days, was cramped and a bit dark and her room was small and cramped too, but she rather liked the view over the chimneypots; it was better than the houses opposite and the sky gave her a feeling of space. She wasted a few minutes now, looking out and thinking about Chifney, where there were only trees and fields, and the chimney-pots, when visible, fitted cosily into the scenery around them. Her room was nicely furnished, though, with bits and pieces her stepbrother had allowed them to take with them when they had left home, and she kept the flat sparklingly clean and somehow managed to have flowers in it.
She brushed her hair and tied it back, so that it hung in a thick shower down her back, re-did her face without much enthusiasm, not seeing her lovely eyes and splendid hair, only the ordinariness of her features, then twitched and pulled her brown tweed skirt and sweater into place. She was heartily sick of them both, but William needed shoes again and the money he had been saving for them he had spent, naturally enough, he conceded, on a wildly expensive waistcoat; she would have to help him out and put off buying a new outfit for herself for just a little longer.
She wandered back to the sitting room, shook up a few cushions and then pottered into the kitchen to see how the macaroni cheese was coming along. When the front door bell rang she banged the oven door shut with a touch of irritation and went to answer it, with a rather cross: ‘You’ve forgotten your key again…’
Only it wasn’t William, it was Professor van Zeust, looming over her in the narrow doorway. She peered round him as far as she could, and quite forgetful of her manners, demanded: ‘Where’s William?’
His bland: ‘Good evening, Miss Partridge,’ reminded her of them.
‘Oh, good evening, Professor. I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to be rude—I thought you were William. Have you come to see him? He’s late, I’m afraid, but if you would like to come in and wait?’
He smiled down at her. ‘William has had to fill in for the Casualty Officer. He asked me to tell you that he won’t be home tonight.’
‘Oh.’ She stood uncertainly. ‘Then why—that is…’ She stopped, not quite sure what to say next. After all, he was a consultant, an important man at the hospital and probably even more important in his own country, and she wasn’t sure how she should address a professor off duty.
‘If I might come in?’ His voice was pleasantly friendly.
‘Of course. You—you took me rather by surprise.’ She led the way into the sitting room and he paused on its threshold and looked about him with interest, drawing an appreciative breath as he did so. ‘Toasted cheese?’ he inquired.
‘Supper,’ she told him succinctly, and waved a well kept hand towards a chair, then sat down herself, waiting patiently for him to say whatever it was he had to say.
‘Your brother was kind enough to tell Professor McDonald that you might consider looking after my sister’s children while she is in hospital,’ he began without any beating about the bush, ‘but before I say any more, I should like to know if the suggestion is agreeable to you. I understand from Professor MacDonald that you have a week’s holiday and I feel bound to point out that the job is no sinecure. I had intended applying to an agency for some sort of help, but I should very much prefer that it should be someone whom I know.’
‘But you don’t know me.’
‘You are thought of very highly at St Elmer’s, and I have seen for myself that you don’t flap.’
Beth blinked at him. ‘Are they the sort of children who might make one flap?’ she asked forthrightly.
He burst out laughing. ‘Perhaps, they need firm handling. What do you say?’
She studied him carefully. He was nice; never mind that he was one of the best-looking men she had ever met, never mind the charm of his smile and his deep, quiet voice; he would have been just as nice if he had had a squint and outstanding ears. His hair, she noticed, was grey at the temples and his eyes were very blue. ‘All right,’ she said quietly, ‘I’ll take them on. I’d like to know something about them though, and does your sister want me to live in or go each day?’
‘Oh, if you would live there, I think, and regarding your fee…’ he mentioned a sum which sent her arched brows flying upwards.
‘But that’s heaps too much—four times as much as nannies and people like that get.’
‘But you will have four times as much as that to do.’ He spoke firmly and she had the feeling that if she were to argue he would get annoyed.
‘Very well, thank you.’ She smiled across at him. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’
His reply astonished her. ‘I should like to stay to supper,’ he said.
She hadn’t been Miss Partridge of Chifney House for nothing, she hastened to invite him with just the right degree of pleasure and served the simple meal with an aplomb which would have done justice to something far more elaborate. ‘I’m afraid there’s no beer,’ she informed her guest, ‘but there’s orange squash…’
The professor assured her that orange squash was exactly what he would have chosen and when Beth poured him a glass of this innocuous beverage, drank it with every sign of enjoyment, he ate his portion of macaroni cheese with a flattering appetite too, talking gently about this and that, so that she hardly realized that she was answering any number of skilfully put questions. By the time they were drinking their coffee she had told him quite a lot about Chifney as well as revealing, quite unknowingly, a good deal about her stepbrother.
‘You have a pleasant home here,’ remarked the professor, and sounded as though he meant it, ‘and some delightful pieces of furniture.’
‘Aren’t they? Philip allowed us to bring them with us, you know. They don’t quite suit the flat, but we grew up with them.’ She poured more coffee for them both, feeling wonderfully at ease with this large, quiet man. She would have liked to have told him so many things and might have done so if she hadn’t reminded herself with her usual good sense that all good medical men had the power of making one feel at ease and able to talk freely. She frowned, hoping she hadn’t talked too much; perhaps she should change the conversation.
‘You were going to tell me something about your nephews and nieces,’ she prompted him.
‘Ah, yes—but first I think we should wash up.’
‘Wash up? Good heavens, no! I’m sure you’ve never washed up in your life.’
He smiled faintly. ‘I wonder what makes you think that?’ His voice held a note of inquiry and she flushed a little.
‘I didn’t mean to sound rude,’ she assured him, ‘and I can do it later.’
For answer he began to pile the plates tidily and carried them through to the kitchen, and it struck her that he was a man who, once he had made up his mind, didn’t like it changed for him. They washed up together, talking in a casual friendly way which she found very pleasant, then went back to the sitting room, where the professor settled himself in a chair again with the air of one staying for the rest of the evening.
‘About the children,’ he began, ‘the eldest is Dirk, he’s ten, then there is Marineka, who is eight, Hubert, seven and Alberdina, the littlest, who is five. They are normal healthy children, that is to say they are as naughty and disobedient as most children of their ages. On the whole
