by Betty Neels
‘A spirited young lady, if I may say so,’ said Blossom, who, being an old and faithful servant said what he liked. ‘Took to her at once, I did.’
‘Which augurs well for the future.’
* * *
It seemed to Julie that during the next day the professor was very occupied. Moreover, the various departments and wards were constantly phoning him, and twice he had asked her to get a Dutch number for him and then, infuriatingly, had spent a long time speaking in Dutch to someone in Holland. Arranging to meet his future wife? she wondered. Discussing their wedding? Planning a holiday together?
Turning the knife in the wound hurt, but she couldn’t help herself. She tried not to think of the months ahead without much success. They would be without him. If he intended to work at the hospital from time to time only then she wouldn’t be needed by him; she would be transferred to another consultant and would probably never work for him again. Or see him. The quicker she got used to the idea the better!
The following morning when she arrived for work there was no sign of the professor. She saw to the post, arranged things to his liking on his desk and sat down in front of her computer. There was, thank heaven, a good deal of work to get through.
It was almost her dinner time when he walked into his office, and sat down at his desk. ‘Anything urgent?’ he wanted to know, and glanced through the letters she had arranged so neatly. ‘No? Good. I shall be going to Holland in two days’ time. I shall want you to go with me.’
He gave her a brief glance. ‘There is nothing that can’t be dealt with today and tomorrow. Will you ring my receptionist at the consulting rooms and ask her to deal with the appointments? She’ll know what to do. Get hold of the path lab for me too, will you? I’ll be on the ward if I’m wanted.’
He was at the door before she spoke. ‘How long shall we be away, sir?’
‘Three or four days—maybe less, certainly not more. There’s too much to deal with at this end. We’ll go as before, with the car.’ He added gravely, ‘You had better borrow the coat. It may be cold!’
Beyond that he had nothing further to say. She supposed that it was a seminar or a series of lectures, and she hoped that she would be staying with Mevrouw Schatt again. That was why he had made those telephone calls—to arrange to meet the girl. She went to her dinner and pushed beef casserole around the plate, joining in the chatter of the others with unusual animation.
Her mother took her news with a placid observation. ‘That will be a nice change for you, dear. Sitting in an office all day must be so dull.’
Not when Simon’s there, reflected Julie. ‘Would you mind if I borrowed the coat? It might be cold.’
‘Of course, love, and hadn’t you better have some kind of a hat?’ Mrs Beckworth pondered for a moment. ‘There’s that brown velvet that I had last winter—if you turned it back to front, with the brim turned up...’
They were both clever with their fingers, and the hat, brushed, pulled and poked into shape, sat very nicely on Julie’s bright hair.
‘Three or four days,’ she observed. ‘If I travel in a blouse and skirt and a thin sweater and take one dress that should do. Perhaps another blouse—and undies, of course.’
‘You’re not likely to go out?’ asked her mother hopefully.
‘No. When I’m not taking notes I have to get them typed up whenever I’ve time.’
* * *
It wasn’t until the afternoon before they were to go that the professor told her that he would collect her at nine o’clock the next morning. ‘We shall travel as before,’ was all he said.
When he came for her, Julie, elegant in the cashmere coat and the made-over hat, bade her mother and Esme goodbye, assured Luscombe that she would take care and, after an exchange of civilities on the part of the professor; her mother, Esme and Luscombe, was ushered into the car.
Three, perhaps four days, she told herself. I must make the most of them. Only she hoped that she wouldn’t see the girl again, and she must remember to be an efficient secretary and nothing more.
The journey was a repetition of the previous one: they boarded the Hovercraft at Dover, ate their sandwiches and drank coffee while the professor buried his commanding nose in his papers and once on shore wasted no time in small talk but drove steadily. They did not stop at the café they had eaten in before but crossed the Moerdijk Bridge and, after a mile or two, drew up before a restaurant, all plate glass windows with a row of flags waving in the wind.
‘Off you go,’ he told her. ‘Over in that right-hand corner. I’ll be here—I can spare half an hour.’
When she joined him there was a glass of sherry on the table, and he held a glass of tonic water in his hand. ‘It will warm you up,’ he said. He had stood up and then sat down opposite her again. ‘Echte soup,’ he observed. ‘Also very warming at this time of year. And an omelette to follow. I hope you don’t mind me ordering, but we have quite a way to go still.’
That surprised her, for she had thought that Leiden wasn’t all that distance.
‘We’re going to Leiden?’ she asked. Really, it was time she was told a few details.
‘Leiden? Briefly, to collect Jason. We’re going to Groningen.’
She should have expected that. She supped her soup, drank her sherry and made short work of the omelette, then told him that she was ready when he was.
He was driving fast now, his hands light on the wheel, his face, when she peeped at it, placid. They were slowing through Leiden before she realised that they were there, and he drew up before his house.
‘You would like to go indoors?’ he asked, opening her door.
She nodded thankfully, wondering when the journey would end—Groningen seemed a long way off. He opened his door and Jason came bounding to meet them followed by Siska, who beckoned Julie to go upstairs and then turned her attention to the professor. They were still talking when she came down again, but the housekeeper shook her hand and smiled and opened the door. No time was to be lost, it seemed.
Julie longed for a cup of tea; it would make things seem more normal. She had the feeling that the day wasn’t going as she expected.
With Jason breathing great happy gusts from the back seat they set off again. It had been a clear cold day, and now, although it was almost dark, there was a multitude of stars and half a moon creeping up the horizon.
Julie, lapped in warmth and the pleasant smell of good leather mingled with dog, decided sensibly to wait and see what was to happen. The professor had little to say and had offered no further information—presumably he took it for granted that she expected to go to the hospital.
He was travelling fast again, never recklessly, but overtaking everything on the road. Presently he asked, ‘You are warm enough?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘I don’t intend to stop again now we are back on the motorway.’
He didn’t say much after that, and she made no effort at conversation. He was probably conning over a lecture, or thinking about the girl, and Julie had her own thoughts.
She was surprised when they flashed past a sign to Groningen—ten kilometres away. The time had passed quickly, and even as she thought it she saw the lights of the city ahead of them, clear in the flat landscape. Then he turned away from the motorway, along a narrow country road leading away into the dark fields around them.
‘Is this a short cut?’
‘It is the way to my home.’
‘But you live in Leiden and London. Aren’t we to go to the hospital?’
‘No.’ He drove on steadily, and Julie sat trying to think of something sensible to say. If they weren’t going to the hospital but to his home—another home—why was that?
‘I think you should explain.’
‘Certainly, but not just yet.’
There were l
ights ahead of them and a very small village, and presently he drove through its short street and back into the empty country again. But not for long. Soon he turned the car between great gateposts and stopped before his home.
Julie sat where she was. The glimpse she had had of the house had rather taken her breath. It looked like an ancestral home and, sensible girl though she was, she wasn’t sure what to expect now. The professor opened her door and helped her out, and let Jason out as well, and the three of them mounted the steps to the great front door. It was thrown open as they reached it and the girl standing there flung herself at the professor. He gave her a hug and disentangled himself.
‘Julie, this is my sister Celeste,’ he said. It was the girl Julie had seen in Groningen.
Julie went pale and then pink and took Celeste’s hand, but her eyes were on his. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she asked.
‘If you remember, I was interrupted.’ He smiled. ‘And in the morning you expressed a wish not to say anything more about it.’ He turned to his sister. ‘Are we all here?’
‘Yes.’ She switched to Dutch. ‘She’s gorgeous, Simon, we’re all thrilled to bits. Have you quarrelled?’
‘No. No. But I think for this evening we will remain sociable and nothing more. So no awkward questions, lieveling.’
‘Ah, here is Bep to take your coat, Julie.’ He saw her look. ‘No, don’t ask questions now. Let us have a pleasant dinner—I am sure you must be tired. Tomorrow is time enough...’
‘For what?’ She had the feeling that she was in a dream; she said so. ‘It’s like a dream.’
‘Dreams come true, Julie.’ And that was all he would say.
* * *
Hours later, lying snug in bed, convinced that she would never sleep, Julie tried to sort her muddled thoughts.
She had been swept into an enormous room full of people—well, not full, but five could be a crowd when you weren’t expecting them—and they had welcomed her with smiling warmth just as if they had known about her. She had been given sherry and had presently crossed the hall to a dining room with dark-panelled walls and a table decked with white damask and a great deal of silver and crystal. She had sat next to Simon and eaten a delicious meal and taken part in a conversation not one word of which she could remember. Simon had had little to say to her, but he had been there, close by.
She had been taken to her room later by Celeste—a charming room, with a four-poster bed and dainty Regency furniture—and kissed goodnight and told to sleep well. Simon, she remembered sleepily, had opened the door for them and had smiled down at her in a way which had made her heart lurch...
She slept then, and didn’t wake until a cheerful girl came in with a little tray of tea. There was a note folded between the teapot and the milk jug. The professor’s familiar scrawl invited her to get up and come downstairs.
He was waiting for her in the hall, sitting in an enormous chair with Jason beside him. He got up and crossed to where she was hesitating on the last stair and took her hand. He led her to the back of the hall and opened a door there.
‘Haven’t you guessed, Julie?’ he asked her. He turned her round to face him and put his hands on her shoulders.
‘Perhaps just a little, but not until last night. I was afraid to.’ She studied his tie. ‘Why have we come here? I mean, I can see that you wanted me to meet Celeste—did you think I wouldn’t believe you?’
‘No. No, my darling. But you were cross, were you not? It didn’t seem quite the right moment, and I wanted you here in my home, away from the hospital.’
‘Oh, well—I’m here now,’ said Julie, and looked up at him. She smiled and his hands let go of her shoulders, and she was caught close in his arms.
‘I thought you didn’t like me,’ she muttered into his jacket. ‘As a person, that is; I tried to be a very good secretary, because I hoped that if I was you’d notice me.’
‘Dear heart, I have never stopped noticing you since the first moment I saw you. I shall continue to notice you until the end of time. I shall love you too, just as I love you now. Could we marry soon, do you suppose? We have wasted so much time.’
He kissed her then, and really there was no need to answer, but presently she asked, ‘Your family—Mother...?’
‘My family know all about you, my love, and I phoned your mother last night.’
‘Were you so sure?’
‘Yes. And now be quiet, my dearest love, for I’m going to kiss you again.’
Julie smiled and didn’t say a word!
* * * * *
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ISBN: 9781460318669
Copyright © 1996 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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