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The boys took his attention again and he forget her.
The boys in bed, Araminta went to her room and got into the blue crêpe. A nicely judged ten minutes before dinner would be served, she went downstairs. She could see Bas putting the finishing touches to the table through the half-open dining room door as she opened the door into the drawing room. The few minutes before he announced dinner could be nicely filled with a few remarks about the boys and their day…
The doctor wasn’t alone. The woman sitting opposite him was beautiful—quite the most beautiful Araminta had ever seen; she had golden hair, a straight nose, a curving mouth and large eyes. Araminta had no doubt that they were blue. She was wearing a silk trouser suit—black—and gold jewellery, and she was laughing at something the doctor had said.
Araminta took a step backwards. ‘So sorry, I didn’t know that you had a guest…’
The doctor got to his feet. ‘Ah, Miss Pomfrey, don’t go. Come and meet Mevrouw Lutyns.’ And, as she crossed the room, ‘Christina, this is Miss Pomfrey, who is in charge of the boys while Lucy and Jack are away.’
Mevrouw Lutyns smiled charmingly, shook hands and Araminta felt her regarding her with cold blue eyes. ‘Ah, yes, the nanny. I hope you will find Utrecht interesting during your short stay here.’
Her English was almost perfect, but then she herself was almost perfect, reflected Araminta, at least to look at.
‘I’m sure I shall, Mevrouw.’ She looked at the doctor, gave a little nod and the smallest of smiles and went to the door.
‘Don’t go, Miss Pomfrey, you must have a drink… I shall be out this evening, by the way, but I’ll leave you in Bas’s good hands.’
‘I came down to tell you that the boys were in bed, Doctor. I’ll not stay for a drink, thank you.’ She wished them good evening and a pleasant time, seething quietly.
She closed the door equally quietly, but not before she heard Mevrouw Lutyns’ voice, pitched in a penetrating whisper. ‘What a little dowd, Marcus. Wherever did you find her?’
She stood in the hall, trembling with rage. It was a pity she didn’t understand the doctor’s reply.
‘That is an unkind remark, Christina. Miss Pomfrey is a charming girl and the boys are devoted to her already. Her appearance is of no consequence; I find her invaluable.’
They were speaking Dutch now, and Mevrouw Lutyns said prettily, ‘Oh, my dear, I had no intention of being unkind. I’m sure she’s a treasure.’
They left the house presently and dined at one of Utrecht’s fine restaurants, and from time to time, much against his intention, the doctor found himself thinking about Araminta, eating her solitary dinner in the blue dress which he realised she had put on expecting to dine with him.
He drove his companion back later that evening, to her flat in one of the modern blocks away from the centre of the city. He refused her offer of a drink with the excuse that he had to go to the hospital to check on a patient, and, when she suggested that they might spend another evening together, told her that he had a number of other consultations, not only in Utrecht, and he didn’t expect to be free.
An answer which didn’t please her at all.
It was almost midnight as he let himself into his house. It was very quiet in the dimly lit hall but Humphrey was there, patiently waiting for his evening walk, and the doctor went out again, to walk briskly through the quiet streets with his dog. It was a fine night, but chilly, and when they got back home he took Humphrey to the kitchen, settled him in his basket and poured himself a mug of coffee from the pot keeping hot on the Aga. Presently he took himself off to bed.
The evening, he reflected, had been a waste of time. He had known Christina for some years but had thought of her as an amusing and intelligent friend; to fall in love with her had never entered his head. He supposed, as he had done from time to time, that he would marry, but neither she nor the other women of his acquaintance succeeded in capturing his affection. His work meant a great deal to him, and he was wealthy, and served by people he trusted and regarded as friends. He sometimes wondered if he would ever meet a woman he would love to the exclusion of everything else.
He was already at breakfast when Araminta and the two boys joined him the next day. Peter and Paul rushed to him, both talking at once, intent on reminding him that he had promised to take them out for the day at the weekend. He assured them that he hadn’t forgotten and wished Araminta good morning in a friendly voice, hoping that she had forgotten the awkwardness of the previous evening.
She replied with her usual composure, settled the boys to their breakfast and poured herself a cup of coffee. She had spent a good deal of the night reminding herself that she was the boys’ nanny, just as the hateful Mevrouw Lutyns had said. It had been silly to suppose that he would wish to spend what little spare time he had with her when he had friends of his own.
Probably he was in love with the woman, and Araminta couldn’t blame him for that for she was so exactly right for him—all that golden hair and a lovely face, not to mention the clothes. If Mevrouw Lutyns had considered her a dowd in the blue crêpe, what on earth would she think of her in her sensible blouse and skirt? But the doctor wouldn’t think of Araminta; he barely glanced at her and she didn’t blame him for that.
She replied now to his civil remark about the weather and buttered a roll. She really must remember her place; she wasn’t in Hambledon now, the daughter of highly respected parents, famous for their obscure Celtic learning…
The doctor took off his spectacles and looked at her. There was no sign of pique or hurt feelings, he was relieved to observe. He said pleasantly, ‘I shall be taking the boys to Leiden for the day tomorrow. I’m sure you will be glad to have a day to yourself in which to explore. I have a ground map of Utrecht somewhere; I’ll let you have it. There is a great deal to see and there are some good shops.’
When she thanked him, he added, ‘If you should wish to stay out in the evening, Bas will let you have a key.’
She thanked him again and wondered if that was a polite hint not to return to the house until bedtime.
‘What about the boys? Putting them to bed…?’
He said casually, ‘Oh, Jet will see to that,’ then added, ‘I shall be away for most of Sunday, but I’m sure you can cope.’
‘Yes, of course. I’m sure the boys will think up something exciting to do.’
The days were falling into a pattern, she reflected: school in the morning, long walks in the afternoon, shopping expeditions for postcards, books or another puzzle, and an hour to herself in the evening when the boys were with their uncle.
She no longer expected the doctor to dine with her in the evening.
All the same, for pride’s sake, she got into the blue crêpe and ate her dinner that evening with every appearance of enjoyment. She was living in the lap of comfort, she reminded herself, going back to the drawing room to sit and read the English papers Bas had thoughtfully provided for her until she could go to bed once the long case clock in the hall chimed ten o’clock.
She took a long time getting ready for bed, refusing to admit how lonely she was. Later she heard quiet footsteps in the hall and a door close. The doctor was home.
The doctor and the boys left soon after breakfast on Saturday. Araminta, standing in the hall to bid them goodbye, was hugged fiercely by Peter and Paul.
‘You will be here when we get back?’ asked Peter.
‘Couldn’t you come with us now?’ Paul added urgently, and turned to his uncle, waiting patiently to usher them into the car. ‘You’d like her to come, wouldn’t you, Uncle?’
‘Miss Pomfrey—’ at a look from Peter he changed it. ‘Mintie is only here for a few weeks and she wants to see as much of Utrecht as possible. This is the first chance she’s had to go exploring and shopping. Women like to look at shops, you know.’
‘I’ll have a good look round,’ promised Araminta, ‘and when we go out tomorrow perhaps you can show me some of the places I won’t have seen.’
She bent to kiss them and waited at the door as they got into the car, with Humphrey stretched out between them. She didn’t look at the doctor.
Bas shut the door as soon as the car had gone. ‘You will be in to lunch, miss?’ he wanted to know. ‘At any time to suit you.’
‘Thank you, Bas, but I think I’ll get something while I’m out; there’s such a lot to see. Are you sure Jet can manage with the boys at bedtime?’
‘Oh, yes, miss. The doctor has arranged that he will be out this evening…’ He paused and looked awkward.
‘So she won’t need to cook dinner—just something for the boys.’
He looked relieved. ‘I was given to understand that you would be out this evening, miss. I am to give you a key, although I will, of course, remain up until you are back.’
‘How kind of you, Bas. I’ll take a key, of course, but I expect I shall be back by ten o’clock. When I come in I’ll leave the key on the hall table, shall I? Then you’ll know that I’m in the house.’
‘Thank you, miss. You will have coffee before you go out?’
‘Please, Bas, if it’s not too much trouble.’
She left the house a little later and began a conscientious exploration of the city. The boys would want to know what she had seen and where she had been… She had been to the Domkerk with them, now she went to the Dom Tower and then through the cloister passage to the University Chapter Hall. The Central Museum was next on her list—costumes, jewellery, some paintings and beautiful furniture. By now it was well after noon, so she looked for a small café and lingered over a kaas broodje. She would have liked more but she had no idea when she would be paid and she hadn’t a great deal of money.
The day, which had begun with sunshine and gentle wind, had become overcast, and the wind was no longer gentle. She was glad of her jacket over the jersey two-piece as she made her way to the shopping centre. The shops were fine, filled with beautiful things: clothes, of course, and shoes, but as well as these splendid furniture, porcelain, silver and glass… There were bookshops, too, and she spent a long time wandering round them, wishing she could buy some of their contents. It surprised her to find so many English books on sale, and to find a shop selling Burberrys and Harris Tweed. It would be no hardship to live here, she reflected, and took herself off to find the hofjes and patrician houses, to stand and admire their age-old beauty.
She found another small coffee shop where she had tea and a cake while she pondered what to do with her evening. She thought she might go back around nine o’clock. By then the boys would be in bed and asleep, and if the doctor was out, Bas and Jet would be in kitchen. A cinema seemed the answer. It would mean that she couldn’t afford a meal, but she could buy a sandwich and a cup of coffee before she went back to the house.
There were several cinemas; she chose one in a square in the centre of the city, paid out most of her remaining guldens and sat through an American film. Since she was a little tired by now, she dozed off and woke to see that it was over and that the advertisements were on. After that the lights went up and everyone went out into the street.
It was almost dark now, but it was still barely eight o’clock. She went into a crowded café and had a cup of coffee, then decided that she had better save what guldens she had left. There was a small tin of biscuits by her bed; she could eat those. She couldn’t sit for ever over one cup of coffee, though, so she went into the street and started her walk back to the house.
She was crossing the square when she saw the little stall at one corner. Pommes Frites was painted across its wooden front.
‘Chips,’ said Araminta, her mouth watering. ‘But why do they have to say so in French when we’re in Holland?’ She went over to the corner and in exchange for two gulden was handed a little paper cornet filled with crisp golden chips. She bit into one; it was warm and crunchy and delicious…
Dr van der Breugh, on his way to dine with old friends, halting at traffic lights, glanced around him. Being a Saturday evening there were plenty of people about; the cafés and restaurants were doing a good trade and the various stalls had plenty of customers.
He saw Araminta as the light changed, and he had to drive on, but instead of going straight ahead, as he should have done, he turned back towards the square and stopped the car a few feet from her.
She hadn’t seen him; he watched her bite into a chip with the eager delight of a child and then choke on it when she looked up and saw him. He was astonished at his feelings of outrage at the sight of her. Outrage at his own behaviour. He should have taken her with them, or at least made some arrangement for her day. He got out of his car, his calm face showing nothing of his feelings.
As for Araminta, if the ground had obligingly opened and allowed her to fall into it, she would have been happy; as it was, she would have to do the best she could. She swallowed the last fragment of chip and said politely, ‘Good evening, doctor. What delicious chips you have in Holland…’
He had no intention of wasting time talking about chips. ‘Why are you here, Miss Pomfrey? Why are you not at the house, eating your dinner….’ He paused, frowning. He hadn’t given her a thought when he returned with the boys, hadn’t asked Bas if she was back, had forgotten her.
Araminta saw the frown and made haste to explain. ‘Well, you see, it’s like this. Bas thought that I would be out until late; he gave me a key, too, so I expect there was a misunderstanding. I thought—’ she caught his eye ‘—well, I thought that perhaps you expected me to stay out. I mean, you did say that Jet would put the boys to bed, so you didn’t expect me back, did you?’ She hesitated. ‘Am I making myself clear?’
When he didn’t speak, she added, ‘I’ve had a most interesting day, and I went to the cinema this evening. I’m on my way back to the house now, so I’ll say good evening, doctor.’
‘No, Miss Pomfrey, you will not say good evening. You will come with me and we will have dinner together. I have no doubt that you have eaten nothing much all day and I cannot forgive myself for not seeing that you had adequate money with you and arrangements made for your free day. Please forgive me?’
She stared up at him, towering over her. ‘Of course I forgive you. I’m not your guest, you know, and I’m quite used to being by myself. And please don’t feel that you have to give me a meal; I’ve just eaten all those chips.’
‘All the same, we will dine together.’ He swept her into the car and picked up the car phone. He spoke in Dutch so that she wasn’t to know that he was excusing himself from a dinner party.
‘Oh, that hospital again,’ said his hostess. ‘Do you never get a free moment, Marcus?’
He made a laughing rejoinder, promised to dine at some future date, and started the car.
Araminta, still clutching her chips, said in a tight little voice, ‘Will you take me back to the house, doctor? It’s kind of you to offer me a meal, but I’m not hungry.’
A waste of breath, for all she got in reply was a grunt as he swept the car back into the lighted streets, past shop windows still blazing with light, cafés spilling out onto the pavements, grand hotels… She tried again. ‘I’m not suitably dressed…’
He took no notice of that either, but turned into a narrow side street lined with elegant little shops. At its far end there was a small restaurant.
There was a canal on the opposite side of the street, and the doctor parked beside it—dangerously near the edge, from her point of view—and got out. There was no help for it but to get out when he opened her door, to be marched across the street and into the restaurant.
It was a small place: a long, narrow room with tables well apart, most of them occupied. Araminta was relieved to see that although the women there were well dressed, several of them were in suits and dark dresses so that her jacket and skirt weren’t too conspicuous.
It seemed the doctor was known there; they were led to a table in one corner, her jacket was taken from her and a smiling waiter drew out her chair.
The doctor sat down opposite to her. ‘What will you drink?’ he asked. ‘Dry sherry?’
When she agreed, he spoke to the waiter, who offered menus. There was choice enough, and she saw at a glance that everything was wildly expensive. She stared down at it; she hadn’t wanted to come, and it would be entirely his fault if she chose caviar, plover’s eggs and truffles, all of which were on the menu, their cost equivalent to a week’s housekeeping money. On the other hand, she had no wish to sample any of these delicacies and, since she must have spoilt his evening, it seemed only fair to choose as economically as possible.
The doctor put down his menu. ‘Unless you would like anything special, will you leave it to me to order?’
‘Oh, please.’ She added, ‘There’s such a lot to choose from, isn’t there?’
‘Indeed. How about marinated aubergine to start with? And would you like sea bass to follow?’
She agreed; she wasn’t shy, and she was too much her parents’ daughter to feel awkward. She had never been in a restaurant such as this one, but she wasn’t going to let it intimidate her. When the food came she ate with pleasure and, mindful of manners, made polite conversation. The doctor was at first secretly amused and then found himself interested. Miss Pomfrey might be nothing out of the ordinary, but she had self-assurance and a way of looking him in the eye which he found disquieting. Not a conceited man, but aware of his worth, he wasn’t used to being studied in such a manner.
For a moment he regretted his spoilt evening, but told himself that he was being unjust and then suggested that she might like a pudding from the trolley.
She chose sticky toffee pudding and ate it with enjoyment, and he, watching her over his biscuits and cheese, found himself reluctantly liking her.
They had talked in a guarded fashion over their meal—the weather, the boys, her opinion of Utrecht, all safe subjects. It was when they got back to the house and she had thanked him and started for the stairs that he stopped her.
‘Miss Pomfrey, we do not need to refer again to the regrettable waste of your free day. Rest assured that I shall see to it that any other free time you have will be well spent.’
‘Thank you, but I am quite capable of looking after myself.’
He smiled thinly. ‘Allow me to be the best judge of that, Miss Pomfrey.’ He turned away. ‘Goodnight.’
She paused on the stairs. ‘Goodnight, doctor.’ And then she added, ‘I bought the chips because I was hungry. I dare say you would have done the same,’ she told him in a matter-of-fact voice.
The doctor watched her small retreating back and went into his study. Presently he began to laugh.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_da844923-45ef-5f40-959e-520dc04fd983)
ARAMINTA woke early on Sunday morning and remembered that the doctor had said that he would be away all day—moreover, he had remarked that he had no doubt that she and the boys would enjoy their day. Doing what? she wondered, and sat up and worried about it until Jet came in with her morning tea, a concession to her English habit.
They smiled and nodded at each other and exchanged a ‘Goeden Morgen’, and the boys, hearing Jet’s voice, came into the room and got onto Araminta’s bed to eat the little biscuits which had come with the tea.
‘We have to get up and dress,’ they told her. ‘We go to church with Uncle Marcus at half past nine.’
‘Oh, do you? Then back to your room, boys, I’ll be along in ten minutes or so.’
Church would last about an hour, she supposed, which meant that a good deal of the morning would be gone; they could go to one of the parks and feed the ducks, then come back for lunch, and by then surely she would have thought of something to fill the afternoon hours. A pity it wasn’t raining, then they could have stayed indoors.
Jet had told her that breakfast would be at half past eight—at least, Araminta was almost sure that was what she had said; she knew the word for breakfast by now, and the time of day wasn’t too hard to guess at. She dressed and went to help the boys. Not that they needed much help, for they dressed themselves, even if a bit haphazardly. But she brushed hair, tied miniature ties and made sure that their teeth were brushed and their hands clean. She did it without fuss; at the children’s convalescent home there had been no time to linger over such tasks.
The doctor wasn’t at breakfast, and they had almost finished when he came in with Humphrey. He had been for a walk, he told them. Humphrey had needed to stretch his legs. He sat down and had a cup of coffee, explaining that he had already breakfasted. ‘Church at half past nine,’ he reminded them, and asked Araminta if she would care to go with them. ‘The church is close by—a short walk—you might find it interesting.’
She sensed that he expected her to accept. ‘Thank you, I would like to come,’ she told him. ‘At what time are we to be ready?’
‘Ten past nine. The service lasts about an hour.’
They each had a child’s hand as they walked to the church, which was small and old, smelling of damp, flowers and age and, to Araminta’s mind, rather bleak. They sat right at the front in a high-backed pew with narrow seats and hassocks. The boys sat between them, standing on the hassocks to sing the hymns and then sitting through a lengthy sermon.
Of course, Araminta understood very little of the service, although some of the hymn tunes were the same, but the sermon, preached by an elderly dominee with a flowing beard, sounded as though it was threatening them with severe punishments in the hereafter; she was relieved when it ended with a splendid rolling period of unintelligible words and they all sang a hymn.
It was a tune she knew, but the words in the hymn book the doctor had thoughtfully provided her with were beyond her understanding. The boys sang lustily, as did the doctor, in a deep rumbling voice, and since they were singing so loudly, she hummed the tune to herself. It was the next best thing.
Back at the house, the doctor asked Bas to bring coffee into the drawing room.
