt Maud had said, “and I remember I was rather impressed.”

The car swept on, skirting Franeker and Leeuwarden, racing along the main road towards Groningen. What was more, Prudence had seen very few country houses, but numerous villages, each with its church, offering useful landmarks in the rolling countryside, and any number of large prosperous farms. She was wondering just where they would end up when the chauffeur turned the car on to a narrow brick road, and within minutes they had left the modern world behind them. There were trees ahead of them and a glimpse of red roofs, and, as though Mrs Wesley had secreted an alarm clock about her person, she opened her eyes, sat up straight, and said in a satisfied voice, “Ah, we’re arriving at last,” just as though she had been awake all the time. She said something to the chauffeur in Dutch and he replied at some length as they slowed through a small village; a pretty place surrounded by trees and overseen by a red brick church in its centre. The road was cobbled now and the car slowed to a walking pace as it rounded the centre of the village and took a narrow road on the other side.

“A lake?” asked Prudence. “How delightful!” She was still craning her neck to get a better view when the car was driven between stone pillars and along a curved drive, thickly bordered by shrubs and trees. It was quite short and ended in a wide sweep before a large, square house with a gabled roof, a very large front door reached by double steps and orderly rows of large windows. There was a formal flower garden facing it beyond the sweep, and an assortment of trees in a semicircle around it. Prudence, getting out of the car, decided that it was rather nice in a massive, simple way. It might lack the mellow red brick beauty of Aunt Maud’s home, but it had charm of its own, standing solidly in all the splendour of its white walls in the May sunshine.

The procession, led by Mrs Wesley with Prudence behind her and tailed by Pretty and the chauffeur, carrying the first of the baggage, mounted the steps, to be welcomed by a stout man with cropped white hair and bright blue eyes. He made what Prudence supposed to be a speech of welcome, and stood aside to allow them into a vestibule which in turn opened into an oval entrance hall. Very grand, reflected Prudence, with pillars supporting an elaborate plaster ceiling and some truly hideous large vases arranged in the broad niches around the walls. The floor was black-and-white marble and cold to the feet.

There were numerous doors, and the stout man opened one and ushered them into a large room furnished in the style of the Second Empire, with heavy brocade curtains at its windows and a vast carpet on its polished floor. Aunt Beatrix took off her gloves, asked Pretty to see that the luggage was brought in and taken to their rooms, and sat down in a massive armchair. “Wim will let my sister’s maid know that we have arrived,” she observed, “but first we’ll have coffee. I suggest that while I’m seeing my sister you might like to stroll through the gardens for half an hour.”

Prudence agreed cheerfully. “And when do you take your insulin?” she wanted to know.

“Ah, yes, I mustn’t forget that, must I, my dear? And my diet…”

“You have it with you? Shall I go and see someone about it? It’s very important.”

Her godmother was searching through her handbag. “I have it here, but I shall need to translate it. How many grammes are there in an ounce?”

They worked out a lunch diet while they drank their coffee, and gave the result to Wim, and Mrs Wesley said comfortably, “I shall leave you to arrange dinner for me, dear; if you’ll write it out I can translate it…I dare say you’re clever enough to ring the changes.”

Prudence agreed placidly, concealing the fact that she was a surgical nurse and had always loathed diabetics anyway. “You’d like me to see to your insulin, too?” she asked.

Her godmother nodded. “But of course, Prudence.”

A small, stout, apple-cheeked woman came presently to take Mrs Wesley to her sister. Before she went, she suggested once again that Prudence should go into the garden around the house. “My sister will want to meet you,” she concluded, “but first we must have a chat.”

When she had gone, Prudence wandered over to the doors opening on to the terrace behind the house and went outside. The gardens were a picture of neatness and orderliness. Tulips stood in rows, masses of them, with clumps of wallflowers and forget-me-nots between them. All very formal and Dutch, she reflected, and made her way past the side of the house, down a narrow path and through a small wooden gate. The path meandered here, between shrubs she couldn’t name, and there were clumps of wild flowers, ground ivy and the last of a splendid carpet of bluebells. She turned a corner and ran full tilt into a man digging. He straightened up, and said something in Dutch and turned to look at her. He was tall and heavily built, so that she felt quite dwarfed beside him. She had read somewhere that the people of Friesland and Groningen were massively built, and this man was certainly proof of that; he was handsome, too, with lint-fair hair, cut unfashionably short, bright blue eyes, a disdainful nose and a firm mouth. The gardener, she assumed, and murmured a polite good day.

He stood leaning on his spade, inspecting her so that after a moment she frowned at him. And when he grinned and spoke to her in Dutch she said sharply, “Don’t stare like that! What a pity I can’t speak Dutch.” And at his slow smile she flushed pinkly and turned on her heel. So silly to get riled, she told herself, walking away with great dignity. He hadn’t said a word—or at least, none that she could understand.

She went back into the house and presently she was taken upstairs to a vast bedroom and introduced to Aunt Beatrix’s sister—Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga, a rather more stately version of Aunt Beatrix, if that were possible, sitting up in bed against a pile of very large linen-covered pillows. Despite her stateliness, she looked ill, and Prudence eyed her with some uneasiness. She enquired tentatively after her hostess’s health, and was reassured to hear that her doctor visited her daily and was quite satisfied with her progress. “He should be here any minute,” declared Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga, and, exactly on cue, there was a tap on the door and he came into the room. The gardener, no less.

CHAPTER TWO

AUNT BEATRIX swam forward and enveloped him in her vast embrace. “My dear boy, how delightful to see you again and to know that you are taking such good care of your aunt! We’ve only just arrived…” She had spoken in English and turned to glance at Prudence, standing with her mouth deplorably half-open and with a heightened colour. “Prudence, this is my nephew—at least, he’s my sister’s nephew; Haso ter Brons Huizinga. Haso, this is Prudence Makepeace who has kindly come with me so that there’s someone to look after me. She’s a nurse.”

Prudence offered a hand and nodded coldly. He didn’t look like a gardener any more; he had rolled down his shirt sleeves and put on a beautifully tailored jacket, and his hands looked as though he had never done a day’s work, let alone dig a garden. He held her hand firmly and didn’t let it go. “Ah, yes, Prudence, I’ve heard a good deal about you.”

A remark which annoyed her. She said sharply, “You could have said who you were!”

He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

She was stumped for an answer.

He said thoughtfully, “You aren’t my idea of a Prudence.”

“Indeed?” She had managed to get her hand back at last.

He put his handsome head on one side, contemplating her. “Small and pink and white and clinging.”

He shook his head and she said tartly, “What a disappointment I must be, Doctor—er—ter Brons Huizinga, not that your opinion interests me…”

“Oh, dear, we’ve started off on the wrong foot, haven’t we?”

Aunt Beatrix had gone over to her sister’s bed, but now she paused in what she was saying and turned to look at them. She said in her rather loud voice, “Getting to know each other? That’s right, you young people will have a lot in common.”

“Young?” murmured Prudence unforgivably, and looked pointedly at his hair—there was quite a lot of grey in it. She was annoyed when he laughed. “Well, I dare say you must seem young to my aunt,” she added kindly.

He didn’t answer, but strolled over to the bed. “Aunt Emma, I should like to take a look at you as I’m here. Would you like your maid here? Or better still, could Prudence help you?”

Aunt Beatrix got up. “Why, of course she will. I shall go to my room until luncheon. Before you go, Haso, will you arrange a diet for me? I have a letter from Dr Lockett in London. Insulin, you know,” she added vaguely.

He opened the door for her. “Of course, Aunt Beatrix.” He added something in Dutch to make her laugh and then returned to the bedside.

He was very much the doctor now. For Prudence’s benefit he spoke English, although from time to time he lapsed into his own language while he talked to his aunt. When he had finished his examination he sat down on the side of her bed. “You’re doing very nicely, and now you’re in your own house you’ll do even better. You may get up tomorrow for a short time: I’m sure you’re in capable hands.” He glanced at Prudence, who looked rather taken aback; she had been prepared to keep an eye on Aunt Beatrix, but now here was a second elderly lady to worry about.

“Aunt Emma has a splendid maid, quite able to cope if you would prefer that.” His eyes were on her face, but she refused to look at him. Instead she turned a smiling look towards the bed’s occupant.

“I shall enjoy looking after you,” she said firmly.

“That’s settled, then—we’d better deal with this diet, had we not?” He glanced at his watch. “I have ten minutes to spare. Perhaps you could get the diet sheets and instructions about the insulin and bring them down to the small sitting-room.”

Prudence hadn’t the least idea where the small sitting-room might be—indeed, she reflected, neither did she know where her room was. Presumably someone would tell her in their own good time. She wished Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga a temporary goodbye and went through the door he was holding open. She had swept past him rather grandly, only to stop short in the corridor outside. She had not the least idea where to go.

“Aunt Beatrix will be in her usual room—go to the end of this corridor and turn left, it’s the first door on your right.” He caught her arm. “It will be quicker if I show you. Do you know where your room is?”

“No, but I hope someone will tell me before bedtime.”

He stopped, and she perforce stopped with him. “Not much of a welcome. You should have been warned that the Aunts take it for granted that their minds are read and their wishes carried out without the necessity of them needing to put them into words.” He walked on again, turned a corner and nodded towards a door. “There’s Aunt Beatrix’s room. The sitting-room is on the left at the bottom of the staircase.”

Aunt Beatrix was resting on her bed watching Pretty unpack. “There you are, dear child. Luncheon will be in twenty minutes—in the family dining-room. Do you want something?”

Prudence collected the diet sheets, the insulin and the doctor’s letter and went downstairs. Dr ter Brons Huizinga came to the door as she reached the last stair. “In here, Prudence—you don’t mind if I call you Prudence?”

He didn’t wait for her to answer but started reading the letter, having first invited her to sit down. The room was rather pleasant, although she found the furniture rather heavy. But it was beautifully cared for, and the ornaments and silver scattered around were museum pieces. She glanced up and found the doctor’s eyes upon her. He smiled suddenly, and just for a moment she liked him, but the smile went as quickly as it had come, and he turned away to a chair opposite hers.

“There couldn’t be a worse diabetic than Aunt Beatrix,” he observed in his faintly accented English. “Keeping her to a diet won’t be too bad, but once she’s stabilised and off injections, the chances of her remembering to take her pills are slight. However, we’ll do our best.”

He got out his pen and spread the diet sheet on his knee and began to write it out in Dutch. Prudence sat and looked at him; he really was very good-looking, and far too sure of himself, almost arrogant. She wondered where he lived, and as he put his pen away she asked, “Do you live here, too?”

“No. Now, the insulin…”

Prudence blushed at the snub, although she supposed she had deserved it. She listened to his instructions, received back the diet sheet and his own written instructions as well as the doctor’s letter and the insulin, and got up to go.

“Presumably you’re on the telephone if I should need you?”

“Indeed I am.” He opened the door and then shut it again before she could reach it. “Tell me, did you expect there to be a nurse here to look after Aunt Emma?”

She raised her eyes to his. “Well, yes, I did—I mean, Aunt Beatrix asked me to come along, too because she was a little uncertain about the diabetes.”

“The naughty old thing,” he observed softly. “I’ll get a nurse from Leeuwarden; she can be here by this evening.”

“No, please don’t do that, Doctor. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself all day, and there’ll be very little to do for your aunt.”

“Coals of fire, Prudence?”

“Pooh,” said Prudence roundly, “such rubbish! Perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell me what you want done.” She went on loftily, “I’ve been in charge of a twenty-bedded ward for some years, so I’m quite capable of looking after both your aunts.”

“I have no doubt of it. I’ll stay to lunch, and afterwards we can decide what’s best for the pair of them.”

He opened the door and she went past him into the hall, not knowing where to go next. “In here,” he said, and opened another door. “Time for a drink before we lunch.”

“I should like to go to my room.”

He glanced at his watch. “I’ll get someone to take you up; come back here and I’ll have some sherry poured for you.” He added carelessly, “Don’t be too long.”

A remark calculated to convince Prudence that it would take her at least fifteen minutes to see to her face and do her hair to her liking. And who did he think he was, giving orders in his aunt’s house? She followed a cheerful young girl up the staircase and down a corridor at the end of which was the pleasant room she was shown into, with windows overlooking the grounds at the back of the house. Her clothes were already unpacked, she noticed, and there were towels and soap arranged in the adjoining bathroom. She sat down before the dressing-table mirror and peered at her reflection. Her face needed very little done to it; she dabbed on some powder, applied lipstick and took down her hair and did it up again, not because it needed it, but because the doctor had told her not to be long. Really, she admonished her reflection, it wouldn’t do at all; she would have to see quite a lot of him at least for the next few days, and she must at least pretend to like him. Which reminded her that it would be a step in the right direction if she didn’t keep him waiting too long.

If he had noticed that Prudence had been at least twice as long as he had expected, he gave no sign, and presently Aunt Beatrix joined them and they crossed the hall to the dining-room, a forbidding apartment with a massive sideboard weighed down with quantities of silver and a table large enough to seat a dozen people. The meal was simple but elegantly served, and her companions carried on a conversation about nothing much, taking care to include her in it. They must be longing to lapse into their own tongue, she reflected, but neither of them gave a hint of wanting to do so, and when they had had their coffee the doctor invited her into a small room leading off the dining-room and asked her to sit down.

The next half-hour was spent in a résumé of Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga’s state of health, with a polite request for Prudence to keep an eye on her and call him if she was worried, and a somewhat detailed discussion about Aunt Beatrix. At the end of it he thanked her with cool politeness, begged her to say immediately if she found her responsibilities too heavy for her, observed that he would be in on the following day and wished her goodbye.

Prudence sat where she was for a little while, contemplating the next week or so. It was obvious to her that this was to be no ordinary visit; Aunt Beatrix, much as she loved her, had behaved quite ruthlessly, no doubt pleased with herself for having found someone to look after both herself and her sister. On the other hand, in all fairness, she was going to live in the lap of luxury, and possibly when she had found her feet there would be the chance to do some sightseeing. She allowed her thoughts to dwell on the delicious cheese soufflé which had been served at lunch, and decided that the pros more than outweighed the cons.

Both ladies snoozed in the afternoons; Prudence took herself into the gardens and explored. They were too formal for her liking, but since it was a warm afternoon she found them pleasant enough, and presently found a nice sheltered corner in the sun and curled up on the grass and went off to sleep.

“Sleeping Beauty?” asked a gently mocking voice which brought her wide awake, just for the moment quite scattered in her wits so that she blinked up at the doctor leaning over her.

“Oh, it’s you again!” she declared crossly. “I might have known!”

“Not Sleeping Beauty,” he observed blandly, “just a cross girl. I came in on my way back from hospital to tell you that I shall be in Amsterdam tomorrow and probably for the next few days as well. I’ve left a telephone number on the hall table; my partner will come at once if you need anyone. He speaks English.” He turned on his heel. “Your hair’s coming down,” he told her, and walked away towards the house.

She watched him go; never in her whole life had she met a man she disliked so much!

She went back to the house presently, but only when she had heard a car driving away. Aunt Beatrix was in the drawing-room, the tea-tray in front of her. “Go and tidy yourself, my dear, and we’ll have tea together. My sister is still sleeping. Haso has been here again—I expect you saw him.”

Prudence said that yes, she had, and she would only be two ticks tidying herself for tea, and sped away to her room. She got back to the drawing-room just in time to remove a large chocolate cake from Aunt Beatrix’s vicinity.

“You’re on a diet,” she reminded her. “You must keep fit so that you can help Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga…”

“You’re quite right, dear. I think you might address my sister as Aunt Emma. We’re to be together for some time, and I have always thought of you as my niece.”

Prudence thanked her nicely and eyed the chocolate cake; it seemed mean to have some when her companion was nibbling at a dry-looking biscuit. She would probably lose a lot of weight, she reflected gloomily, and gave herself another cup of tea with plenty of milk and sugar.

She spent an hour or so with Aunt Beatrix after tea, then went to see Aunt Emma. Aunt Emma’s maid, Sieke, seemed pleased enough to have help in getting her mistress settled for the night, a by no means simple task, since Aunt Emma was a law unto herself, knowing better than anyone else and determined to have her own way at all costs. Sieke cast her a grateful look when at last they had the lady with her incongruous wishes nicely settled against her pillows with the promise of a light supper to buoy her up. They had not, of course, been able to talk together—Sieke had no English and Prudence had no Dutch—but they had had no need of words; it was apparent that Sieke was quite willing for Prudence to take over any nursing care necessary and felt no animosity about it.

Prudence went along to her own room, showered and changed into one of the pretty dresses Aunt Maud had advised her to pack. “And a good thing, too,” she muttered as she poked at her hair, “if I’m to live up to the splendour of the dining-room.”

It was indeed splendid—white damask, shining silver and polished glass and a massive centrepiece which effectively blocked her view of Aunt Beatrix, resplendent in black velvet. Conversation, carried on in raised voice over the length of the table, was concerned wholly with Aunt Beatrix’s diet and her sister’s health. Prudence managed to make a splendid meal before joining her godmother in the drawing-room for coffee, and then she sat listening to a somewhat rambling history of the family. “Of course, your Aunt Emma married very well: her husband was a younger brother of Haso’s father and they’re a wealthy family. One wonders why the dear boy works so hard at being a doctor when he might be living quietly at his home.”

“Perhaps he likes being a doctor?” suggested Prudence mildly.

“Possibly. But his mother would like to see him married—there are several suitable young women…”

Not very interested, Prudence observed, “Perhaps he’s a confirmed bachelor. He’s not young.”

Her godmother sighed and said reprovingly, “A mere three and thirty, a splendid age at which to marry.”

Prudence longed to ask why, but decided not to.

Her godmother proceeded, “There’s no lack of young women who would be only too glad to marry him.”

“Oh, really?” said Prudence politely. “Then why doesn’t he? Marry, I mean?”

“You don’t like him,” observed her godmother suddenly.

“I don’t know him, Aunt Beatrix. How could I possibly dislike or like him after only a few minutes’ conversation with him?”

“That is, of course, true,” conceded her godmother. “You’ll naturally get to know each other during the next week or so.”

An unnecessary exercise as far as Prudence was concerned.

The following day gave her a very good idea of what was to come. She awoke refreshed from a sound night’s sleep to find her aunt’s maid standing by her bed with early morning tea.

Her “Good morning, Pretty” was answered a little sourly.

“Well, good morning it may be for some,” declared Pretty, “but I’m sure I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?” asked Prudence; it couldn’t be too dire, the house’s inmates were barely awake.

“There’s Madam, wanting rolls and butter and croissants with more butter and marmalade, with scrambled eggs and bacon, and sugar in her coffee…”