Paradise for Two

Prudence scrambled up higher against her pillows. “That won’t do. I’ll come and see my aunt, Pretty—it’s no good her having a diet if she’s not going to keep to it. Don’t you worry now, go and have your breakfast, if you like. I’ll let you know what’s happening.”

She got out of bed and flung on her gown, a gossamer affair of crêpe-de-Chine and lace which matched her nightie.

“That cost a pretty penny,” declared Pretty severely.

Prudence agreed readily. “I like pretty things.” She smiled at Pretty and stuck her feet into satin slippers trimmed extravagantly with satin bows, then took herself out of the room to visit her aunt.

Mrs Wesley was sitting up in her bed sipping milkless tea in a discontented fashion, and it took all of ten minutes to coax her to have the breakfast she was allowed and not the one she wanted, but Prudence was used to dealing with recalcitrant patients, and presently she went away to dress and go downstairs for her own breakfast—the last peaceful minutes she was to have until lunch time, as it happened. Between them, Mrs Wesley and her sister kept her busy for the entire morning; their demands for this and that and the other were numerous, uttered with charm and a stately determination to have their own way. It was a relief to everyone when they consented to rest on their beds after lunch. Prudence tucked them up with soothing murmurs, waited until she heard their gentle snores, and escaped into the gardens. It was a splendid day, warm for the time of year. She found a pleasant seat in a quiet corner and opened her book.

It was obvious that each meal was going to be a battle of wills between herself and her godmother. Prudence reflected that it was a good thing that Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga had a well-staffed household, devoted to her. There was to be no lack of help when Prudence was summoned to get that lady from her bed, an undertaking which took a great deal of time and almost all her patience. All in all, she thought as she got ready for bed that night, a busy day, and as far as she could see, all the other days would be the same.

They were, at least for the next three days, but by now she had a routine, frequently disrupted by the vagaries of the two elderly ladies, but none the less workable. Not speaking Dutch was a disadvantage, of course, but it was amazing what could be done with arm-waving and pointing.

The fourth day came and went and there was no sign of Haso, and although Prudence reminded herself that she disliked the man intensely, none the less, she wished he would come. It had been rather unfair, she reflected, giving way to a self-pity she seldom indulged in, that she had been left with the responsibility of the aunts. Of course, she could get his partner at any time, but that wasn’t the same thing… She got into bed with something of a bounce and declared to the empty room, “Well, I suppose he’ll turn up sooner or later.”

Sooner, as it turned out.

She wakened to the sound of Pretty’s urgent voice hissing at her.

“Miss Prudence, for heaven’s sake, wake up—there’s something wrong with Madam, and there you are snoring your head off!”

Prudence opened one eye. “I never snore.”

Pretty gave her shoulder a little shake. “Oh, do listen—you must listen! I know there’s something wrong, Madam’s lying there and I can’t rouse her! I can’t think why I went to see if she was all right, but she’s not…”

Prudence was out of her bed, feeling around for her slippers with her feet.

“Hyperglycaemic coma,” she said, although she still wasn’t quite awake.

Pretty said sharply, “Call it anything you like, my Madam’s ill.”

She was quite right; Mrs Wesley, as far as Prudence could judge, was in a diabetic coma, although they couldn’t think of a reason for it. She had eaten her diet, every morsel, at dinner—Prudence herself had seen to that—and her insulin had been the correct dosage. She took a brief look at her godmother and went swiftly to the telephone.

It was Dr ter Brons Huizinga who answered her, and she didn’t waste time with so much as a hello. “Mrs Wesley—she’s in a hyperglycaemic coma—deep, sighing breaths. I’m unable to rouse her at all…”

He cut her short. “I’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.”

Prudence went back to her godmother and then got out the insulin and syringe. “And if you’d go down to the front door and let the doctor in, Pretty?”

He was as good as his word; she was bending over Mrs Wesley when he came into the room.

He didn’t bother to greet her, his, “Well, what has she been eating?” was uttered in a voice which, while not accusing, certainly held no warmth.

“Her normal diet. I had all my meals with her and I’m certain of that.”

He was examining the unconscious figure on the bed. “Aunt Emma—dined in her bed?”

“Yes, of course. She only gets up for an hour or two in the afternoon.”

“She had a normal meal this evening?”

Prudence’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, my goodness! Aunt Beatrix went to sit with her…but that was after Pretty had taken the tray away. She had coffee…” She gave a small gasp. “Some friends called to see her today and left a large box of chocolates.” She stared as his expression changed. “You think…?”

“Let us assume that it’s the chocolates.”

He had nothing more to say, but set about the business of dealing with his patient, an intravenous saline drip, soluble insulin given intravenously, following this with an even larger dose by injection, a blood sugar test and specimens taken for testing. He worked quietly, quickly and calmly, talking only when it was necessary, taking it for granted that Prudence knew what she was doing, too.

It was early morning, two hours later, before Mrs Wesley showed signs of coming out of her coma. An hour later, after a small injection of insulin and glucose to counterbalance its effect, she was completely conscious. Prudence heaved a relieved sigh and longed for a cup of tea, just as Pretty poked her head round the door in a cautious manner and hissed, “Tea?”

It was Dr ter Brons Huizinga who answered her in a normal voice.

“A splendid idea, Pretty—and while you are getting it perhaps you, Prudence, would go and get a fruit drink for my aunt.”

There was a beautiful dawn breaking as she went down to the kitchen; she fetched the drink, gave it to a remarkably subdued patient and then accepted a cup of tea from the tray Pretty had fetched.

“I’m going back home,” observed the doctor. “I want two-hourly testing, and for the time being around thirty grams of carbohydrate four-hourly. I’ll be back after morning surgery, but please phone if you’re worried.”

Prudence looked at him with cold dislike, but said with deceptive meekness, “Very well, Doctor. Presumably you’ll arrange for someone to take over while I dress, eat breakfast and cast an eye over your other aunt?”

He said cordially, “Most certainly, since you feel you can’t cope.”

She said tartly, “Don’t be so unreasonable—of course I can cope, and you know it, but I doubt if you intend to take your surgery dressed as you are and with a bristly chin, too. So why should I spend the morning in a dressing-gown until you choose to do something about it?”

“It’s a charming garment; for my part, you have no need to dress.”

Her dark eyes flashed with temper; she said with chilling civility, “I suppose you can’t help being rude!”

He looked as if he was going to laugh, but all he said was, “If you could dress yourself and eat breakfast in half an hour, I’ll stay—but not a moment longer.”

Prudence sniffed, “How kind!” She cast a glance at Aunt Beatrix, lying with her eyes shut, looking more or less normal again, and whisked herself away.

Pretty, encountered on her way to her room, promised breakfast in ten minutes, and Prudence, with years of practice at dressing at speed in hospital, showered, donned a cotton top and a wide, flower-patterned skirt, tied her hair with a ribbon, and, since the ten minutes was up, left her face unmade-up before going down to the kitchen where the faithful Pretty was waiting with coffee and toast.

“Mevrouw’s cook may be out of the top drawer, but she hasn’t an idea how to cook a decent breakfast. All this bread and bits and pieces to put on it—give me bacon and eggs and a mushroom or two…”

Prudence, her teeth buried in her first slice of toast, agreed indistinctly. “When in Rome, do as Rome does,” she added, and helped herself to a slice of cheese.

“Madam will be all right now?” asked Pretty anxiously.

“I believe so—we caught her in time. I do hope she won’t do it again.”

She munched steadily for a few minutes, swallowed her coffee and got up. “I’ll take a quick peep at Aunt Emma. Will someone see to her breakfast?”

“Don’t you worry, miss, there’s help enough in this place. Has the doctor gone yet?”

“No, but he will the moment I get back to Aunt Beatrix.”

“Such a nice young man!” Pretty allowed her stern features to relax into a sentimental smile.

Prudence didn’t think this remark worth answering. She thanked her companion for her breakfast and flew upstairs, two minutes in hand.

Aunt Emma was still snoring peacefully; she skimmed along the corridor and went into Aunt Beatrix’s room.

“Ah, there you are.” Dr ter Brons Huizinga glanced at his watch, an observation which did nothing to improve her opinion of him, uttered as it was in a tone of pained patience.

“Half an hour exactly,” she pointed out. “If you’d give me your instructions…?”

He did so, watched by his patient, lying back on her pillows now, with the drip taken down, looking almost normal again. “Perhaps you would be good enough to fetch the notes I left by my aunt’s bed when I last visited her?”

He watched her with a slightly sardonic expression while she bit back the desire to tell him he could fetch them for himself on his way downstairs. With a slightly heightened colour, she went out of the room and Aunt Beatrix remarked from her bed, “You don’t like each other?” She sounded so disappointed.

Haso was strolling about the room, his hands in his pockets. “My dear Aunt—given the fact that we’ve both been out of our beds since about one o’clock this morning, and are in consequence a trifle edgy, I hardly think your observation applies.”

“Well, I do hope not. She’s a sweet girl, and so sensible.” She studied his face. “She’s extremely pretty, Haso.”

“Indeed she is. Also not very biddable and a little too sharp in the tongue. Probably due, as I’ve already said, to having to get out of her bed so very early in the morning.”

“I’m very sorry…but the chocolates were most tempting.”

He smiled very kindly at her. “I’m sure they were, only don’t be tempted again. Be a good soul and keep to your diet, and in no time at all you’ll be able to have all sorts of little extras. They make special chocolate for diabetics, you know.”

Mrs Wesley brightened. “Oh, do they? Good. How is your Aunt Emma, my dear?”

“Doing very nicely. I’ll go and see her now.” He kissed his aunt’s cheek, nodded casually to Prudence, who had just returned, took his notes from her and went away, whistling cheerfully.

The day passed uneventfully; it was amazing how quickly Mrs Wesley recovered. By teatime she was sitting in her sister’s room, exchanging somewhat exaggerated accounts of their illnesses. The doctor had been back again, pronounced himself satisfied as to their conditions, and gone again after a brief talk with Prudence. Very professional and standoffish he was, too, she thought, watching his vast back disappearing down the staircase.

She wondered where he lived, but she hadn’t liked to ask anyone, and certainly not him; she could imagine how he would look down his arrogant nose at her and tell her, in the most polite way possible, to mind her own business.

Mrs Wesley appeared to have learnt her lesson, and her sister was making steady progress; Prudence felt free to spend a little time on her own, exploring. The lake she had glimpsed on her arrival was close by; she found her way to it without much difficulty, circled it, poking her pretty nose into a boathouse on its near shore and then on the following afternoon wandering down to the village, where she bought postcards and stamps at the one shop; easily done by pointing to whatever she wanted and offering a handful of coins she had borrowed from her aunt. It had been foolish of her not to have thought of getting some Dutch money before she had left England; traveller’s cheques were of no use at all.

The doctor called briefly on the following days. It was at the end of one of these visits that he surprised Prudence very much by suggesting that she might like to go to Leeuwarden. “My aunts are well enough to leave to Pretty and Aunt Emma’s maid for a few hours; you must wish to see a little of the country while you’re here.”

She said baldly, “I want to go to a bank and change my cheques. I had no idea that Aunt Emma lived so far away from a town…”

“Not far at all,” he corrected her. “I’m going to Leeuwarden after lunch tomorrow. I’ll give you a lift.”

“How kind. How do I get back?”

“I’ll show you where to wait until I pick you up.” He was refusing to be nettled by her faintly cross voice.

She thanked him with cool politeness, and since he just stood there, looking at her and saying nothing, she felt compelled to make some sort of conversation.

“The lake is charming,” she commented, “and I walked to the village—are there other villages close by?” She gave him an innocently questioning look in the hope that he might say where he lived.

His laconic “several” was annoyingly unhelpful.

Her two patients behaved in an exemplary fashion. She helped get Aunt Emma out of her bed before lunch, had her own meal with Aunt Beatrix, an eagle eye on that diet, and then hurried away to change.

She was not dressing to impress the doctor, she assured her reflection as she got into a jersey three-piece in a flattering shade of pale green, thrust her feet into high-heeled, expensive shoes, found their matching handbag and, with a last look at her pleasing appearance, went downstairs.

Haso was in the hall, sitting on the edge of a console table, reading a newspaper and whistling cheerfully. He got up when he saw her, wished her good day and added blandly, “Oh, charming—for my benefit, I hope?”

“Certainly not, pray disabuse yourself of any such idea.”

“Not an idea, just a faint hope. I thought it would be nice if we could cry truce for a couple of hours.”

Prudence said calmly, “I’m quite prepared to be friendly, Dr ter Brons Huizinga…”

“Call me Haso, it’s quicker. Good, let’s go, then.”

There was a dark grey Daimler outside on the sweep before the house. He opened her door and she settled herself comfortably, prepared to enjoy the drive.

She certainly did. Haso took a small country road to begin with, joined a quiet main road after a few miles and then went across country until they traversed the outskirts of Leeuwarden. The scenery was green and calm, with cows in the wide fields and every so often a canal cutting through the quiet landscape. The doctor was on his best behaviour; he discoursed at length about their surroundings in a serious voice which none the less gave Prudence the uneasy feeling that he was secretly amused. But he had cried truce for the afternoon, and she for her part was prepared to keep to that. She answered him when called upon to do so, and felt vague relief when they reached the outskirts of the town—a relief which turned to indignation when he observed silkily, “Boring, isn’t it, being on our best behaviour? Shall we agree to disagree when we feel like it?”

She swallowed her astonishment, but before she could decide what to say he had stopped the car in a quiet street.

“Out you get,” he told her. “Turn left at the corner and you’ll find you’re within yards of the centre of the town. You’ll see the Weigh House across the street—I’ll be there two hours from now. You can’t get lost, the shops are all close by and there are several banks where you can change your cheques. Tot ziens.”

He had driven off before Prudence could frame a reply. She hadn’t known quite what to expect, but certainly she hadn’t imagined she would be dumped off with so little ceremony. She wasn’t going to waste time over him; she went to the corner, and sure enough it was exactly as he had said.

She cashed her cheques, took a closer look at the Weigh House and then strolled around the shops; there were several small things she needed; it was rather fun to pick them out for herself and compare the prices. She spent quite a considerable time at a silversmiths, choosing beautifully made coffee-spoons for Aunt Maud, and then browsing around its counters. Indeed, it was pure chance that she glanced at the clock and saw that it was five minutes past the two hours she had been allowed.

The Weigh House wasn’t far way; she could see the Daimler parked nearby and approached it with some trepidation; the doctor might be someone she didn’t like, but he was also a man to be reckoned with.

She braced herself for whatever he was going to say.

Nothing. He got out of the car, opened her door for her and got back in only then, saying mildly, “We’ll have tea, shall we? I telephoned the aunts—everything is quite all right, so Pretty tells me. We’ll go home—my mother would like to meet you.” He spoilt it all by adding silkily, “And I’m sure you’re dying to know where I live.”

CHAPTER THREE

AS FAR AS Prudence could judge, they were going back the same way as they had come, but presently she realised that the narrow brick road they were on was turning north. She looked in vain for landmarks, but the fields all looked alike, with distant clumps of trees, all looking the same as each other.

“Confusing, isn’t it?” commented the doctor. “We’re only a few kilometres from my aunt’s house—there’s a narrow lane a little farther ahead which leads to it. Those trees ahead of us hide Kollumwoude, where I live.”

The village proved to be pretty: red-roofed cottages, one or two villa-type houses, a shop or two and, brooding over the lot, a red brick house of some size, encircled by a cobbled street. There were high wrought-iron gates half-way round it, standing open, and the doctor drove through them. “Home,” he observed laconically.

Very nice, too, decided Prudence, taking in the house before them at the end of the short, straight drive. It was three storeys high, its windows set in three rows of three, with a round tower at each end, both of which had a pointed roof like a gnome’s cap, as had the central building, and added to one side was another smaller wing with yet another tower. The windows were shuttered and the walls here and there were covered by a green creeper of some sort. The whole gave a pleasing appearance reminiscent of a fairytale castle. Only, it wasn’t quite a castle, it looked too lived-in for that: there were curtains at its windows and orange window blinds over them. She said rather foolishly, “Oh, is this where you live?”

“Yes.” He leaned over and undid her seat-belt, got out and opened the door for her and ushered her towards the door before them. Of solid wood, it had a fanlight above which was a small balcony, supported by two pillars. The door was opened by an elderly man just as they reached it, and when he stood aside for them to enter, the doctor spoke to him and he replied in a creaky voice. The doctor announced, “This is Wigge—and that’s a good old Friesian name—he looks after us all.”

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.