one at home.’
‘The one who bakes the cakes?’
‘The very same. Are you on duty tomorrow?’
She paused at the door. ‘Yes—I drove down.’
‘Ah, well—I’ll drive you back. You can always come down by train and drive back next time?’
‘Well, yes, I could. But I’m not going until this evening.’
‘Ah—I’m invited to spend the day?’ His voice was bland. ‘I shall enjoy that. Besides, I can hang those curtains for you.’
Alethea was much struck, when at the end of the day she was sitting beside Mr van Diederijk on their way back to Theobald’s, at the pleasant time she—indeed all of them—had had. Her grandmother had liked him and had spent quite some time in conversation with him while Alethea and Mrs Bustle got lunch, and as for the housekeeper, he was an instant success, and although he didn’t get Dundee cake for his tea, he certainly had his appetite coaxed with feather-light sponges, home-made scones and Mrs Bustle’s own jam. And when they left she was surprised at her grandmother’s sincere wish that he should call again. And he had agreed to do so, too.
‘It was rather a quiet day for you,’ she ventured as he sent the Jaguar racing ahead.
‘I like quiet days. What gave you the idea that I didn’t?’ he wanted to know.
‘Nothing—only you live in London and I expect you go out a good deal.’
‘I live in Groningen, too, and I like nothing better than to be at home.’ He overtook the cars ahead of him and steadied the car’s pace. ‘And you?’ He glanced at her. ‘Your grandmother tells me that you’re thinking of leaving Theobald’s. A good idea, but of course you can only leave for one reason.’
She turned to look at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Be bright, dear girl. If you leave to go to another job, your Nick is going to hear of it and he’ll know you’re running away. If you leave, it must be to get married.’
Alethea sat up, scattering her handbag and its contents all over the floor. ‘There, look what you’ve made me do!’ she declared unfairly.
‘We’ll pick everything up presently. Did you hear what I said, Alethea?’
‘Yes—but how can I do that? I don’t know anyone—and besides, I don’t want to get married.’ She swallowed. ‘Well, you know what I mean, only if it’s Nick.’ She added crossly: ‘And I don’t know why I talk to you like this.’
He ignored everything she had said. ‘We’ll have to see,’ was all he said, and he went on to talk about the morrow’s work. He was, she decided, very annoying at times, pretending not to hear, probably not listening. She wished him a rather snappy goodnight and was rendered speechless when he suddenly pulled her close and kissed her. When she had her breath back she demanded indignantly: ‘What was that for?’
‘A matter of expediency—your Nick came into the hall and it seemed a good idea to give him something to think about. There’s nothing like a little competition.’
‘Thank you,’ said Alethea. Young men usually kissed her because they wanted to, Mr van Diederijk apparently did it by way of necessity; she wasn’t sure if she minded or not. She wished him goodnight for a second time and went to her room. She had hoped to see Nick as she went, but there was no sign of him. Surely if he had any feeling left for her at all he would have wanted to know why Mr van Diederijk had kissed her? She sighed; she was wasting time, her pride told her, and the sooner she left the better. ‘But I’ll not get married,’ she told herself out loud.
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