And when she wheeled round to face him: ‘I take it you believe in travelling on a prayer—your faith must be very strong if you pin it to this—er—car.’
‘Charlie is a splendid little car,’ she told him with dignity. ‘He may not look quite—well…’ she paused, unable to think of the right word. ‘He suits me,’ she finished with a snap.
Mr van Hessel was studying her once more, his magnificent head, with its dark silvered hair, on one side. ‘Charlie,’ he remarked reflectively. ‘You are a most extraordinary young woman.’ He allowed his gaze to ramble from her face down to her sensible boots and back again to meet her indignant eyes. ‘You’re still young—not yet thirty, I should imagine?’ He ignored her angry choke. ‘And even in your so suitable winter clothes you are quite unmistakably a woman.’
Her voice would have frozen anyone else. ‘I wish you would stop referring to me as a young woman!’
‘Ah, is young lady more to your liking?’
‘My name is Brodie,’ she pointed out.
‘Miss Henrietta Brodie—I had not forgotten. Have you a garage for this car?’
‘No, I’m just going to see about it.’
His eyes widened with laughter. ‘There is no garage in the village and those who have cars use outbuildings and sheds. I cannot think of anyone who could accommodate you. Perhaps you would allow me to house Charlie for the time being at least.’
He was a most extraordinary man, she thought crossly, being rude to her with every other breath and then being helpful—but she had to have a garage. ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly, ‘I’d be very obliged, just until I can find somewhere permanent.’ She gave him a questioning look. ‘You have got room?’
He inclined his head. ‘Indeed yes. I have also asked your neighbour to chop wood for you—I daresay he will come this afternoon. He speaks no English, but I expect you will be able to manage.’
‘Thank you—how much should I pay him?’
Her companion looked astounded. ‘Nothing. He’s a neighbour, he would feel insulted. Have you done your shopping?’
‘I’m on my way—there must be a shop…’
‘A general store, I believe you would call it in English. We will go together, unless of course you have sufficient knowledge of our language to make your purchases?’
She was being overwhelmed with kindness, and yet behind his bland face she thought there was laughter lurking. ‘I can’t speak a word,’ she told him.
They crossed the cobbles, skirted the bandstand and turned a corner into an exceedingly narrow street, crammed with little houses and paved with cobblestones, too. The shop was half way down its length and there were quite a number of women inside, having, from the sound of their voices, a pleasant gossip. They fell silent as Mr van Hessel opened the door and ushered her in, and she had the strange idea that in a bygone age they would have dropped him a curtsey; as it was they chorused with respectful voices and waited to hear what he had to say. Of course Henrietta couldn’t understand a word, but he smiled at them as he spoke, and they smiled back, but still with respect, and after a minute of talking he turned to ask: ‘How much milk do you want?’
‘Oh, a pint each day.’
‘You forget, my good…I beg your pardon—Miss Brodie, that we do not have your pints here, only litres. I suggest a litre every other day.’
She nodded. At least he had remembered not to call her his good girl!
‘Bread?’
‘Well, I thought I’d make my own, but just until I’m settled, yes, please. Can I buy it here?’
‘No. The baker comes three times a week, his van is parked in the square and you fetch it for yourself.’ He stopped to speak to the woman behind the counter. ‘He doesn’t come today, but Mevrouw Ros will let you have half a loaf. What else?’
‘Bacon…’
‘No, most people don’t eat your sort of bacon. What else?’
‘Eggs, cheese, butter…’
‘Butter? That is expensive in Holland, not many people eat it.’
‘Oh, well, margarine, I suppose. Where do I buy meat?’
He said something or other to the woman. ‘The butcher comes twice a week, he will be here in half an hour or so—in the square. I will tell Mevrouw Ros that somebody must help you with the money and so on.’
‘Don’t you mean ask?’ she wanted to know. ‘You sound like a feudal lord.’
His lips twitched. ‘Unpardonable of me,’ he murmured. ‘Vegetables? Willemse takes his van round every day except Sunday, he comes to the door and you can buy what you want from him. I should point out that we have not moved with the times here, we cling to our old habits. In the big towns and modern villages, the shopping is done much as it is in England—although I imagine that you have not had much experience of that—St Clement’s has a large nurses’ home, and very likely you lived in.’
She gaped at him. ‘However did you know?’ she began, to be halted by his impatient: ‘Oh, later, later, I have no time now. Do you wish to pay for these things now or will you have an account?’
‘I’ll pay now, please.’
She opened her purse and handed him the money he asked for and he paid it while she smiled round at the interested faces watching her. ‘I didn’t realize that it would be so foreign,’ she declared as they left the shop.
He had her basket, and from the surprised glances from the women they passed in the street, he wasn’t often seen with a shopping basket. They crossed the square together and at her door she took it from him. ‘I should like to see you about the ground rent,’ she began. ‘Mr Boggett didn’t tell me about it. Do I pay you, and how much is it?’
‘I haven’t the least idea,’ he told her blandly. ‘We’ll look into it some other time.’
‘Very well, but I should like to know, so that I can…’ She stopped; she wasn’t going to tell him that she had to be careful with her money. ‘Where do you live?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps I could come and see you about it.’
He took the basket from her once more and set it down on her doorstep, and without speaking took her arm and walked her to the big gates.
‘Here,’ he said, and stopped midway between the great pillars. Henrietta hadn’t gone that way until now, they had walked to the shop along the other side of the square. She stared before her at the short drive, leading straight as a ruler from the gates, and at its end a square-walled castle, surrounded by a moat. There was a bridge spanning it so that cars could reach its great wooden door exactly facing the open gates, and a sweep of gravel just sufficiently large to allow of them to turn. The castle’s whitewashed walls rose straight and solid from the steel-grey water and were capped by a tiled roof like a clown’s hat, and there were a great many small windows. On either side of it, half way round the moat and almost out of sight, she could see two smaller bridges, connecting the
