the house a little later and began a conscientious exploration of the city. The boys would want to know what she had seen and where she had been… She had been to the Domkerk with them, now she went to the Dom Tower and then through the cloister passage to the University Chapter Hall. The Central Museum was next on her list—costumes, jewellery, some paintings and beautiful furniture. By now it was well after noon, so she looked for a small café and lingered over a kaas broodje. She would have liked more but she had no idea when she would be paid and she hadn’t a great deal of money.
The day, which had begun with sunshine and gentle wind, had become overcast, and the wind was no longer gentle. She was glad of her jacket over the jersey two-piece as she made her way to the shopping centre. The shops were fine, filled with beautiful things: clothes, of course, and shoes, but as well as these splendid furniture, porcelain, silver and glass… There were bookshops, too, and she spent a long time wandering round them, wishing she could buy some of their contents. It surprised her to find so many English books on sale, and to find a shop selling Burberrys and Harris Tweed. It would be no hardship to live here, she reflected, and took herself off to find the hofjes and patrician houses, to stand and admire their age-old beauty.
She found another small coffee shop where she had tea and a cake while she pondered what to do with her evening. She thought she might go back around nine o’clock. By then the boys would be in bed and asleep, and if the doctor was out, Bas and Jet would be in kitchen. A cinema seemed the answer. It would mean that she couldn’t afford a meal, but she could buy a sandwich and a cup of coffee before she went back to the house.
There were several cinemas; she chose one in a square in the centre of the city, paid out most of her remaining guldens and sat through an American film. Since she was a little tired by now, she dozed off and woke to see that it was over and that the advertisements were on. After that the lights went up and everyone went out into the street.
It was almost dark now, but it was still barely eight o’clock. She went into a crowded café and had a cup of coffee, then decided that she had better save what guldens she had left. There was a small tin of biscuits by her bed; she could eat those. She couldn’t sit for ever over one cup of coffee, though, so she went into the street and started her walk back to the house.
She was crossing the square when she saw the little stall at one corner. Pommes Frites was painted across its wooden front.
‘Chips,’ said Araminta, her mouth watering. ‘But why do they have to say so in French when we’re in Holland?’ She went over to the corner and in exchange for two gulden was handed a little paper cornet filled with crisp golden chips. She bit into one; it was warm and crunchy and delicious…
Dr van der Breugh, on his way to dine with old friends, halting at traffic lights, glanced around him. Being a Saturday evening there were plenty of people about; the cafés and restaurants were doing a good trade and the various stalls had plenty of customers.
He saw Araminta as the light changed, and he had to drive on, but instead of going straight ahead, as he should have done, he turned back towards the square and stopped the car a few feet from her.
She hadn’t seen him; he watched her bite into a chip with the eager delight of a child and then choke on it when she looked up and saw him. He was astonished at his feelings of outrage at the sight of her. Outrage at his own behaviour. He should have taken her with them, or at least made some arrangement for her day. He got out of his car, his calm face showing nothing of his feelings.
As for Araminta, if the ground had obligingly opened and allowed her to fall into it, she would have been happy; as it was, she would have to do the best she could. She swallowed the last fragment of chip and said politely, ‘Good evening, doctor. What delicious chips you have in Holland…’
He had no intention of wasting time talking about chips. ‘Why are you here, Miss Pomfrey? Why are you not at the house, eating your dinner….’ He paused, frowning. He hadn’t given her a thought when he returned with the boys, hadn’t asked Bas if she was back, had forgotten her.
Araminta saw the frown and made haste to explain. ‘Well, you see, it’s like this. Bas thought that I would be out until late; he gave me a key, too, so I expect there was a misunderstanding. I thought—’ she caught his eye ‘—well, I thought that perhaps you expected me to stay out. I mean, you did say that Jet would put the boys to bed, so you didn’t expect me back, did you?’ She hesitated. ‘Am I making myself clear?’
When he didn’t speak, she added, ‘I’ve had a most interesting day, and I went to the cinema this evening. I’m on my way back to the house now, so I’ll say good evening, doctor.’
‘No, Miss Pomfrey, you will not say good evening. You will come with me and we will have dinner together. I have no doubt that you have eaten nothing much all day and I cannot forgive myself for not seeing that you had adequate money with you and arrangements made for your free day. Please forgive me?’
She stared up at him, towering over her. ‘Of course I forgive you. I’m not your guest, you know, and I’m quite used to being by myself. And please don’t feel that you have to give me a meal; I’ve just eaten all those chips.’
‘All the same, we will dine together.’ He swept her into the car and picked up the car phone. He spoke in Dutch so that she wasn’t to know that he was excusing himself from a dinner party.
‘Oh, that hospital again,’ said his hostess. ‘Do you never get a free moment, Marcus?’
He made a laughing rejoinder, promised to dine at some future date, and started the car.
Araminta, still clutching her chips, said in a tight little voice, ‘Will you take me back to the house, doctor? It’s kind of you to offer me a meal, but I’m not hungry.’
A waste of breath, for all she got in reply was a grunt as he swept the car back into the lighted streets, past shop windows still blazing with light, cafés spilling out onto the pavements, grand hotels… She tried again. ‘I’m not suitably dressed…’
He took no notice of that either, but turned into a narrow side street lined with elegant little shops. At its far end there was a small restaurant.
There was a canal on the opposite side of the street, and the doctor parked beside it—dangerously near the edge, from her point of view—and got out. There was no help for it but to get out when he opened her door, to be marched across the street and into the restaurant.
It was a small place: a long, narrow room with tables well apart, most of them occupied. Araminta was relieved to see that although the women there were well dressed, several of them were in suits and dark dresses so that her jacket and skirt weren’t too conspicuous.
It seemed the doctor was known there; they were led to a table in one corner, her jacket was taken from her and a smiling waiter drew out her chair.
The doctor sat down opposite to her. ‘What will you drink?’ he asked. ‘Dry sherry?’
When she agreed, he spoke to the waiter, who offered menus. There was choice enough, and she saw at a glance that everything was wildly expensive. She stared down at it; she hadn’t wanted to come, and it would be entirely his fault if she chose caviar, plover’s eggs and truffles, all of which were on the menu, their cost equivalent to a week’s housekeeping money. On the other hand, she had no wish to sample any of these delicacies and, since she must have spoilt his evening, it seemed only fair to choose as economically as possible.
The doctor put down his menu. ‘Unless you would like anything special, will you
