might encourage him to tell her more, but her mind was blank. Only her treacherous tongue took matters into its own hands.
‘Is she pretty?’ asked Araminta, and went scarlet with shame, thankful that it was too dark for him to see her face.
The doctor managed not to smile. He said in a matter-of-fact way, as though there was nothing unusual in her question, ‘I think she is the loveliest girl in the world.’
To make amends, Araminta said, ‘I hope you will be very happy.’
‘Oh, I am quite certain of that. Paul and Peter are looking very fit, don’t you agree?’
Such a pointed change in the conversation couldn’t be ignored. She was aware of being snubbed and her reply was uttered in extreme politeness with waspish undertones. It seemed the right moment to introduce that safest of topics, the weather.
She spun it out, making suitable comments at intervals, and the doctor, making equally suitable answers in a casual fashion, was well content. True, his Araminta had shown no sign of love, even liking for him, but she was very much on her guard and anxious to impress him with her plans for her solitary future.
But he had seen her gloved hands clenched together on her lap and the droop of her shoulders. She wasn’t happy, despite her assurances. He wished very much to tell her that he loved her, but it was only too obvious that she was holding him at arm’s length. Well, he could wait. In a week or so he would find a reason to meet her again…
They were in the outskirts of Eastbourne and he glanced at the clock on the dashboard. ‘Ten minutes to six. Do you go on duty straight away?’
‘I expect so. There’ll be the unpacking to do, and the boys will want their supper.’
He stopped the car by the school entrance and she undid her seat belt. ‘Thank you for bringing me back; I have so enjoyed my weekend. Don’t get out—you must be anxious to get home.’
He took no notice of that but got out, opened her door, got her case from the boot and walked her to the door.
She held out a hand. ‘Goodbye, Dr van der Breugh. I hope you have a lovely time at Christmas.’
He didn’t speak. He put her case down in the vestibule and bent and kissed her, slowly and gently. And only by a great effort was she able to keep her arms from flinging themselves round him. He got back into his car then, and drove away, and she stood, a prey to a great many thoughts and feelings, oblivious of the small boys trooping to and fro in the hall behind her.
Their small voices, piping greetings, brought her to her senses and back into the busy world of the school. It was only that night in bed that she had the time to go over those last few moments.
Had he meant to kiss her like that? she wondered. Or was it a kind of goodbye kiss? After all, if he intended to marry, he would have no further interest in her, and any interest he might have had had been more or less thrust upon him.
She was glad that she had been so positive about the future she had planned for herself. She must have convinced him that she had no interest in getting married. There were hundreds of girls who had made independent lives for themselves and there was no reason why she shouldn’t be one of them.
No one would mind. Her mother and father would want her to be happy, but it wouldn’t worry them if she didn’t marry.
She was too tired to cry and tomorrow morning was only a few hours away. She went into an uneasy sleep and dreamed of Marcus.
With Christmas only weeks away there was a good deal of extra activity at the school: the play, the school concert, the older boys carol-singing in the town, and all of the boys making Christmas presents. Model aeroplanes, boats, spacecraft were all in the process of being glued, nailed and painted, destined for brothers and sisters at home. Cards were designed and painted, drawings framed for admiring mothers and fathers, calendars cut out and suitably ornamented for devoted grannies, and, as well as all this, there were lessons as usual.
Araminta, racing round making beds, looking for small lost garments, helping to write letters home, helping with the presents and making suitable costumes for the play, and that on top of her usual chores, had no time to think about her own life. Only at last when she had her free day did she take time to think about the future.
She didn’t go home; her parents would be coming back during the following week and she would go then. She wrapped up warmly and walked briskly along the promenade, oblivious of the wind and the rain.
It seemed obvious to her that she wouldn’t see Marcus again. It must have been pure chance which led him to visit his sister while she was staying there. Indeed, it was always pure chance when they met. He had had no choice but to offer to drive her back to Eastbourne.
‘I must forget him,’ said Araminta, shouting it into the wind.
She turned her back on that same wind presently and got blown back the way she had come. In the town she found a small, cosy restaurant and had a meal, then spent the afternoon shopping. Dull items like toothpaste, hand cream and a new comb, some of the ginger nuts Norma liked with her evening cocoa and coloured wrapping paper for some of the boys whose gifts were finished and ready to pack up.
She had an extravagant tea presently, prolonging it as long as possible by making a list of the Christmas presents she must buy. Then, since the shops were still open, she spent a long time choosing cards, but finally that was done and there was nothing for her to do but go back to the school.
The cinema was showing a horror film, which didn’t appeal, and besides, she didn’t like the idea of going alone. The theatre was shut prior to opening with the yearly pantomime.
She bought a packet of sandwiches and went back to her room; she would make tea on her gas ring and eat her sandwiches and read the paperbacks she had chosen. She had enjoyed her day, she assured herself. All the same she was glad when it was morning and she could plunge headfirst into the ordered chaos of little boys.
At the end of another week she went home for the day. It was a tedious journey, travelling to London by train and then on to Henley where her father met her with the car. He was glad to see her, observed that she looked very well and plunged into an account of his and her mother’s tour. It had been an undoubted success, he told her, and they would be returning at a future date. The details of their trip lasted until they reached the house, where her mother was waiting for them.
‘You look very well, my dear,’ she told Araminta. ‘This little job is obviously exactly right for you. Did your father tell you about our success? I’m sure he must have left out a good deal…’
Even if Araminta had wanted to talk to her mother there was no chance; they loved her, but she couldn’t compete against the Celts. After all, they had been involved with them long before she was born. Her unexpected late arrival must have interfered with their deep interest in Celtic lore, but only for a short time. Nannies, governesses and school had made her independent at an early age and she had accepted that.
She listened now, made suitable comments and, since her cousin had gone to Henley to the dentist, cooked lunch. It was only later, while they were having tea, that her mother asked, ‘You enjoyed your stay with those little boys? Dr Jenkell has told us what a charming man their uncle is. You were well treated?’
‘Oh, yes, Mother, and the boys were delightful children. We got on well together and I liked Holland. Utrecht is a lovely
