Paradise for Two

Mrs Wesley offered a cheek to be kissed. “Dear child, how nice you look! Sit down and let’s have tea. I thought a quiet evening? We shall be leaving after breakfast. That good man Best will drive us to Heathrow.” Best carried on a hired car business from the mews behind the flats, and Aunt Beatrix would have no other.

“And at Schiphol?” prompted Prudence, sinking her splendid teeth into a scone.

“My sister is sending her car to meet us.” Mrs Wesley sipped her milkless tea and watched her goddaughter make a splendid meal. She said with a trace of envy, “You can eat anything you like? You don’t put on weight?”

“Not an ounce, and that’s a blessing, since I’m what our Vicar calls a fine figure of a woman, which is a polite way of saying that I’m a big girl.”

Her godmother glanced down at her own ample proportions. “You’re tall enough to carry it,” she observed, “and I flatter myself that I’m able to do the same.”

Prudence nodded a cheerful agreement and began on a cucumber sandwich.

They left the next morning, and Prudence, in the habit of throwing a few things into the back of the Fiat and driving away, was taken aback by her godmother’s elaborate preparations for a journey which would take less than half a day. For a start, the amount of luggage was sufficient for a stay of several months, and comprised a number of old-fashioned and very bulky hatboxes, an awkwardly shaped leather case which Pretty clung to as though her very life depended on doing so, a large trunk which required two men to lift it, and a variety of suitcases. Prudence, with one case and an overnight bag, began to wonder if she had packed enough clothes to compete with such a vast wardrobe. It took some considerable time to hoist everything into the boot, and even then poor Pretty, sitting in front with Best, had a conglomeration of umbrellas, travelling rugs and the awkward box, as well as her own modest luggage. The sum of money to pay on excess baggage would be considerable—something which of course Aunt Beatrix, with a more than adequate supply of the world’s riches, could ignore.

Prudence admired her almost regal indifference to the hustle and bustle of Heathrow when they reached it; it was left to herself, Pretty and Best to organise porters, find the right desk and settle the question of excess baggage, although to give Aunt Beatrix her due, she paid up without a murmur when asked to do so before making her stately progress towards the departure gate. Prudence, a law-abiding girl, had always thought one should arrive, as asked, one hour before the plane departed, but this was something her godmother had either overlooked or considered unnecessary. They bade Best goodbye and made their way through the security check and into the area set aside for outgoing passengers. It was almost empty and they were among the last on board. First class, of course, and Aunt Beatrix, in the nicest possible way, wanting her seat changed, a cushion for her head and the promise of a glass of brandy as soon as they were airborne. She disliked air travel, she informed the stewardess in a ringing voice, and expressed the hope that the Captain was an experienced man. Having been reassured about this and having had her seat-belt fastened, she gave Prudence, sitting beside her, her handbag to hold, arranged herself comfortably and went to sleep. The stewardess, coming presently with the brandy, gave it to Prudence instead. She drank it, since it was a pity to waste it, and ordered one for Pretty, who sipped it delicately, making it last for almost the whole of their flight.

Mrs Wesley woke as the plane started its descent to Schiphol, observed that the flight had been a pleasant one, and warned Prudence, who had the tickets, to be sure she didn’t lose them.

The rather slow business of getting from the plane to the airport exit went without a hitch; with the luggage piled high on three trolleys, they arrived in the open air to find a uniformed chauffeur waiting for them.

He greeted Mrs Wesley with great politeness, acknowledged Prudence’s polite good morning with a bowed head and grinned at Pretty. The car waiting for them was a very large Mercedes into which Aunt Beatrix stepped and settled herself comfortably, leaving everyone else to load in the luggage, with Prudence giving advice which only Pretty understood and the porters taking no notice of anyone at all. But at length everything was stowed away to the chauffeur’s satisfaction; he held the door politely for Prudence to get in beside her godmother, saw Pretty into the seat beside him and drove off.

“We go around Amsterdam,” explained Aunt Beatrix, “and join the motorway going north. We shall cross the Afsluitdijk into Friesland, and from there we drive across Friesland very nearly to Groningen Province. I think you’ll find the country pleasant enough; there should be a map in the pocket beside you, dear, so you can see exactly where you are. I shall compose myself and take a nap—I find travelling very fatiguing.”

Prudence somehow choked back a giggle, and presently opened the map.

She hadn’t realised quite how small Holland was. They were on the Afsluitdijk within two hours, speeding towards the distant coastline of Friesland; they must be almost there. Aunt Maud had warned her that she might expect to find her hostess’s home somewhat larger than her own. “I visited there once, a long time ago,” Aunt Maud had said, “and I remember I was rather impressed.”

The car swept on, skirting Franeker and Leeuwarden, racing along the main road towards Groningen. What was more, Prudence had seen very few country houses, but numerous villages, each with its church, offering useful landmarks in the rolling countryside, and any number of large prosperous farms. She was wondering just where they would end up when the chauffeur turned the car on to a narrow brick road, and within minutes they had left the modern world behind them. There were trees ahead of them and a glimpse of red roofs, and, as though Mrs Wesley had secreted an alarm clock about her person, she opened her eyes, sat up straight, and said in a satisfied voice, “Ah, we’re arriving at last,” just as though she had been awake all the time. She said something to the chauffeur in Dutch and he replied at some length as they slowed through a small village; a pretty place surrounded by trees and overseen by a red brick church in its centre. The road was cobbled now and the car slowed to a walking pace as it rounded the centre of the village and took a narrow road on the other side.

“A lake?” asked Prudence. “How delightful!” She was still craning her neck to get a better view when the car was driven between stone pillars and along a curved drive, thickly bordered by shrubs and trees. It was quite short and ended in a wide sweep before a large, square house with a gabled roof, a very large front door reached by double steps and orderly rows of large windows. There was a formal flower garden facing it beyond the sweep, and an assortment of trees in a semicircle around it. Prudence, getting out of the car, decided that it was rather nice in a massive, simple way. It might lack the mellow red brick beauty of Aunt Maud’s home, but it had charm of its own, standing solidly in all the splendour of its white walls in the May sunshine.

The procession, led by Mrs Wesley with Prudence behind her and tailed by Pretty and the chauffeur, carrying the first of the baggage, mounted the steps, to be welcomed by a stout man with cropped white hair and bright blue eyes. He made what Prudence supposed to be a speech of welcome, and stood aside to allow them into a vestibule which in turn opened into an oval entrance hall. Very grand, reflected Prudence, with pillars supporting an elaborate plaster ceiling and some truly hideous large vases arranged in the broad niches around the walls. The floor was black-and-white marble and cold to the feet.

There were numerous doors, and the stout man opened one and ushered them into a large room furnished in the style of the Second Empire, with heavy brocade curtains at its windows and a vast carpet on its polished floor. Aunt Beatrix took off her gloves, asked Pretty to see that the luggage was brought in and taken to their rooms, and sat down in a massive armchair. “Wim will let my sister’s maid know that we have arrived,” she observed, “but first we’ll have coffee. I suggest that while I’m seeing my sister you might like to stroll through the gardens for half an hour.”

Prudence agreed cheerfully. “And when do you take your insulin?” she wanted to know.

“Ah, yes, I mustn’t forget that, must I, my dear? And my diet…”

“You have it with you? Shall I go and see someone about it? It’s very important.”

Her godmother was searching through her handbag. “I have it here, but I shall need to translate it. How many grammes are there in an ounce?”

They worked out a lunch diet while they drank their coffee, and gave the result to Wim, and Mrs Wesley said comfortably, “I shall leave you to arrange dinner for me, dear; if you’ll write it out I can translate it…I dare say you’re clever enough to ring the changes.”

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.