by Betty Neels
This time she was lucky; the albums, three of them, were on top of a pile of old curtains. She took them out, closed the trunk and did up the straps once more as the thunder crashed deafeningly just above her head. The quiet once it had grumbled its way to an end was a respite during which, if she were quick enough, she could get down the ladder. The albums were heavy, and she would have to throw them down; if she leaned out as far as possible she would be able to do that without damaging them.
She hung rather precariously over the opening, judging the distance, and froze with fright. Someone had come into the house; the front door was locked but she hadn’t closed the back door. Anyone agile enough could climb the fence at the end of the garden; there was a narrow alleyway, overgrown and little used, which ran behind the terrace. She had been a fool; the house had been empty for several weeks and even though she had been going to and fro during the past few days anyone interested would have known by now that she was only there during the day, only it just so happened that she had stayed longer than usual in order to discover the albums.
Mr van der Beek stood in the cramped hall, looking up at her. The sight of her face, white with fright under a fine layer of dust and an old cobweb or two, wrung his heart with tenderness.
He said mildly, ‘You shouldn’t leave doors open, Patience.’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me,’ she said in a cross voice. ‘You frightened the life out of me—you could have been anyone…’
‘Exactly, but now you know that it is I, so will you come down?’ There was no hint of his strong feelings in his calm voice. ‘Why are you up there?’
‘I was looking…oh!’ She gave a gasp as vivid lightning heralded a crack of thunder. ‘I don’t like storms,’ she told him in a small voice, then, ‘Aunt Bessy wanted some photo albums, and it seemed a good chance to look for them.’
He had mounted the narrow stairs and stood inches from her upside-down face. The temptation to reach up and kiss it, cobwebs and all, was great, but he withstood it; time enough for that later.
He said, in the soothing voice he used towards nervous patients, ‘Hand them down to me and then come down yourself, but give me that candlestick first before you set the place on fire.’
The face disappeared and a cautious foot took its place, followed by a leg.
‘Nice legs,’ commented Mr van der Beek.
‘Don’t you talk to me like that!’ The tartness of her voice was swallowed up by reason of another great clap of thunder.
The second foot and leg appeared but before she could get a foothold on the steps he had reached up and lifted her down.
Mr van der Beek, as warm-blooded as the next man despite his remote manner, was possessed of an iron self-control; he let go of her the moment she touched the floor although he allowed himself to dust off a few of the cobwebs and a few feathers from her untidy hair.
‘The kitchen?’ he asked, picked up the albums and squeezed his bulk against a wall so that she could go downstairs ahead of him. ‘I’ll just shut the trap, shall I?’
Which gave her a moment to shake the dust out of her clothes. She passed a rather shaky hand over her face too, which was a mistake because it left a smear on one cheek. In the kitchen he offered a snowy handkerchief and she went to the little looking-glass under the clock and took a look. She faced him. ‘I’m filthy!’ she exclaimed.
He had found a cloth—a clean towel, but he couldn’t be expected to know that—and was dusting the albums. The glance he gave her was brief and impersonal. ‘No matter—there’s no one to see and it makes no difference to me.’
She wiped the worst off, reflecting sadly that of course it made no difference and why should it? Just for a moment she thought a few wicked thoughts about Mevrouw van Teule, the acme of perfection and beauty.
She turned round and saw that he had sat himself on the edge of the kitchen table, looking perfectly at ease.
‘I thought you were in Holland. I thought you wouldn’t come here ever again. Mr Bennett told me that the house has been sold. It was kind of you to allow us to stay there until I could get this place ready for the aunts. Mrs Dodge is there too; Miss Murch has gone back to your house in Chiswick.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘So why are you here?’
He didn’t answer, only looked at her steadily. She winced and closed her eyes briefly as lightning splashed across the little room. ‘It is kind of you…’ she began and realised that she had already said that and tried to start again. ‘What I mean is, there is no need for the aunts to stay at the house. I’m quite ready here; I only have to pack their things. I thought I’d bring them back tomorrow or the next day.’
‘No need. They can stay up at the house…’ His stare disconcerted her and she looked away.
‘I don’t think you quite understand. The new owner will want to move in.’ She frowned. ‘I must say I do think he might have let me know when he was coming.’
‘I’m the new owner,’ said Mr van der Beek blandly.
‘You’re… But you don’t want to live here—Miss Murch won’t like to come back; she doesn’t like the butcher.’
‘Miss Murch, bless her, has no need to fret. She will stay at Chiswick and in the course of time will make Dobbs a happy man.’
‘Oh, never mind Miss Murch, then,’ said Patience, getting cross again. ‘Why did you buy the house? You aren’t going to live in it, are you?’
‘Certainly not; it would be most inconvenient for my work. Your aunts will live there—with Mrs Dodge, of course.’
‘But what about me?’ She thought she saw then. ‘Oh, so that I can be free to find a job and be independent; that would mean they could live on the money from the house quite comfortably.’ Then she added, ‘Why do you want the aunts to live there? I don’t understand…’
‘I’m going to be married.’
Her heart dropped into her shoes; she had always laughed at the expression but now she knew that it was true. But there was nothing to do about it but haul it up again with a cheerful face. ‘How nice. Mevrouw van Teule told me that you hated to be away from her—I hope—I do hope you’ll be very happy.’
Of course he wouldn’t be—she couldn’t bear the thought of it. A little light-headed, probably because her heart was still in her shoes, she added, ‘Of course, she’s not the wife for you—you’ll be very unhappy…’
She put a grubby hand to her mouth and looked at him in horror. She would have to unsay those words; she was thinking frantically how to do it when he got off the table and came to stand in front of her.
‘I should be very unhappy,’ he agreed gently, ‘but I have—never have had—any intention of marrying Mevrouw van Teule.’
‘I still don’t understand. Why do you want the house if you’re not going to live in it? And why did you buy it?’
He took her hands in his. ‘Now listen to me, my darling. Much as I like your aunts, I would not wish to have them live with us, but if they are happy in their old home with someone they know to care for them, could you not see your way to marrying me and living at Rijnsten? And quite often over here in England so that you can visit them whenever you wish.’
‘Marry you?’ uttered Patience in a wobbly voice.
‘Marry me. I find that life is intolerable without you, my dearest love; you are in my mind and my heart and beneath my eyelids when I sleep. I think that I have always loved you.’
Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Julius, oh, Julius…’ She swallowed the tears and said in a small steady voice, ‘I love you too, Julius, but have you considered? I’m—I’m rather plain, you know, and not at all clever. It’s very kind of you…’
‘Kind, kind?’ Mr van der Beek gathered her to his enormous chest. ‘My dearest darling, what nonsense is this? Let us have no more of it. You are beautiful and clever and my heart’s desire.’
‘Really?�
� asked Patience, and peeped up at him.
‘Really.’ He kissed her then, gently, but when she smiled up at him his arms tightened around her. ‘Presently,’ he told her, ‘I will tell you just how beautiful and clever you are, but now I am going to kiss you.’
So dreams do come true, thought Patience, and lifted her face to his; she had no idea that being kissed was so very delightful.
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781459235151
Copyright © 1992 by Betty Neels
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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.
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