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“You’re a very nice girl, Prudence. Why aren’t you married?” Haso asked gravely.
It was strange that he should annoy her so much, and within minutes it was forgotten. “Aunt Maud is always asking me that….”
“And what do you tell her?”
She laughed a little. “Why, that I’m waiting to be swept off my feet. I know that’s silly—I’m not the right size or shape for that, but it must be marvelous to be showered with roses and diamonds and champagne. Not that it ever happens outside romantic novels.”
“No? Don’t be too sure of that, Prudence….”
Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit lives on in all her stories.
Paradise for Two
Betty Neels
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER ONE
THERE WERE two people in the room, facing each other across the breakfast-table—a small, elderly lady with iron-grey hair and very blue eyes in a pleasantly wrinkled face, and opposite her a girl with a charming face framed by curling russet hair and large hazel eyes, fringed by long, curling lashes.
“It’s a splendid opportunity,” observed the elderly lady in a coaxing voice, “and you would be doing a kindness—after all, Mrs Wesley is your godmother.”
Her companion frowned, her dark brows drawn together quite fiercely. She said in a no-nonsense way, “Aunt Maud, I’ve only just left one job, and that was because I wanted a change—I’ve set my heart on that Ward Sister’s post in Scotland,” she added as an afterthought. “Besides, there’s Walter…”
“Has he proposed again?” asked her aunt with interest.
“Well, yes…”
“You’ve accepted him?”
The girl smiled at the eagerness in her companion’s voice. “It’s a funny thing, Aunt Maud, but I can’t… Perhaps it’s because we’ve known each other for a long time and the gilt’s worn off the gingerbread, or perhaps it’s because Walter thinks I’m extravagant.”
“Well, you are, dear,” her aunt spoke mildly.
“I like clothes,” said her niece simply. “Besides, it’s difficult to find things to fit me. Everyone except me is size eight or ten.”
She stood up, and indeed she was nowhere near either of those sizes. She was a big girl, tall and splendidly built, her long legs clothed in elderly slacks topped by an outsize jersey.
Her aunt studied her thoughtfully. “You won’t marry Walter?” She sighed. “Prudence, he would make a good husband…”
The girl frowned again. “I don’t want a good husband, I want to be swept off my feet, plied with champagne and roses and jewels—I’d quite like to be serenaded, too.” She glanced down at her magnificent person. “But you can see for yourself, dear Aunt, that it would need a giant of a man with muscles of iron to get me off the ground. Shall I tell Ellen to come in and clear the table? I’m going for that job, I shall apply for it and post the letter this morning.”
Her aunt got up, too. “Very well, dear. At your age I would have been delighted at the chance to travel abroad and see something of the world, but I dare say you know your own mind best. Your godmother will be disappointed.”
Her niece crossed the room and gave her a hug. “Dearest Aunt, I have travelled a bit, you know, when Father and Mother were alive—” She paused a moment, and then went on steadily, “They always took me with them. True, I’ve not been to Holland, but I don’t suppose it’s much different from England. Mrs Wesley will be able to find someone only too eager to go with her.”
Her aunt agreed meekly. It was barely half an hour later, as she sat in the sitting-room making out a shopping list, that Ellen announced a visitor.
Miss Rendell put down her pen and got up with every sign of pleasure. “My dear Beatrix, how providential! I’ve been sitting here wondering if I should telephone you. Dear Prudence is even now applying for a post in Scotland, but perhaps you might dissuade her? She has no real reason for refusing to go with you to Holland, you know—indeed, she’s very fond of you, and a complete change might check her restlessness.” She added vaguely, “She wants to be swept off her feet.”
“And I know the very man to do it,” declared Mrs Wesley. She sat down. “Let me have a try.”
Prudence, nibbling her pen and frowning over her application form, listened to Ellen’s request that she should join her aunt downstairs with some impatience. The Vicar, she supposed, wanting someone to take a stall at the church bazaar, or old Mrs Vine from the Manor bent on getting Prudence to fill a gap at her dinner-table. Prudence, who had made her home with her aunt in the small Somerset village ever since her parents had died in a car crash, knew everyone who lived there, just as they knew her, and when she went to London to train as a nurse she still returned whenever she had leave. She loved the place and liked the people living there, from crusty old Colonel Quist living in solitary state in one wing of the vast house at the end of the village to Mrs Legg, who owned the village stores and ran the Post Office besides. She loved her aunt, too, and the nice old house which had become her home, but she loved her work as well; she had spent the last six years in London, first training as a nurse and then taking over a surgical ward at the hospital where she had trained. It was on her twenty-fifth birthday, a month or so previously, that she had decided she needed a move right away from London before she got into a rut from which so many of her older colleagues either could not or would not escape. Scotland would do nicely; she would be really on her own there and it would be a challenge, finding her feet in a strange hospital and making new friends. She let her thoughts wander as she went downstairs. Perhaps she would meet the man of her dreams—a vague image, but she was sure she would know him if they met.
She hadn’t expected to see her delightful godmother sitting with her aunt. She crossed the room and kissed the proffered cheek. Mrs Wesley was a formidable lady, not very tall but possessed of a well-corseted stoutness, a handsome face and
