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
