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‘We’ll go straight home,’ said the doctor. He had the two boys with him again and spoke to Araminta over his shoulder. ‘Less than an hour’s drive.’ He picked up the car phone and spoke into it. ‘I’ve told them we are on our way.’
There was a great deal of traffic as they neared Rotterdam, where they drove through the long tunnel under the Maas. Once through it, the traffic was even heavier. But presently, as they reached the outskirts of the city and were once more on the motorway, it thinned, and Araminta was able to look about her.
The country was flat, and she had expected that, but it was charming all the same, with farms well away from the highway, small copses of trees already turning to autumn tints, green meadows separated by narrow canals, and cows and horses roaming freely. The motorway bypassed the villages and towns, but she caught tantalising glimpses of them from time to time and promised herself that if she should get any free time, she would explore away from the main roads.
As though he had read her thoughts, the doctor said over his shoulder, ‘This is dull, isn’t it? But it’s the quickest way home. Before you go back we must try and show you some of rural Holland. I think you might like it.’
She murmured her thanks. ‘It’s a very good road,’ she said politely, anxious not to sound disparaging.
‘All the motorways are good. Away from them it’s a different matter. But you will see for yourself.’
Presently he turned off into a narrow country road between water meadows. ‘We’re going to drive along the River Vecht. It is the long way round to Utrecht, but well worth it. It will give you a taste of rural Holland.’
He drove north, away from Utrecht, and then turned into another country road running beside a river lined with lovely old houses set in well-kept grounds.
‘The East Indies merchants built their houses here—there’s rather a splendid castle you’ll see presently on your right. There are a number in Utrecht province—most of them privately owned. You must find time to visit one of those open to the public before you go back to England.’
Apparently satisfied that he had given her enough to go on with, he began a lively conversation with the boys, leaving her to study her surroundings. They were certainly charming, but she had the feeling that he had offered the information in much the same manner as a dutiful and well mannered host would offer a drink to an unexpected and tiresome guest.
They were on the outskirts of Utrecht by now, and soon at its heart. Some magnificent buildings, she conceded, and a bewildering number of canals. She glimpsed several streets of shops, squares lined by tall, narrow houses with gabled roofs and brief views of what she supposed were parks.
The boys were talking now, nineteen to the dozen, and in Dutch. Well, of course, they would, reflected Araminta. They had a Dutch mother and uncle. They were both talking at once, interrupted from time to time by the doctor’s measured tones, but presently Paul shouted over his shoulder, ‘We’re here, Mintie. Do look, isn’t it splendid?’
She looked. They were in a narrow gracht, tree-lined, with houses on either side of the canal in all shapes and sizes: some of them crooked with age, all with a variety of gabled roofs. The car had stopped at the end of the gracht before a narrow red-brick house with double steps leading up to its solid door. She craned her neck to see its height—four storeys, each with three windows. The ground floor ones were large, but they got progressively smaller at each storey so that the top ones of all were tucked in between the curve of the gable.
The doctor got out, went around to allow the boys to join him and then opened her door. He said kindly, ‘I hope you haven’t found the journey too tiring?’
Araminta said, ‘Not in the least,’ and felt as elderly as his glance indicated. Probably she looked twice her age; her toilet on board had been sketchy…
The boys had run up the steps, talking excitedly to the man who had opened the door, and the doctor, gently urging her up the steps said, ‘This is Bas, who runs my home with his wife. As I said, he speaks English, and will do all he can to help you.’
She offered a hand and smiled at the elderly lined face with its thatch of grey hair. Bas shook hands and said gravely, ‘We welcome you, miss, and shall do our best to make you happy.’
Which was nice, she thought, and wished that the doctor had said something like that.
What he did say was rather absent-minded. ‘Yes, yes, Miss Pomfrey. Make yourself at home and ask Bas for anything you may need.’
Which she supposed was the next best thing to a welcome.
The hall they entered was long and narrow, with a great many doors on either side of it, and halfway along it there was a staircase, curving upwards between the panelled walls. As they reached a pair of magnificent mahogany doors someone came to meet them from the back of the house. It was a short, stout woman in a black dress and wearing a printed pinny over it. She had a round rosy face and grey hair screwed into a bun. Her eyes were very dark and as she reached them she gave Araminta a quick look.
‘Jet…’ Dr van der Breugh sounded pleased to see her and indeed kissed her cheek and spoke at some length in his own language. His housekeeper smiled then, shook Araminta’s hand and bent to hug the boys, talking all the time.
The doctor said in English, ‘Go with Jet to the kitchen, both of you, and have milk and biscuits. Miss Pomfrey shall fetch you as soon as she has had a cup of coffee.’
Bas opened the doors and Araminta, invited to enter the room, did so. It was large and lofty, with two windows overlooking the gracht, a massive fireplace along one wall and glass doors opening into a room beyond. It was furnished with two vast sofas on either side of the fireplace and a number of comfortable chairs. There was a Pembroke table between the windows and a rosewood sofa table on which a china bowl of late roses glowed.
A walnut and marquetry display cabinet took up most of the wall beside the fireplace on one side, and on the other there was a black and gold laquer cabinet on a gilt stand. Above it was a great stoel clock, its quiet tick-tock somehow enhancing the peace of the room. And the furnishings were restful: dull mulberry-red and dark green, the heavy curtains at the windows matching the upholstery of the sofas and chairs. The floor was highly polished oak with Kasham silk rugs, faded with age, scattered on it.
A magnificent room, reflected Araminta, and if it had been anyone other than the doctor she would have said so. She held her tongue, however, sensing that he would give her a polite and chilly stare at her unasked-for praise.
He said, ‘Do sit down, Miss Pomfrey. Jet shall take you to your room when you have had coffee and then perhaps you would see to the boys’ things and arrange some kind of schedule for their day? We could discuss that later today.’
Bas brought the coffee then, and she poured it for them both and sat drinking it silently as the doctor excused himself while he glanced through the piles of letters laid beside his chair, his spectacles on his handsome nose, oblivious of her presence.
He had indeed forgotten her for the moment, but presently he looked up and said briskly, ‘I expect you would like to go to your room. Take the boys with you, will you? I shall be out to lunch and I suggest that you take the boys for a walk this afternoon. They know where the park is and Bas will tell you anything you may wish to know.’
He went to open the door for her and she went past him into the hall. She would have liked a second cup of coffee…
Bas was waiting for her and took her to the kitchen, a semi-basement room at the back of the house. It was nice to be greeted by cheerful shouts from the boys and Jet’s kind smile and the offer of another cup of coffee. She sat down at the old-fashioned scrubbed table while Bas told her that he would serve their lunch at midday and that when they came back from their walk he would have an English afternoon tea waiting for her.
His kind old face crinkled into a smile as he told her, ‘And if you should wish to telephone your family, you are to do so—mijnheer’s orders.’
‘Oh, may I? I’ll do that now, before I go to my room…’
Her mother answered the phone, expressed relief that Araminta had arrived safely and observed that there were some interesting burial mounds in the north of Holland if she should have the opportunity to see them. ‘And enjoy yourself, dear,’ said her parent.
Araminta, not sure whether it was the burial mounds or her job which was to give her enjoyment, assured her mother that she would do so and went in search of the boys.
Led upstairs by Jet, with the boys running ahead, she found herself in a charming room on the second floor. It overlooked the street below and was charmingly furnished, with a narrow canopied bed, a dressing table under its window and two small easy chairs flanking a small round table. The colour scheme was a mixture of pastel colours and the furniture was of some pale wood she didn’t recognise. There was a large cupboard and a little door led to a bathroom. The house might be old, she thought, but the plumbing was ultra-modern. It had everything one could wish for…
The boys’ room was across the narrow passage, with another bathroom, and at the end of the passage was a room which she supposed had been a nursery, for it had a low table and small chairs round it and shelves full of toys.
She was right. The boys, both talking at once, eager to show her everything, told her that some of the toys had belonged to their uncle and his father; even his grandfather.
‘We have to be careful of them,’ said Paul, ‘but Uncle Marcus lets us play with them when we’re here.’
‘Do you come here often?’ asked Araminta.
‘Every year with Mummy and Daddy.’
Bas came to tell them that lunch was ready, so they all trooped downstairs and, since breakfast seemed a long time ago, made an excellent meal.
The boys were still excited, and Araminta judged it a good idea to take them for the walk. She could unpack later, when they had tired themselves out.
Advised by Bas and urged on by them, she got her own jacket, buttoned them into light jackets and went out into the street. The park was five minutes’ walk away, small and beautifully kept, a green haven in the centre of the city. There was a small pond, with goldfish and seats under the trees, but the boys had no intention of sitting down. When they had tired of the goldfish they insisted on showing her some of the surrounding streets.
‘And we’ll go to the Dom Tower,’ they assured her. ‘It’s ever so high, and the Domkerk—that’s a cathedral—and perhaps Uncle will take us to the university.’
They were all quite tired by the time they got back to the house, and Araminta was glad of the tea Bas brought to them in a small room behind the drawing room.
‘Mijnheer will be home very shortly,’ he told her, ‘and will be free to have the boys with him for a while whilst you unpack. They are to have their supper at half past six.’
Which reminded her that she should have some kind of plan ready for him to approve that evening.
‘It’s all go,’ said Araminta crossly, alone for a few moments while the boys were in the kitchen, admiring Miep—the kitchen cat—and her kittens.
She had gone to the window to look out onto the narrow garden behind the house. It was a pretty place, with narrow brick paths and small flowerbeds and a high brick wall surrounding it.
‘I trust you do not find the job too tiresome for you?’ asked the doctor gently.
She spun round. He was standing quite close to her, looking amused.
She said tartly, ‘I was talking to myself, doctor, unaware that anyone was listening. And I do not find the boys tiresome but it has been a long day.
‘Indeed it has.’ He didn’t offer sympathy, merely agreed with her in a civil voice which still held the thread of amusement.
He glanced at his watch. ‘I dare say you wish to unpack for the boys and yourself. I’ll have them with me until half past six.’
He gave her a little nod and held the door open for her.
In her room, she put away her clothes, reflecting that she must remember not to voice her thoughts out loud. He could have been nasty about it—he could also have offered a modicum of sympathy…
She still wasn’t sure why she had accepted this job. True, she was to be paid a generous salary, and she supposed that she had felt sorry for him.
Upon reflection she thought that being sorry for him was a waste of time; it was apparent that he lived in some comfort, surrounded by people devoted to him. She supposed, too, that he was a busy man, although she had no idea what he did. A GP, perhaps? But his lifestyle was a bit grand for that. A consultant in one of the hospitals? Or one of those unseen men who specialised in obscure illnesses? She would find out.
She went to the boys’ room and unpacked, put everything ready for bedtime and then got out pen and paper and wrote out the rough outline of a routine for the boys’ day. Probably the doctor wouldn’t approve of it, in which case he could make his own suggestions.
At half past six she went downstairs and found the boys in the small room where they had their tea earlier. The doctor was there, too, and they were all on the floor playing a noisy game of cards. There was a dog there too, a black Labrador, sitting beside his master, watching the cards being flung down and picked up.
They all looked up as she went in and the doctor said, ‘Five minutes, Miss Pomfrey.’ When the dog got to its feet and came towards her, he added, ‘This is Humphrey. You like dogs?’
‘Yes.’ She offered a fist and then stroked the great head. ‘He’s lovely.’
She sat down until the game came to an end, with Peter declared the winner.
‘Supper?’ asked Araminta mildly.
The doctor got on to his feet, towering over them. ‘Come and say goodnight when you’re ready for bed. Off you go, there’s good fellows.’
Bas was waiting in the hall. ‘Supper is to be in the day nursery on the first floor,’ he explained. ‘You know the way, miss.’ And they all went upstairs and into the large room, so comfortably furnished with an eye to a child’s comfort.
‘Uncle Marcus used to have his supper here,’ Paul told her, ‘and he says one day, when he’s got some boys of his own, they’ll have their supper here, too.’
Was the doctor about to marry? Araminta wondered. He wasn’t all that young—well into his thirties, she supposed. It was high time he settled down. It would be a pity to waste this lovely old house and this cosy nursery…
Bas came in with a tray followed by a strapping girl with a round face and fair hair who grinned at them and set the table. Supper was quickly eaten, milk was drunk and Araminta whisked the boys upstairs, for they were tired now and suddenly a little unhappy.
‘Are Mummy and Daddy going a long way away?’ asked Peter as she bathed them.
‘Well, it would be a long way if you had to walk there,’ said Araminta, ‘but in an aeroplane it takes no time at all to get there and get back again. Shall we buy postcards tomorrow and write to them?’
She talked cheerfully as she popped them into their pyjamas and dressing gowns and they all went back downstairs, this time to the drawing room, where their uncle was sitting with a pile of papers on the table beside him.
He hugged them, teased them gently, told them he would see them at breakfast in the morning and bade them goodnight. As they went, he reminded Araminta that dinner would be in half an hour.
The boys were asleep within minutes. Araminta had a quick shower and got into another skirt and a pretty blouse, spent the shortest possible time over her face and hair and nipped downstairs again with a few minutes to spare. She suspected that the doctor was a man who invited punctuality.
He was in the drawing room still, but he got up as she went in, offered her a glass of sherry, enquired if the boys were asleep and made small talk until Bas came to tell them that dinner was ready.
Araminta was hungry and Jet was a splendid cook. She made her way through mushrooms in a garlic and cream sauce, roast guinea fowl, and apple tart with whipped cream. Mindful of good manners, she sustained a polite conversation the while.
The doctor, making suitable replies to her painstaking efforts allowed his thoughts to wander.
After this evening he would feel free to spend his evenings with friends or at the hospital; breakfast wasn’t a problem, for the boys would be there, and he was almost always out for lunch. Miss Pomfrey was a nice enough girl, but there was nothing about her to arouse his interest. He had no doubt that she would be excellent with the boys, and she was a sensible girl who would know how to amuse herself on her days off.
Dinner over, he suggested that they had their coffee in the drawing room.
‘If you don’t mind,’ said Araminta, ‘I’d like to go to bed. I’ve written down the outlines of a day’s schedule, if you would look at it and let me know in the morning if it suits you. Do we have breakfast with you or on our own?’
‘With me. At half past seven, since I leave for the hospital soon after eight o’clock.’
Araminta nodded. ‘Oh, I wondered where you worked,’ she observed, and wished him goodnight.
The doctor, politely opening the door for her, had the distinct feeling that he had been dismissed.
He could find no fault with her schedule for the boys. He could see that if she intended to carry it out to the letter she would be tired by the end of the day, but that, he felt, was no concern of his. She would have an hour or so each morning while the boys were at school and he would tell her that she could have her day off during the week as long as it didn’t interfere with his work.
He went back to his chair and began to read the patients’ notes that he had brought with him from the hospital. There was a good deal of work waiting for him both at Utrecht and Leiden. He was an acknowledged authority on endocrinology, and there were a number of patients about which he was to be consulted. He didn’t give Araminta another thought.
Araminta took her time getting ready for bed. She took a leisurely bath, and spent time searching for lines and wrinkles in her face; someone had told her that once one had turned twenty, one’s skin would start to age. But since she had a clear skin, as soft as a peach, she found nothing to worry her. She got into bed, glanced at the book and magazines someone had thoughtfully put on her bedside table and decided that instead of reading she would lie quietly and sort out her thoughts. She was asleep within minutes.
A small, tearful voice woke her an hour later. Paul was standing by her bed, in tears, and a moment later Peter joined him.
Araminta jumped out of bed. ‘My dears, have you had a nasty dream? Look, I’ll come to your room and sit with you and you can tell me all about it. Bad dreams go away if you talk about them, you know.’
It wasn’t bad dreams; they wanted their mother and father, their own home, the cat and her kittens, the goldfish… She sat down on one of the beds and settled the pair of them, one on each side of her, cuddling them close.
‘Well, of course you miss them, my dears, but you’ll be home again in a few weeks. Think of seeing them all again and telling them about Holland. And you’ve got your uncle…’
‘And you, Mintie, you won’t go away?’
‘Gracious me, no. I’m in a foreign country, aren’t I? Where would I go? I’m depending on both of you to take me round Utrecht so that I can tell everyone at home all about it.’
‘Have you got little boys?’ asked Peter.
‘No, love, just a mother and father and a few aunts and uncles. I haven’t any brothers and sisters, you see.’
Paul said in a watery voice, ‘Shall we be your brothers? Just while you’re living with us?’
‘Oh, yes, please. What a lovely idea…’
‘I heard voices,’ said the doctor from the doorway. ‘Bad dreams?’
Peter piped up, ‘We woke up and we wanted to go home, but Mintie has explained so it’s all right, Uncle, because she’ll be here with you, and she says we can be her little brothers. She hasn’t got a brother or a sister.’
The doctor came into the room and sat down on the other bed. ‘What a splendid idea. We must think of so many things to do that we shan’t have enough days in which to do them.’
