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 leave it to me to order?’
‘Oh, please.’ She added, ‘There’s such a lot to choose from, isn’t there?’
‘Indeed. How about marinated aubergine to start with? And would you like sea bass to follow?’
She agreed; she wasn’t shy, and she was too much her parents’ daughter to feel awkward. She had never been in a restaurant such as this one, but she wasn’t going to let it intimidate her. When the food came she ate with pleasure and, mindful of manners, made polite conversation. The doctor was at first secretly amused and then found himself interested. Miss Pomfrey might be nothing out of the ordinary, but she had self-assurance and a way of looking him in the eye which he found disquieting. Not a conceited man, but aware of his worth, he wasn’t used to being studied in such a manner.
For a moment he regretted his spoilt evening, but told himself that he was being unjust and then suggested that she might like a pudding from the trolley.
She chose sticky toffee pudding and ate it with enjoyment, and he, watching her over his biscuits and cheese, found himself reluctantly liking her.
They had talked in a guarded fashion over their meal—the weather, the boys, her opinion of Utrecht, all safe subjects. It was when they got back to the house and she had thanked him and started for the stairs that he stopped her.
‘Miss Pomfrey, we do not need to refer again to the regrettable waste of your free day. Rest assured that I shall see to it that any other free time you have will be well spent.’
‘Thank you, but I am quite capable of looking after myself.’
He smiled thinly. ‘Allow me to be the best judge of that, Miss Pomfrey.’ He turned away. ‘Goodnight.’
She paused on the stairs. ‘Goodnight, doctor.’ And then she added, ‘I bought the chips because I was hungry. I dare say you would have done the same,’ she told him in a matter-of-fact voice.
The doctor watched her small retreating back and went into his study. Presently he began to laugh.
ARAMINTA woke early on Sunday morning and remembered that the doctor had said that he would be away all day—moreover, he had remarked that he had no doubt that she and the boys would enjoy their day. Doing what? she wondered, and sat up and worried about it until Jet came in with her morning tea, a concession to her English habit.
They smiled and nodded at each other and exchanged a ‘Goeden Morgen’, and the boys, hearing Jet’s voice, came into the room and got onto Araminta’s bed to eat the little biscuits which had come with the tea.
‘We have to get up and dress,’ they told her. ‘We go to church with Uncle Marcus at half past nine.’
‘Oh, do you? Then back to your room, boys, I’ll be along in ten minutes or so.’
