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Promise of Happiness
Betty Neels
Mills & Boon presents the complete Betty Neels collection. Timeless tales of heart-warming romance by one of the world’s best-loved romance authors.“I’m not attracted to thin mice.” So stated the urbane Baron Tiele Raukema van den Eck – and as Rebecca Saunders was both thin and mouselike she knew exactly where she stood with him! But he had been very kind, rescuing her when she was virtually destitute.He had even found her a job – nursing his mother – that was enjoyable and well paid and that took her to Norway and Holland. The result was inevitable – Rebecca had fallen in love with him, and even the presence of his girlfriend Nina couldn’t stop her dreaming…
“It’s rather warm, but it will be cozy in the winter. Would you like a cup of coffee?”
Baron Tiele Raukema was leaning against the door, staring at her. “Thank you, no. You’ve filled out very nicely, Becky.”
She was so surprised at this that she stared at him, her mouth open, and then said, “You don’t mean that I’m getting fat?”
The horror in her voice made him laugh. “No, only that you’re no longer a thin mouse.”
She had nothing to say to that. After a moment, she said, “It as a lovely evening. I would like to thank you, Baron. Bertie and Pooch liked it, too.”
“And I, Becky? Do you think that I liked it?”
His voice was too silky for her liking, but she answered him seriously. “Yes, you did, to begin with, and then I began to bore you, didn’t I? The wine, you know. I am not used to it and it made me chatty. I’m sorry it was a wasted evening for you.”
“You’re wrong.” His voice was so mild that it did not sound like his at all. “I enjoyed every single moment of it, Becky.” He took a step forward and swept her to him with one great arm, kissed her hard and went away, leaving her standing there staring at the closed door.
Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.
The Promise of Happiness
Betty Neels
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER ONE
THE ROAD over the moors was lonely, its surface glistening from the drizzle which had been falling since first light. It was still very early; barely six o’clock, but already full daylight by reason of the time of year—the end of June, but as yet there was no sign of the clouds breaking, so that the magnificence of the scenery was a little marred by their uniform greyness.
There were no houses in sight and no cars, only a solitary figure marching briskly on the crown of the road, the thin figure of a girl, wrapped in a shabby old-fashioned raincoat, her hair tied in a sopping scarf. Marching beside her was a black retriever, no longer young, attached to a stout string, and tucked under the other arm was a plastic bag from the top of which protruded a cat’s head. It was an ugly beast, made more so by its wetness and a battle-scarred ear, but it was quiet enough, taking no notice of the road but fixing its eyes on the girl’s face.
‘We’re free, my dears,’ she told them in a rather breathy voice, because she was walking so quickly. ‘At least, if we can get to Newcastle we are. The main road’s only another mile; there may be a bus,’ she added, more to reassure herself than the animals. ‘Anyway, they won’t find we’re gone for another two hours.’
The dog whimpered gently and she slowed her steps, and said: ‘Sorry, Bertie.’ Without the animals she could have got away much faster, but the thought hadn’t even entered her head. They had been her solace for two years or more and she wasn’t going to abandon them. She began to whistle; they were together and hopeful of the future; she had a pitifully small sum in her purse, the clothes she stood up in, by now very wet, and a comb in her pocket—there had been no time for more; but she was free, and so were Bertie and Pooch. She whistled a little louder.
She intended to join the A696 north of Newcastle with the prospect of at least another six miles to go before she reached the city. She had been walking through moorland, magnificent country forming a small corner of the National Park, but very shortly it would be the main road and Newcastle at the end of it.
The main road, when she joined it presently, was surprisingly free from traffic and she supposed it was too early for a bus. She began to wonder what she would do when she got there and her courage faltered a little at the prospect of finding somewhere to spend the night, and most important, a job. And that shouldn’t be too difficult, she told herself bracingly; she was a trained nurse, surely there was a hospital who would employ her and let her live in—which left Bertie and Pooch… And they would want references… She was so deep in thought that she didn’t hear the big car slowing behind her and then stopping a few paces ahead. It was a large car, a silver- grey Rolls-Royce Corniche, and the man who got out of the driving seat was large too and very tall, with pepper and salt hair and very blue eyes in a handsome face. He waited until the trio had drawn abreast of him before he spoke. He said ‘good morning’ with casual politeness and looked amused. ‘Perhaps I can give you a lift?’ he offered, still casual, and waited quietly for his answer.
‘Well, thank you—but Bertie and Pooch are wet, they’d spoil your lovely car.’ She looked it over before her eyes went back to his face.
For answer he opened the back door. ‘There’s a rug—your dog can sit on it.’ He studied Pooch’s damp fur. ‘Perhaps the cat beside him, or would you rather have him on your knee?’
‘Oh, with me, if you don’t mind, it’s all a bit strange for him.’
He opened the door for her and when they were all settled she said contritely: ‘We’re all so wet— I’m sorry.’
‘It’s of no importance. Where can I set you down?’ He smiled fleetingly. ‘My name’s Raukema van den Eck—Tiele Raukema van den Eck.’
‘Rebecca Saunders.’ She offered a wet hand and he shook it, still with an air of amusement. She really was a nondescript little thing, no make-up and far too thin—her pansy brown eyes looked huge and there were hollows in her cheeks, and her hair was so wet he could hardly tell its colour.
‘Where would you like to go?’ he asked again, and this time there was faint impatience in his voice.
‘Well, anywhere in Newcastle, thank you,’ she made haste to assure him. ‘I must look for a job.’
‘A little early in the day for that, surely?’ he queried idly. ‘You must have left home early—you live close by?’
‘I left home just before four o’clock. It’s six miles away, down a side road.’
Her companion shot her a quick glance. He said on a laugh: ‘You sound as though you’re running away from a wicked stepmother!’
‘Well, I am,’ said Rebecca matter-of-factly. ‘At least, she’s not exactly wicked, but I had to run away; Basil was going to drown Pooch and shoot Bertie, you see.’
‘I am a very discreet man,’ offered Mr Raukema van den Eck, ‘if you would care to tell me about it…?’
Her hands tightened on Pooch’s fur so that he muttered at her. ‘I can’t bother you with something that’s—that’s…’
‘None of my business? I have always found that talking to a stranger is so much easier—you see, they are not involved.’
‘Well, it would be nice to talk about it…’
‘Then talk, Miss…no, Rebecca.’
‘People call me Becky, only my stepmother and Basil call me Rebecca.’
He had slowed the car as the country round them was slowly swallowed by the outskirts of the city, and his ‘Well?’ was encouraging if a little impatient.
‘I’m twenty-three,’ began Becky, ‘my mother died when I was eighteen and I looked after Father at first and when I went to Leeds to train we got a housekeeper. Everything was lovely…’ she swallowed a grief which had never quite faded. ‘My father married again. He died two years ago and my stepmother forced me to go home because she said she was ill and needed me…’
‘People don’t force anyone in these days,’ remarked her companion.
‘Oh, yes, they do.’ She wanted to argue with him about that, but there wasn’t much more time. ‘She wrote to the Principal Nursing Officer and her doctor wrote too. She sent Basil—he’s my stepbrother, to fetch me. She wasn’t really ill—jaundice, but not severe, but somehow I couldn’t get away. I tried once or twice, but each time she told me what she would do to Pooch and Bertie if I went, and I had no money.’ She added vehemently: ‘I don’t suppose you know what it’s like not to have any money? It took me almost two years to save up enough money to get away.’
‘How much did you save?’ he asked idly.
‘Thirty pounds and sixty pence.’
‘That won’t go far.’ His voice was gentle.
‘Well, I thought for a start it would pay our bus fares and breakfast before we look for a job.’
‘Will your stepmother not look for you?’
‘Probably, but they don’t get up until eight o’clock. I call them every morning—they’d wonder where I’d got to. But by the time they’ve asked the housekeeper and looked for me that will be at least another hour.’
‘And what kind of job do you hope to get?’
‘Well, nursing, of course, though I suppose I could be a housekeeper…’
‘References?’ he probed.
‘Oh—if I gave them the hospital at Leeds my stepmother might enquire there and find out—there isn’t anyone else, only my father’s elder brother, and he lives in Cornwall, and I don’t expect he even remembers me.’ She turned to look at him. ‘I suppose you couldn’t…?’
‘No, I couldn’t.’ His tone was very decisive.
She watched the almost empty street and didn’t look at him. ‘No, of course not—I’m sorry. And thank you for giving us a lift. If you’d stop anywhere here, we’ll get out.’
He pulled into the kerb. ‘I am a little pressed for time and I am tired, but I have no intention of leaving you here at this hour of the morning. I intend to have breakfast and I shall be delighted if you will join me.’
He didn’t sound in the least delighted, but Becky was hungry. She asked hesitantly: ‘What about Pooch and Bertie?’
‘I feel sure we shall be able to find someone who will feed them.’
‘I’m very obliged to you,’ said Becky, any qualms melting before the prospects of a good meal.
He drove on again without speaking, threading his way into and across the central motorway, to take the road to Tynemouth and stop outside the Imperial Hotel.
‘Not here?’ asked Becky anxiously.
‘Yes, here.’ He got out and opened her door and then invited Bertie to get out too, handing her the string wordlessly before entering the hotel. He was looking impatient again and as she hastened to keep close, reflecting that the hotel looked rather splendid and that probably the porter would take one look at her and refuse to allow her in—especially with the animals.
She need not have worried. Her wet raincoat was taken from her and leaving Pooch and Bertie with Mr Raukema van den Eck she retired to the powder room with her comb to do the best she could with her appearance. And not very successfully, judging by her host’s expression when she joined him.
They were shown into the coffee room where a table had been got ready for them and what was more, two plates of food set on the floor beside it. Becky took her seat wonderingly. ‘I say,’ she wanted to know, ‘do all hotels do this? I didn’t know— breakfast at seven o’clock in the morning and no one minding about the animals.’
Her companion looked up from his menu. ‘I don’t think I should try it on your own,’ he suggested dryly. ‘They happen to be expecting me here.’ He added: ‘What would you like to eat?’
Becky hesitated. True, he drove a Rolls-Royce and this was a very super hotel, but the car could go with the job and he might have intended to treat himself to a good meal. She frowned; it seemed a funny time of day to be going anywhere…
‘I’m very hungry,’ said Mr Raukema van den Eck. ‘I shall have—let me see—grapefruit, eggs and bacon and sausages, toast and marmalade. And tea—I prefer tea to coffee.’
‘I’d like the same,’ said Becky, and when it came, ate the lot. The good food brought a little colour into her pale thin face and her companion, glancing at her, looked again. A plain girl, but not quite as plain as he had at first supposed. When they had finished she made haste to thank him and assure him that she would be on her way. ‘We’re very grateful,’ she told him, and Bertie and Pooch, sitting quietly at her feet, stared up in speechless agreement. ‘It’s made a wonderful start to the day. I’ll get my coat…would you mind waiting with them while I go? I’ll be very quick…you’re in a hurry, aren’t you?’
‘Not at the moment. Take all the time you need.’ He had taken a notebook from a pocket and was leafing through it.
Becky inspected her person in the privacy of the powder room and sighed. Her hair had dried more or less; it hung straight and fine down her back, a hideous mouse in her own opinion. She looked better now she had had a meal, but she had no make-up and her hands were rough and red and the nails worn down with housework. She didn’t see the beauty of her eyes or the creaminess of her skin or the silky brows. She turned away after a minute or two and with her raincoat over her arm went back to the coffee room. She was crossing the foyer when the door opened and three people came in; a large, florid woman in a too tight suit who looked furious, and a small, elderly lady, exquisitely dressed, looking even more furious, and seated in a wheelchair pushed by a harassed-looking man.
‘I am in great pain,’ declared the little lady, ‘and you, who call yourself a nurse, do nothing about it! I am in your clutches for the next few weeks and I do not like it; I wish you to go.’
The large woman put down the wraps she was carrying. ‘Foreigners,’ she observed nastily. ‘They’re all alike. I’m going!’
She took herself off under Becky’s astonished stare followed by a gleeful chuckle from the little lady, who said something to the man behind the chair so that he went out of the door too. It was then that her eye lighted upon Becky. ‘Come here, young woman,’ she ordered imperiously. ‘I am in great pain and that silly woman who calls herself a nurse took no notice. You have a sensible face; lift me up and look beneath my leg, if you please.’
Becky was an obliging girl; she twitched back the rug covering the lady’s knees in preparation for lifting her and saw why she was in a chair in the first place. One leg was in plaster, the other one had a crêpe bandage round the knee. ‘Which leg?’ asked Becky.
‘The bandaged one.’
It was a pin which shouldn’t have been there in the first place, its point imbedded behind the lady’s knee. Becky made soothing noises, whisked it out, pocketed it and tucked the bandage end in neatly. ‘That must have hurt,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Can I help with anything else?’
The little lady smiled. ‘No, my dear, thank you. You’ve been kind.’ The man had come back with a small case under his arm. ‘I’ll go straight to my room and they can send up breakfast.’ She waved goodbye and Becky heard her telling the porter to let her know…she didn’t hear any more as the lift doors shut.
She went back to the coffee room and was a little surprised to find that her host seemed in no hurry at all. All the same, she bade him goodbye and marched resolutely to the door. It was still raining outside and she had no idea where to go, but she refused his rather perfunctory invitation to stay where she was for an hour or so; he must be longing to be rid of them by now. She went off down the street, walking as though she knew just where she was going, although she hadn’t a clue.
Mr Raukema van den Eck stood where he was, watching her small upright person out of sight. If he hadn’t had an appointment he might have gone after her…it was like putting a stray kitten back on the street after letting it sit by the fire and eat its fill… He frowned with annoyance because he was becoming sentimental and he didn’t hold with that, and the waiter who had just come on duty hesitated before sidling up to him.
‘The Baroness is here, Baron,’ he murmured deferentially.
‘Just arrived?’ He glanced at the man. ‘She’s in her room? I’ll come up at once.’
He ignored the lift, taking the stairs two at a time, to tap on the door which had been indicated to him. It was a large, comfortably furnished room and his mother was sitting, still in her wheelchair, by the window.
‘Mama, how delightfully punctual, and was it very inconvenient for you?’
She lifted her face for his kiss and smiled at him. ‘No, my dear—Lucy was charming about it when I explained and William took the greatest care of me, and after all we didn’t have to leave until six o’clock.’
Her son looked round the room. ‘And the nurse?’
His mother’s very blue eyes flashed. ‘I have given her the sack. A horrible woman; I knew I should not like her when she arrived last night, the thought of spending three weeks in her company made me feel ill, and only a short while ago, as we arrived, I begged her to help me because of the pain and she would not. So I sent her away.’
Her son blinked rapidly, his mind running ahead. Here was a situation to be dealt with and he was due to leave in less than an hour. ‘Where was the pain?’ he asked gently.
‘It was a pin, in the bandage round my knee—at the back where I could not get at it. There was a girl in the foyer—a skinny little creature with enormous eyes; she knew what to do at once when I asked for help. Now why cannot I have someone like her instead of that wretched woman they sent from the agency?’
The faint but well-concealed impatience on the Baron’s features was replaced by a look of pleased conjecture. ‘And why not?’ he wanted to know. ‘Mama, will you wait for a few minutes while I see if I can find her? There is no time to explain at the moment—I’ll do that later. Shall I ring for a maid before I go?’
It was still raining as he got into the car and slid into the early morning traffic, thickening every minute, but he didn’t drive fast. Becky and her companions should be easy enough to see, even in a busy city, but there was always the likelihood that she had gone down some side street. But she hadn’t; she had stopped to ask the way to somewhere or other, that was apparent, for the matronly-looking woman she was talking to was pointing down the street. The Baron slid to a halt beside them, wound down his window and said quietly: ‘Becky…’
She turned round at once and when she saw who it was her face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she observed. ‘Are you on your way again?’
