by Betty Neels
He left the car where it was and took a taxi to Simpson’s, and over lunch mapped out his route. By three o’clock he was threading his way through London’s suburbia, the Rolls’ elegant nose pointing north. He eased the car through Welwyn, confident of making up time on the motorway ahead. He was however doomed to disappointment; an accident some way ahead had closed the road before him for some miles. Paul sat calmly at the wheel showing no sign of his raging impatience. When at last the road was clear again, he had lost almost an hour.
He drove on steadily, barely noticing the towns through which he passed—St Neots; Stamford; Grantham—and skimmed up the motorway beyond Doncaster. He had done almost a quarter of his journey, and it was seven o’clock, and he was hungry. But he didn’t stop for another hour, when he pulled in for petrol at Scotch Corner and had a quick meal at the hotel, poring over his maps, committing the road to his excellent memory. With luck on his side, he should be at Maggy’s home soon after breakfast. He wasn’t tired; the whole of his strength and energy was concentrated on reaching her at the earliest possible moment.
It was almost nine o’clock when he set off again; four hours later he was going through Edinburgh, still with two hundred miles to go. Probably the last part of the journey would be over difficult country. He crossed the Forth Bridge, and took the A9 to Perth. It was a brilliant night, with a small slice of moon dangling amongst the stars. The road started to climb steadily; he was on the fringe of the Highlands, and there was almost no traffic. The Rolls tore ahead with effortless speed. Paul touched a switch, and the hood sank back, leaving the cold night air to rush at him; he welcomed its tonic chill, and began to whistle softly.
Paul made his way through a sleeping Perth, and on to Inverness. It was six o’clock and growing light. He stopped for petrol and found a hotel open nearby, where he shaved and washed and drank several cups of coffee while he listened to the careful instruction of the night porter. He went on out of the town, the man’s directions ringing in his ears. The porter had been right; the road was a good one as far as Garve, but after that he was forced to slow his pace as he crossed the river and turned up the small hilly road to Aultdearg. He was going very slowly now, so that he would not miss the narrow dirt road which would lead him to the factor’s house.
There was a wall marching with the road now, and rounding a corner Paul saw the house, tucked into the side of the lane, with its back to the hills. It looked square and solid and welcoming in the early morning sun. Paul stopped the car at its gate and looked at his watch; it was nine o’clock. He got out of the car and walked slowly up the flag-stone path to the front door. The knocker was large and old-fashioned and highly polished. It echoed through the quietness around and was finally answered by the brisk opening of a window above the doctor’s head. A woman, with Maggy’s eyes and Maggy’s hair, looked down at him and then at the Rolls, travel-stained but still magnificent, standing at the gate.
Dr Doelsma smiled, ‘Mrs MacFergus? I’ve come to see Maggy.’
‘Aye, and a long way, by the look of ye, Doctor. I’ll be down to let ye in.’ She returned his smile, and disappeared, to stand before him a moment later, holding the door open.
‘Maggy’s out with the dogs,’ she said. ‘Will ye have breakfast now, and wait here?’
The doctor smiled again. ‘I’ll own I’m hungry, but if you would tell me where I can find her—?’
Maggy’s mother twinkled at him. ‘She’s gone up the hill path at the back of the house—it’ll stretch your legs nicely for you after the long sit ye’ve had in that car.’
She led him through the house and out into the garden beyond, where there was a gate opening on to a field of rough grass leading up to the wooded hills beyond. He could see the rough path winding up between the trees before it disappeared around the brow of the nearest hill, misty with threatening rain.
Maggy came over the crest of the hill, walking slowly, the dogs weaving to and fro before her, trying to attract her attention. There had been a singular lack of sticks thrown, to be caught and brought back. Maggy did not care about sticks; occasionally she said ‘Good dog’ or ‘Go, seek,’ in an absent-minded fashion, but her heart wasn’t in it, and the dogs knew this. She was suffering from the bitter after-taste of something done which, however right, was against personal inclination.
She plodded on in her elderly kilt and thick sweater. The drizzle had covered her in a fine spangle of silvery drops, and the wind had whipped her hair into feathery curls. She was contemplating a day stretching emptily ahead of her, followed by other days, all equally empty. For the hundredth time she thought of Paul. The dogs gave tongue, and Maggy abandoned her hopeless dreams to stand and look around her. Coming towards her down the other side of the glen was the doctor, covering the ground rapidly with long easy strides.
Maggy closed her eyes, and then looked again. He was still there. She stood, stunned by the fact that her dreams had all at once become reality. It was extraordinary how the mist-covered hills around her had suddenly become Paradise. She started to run down the narrow path, her heart racing in time with her feet, the dogs running on either side. The doctor had stopped and stood watching her headlong flight, to open his arms and catch her close as she reached him, apparently unshaken by the onslaught of six feet of well-rounded girl.
Maggy said into his shoulder, ‘Paul! Oh, Paul! I wanted you to come so much, and you came.’
Paul tightened an arm around her, and if he found this remark, in the light of recent events, rather puzzling, he made no comment. Instead he said, ‘My dear girl, naturally I came.’ There was a ghost of a laugh in his voice.
‘How did you find me?’ She looked up at him, suddenly feeling shy. He didn’t answer, but kissed her mouth with a sudden fierceness that left her breathless. When she could speak again, she said,
‘I didn’t mean you to find me, Paul.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘My dearest goose, did you really think that a mere seven or eight hundred miles would keep me from following you?’ He kissed her again, gently. ‘My delightful Maggy, you have no idea what a nuisance you have been to me; do you know that I have left patients and lectures and clinics in the unwilling laps of half the medical profession in Leiden?’
‘I’m sorry, Paul…do you find me very silly?’
He kissed her again in a reassuring fashion. ‘No, darling. Only I don’t know why you needed to run away. You’re not afraid of me?’
Maggy raised an astonished face. ‘Afraid of you? Paul, how could I be afraid of you when I love you?’
Paul looked at her tenderly. ‘Then why, my dearest?’
‘I—I didn’t think you loved me…at least, once or twice I thought perhaps you did, a little, and then that night when we went out and we were talking in the kitchen and you told me about the girls you had taken out and you said that Stien would make a decorative wife…’
‘So I did,’ Paul agreed, ‘but I don’t remember saying that she was going to be my wife.’
Maggy said rather crossly, ‘No, of course you didn’t; but she’s in Utrecht, and you practically live there.’
The grey eyes opened wide and stared down at her. ‘My love, my bad-tempered little love! I have set eyes on Stien just once since she was at Oudehof, and that was when she asked me to give her a lift to a party in Utrecht because her car had broken down. I go to Utrecht because I have a home for old people there. You see, Maggy, I have a great deal of money…I bought an old house and converted it…it has taken up much of my time. But not,’ he added softly, ‘as much as you.’ He kissed her again. ‘Is that why you couldn’t be found when I telephoned Oudehof from Munich?’ Maggy nodded into his shoulder. ‘And avoided me so cleverly at Schiphol?’ he went on. Maggy nodded again.
‘Will you marry me, my darling? Very soon, before you get any more ideas into your head. There is, I know, a lot of explaining to do, but I think I prefer to do it at my leisure, in the comfort of our own home.’
They smiled at each ot
her. ‘It will be very nice to come home in the evening,’ said Paul, ‘and find you waiting.’
He kissed her again, with an urgency that left her pink-cheeked and shaking, so that he held her gently while he said the things she had longed to hear him say. Neither of them noticed the thickening drizzle. After a time the patient dogs, at last grown impatient, got up and shook themselves, and trotted off into the trees, their tongues lolling. They looked back once as they went, but neither Paul nor Maggy had seen them go.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-3959-3
A MATCH FOR SISTER MAGGY
Copyright © 1979 by Betty Neels.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book please contact us at [email protected].
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com
