Discovering Daisy

Discovering Daisy
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.Daisy Gillard led a quiet life in her father’s little shop, until the handsome pediatrician Mr. Jules der Huizma swept her away to Holland! It was a secret joy for Daisy that Jules seemed to want to spend time with her.But Daisy knew her feelings couldn’t lead anywhere, because Jules was promised to another woman.… But he was so attentive and charming, Daisy was starting to hope that she would become Jules’s bride.…

“Mr. der Huizma,” said Daisy. “Oh, it would be you, wouldn’t it?” she added wildly.

It was nice to have been rescued, but why couldn’t it have been by a stranger? Why did it have to be someone who, if he remembered her at all, would have thought of her as a quiet, well-mannered girl? Now it would be as a silly, careless fool.

“Indeed it is I.” He held her by the arm.

At his hotel he ushered her across the narrow pavement and into the foyer. He turned to her, expressed the hope that she was none the worse for her ducking in the canal, and bade her goodbye.

But his large, firm hand felt strangely comforting and Daisy lingered for as long as possible in the hope of seeing him again.…

About the Author

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.

Discovering Daisy

Betty Neels

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE (#u265c6a3b-c809-50bc-b20a-242b78c104f0)

CHAPTER TWO (#u26e3a861-0c52-5349-8b43-b43518e331e3)

CHAPTER THREE (#u15eeb7db-39d1-5bcc-8ff4-508a21abb04a)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS a blustery October afternoon and the dark skies had turned the sea to a dull grey, its sullen waves eddying to and fro on the deserted beach. Not quite deserted, for a girl was walking there, stopping now and again to stare seawards, stooping to pick up a stone and hurl it out to sea and then walk on again. She looked small and lonely with so much emptiness around her, and certainly she was both, but only because there was no one there to see.

She marched along at a furious pace, making no attempt to wipe away the tears; they didn’t matter; they relieved her feelings. A good weep, she told herself, and everything would be over and done with. She would present a smiling face to the world and no one would be the wiser.

She turned back presently, wiped her eyes and blew her nose, tucked odds and ends of hair back under her headscarf, and assumed what she hoped was her normal cheerful expression. Climbing the steps back onto the sea front of the little town, she waved to the porter of the Grand Hotel across the road and started up the narrow, steep main street. The season was pretty well over and the town was settling down into its winter sloth; one could walk peacefully along its streets now, and chat unhurriedly with the shopkeepers, and the only cars were those of outlying farmers and the owners of the country properties dotted around the countryside.

There were narrow lanes leading off the street at intervals, and down one of these the girl turned, past a row of small shops converted from the old cottages which lined it; chic little boutiques, a jeweller’s, a tiny tea room and, halfway down, a rather larger shop with a sign painted over its old-fashioned window: ‘Thomas Gillard, Antiques’. The girl opened the door of the shop and the old-fashioned bell jangled.

‘It’s me,’she called ungrammatically, and pulled off her headscarf so that her nut-brown hair tumbled around her shoulders. She was an ordinary girl, of middle height, charmingly and unfashionably plump, her unassuming features redeemed from plainness by a pair of large hazel eyes, thickly fringed. She was dressed in a quilted jacket and tweed skirt, very suitable for the time of year but lacking any pretentions to fashion. There was no trace of her recent tears as she made her way carefully between the oak clap tables, Victorian Davenports, footstools and a variety of chairs: some very old, others Victorian button-backed balloon chairs.

Ranged round the walls were side cabinets, chiffoniers, and a beautiful bow-fronted glass cabinet, and wherever there was space there were china figurines, glass decanters and scent bottles, pottery figures and small silver objects. She was familiar with them all. At the back of the shop there was a half-open door leading to a small room her father used as his office, and then another door opening onto the staircase which led to the rooms above the shop.

She dropped a kiss on the bald patch on her father’s head as she passed him at his desk, and went up the stairs to find her mother sitting by the gas fire in the sitting room, repairing the embroidery on a cushion cover. She looked up briefly and smiled.

‘It’s almost teatime, Daisy. Will you put the kettle on while I finish this? Did you enjoy your walk?’

‘Very much. It’s getting quite chilly, though, but so nice to have the town empty of visitors.’

‘Is Desmond taking you out this evening, love?’

‘We didn’t arrange anything. He had to meet someone or other and wasn’t sure how long he would be gone…’

‘Far?’

‘Plymouth…’

‘Oh, well, he’ll probably get back fairly early.’ Daisy agreed. ‘I’ll get the tea.’

She was fairly sure Desmond wouldn’t come; they had gone out on the previous evening and had a meal at one of the town’s restaurants. He had met some friends there. Being in love, she saw very little wrong with him, but some of his friends were a different matter; she had refused to go with them to a nightclub in Totnes and Desmond had been icily angry. He had called her a spoilsport, prudish. ‘Time you grew up,’he had told her, with a nasty little laugh, and had taken her home in silence.

At the door he had watched her get out of the car and shot away, back to his friends, without saying another word. And Daisy, in love for the first time, had lain awake all night.

She had lost her heart to him when he had come into the shop, looking for glass goblets, and Daisy, being Daisy, twenty-four years old, plain, heartwhole and full of romantic ideas, had fallen instant prey to his superficial charm, bold good looks and flattering manners— all of which compensated for his lack of height. He was only a few inches taller than Daisy. He dressed well, but his hair was too long—sometimes, when Daisy allowed her sensible self to take over from romantic dreams, she did dislike that, but she was too much in love to say so.

He was a conceited man, and it was this conceit which had prompted him to invite Daisy out for dinner one evening, and that had led to more frequent meetings. He was a stranger to the little town, he had told her, sent by a London firm on a survey of some sort; he hadn’t been explicit about it and Daisy had supposed him to be in some high-powered job in the City, and that had given him the excuse to get to know her.

She helped her father in the shop, but she was free to come and go, so that first dinner soon led him to being shown the town. His apparent interest in it had encouraged her to take him to the local museum, the various churches, the row of cottages leading from the quay, old and bowed down with history. He had been horribly bored, but her obvious wish to please him was food for his ego.

He’d taken her out to tea, plying her with witty talk, smiling at her over the table, and she’d listened to him egotistically talk about himself and his important job, laughing at his jokes, admiring a new tie, or the leather briefcase he always carried, so necessary to his image.

That he didn’t care for her in the least didn’t bother him; she served as a distraction in the dull little town after the life he’d lived in London. She was a stopgap until such time as he could find the girl he wanted; preferably with good looks and money. And a good dresser. Daisy’s off-the-peg clothes earned her nothing but his secret mockery.

He didn’t come that evening. Daisy stifled disappointment, and spent the hours until bedtime polishing some antique silver her father had bought that day. It was worn smooth by the years, and usage, and she thought how delightful it would be to eat one’s food with such perfection. She polished the last spoon and laid it with the rest in a velvet bag, then put it in the wall cupboard where the small silver objects were housed. She locked the cupboard, shot the bolts on the shop door, locked it and set the alarm and went back upstairs. She had gone to the kitchen to make their evening drink when the phone rang.

It was Desmond, full of high spirits, apparently forgetful of their quarrel. ‘I’ve a treat for you, Daisy. There’s a dinner-dance at the Palace Hotel on Saturday evening. I’ve been invited and asked to bring a partner.’ He turned on the charm. ‘Say you’ll come, darling, it’s important to me. There’ll be several people I’ve been hoping to meet; it’s a good chance for me…’

When Daisy didn’t speak, he added, ‘It’s rather a grand affair; you’ll need a pretty dress—something striking so that people will turn round and look at us. Red—you can’t ignore red…’

Daisy swallowed back excitement and happiness as she said sedately, ‘It sounds very nice. I’d like to come with you. How long will it last?’

‘Oh, the usual time, I suppose. Around midnight. I’ll see you safely home, and I promise you it won’t be too late.’

Daisy, who if she made a promise kept it, believed him.