Prudence agreed placidly, concealing the fact that she was a surgical nurse and had always loathed diabetics anyway. “You’d like me to see to your insulin, too?” she asked.
Her godmother nodded. “But of course, Prudence.”
A small, stout, apple-cheeked woman came presently to take Mrs Wesley to her sister. Before she went, she suggested once again that Prudence should go into the garden around the house. “My sister will want to meet you,” she concluded, “but first we must have a chat.”
When she had gone, Prudence wandered over to the doors opening on to the terrace behind the house and went outside. The gardens were a picture of neatness and orderliness. Tulips stood in rows, masses of them, with clumps of wallflowers and forget-me-nots between them. All very formal and Dutch, she reflected, and made her way past the side of the house, down a narrow path and through a small wooden gate. The path meandered here, between shrubs she couldn’t name, and there were clumps of wild flowers, ground ivy and the last of a splendid carpet of bluebells. She turned a corner and ran full tilt into a man digging. He straightened up, and said something in Dutch and turned to look at her. He was tall and heavily built, so that she felt quite dwarfed beside him. She had read somewhere that the people of Friesland and Groningen were massively built, and this man was certainly proof of that; he was handsome, too, with lint-fair hair, cut unfashionably short, bright blue eyes, a disdainful nose and a firm mouth. The gardener, she assumed, and murmured a polite good day.
He stood leaning on his spade, inspecting her so that after a moment she frowned at him. And when he grinned and spoke to her in Dutch she said sharply, “Don’t stare like that! What a pity I can’t speak Dutch.” And at his slow smile she flushed pinkly and turned on her heel. So silly to get riled, she told herself, walking away with great dignity. He hadn’t said a word—or at least, none that she could understand.
She went back into the house and presently she was taken upstairs to a vast bedroom and introduced to Aunt Beatrix’s sister—Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga, a rather more stately version of Aunt Beatrix, if that were possible, sitting up in bed against a pile of very large linen-covered pillows. Despite her stateliness, she looked ill, and Prudence eyed her with some uneasiness. She enquired tentatively after her hostess’s health, and was reassured to hear that her doctor visited her daily and was quite satisfied with her progress. “He should be here any minute,” declared Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga, and, exactly on cue, there was a tap on the door and he came into the room. The gardener, no less.
CHAPTER TWO
AUNT BEATRIX swam forward and enveloped him in her vast embrace. “My dear boy, how delightful to see you again and to know that you are taking such good care of your aunt! We’ve only just arrived…” She had spoken in English and turned to glance at Prudence, standing with her mouth deplorably half-open and with a heightened colour. “Prudence, this is my nephew—at least, he’s my sister’s nephew; Haso ter Brons Huizinga. Haso, this is Prudence Makepeace who has kindly come with me so that there’s someone to look after me. She’s a nurse.”
Prudence offered a hand and nodded coldly. He didn’t look like a gardener any more; he had rolled down his shirt sleeves and put on a beautifully tailored jacket, and his hands looked as though he had never done a day’s work, let alone dig a garden. He held her hand firmly and didn’t let it go. “Ah, yes, Prudence, I’ve heard a good deal about you.”
A remark which annoyed her. She said sharply, “You could have said who you were!”
He raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
She was stumped for an answer.
He said thoughtfully, “You aren’t my idea of a Prudence.”
“Indeed?” She had managed to get her hand back at last.
He put his handsome head on one side, contemplating her. “Small and pink and white and clinging.”
He shook his head and she said tartly, “What a disappointment I must be, Doctor—er—ter Brons Huizinga, not that your opinion interests me…”
“Oh, dear, we’ve started off on the wrong foot, haven’t we?”
Aunt Beatrix had gone over to her sister’s bed, but now she paused in what she was saying and turned to look at them. She said in her rather loud voice, “Getting to know each other? That’s right, you young people will have a lot in common.”
“Young?” murmured Prudence unforgivably, and looked pointedly at his hair—there was quite a lot of grey in it. She was annoyed when he laughed. “Well, I dare say you must seem young to my aunt,” she added kindly.
He didn’t answer, but strolled over to the bed. “Aunt Emma, I should like to take a look at you as I’m here. Would you like your maid here? Or better still, could Prudence help you?”
Aunt Beatrix got up. “Why, of course she will. I shall go to my room until luncheon. Before you go, Haso, will you arrange a diet for me? I have a letter from Dr Lockett in London. Insulin, you know,” she added vaguely.
He opened the door for her. “Of course, Aunt Beatrix.” He added something in Dutch to make her laugh and then returned to the bedside.
He was very much the doctor now. For Prudence’s benefit he spoke English, although from time to time he lapsed into his own language while he talked to his aunt. When he had finished his examination he sat down on the side of her bed. “You’re doing very nicely, and now you’re in your own house you’ll do even better. You may get up tomorrow for a short time: I’m sure you’re in capable hands.” He glanced at Prudence, who looked rather taken aback; she had been prepared to keep an eye on Aunt Beatrix, but now here was a second elderly lady to worry about.
“Aunt Emma has a splendid maid, quite able to cope if you would prefer that.” His eyes were on her face, but she refused to look at him. Instead she turned a smiling look towards the bed’s occupant.
“I shall enjoy looking after you,” she said firmly.
“That’s settled, then—we’d better deal with this diet, had we not?” He glanced at his watch. “I have ten minutes to spare. Perhaps you could get the diet sheets and instructions about the insulin and bring them down to the small sitting-room.”
Prudence hadn’t the least idea where the small sitting-room might be—indeed, she reflected, neither did she know where her room was. Presumably someone would tell her in their own good time. She wished Mevrouw ter Brons Huizinga a temporary goodbye and went through the door he was holding open. She had swept past him rather grandly, only to stop short in the corridor outside. She had not the least idea where to go.
“Aunt Beatrix will be in her usual room—go to the end of this corridor and turn left, it’s the first door on your right.” He caught her arm. “It will be quicker if I show you. Do you know where your room is?”
“No, but I hope someone will tell me before bedtime.”
He stopped, and she perforce stopped with him. “Not much of a welcome. You should have been warned that the Aunts take it for granted that their minds are read and their wishes carried out without the necessity of them needing to put them into words.” He walked on again, turned a corner and nodded towards a door. “There’s Aunt Beatrix’s room. The sitting-room is on the left at the bottom of the staircase.”
Aunt
