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Cruise to a Wedding
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.A double wedding would be twice the fun Everybody said that Loveday was good in a crisis. When her old friend asked for help Loveday was only too willing to lend a hand. Rimada was desperately in love and wanted to get married, but her guardian, Baron Adam de Wolf van Osinga, didn't approve of her choice.Loveday was in charge of the couple's wedding plans and Adam was going to discover he wasn't a match for true love…or Loveday Pierce.



She turned a shocked face to his.
“Is that what you told him? That I was going to get married? But I’m not… She drew a deep indignant breath. “I never heard anything like it—the nerve.”
“Ah, but I’m a surgeon. We need nerve.” He sounded quite undisturbed by her temper. “Why, I remember once in Utrecht there was a case…”
“I am not in the least bit interested in your cases,” she told him crossly. “You’ve behaved abominably!”
He nodded in agreement. “Oh, indeed I have. But in a year or two it won’t matter a bit. What will matter is that Rimada and Guake will be happily married.” He glanced at her, “And you will be married, Loveday, and so shall I.”
As he held the car door open for her, Loveday said tartly, “I really can’t think why I said I’d stay, for you are so rude. I can see that I’m not going to enjoy my holiday.”
He took her arm and walked her round to the terrace overlooking the sea. “Oh, yes, you are,” he assured her, smiling.

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, and her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

Cruise to a Wedding
Betty Neels



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

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE
THEATRE was working late; it had been a quiet morning with a couple of straightforward cases, but the two o’clock list had started badly, when a perfectly simple appendix had turned out to be a diverticulitis; and even though the next three cases had gone smoothly, an emergency strangulated hernia, pushed in ruthlessly towards the end of the afternoon, had made nonsense of the list. With barely a ten-minute break for tea, Mr Gore-Symes, the senior consultant at the Royal City Hospital, was already three hours behind time.
Loveday Pearce, Sister in charge of the main theatre, had disposed her staff as best she might, sending them off duty at last, although late, so that now, at almost eight o’clock in the evening, she was left with only her senior staff nurse, Peggy Cross, a second-year student nurse who didn’t much care for theatre work, and was consequently not of much use, Bert the technician and the admirable Mrs Thripps, a nursing auxiliary who had worked so long in theatre that Loveday sometimes declared that in an emergency, she would be quite capable of scrubbing up and taking a case. She nodded to that good lady now as she slid forward to change the bowls, and Mrs Thripps, understanding the nod, finished what she was doing and took herself off duty too. She was already very late and although Loveday knew that she would have stayed uncomplainingly as long as she was required, she had a husband and three children at home; it would have been unfair to have asked her to stay any longer—they would have to manage without her.
Mr Gore-Symes, assisted by his registrar, Gordon Blair, was tidily putting together those portions of his patient’s anatomy which had needed his skilled attention; he would be quickly finished now, there remained only the sigmoidoscopy, an examination which would take but a few minutes. Loveday raised a nicely shaped eyebrow at her staff nurse as a signal for her to start clearing away those instruments no longer needed, and nodded again at the student nurse, impatient to be gone. That left herself, Staff and Bert—she nodded to him too. He was a rather dour Scot, devoted to her, but with stern views as to just how much overtime he should do. He disappeared also, leaving the theatre looking empty. Loveday collected the rest of the instruments in a bowl, gave them to Staff, handed the registrar the stitch scissors, Mr Gore-Symes his own particular needle holder and the needle he fancied, and allowed her thoughts to turn to supper: it had been a long, tiring afternoon and she was beginning to flag just a little.
Mr Gore-Symes stood back presently, put the needle holder on to the Mayo’s table, said: ‘Finish off, Gordon, will you?’ and wandered off to shed his gown. As he went he said over his shoulder in a satisfied voice: ‘One more, eh?’
The last patient was wheeled in ten minutes later, and Mr Gore-Symes, perched on a stool, applied his trained eye to the sigmoidoscope. He was by nature a mid-tempered man, but now the language which passed his lips was anything but mild. Loveday, used to rude words of all kinds after four years as a Theatre Sister, raised her eyebrows briefly, accepted her superior’s apology with calm, and thanked God silently that she had had the forethought to lay up a trolley against just such an unfortunate eventuality as this one.
‘Another…’ the surgeon bit back another word, ‘diverticulitis, Loveday. How long will you need?’
‘I’m ready when you are, sir.’ She forced her voice to cheerfulness; if she was weary, how must he feel? He wasn’t a young man any more. She whispered to the ever-watchful Staff to let the ward know, and with the calm of long training, handed Gordon the first of the sterile towels.
The operation went very well; it was a little before ten o’clock when the patient was wheeled away and the night runner, who had been sent to give a hand, was dispatched to make coffee for everyone. But Loveday wasted no time over hers; she gulped half of it down, excused herself and went back to theatre, to be joined within minutes by Peggy Cross. They knew their work well; with barely a word they cleared, scrubbed instruments, put them ready for the CSD in the morning, wiped and washed, polished and tidied away until the theatre looked as pristine as Loveday’s high standards demanded. Only then did she say:
‘Lord, what a day, Peggy—thank heaven there’s no list until eleven tomorrow.’ She was pulling off her gown as she spoke and then the cap and mask she hadn’t bothered to take off earlier, to reveal a charming face despite its tiredness; big brown eyes thickly fringed with black lashes, a straight nose and a generously curved mouth above a determined chin. Her hair was very dark; a rich, deep brown—a shade untidy by now, but normally drawn back into a thick twist above her slender neck. She was a tall girl and not thin, but she had a graceful way of moving which made her seem slimmer than she was. She walked slowly across the theatre now, flung her discarded garments into the bin, rolled down her sleeves, and stood waiting for her staff nurse, a small, plump girl with a round cheerful face, which, even after several hours of overtime for which she wouldn’t get paid, was still smiling.
‘Supper?’ she asked Loveday as they left the theatre together. Loveday shut the doors carefully behind her and paused at her office. ‘Not for me, thanks—you go on. I’m going to do the books and make a pot of tea when I get over to the Home.’ She yawned widely, added a good night, and sat down at her desk. The night sister who took theatre would be along presently; she would hand the keys over to her, in the meantime she could get the operation list finished.
She reached her room finally, tossed off her cap, crammed her feet into her slippers and prepared to go along to the pantry and make tea. Most of her friends were out, and for once she was glad to be on her own; bath and bed seemed very attractive.
She was half way to the door when it was flung open and a girl came in. She was a tall young woman, as tall as Loveday, but whereas Loveday was vividly dark, this girl was fair, with ash-blonde hair and bright blue eyes and generous curves. She stopped in the doorway and cried dramatically and with faint pettishness, ‘Loveday—I thought you would never come! I have waited and waited. I am in the greatest trouble.’
Loveday saw that the tea kettle would have to wait. She started to take off her uniform instead; Rimada was her greatest friend and she liked her enormously, even while she was sometimes impatient of her inability to accept life as it came. Possibly this was because the Dutch girl was an only child, hopelessly spoilt by a doting mother and used to having her own way. When Loveday had first become friendly with her, she had asked why she had ever taken up nursing—and in a country other than her own, too—to be told that it had all been the doing of her guardian, a cousin older than herself, a man, Rimada had declared furiously, who delighted in making her do things she had no wish to do.
‘Didn’t you want to be a nurse, then?’ Loveday had asked.
‘Of course,’ Rimada had insisted vehemently, ‘but when I wished it, not he. There was a young man, you understand—he wanted to marry me and I thought it might be rather fun, but Adam would not allow it, so I told him that I would retire from the world and be a nurse, and he arranged it all so quickly that I had no time to change my mind.’ She had turned indignant blue eyes upon Loveday, who had said roundly: ‘Oh, Rimmy, what rubbish—no one can make people do things they don’t want to do, not these days.’
‘Adam can,’ Rimada had said simply, ‘until I am twenty-five.’
Now Loveday eyed Rimada’s stormy countenance as she got into her dressing gown. ‘What’s up?’ she asked. ‘Don’t tell me that Big Bertha has been at you again?’
Big Bertha was the Senior Nursing Officer on the Surgical Block where Rimada was in charge of a women’s surgical ward.
‘Far worse,’ breathed Rimada, ‘it is Adam.’
Loveday took the pins out of her hair and allowed it to fall in a thick curtain down her back. ‘Look,’ she began, ‘I’ve had a simply foul time since two o’clock—do you mind if we talk about it over a cup of tea?’
Rimada was instantly contrite. ‘I am a selfish girl,’ she declared in the tones of one who doesn’t really believe what she is saying. ‘We will make tea and I will myself go to the warden’s office and request sandwiches.’
Loveday was making for the pantry. ‘You do that,’ she advised. ‘You’re the only one of us who can wheedle anything out of Old Mossy.’ Which was indeed true; perhaps because Rimada had, for the whole of her life, expected—and had—her wishes fulfilled as soon as she uttered them, and Old Mossy had recognized the fact that to say no would have been a useless waste of time. Rimada, Loveday reflected as she spooned tea into the pot, had an arrogance of manner when she wanted her own way—not arrogance, she corrected herself, merely a certainty that no one would gainsay her.
She bore the tea-tray back to her room and found Rimada already there, the promised sandwiches on a plate and a packet of crisps besides.
‘Wherever did you get those?’ she demanded.
‘I asked Old Mossy for them,’ Rimada smiled in triumph. ‘I can get anything I want,’ she stated without conceit. Her face clouded. ‘Excepting when the horrible Adam does not wish it.’
Loveday drank tea and bit into a sandwich. There were a nice lot of them, all cheese, and the teapot was a large one. She relaxed, tucked her feet under her on the bed, added more sugar to her tea and said briefly: ‘Tell.’
‘I am in love with Terry,’ began Rimada, a statement which drew forth no surprise on Loveday’s part; Rimada fell in and out of love with almost monotonous frequency.
‘That new houseman on Surgical? He’s a head shorter than you are!’
Rimada frowned. ‘That has nothing to do with it—I do not care in the least. He thinks of me as a Rhine Maiden.’ She looked rapt.
Loveday looked astonished. ‘A what? But you’re Dutch—they were Germans, weren’t they, with enormous bosoms and dreadfully warlike.’ She studied her friend. ‘He’s got it all wrong,’ she finished in a kindly way, and took another bite of her sandwich.
Rimada looked put out. ‘It is a compliment.’
‘What happened to Arthur?’ asked Loveday. Arthur had been in evidence for some weeks; he worked in the Path Lab, and while a young man of unassuming manner, had been more or less harmless.
‘He wears glasses.’
Loveday nodded. ‘Yes, I see what you mean.’ She didn’t much care for glasses herself, although several of the young gentlemen who had engaged her fancy from time to time had worn them. She poured more tea for them both. ‘Well, even if this Terry’s shorter than you are, I don’t suppose it matters. You said something about your guardian—do they know each other or something?’
Rimada’s eyes glinted with rage. ‘No—how could they? But Terry wants to marry me, and this evening I telephoned Adam and told him that I wished it also. He laughed…’ her voice shook with temper. ‘He said that Terry sounded like a young idiot who was after my money and I could count on him never giving his consent.’
‘You’ll be twenty-five in a year’s time,’ Loveday reminded her. ‘That’s not long to wait, he can’t stop you then.’
‘I do not wish to wait,’ stated Rimada heatedly. ‘I wish to marry now, and so also does Terry.’
‘But he doesn’t earn enough to keep you,’ Loveday pointed out.
‘I know that, but we can live on my money. I have a great deal of it, you know.’
‘But your guardian won’t let you have it; you’ve just said so.’ Loveday frowned. ‘And I can’t say that I altogether blame him, however dreary he is about it. You don’t know much about Terry, do you? I mean, he’s only been here about three weeks. I know you’ve been out with him, but that’s not very…’
‘Do not be an old maid,’ begged her friend tartly. ‘At twenty-seven you are perhaps getting…’ She paused, at a loss for a word.
‘Stuffy,’ supplied Loveday cheerfully. ‘I daresay I am.’
Rimada was instantly penitent. ‘Oh, Loveday, I did not mean that! You are so pretty, and all the men like you and really you do not look as old as you are.’ She smiled engagingly. ‘But you do not love easily, do you? I do not know why—it is so easy a thing to do.’
‘Oh, well, I daresay I’ll meet a man I want to marry one day.’
‘And if you do not?’
‘I’ll not marry. Now, let’s get back to Terry. What’s he got to say about all this?’
‘He is most unhappy; he wished to marry me as soon as he could get a licence.’
‘Then why doesn’t he? You’re twenty-four, you know.’
‘But if I marry before I am twenty-five without Adam’s consent, I do not have any money.’
Loveday stared at her friend. The conversation was getting repetitive. Terry might be in love, but he might be in love with money as well. The guardian, cagey old dragon though he might be, would naturally think that. ‘I should wait a bit,’ she counselled. ‘Why not go over to Holland and talk to him?’
‘Talk to Adam?’ Rimada asked with something like horror. ‘He supposes me to be a child; he laughs a little and tells me to grow up and that I am foolish.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘But perhaps, if I have an idea, dear Loveday, you will help me.’
‘Not now, I won’t—I’m dog tired.’
‘Silly—not now, of course. But if I should have a very clever idea perhaps I could not carry it out without your help.’
‘I am not making any promises.’
‘It will be nothing bad, I promise you, but I want my own way and there must be something I can do to make Adam give in—if we were already married, how could he help it? We are a large family—everyone would be angry with him if he leaves me to live in poverty when I have so big a fortune.’
Loveday shook her head. ‘No, I couldn’t do that,’ she protested. ‘It wouldn’t be cricket.’
‘Cricket? But I do not wish to play cricket, I wish to get married.’ Rimada looked put out. ‘You English and your games!’ she added irritably.
‘Sorry, ducky.’ Loveday got off the bed and stacked the tea-things on to the tray. ‘I’d love to help you, but not to go behind your guardian’s back. I still think that you—and Terry, why not?—should go to Holland and see him. He can’t be that awful.’ She paused as a thought struck her. ‘Why not get at him through his wife?’
Rimada giggled. ‘He has no wife, he is a footloose bachelor.’
Loveday padded along to the pantry, Rimada behind her. The guardian, she imagined, was a Professor Higgins without the charm, and with a middle-aged eye for the girls. ‘Let’s sleep on it,’ she suggested. ‘There must be something—some way of getting round him. And there’s no hurry, is there? I mean, you’ve only known Terry for a few weeks, haven’t you?’
‘I shall love him for ever,’ declared her friend dramatically. ‘But I will have patience for a day or two while you think of something, dear Loveday; you are so clever.’
She smiled winningly, said good night and tripped away to her own room, to reappear a moment later. ‘There is a hat in a little shop in Bond Street,’ she rolled her fine eyes, ‘it is so charming—it would do for my wedding—pale blue…’
‘And wildly expensive, I’ll be bound.’
Rimada shrugged. ‘Oh, yes, but I want it.’ She smiled with great charm. ‘And I shall buy it tomorrow.’ She disappeared once more, and Loveday, left alone, got ready for her bath while she pondered Rimada’s wish to marry Terry Wilde. She felt sure that if she could persuade her to wait a week or two, she would either have fallen out of love, or realized that the only thing to do was to get her guardian on her side. Loveday, brushing her hair as she paced round her room, frowned in thought, she didn’t like Terry very much—he was young and good-looking and had a charm of manner which somehow didn’t ring true; there were quite a number of nurses in the hospital who found him attractive, but she thought that there was very little underneath the facile charm. He had worked in theatre once or twice and she hadn’t been impressed; she had had the feeling that he wasn’t very good at his job and hid the fact under a showy pretence of knowledge. She got into bed and turned out the light, quite resolved to have nothing to do with her friend’s hare-brained schemes.
A resolve she was to break within a very short time—the next day in fact. The list had been short and had gone without a hitch; there was a heavy list for the afternoon, though, and the first operation was to be done by some specialist, Gordon had told her, apologizing at the same time for not having warned her earlier in the day, but Mr Gore-Symes hadn’t been perfectly certain that he was coming; it was some new technique this professor something-or-other had perfected, and the old man was deeply interested in it. ‘I believe the fellow brings his own instruments,’ he concluded.
‘In that case,’ Loveday had told him, ‘he’d better hand them over pretty smartish, or we shall all be standing around waiting for them. Do the CSD do them or am I supposed to see to it, I wonder? Why doesn’t someone tell me?’
Gordon had grinned. ‘Haven’t the faintest, but I’m sure you’ll cope.’ He had gone off to his lunch, whistling cheerfully, and she, in her turn, had gone off to hers.
She had stayed longer than she had intended, sitting at table, sipping her post-prandial tea, deeply absorbed in the ever-interesting topic of clothes—so long, in fact, that she had no time to go to her room and do her hair and her face; not that it would matter a great deal, for she would be wearing a mask for the rest of the afternoon. She tore through the bleak Victorian corridors which would bring her to the lift taking her to the theatre block; the Royal City had been modernized on several separate occasions, various well-meaning persons taking it in turns to have an architect’s finger in their Utopian pie, so that the whole place was a complexity of antiquated staircases, underground passages, gigantic pipes which made hollow noises in the dead of night, and hyper-modern lifts, automatic doors and a magnificent entrance hall, which had been designed to contain the very latest in communication panels, kiosks for visitors, a flower stall even, and which had never quite got to this stage, so that Parkinson, the head porter, still held its traffic in the hollow of his aged but iron hand.
The theatre block had been completed, however, and it was a splendid one, with Loveday in charge of it, aided by two junior Sisters, who ran the smaller theatres and relieved her when she went off duty. They got on well, the three of them; she was thinking about that as she skipped down a quite unnecessary flight of steps and began to run along the curved passage which ran round the back of the entrance hall. She was lucky, she considered, unlike poor Rimada, who disliked and was disliked by Big Bertha and was unable to laugh about it. She quickened her pace slightly and shot round the next bend, slap into the arms of someone coming in the opposite direction. A man, a very tall, very large man, no longer young but possessing the kind of good looks which would catch any female eye. Loveday just had time to see that for herself as he put his hands on her shoulders to steady her and then held her away from him to take a good look. His eyes were blue, she noted with interest, and at the moment positively frosty. She smiled nicely, none the less, and said pleasantly: ‘So sorry—I’m in a hurry.’
‘My dear good girl,’ he drawled in a deep voice and in what she considered to be a very ill-humoured tone, ‘I find it surprising that a member of the hospital staff—a Sister, are you not?—should so far forget her dignity as to run, one might almost say, race on duty. You are on duty?’
Loveday eyed him with a slightly heightened colour and answered him with a decided snap. ‘My dear good man,’ and her voice was as cool as his, ‘I don’t know you from Adam, and what I’m doing can be none of your business!’
She twisted away from his hands as she spoke and continued on her way, her back expressing—she hoped—dignified disapproval, while she beat back a quite unworthy desire to turn round and have another look at him. She almost stopped when she heard his chuckle, but she was late already—besides, he had been very high-handed; a most unpleasant man, she told herself safely in the lift at last, but undeniably good-looking.
Staff Nurse Cross, bless her, had everything ready, and she still had ten minutes in which to sort the special instruments which had been delivered to her office, get them into the autoclave, and scrub up. She was nicely settled behind her trolleys well before the surgeons’ unhurried entry. Mr Gore-Symes first, with his guest—her eyes widened at the sight of him; the man in the corridor, no less, behind. The blue eyes met hers with a blandly impersonal glance while Mr Gore-Symes introduced him as Professor de mumble van mumble, from mumble. Loveday, none the wiser from her chief’s indistinct remarks, inclined her head with hauteur and was affronted at the stranger’s grunt.
‘Loveday Pearce,’ said Mr Gore-Symes, quite distinctly for once. ‘My Theatre Sister, you know. Runs the place very well.’
His companion raised thick fair eyebrows in what she could only describe to herself as an offensive manner, and turned to speak to Gordon before taking his place by the operating table. The three men arranged themselves without haste around the unconscious patient, covered on the flanks, as it were, by two housemen, looking apprehensive. Loveday waited until they had settled themselves before motioning her own team into place; Staff at her elbow, as always, the two student nurses well back from the table, ready to do anything she might require of them; Mrs Thripps, on duty, for the afternoon, standing back even further, her experienced eyes everywhere. And Bert in his corner, surrounded by the various electrical appliances which might be needed from time to time. She took a final look at them all, nodded her pretty head in satisfaction, and handed Gordon the first towel.
The operation was to be an adrenalectomy, and both kidneys were involved. As it proceeded Loveday felt bound to admit that this foreign surgeon was good; he worked fast and thoroughly, and not until he reached the stage where his own new technique was involved did he speak more than a few words. Even then she could not fault his manner; there was no hint of boasting; she was forced to admire his modest manner even while she recalled his quite unnecessary rudeness in the corridor.
It was a long business and tiring for all of them. All the same, it was with regret that she saw him leave the theatre. It was a pity, she decided, as she took off her gown and gloves and prepared to scrub for the second case, that she wouldn’t see him again, let alone discover his name—even if she asked Mr Gore-Symes at the end of the list, he would have forgotten it by then. She sighed and freshly scrubbed and gowned went to brood over the contents of her trolleys.
They finished just before six; the last two cases had been straightforward ones, and she had been able to send those nurses who were off duty out of the theatre punctually. She was off duty herself, but she was doing nothing with her evening, so that she sent the last of her staff away and, the theatre cleaned and readied once more, went to her office. Ten minutes would be long enough to write up the books, then she would take the keys along to Joyce, on duty in the ENT theatre, and go off duty herself. Someone had made her a pot of tea, she discovered; it stood on a tray on her desk with a plate of thin bread and butter on a saucer-covered plate. She smiled at the little attention, poured herself a cup and opened her books.
She had finished her writing and was polishing off the rest of the bread and butter when she heard the swing doors separating the theatre block from the hospital open and click shut. ‘In here,’ she called. ‘I was just coming over with the keys.’
But it wasn’t Joyce, it was Mr Gore-Symes’ visitor who entered, and at her surprised, ‘Oh, hullo, it’s you,’ he inclined his head and put her firmly in her place with a cold good evening. She stared at him for several seconds, a little puzzled, and then spoke with relief. ‘Oh, of course, you want your instruments. I gave them to Bert, but I daresay he couldn’t find them—they’ll be in the theatre.’
‘Thank you, I have them already. You are a friend of Rimada’s, are you not?’
He was leaning against the wall, staring at her in a disconcerting fashion. She said slowly: ‘Yes,’ while a sudden unwelcome thought trickled into the back of her mind. ‘I didn’t hear your name, sir.’ She spoke hesitatingly.
‘I didn’t think you had, that is why I have come back.’ His voice was silky. ‘De Wolff van Ozinga,’ he added with a biting quietness. ‘Adam.’
Rimada’s name was de Wolff. Loveday said in a small voice, ‘Oh, lord—I might have known, you’re Rimada’s guardian!’
‘I am. I intend seeing her this evening. Is she behaving herself?’
She shot him a guarded look which he met with a bland stare. ‘She always behaves herself, and I have no intention of answering any prying questions about her.’
He smiled lazily and she felt her dislike for him oozing away, to return at once as he continued: ‘She has a remarkable habit of falling in love with every second young man she meets. Who is it at the moment?’
Loveday looked at him crossly. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? I’m not going to answer your questions. You should ask Rimada.’
He looked hatefully pleased with himself. ‘So there is someone—she meant what she said. The absurd girl telephoned me—besides, her mother showed me a letter. I suppose you are aiding and abetting her?’
Loveday lifted her chin. ‘No. But now I’ve met you, I certainly shall!’
This spirited remark met with a laugh. ‘By all means,’ he agreed affably. ‘If you are half as bird-witted as my cousin, you aren’t likely to succeed, though.’
‘I am not bird-witted!’ She was feeling quite ill-tempered by now. ‘Rimada’s a dear, she can’t help being—being…’ She stopped, conscious of his amused eyes. ‘She’s afraid of you,’ she flung at him.
He lifted his eyebrows and looked resigned. ‘I can’t think why; I’m kindness and consideration at all times towards her. Just as long as she does nothing foolish, of course.’
Loveday felt that she should really make an end to this absurd conversation; she wasn’t getting anywhere with it, and nor, she fancied, was the man before her. A pity, though; she would have liked to have got to know him better, even, as she hastily reminded herself, though she disliked him. She closed her books and stood up.
‘Do finish your bread and butter,’ he suggested politely.
‘Thank you, no. I’m off duty.’ She picked up the tea-tray with an air of someone with not a minute to lose.
He took the tray from her and put it down again on the desk. ‘Now from any other girl I might take that as an invitation. But from you, Miss Loveday Pearce, I think not. All the same, despite your cross face and your pert manners and your bad habit of running along hospital corridors, I find you a good deal more—er—interesting than Rimada.’
He leaned across the desk and kissed her on her half open, surprised mouth.

CHAPTER TWO
LOVEDAY stood very still. Her power of speech had left her; so for the moment had the power to think clearly. She was aware of a peculiar feeling deep inside her which she presently decided might be attributed to rage and a bitter dislike of her visitor, certainly she found that she was shaking with some strong emotion. Presently she picked up the tray and took it along to the tiny kitchen on the theatre corridor and tidied everything away in her usual methodical fashion before taking the keys over to ENT and going off duty. Once in the Home, she went straight to Rimada’s room and found that young lady dressing to go out, an elaborate ritual which she interrupted to say dramatically: ‘He is here—the horrid Adam. He waits below and I am forced to dine with him.’ She tossed her head. ‘I should have been spending the evening with Terry.’
Loveday sat down. ‘Well, it’s a good thing in a way, Rimmy, because now you can tell your guardian all about it. Why doesn’t Terry go with you?’
Rimada applied mascara and leaned forward to survey her handiwork.
‘Adam wished that, but Terry is suddenly called away—an emergency case in theatre…’
‘Oh—I hadn’t heard.’
‘But you are off duty, so how could you? They will have told Joyce in ENT.’
Loveday reflected that she had left Joyce not ten minutes earlier and there had been no news of an emergency; indeed, there had been nothing in the Accident Room, and Nancy was very good at letting them know the moment anything likely came in, indeed, she often warned the theatre staff the moment she had news of an emergency from the ambulance crews. It sounded like an excuse on Terry’s part, but perhaps it was best not to pursue that train of thought. Instead, she asked: ‘How old is your guardian?’
‘Thirty-six—no, seven. Almost middle-aged.’
Not middle-aged, Loveday decided silently; middle-aged men didn’t kiss like that. ‘I didn’t know that he was a surgeon.’
Her friend swung round to stare at her. ‘You have met him? How is that? Do you not find him quite terrible?’
Loveday skated round the question. ‘He operated this afternoon. We bumped into each other when I was on the way back to theatre. He’s super at his job, whatever else he is.’
Rimada shrugged her shoulders. ‘Oh, yes; he is, how do you say? the tops. He is a Professor of Surgery, you know. He also likes pretty girls. You will take care, Loveday? He has charm…’
You can say that again, thought Loveday while she assured Rimada that she would indeed take care. ‘Though as I’m not likely to meet him again, it doesn’t matter, does it?’ She felt a momentary regret about that. ‘I’m going down to supper—come along to my room when you get back and tell me how you got on.’ She peered at her reflection over Rimada’s shoulder. ‘Gosh, I look a hag,’ she remarked, and following her train of thought: ‘I daresay your guardian won’t be as difficult as you imagine—he’s only human, after all.’
Her friend snorted. ‘Bah!’ she said through excellent teeth. The word carried a great deal of feeling.

Loveday had been in bed and asleep for quite some time when Rimada wakened her with an urgent shake. She was in tears, and Loveday, still in a half dreaming state, sat up slowly, forcing herself to wakefulness.
‘Rimmy,’ she uttered urgently, ‘whatever is the matter? You’re in floods!’
‘Adam—I hate him! He does not listen when I say that I will marry Terry; he laughs and says that I don’t know my own mind.’ A fresh flow of tears choked her and Loveday, ever helpful, offered a handkerchief.
‘He hasn’t cut you off with a shilling, or anything drastic?’ she wanted to know.
‘Of course not,’ sobbed Rimada. ‘It is my money, is it not? When I asked him for some of my allowance so that I could buy that hat—you remember?—he gave it to me at once.’
She gave Loveday a rather hurt look because she giggled. ‘Oh, it is funny to you, I daresay, but he thinks that he can bribe me, and I will not be bribed—I will have my own way.’
Rimada’s rather weak chin set in stubborn lines. ‘He is unkind, also he called you an interfering busybody and told me that I should run my own life. He said, too, that you are too clever by far and that bossy women are not his cup of tea.’
Loveday’s bosom heaved with the fury of her feelings. ‘He said that? I can well believe it,’ she said in an icy voice. ‘Anyone disputing his opinions or his plans would naturally prick his abominable ego.’ She drew a trembling breath. ‘You really want to marry Terry? OK, Rimmy, so you shall. I’ll help you all I can. We should be able to think of something between us.’ Her dark eyes glinted, she was now very much awake. ‘I’ll show him what a busybody I am!’ She smiled at the Dutch girl. ‘I’ve got days off at the end of the week—change yours and come home with me, that will give us two days’ peace and quiet in which to cook up something. Go to bed, Rimmy, and stop crying—you shall have your Terry. Good lord,’ she exclaimed, suddenly furious, ‘anyone would think it was the nineteenth century we’re living in; he’s nothing but a tyrant.’ She added softly: ‘It’ll be rather fun.’
She didn’t see Rimada until they shared a table with half a dozen other Sisters at dinner time the following day, and it was apparent that the Dutch girl had quite recovered her spirits. For a moment Loveday wondered uneasily if Terry Wilde really was the best husband for her friend—a dear girl, but easily swayed and singularly bad at managing her own affairs, monetary or otherwise. But Rimada caught her eye even as she was thinking it, and smiled so happily that Loveday dismissed the idea as nonsense, and plunged into the lively discussion going on around her; Nancy Dawson from the Accident Room was getting married in December; she had just informed the table at large that they would be spending their honeymoon on a cruise. ‘Madeira,’ she breathed ecstatically, ‘Lisbon—can you imagine? I can hardly wait!’
There was a general murmur of envy and interest and the inevitable topic of the right clothes was broached. It wasn’t until they had left the dining-room and were hurrying back to their various wards that Loveday was struck by an idea so exquisite that she stood still in the middle of the passage to savour it. Supposing she and Rimada should go on a cruise? Quite openly, of course, in fact, they would tell everyone, including the hateful guardian. Even though he considered her to be a bossy busybody, he could hardly object to the pair of them going on holiday; indeed, he should be glad because it would take Rimada away from the Royal City and Terry. She smiled slowly; only he would be with them, of course, and once in Madeira—and Madeira would suit admirably because it was more than two days’ cruising away, which gave them two days’ start…they could marry. There must surely be such things as special licences there; Terry would have to find out. And once they were married, her guardian could do very little to change things; he would have to give in, settle Rimada’s money on her and accept Terry Wilde into the family.
Loveday got into the lift, quite carried away with the cleverness of her reasoning. What was more, she decided as she pushed open the theatre doors, she would say very little to Rimada until they were on their way home; Rimmy, bless her, was no good at keeping a secret, but she would have her two days off in which to get used to the idea, and during that time she would have to be made to understand that discretion was all important—about Terry—she could tell as many people as she liked about the cruise. Loveday, greeting Staff with an absent-minded nod, made up her mind to go to a travel agency in the morning and collect all the brochures they had.
They drove down to Tenterden two evenings later, after their day’s work. They went in Loveday’s elderly Morris 1000, a car which, while hardly noted for its breathtaking speed and racy lines, maintained a steady forty miles an hour and seldom gave her any trouble. She would have liked something fast and eye-catching even though she was devoted to the Morris; it got her home with unfailing certainty and was, moreover, the result of two years’ hard saving on her own part. Rimada laughed at it, and Loveday, understanding to someone who had never known any other car but a large Mercedes or a Porsche, the Morris was something of a joke, didn’t mind in the least. Its steady speed gave her ample opportunity to talk, and that was what she wanted to do now.
Her plan was received rapturously. ‘You are a genius,’ declared her friend. ‘I have thought and thought and I have been in despair.’ And Loveday, used to Rimada’s dramatic turn of speech, said reassuringly:
‘Well, now you can cheer up, it’s all quite simple really. I’ve a pile of brochures with me, and there’s a cruise to Madeira and the Med in three weeks’ time—that will be the very end of September. You can book for the whole cruise and leave the ship at Madeira—with Terry, of course—I’ll go on, at least, I haven’t thought about that yet. You and Terry can stay there until you get married and then let your guardian know. It’s the last cruise of the summer for this particular ship and the agency says it won’t be heavily booked, so I daresay we’ll get a cabin easily enough.’
‘Clothes?’ asked Rimada urgently.
‘Well, I suppose we’ve both got enough to get by—I can’t afford to buy anything much…’
They were nearly at Tenterden. ‘We’ll talk about that later,’ she advised. ‘We’ll be home in a few minutes.’
Home was a nice old house on the outskirts of the pleasant little town. They went up the wide main street, lined with its trees and old-fashioned shops and houses, and turned off at the top of the hill into a narrow lane disappearing into the gentle Kentish countryside. The house stood on a curve, all by itself, a nice example of Elizabethan building, the last of the evening sunlight giving its tiled roof a glow and touching the garden around it with a splash of vivid colour. Loveday, who had a deep fondness for the old place, sighed with content as she caught sight of it, and just for a moment wished that she was spending her holiday at home instead of plotting against Rimada’s guardian. She squashed this thought immediately, however. He deserved all he got and a lot more besides, and she would be delighted to prove to him just how right he had been when he had called her a meddlesome busybody; the words still rankled.
Her parents were waiting for them. Rimada had visited them several times and they considered her almost one of the family and once the first greetings were over, she was whirled away by Loveday’s younger sister, Phyllis, a fourteen-year-old, home for the weekend from her boarding school nearby, and who considered the Dutch girl an authority on clothes, a subject very dear to her heart, leaving Loveday to have a brief chat with her mother before going into the garden with her father. He had retired as senior partner in a firm of solicitors in Maidstone and now he spent his days amongst his flowers, keeping the books of various local organizations in good order, and tinkering with his beloved vintage Humber motor car. They went to the potting shed and settled down for a gentle talk about seed catalogues, bulbs for the following spring and which roses he should order—he was good with roses, and Loveday, studying his thin good looks and a few extra lines which hadn’t been in his face a year ago, entered wholeheartedly into the discussion because she knew how important these things were to him now that he didn’t go to the office every day, and presently, in answer to his query as to when she was coming home for a week or two, she told him the vague plans she and Rimada had made for their cruise.
He was disappointed, she knew that, and her heart misgave her for a moment. ‘I should have liked to have come home for a week or two,’ she told him with regret, ‘but I’ve another week in November, I’ll come then. There’ll be the roses to prune and plant out and those fruit trees you want to replace and the hedges to cut—I shall be very useful.’
They both laughed as they started to walk back to the house.
Mrs Pearce was rather more enthusiastic about the trip. Loveday worried her a little; rising twenty-eight and still not married, and heaven knew it wasn’t for the lack of chances. Beryl, her twenty-two-year-old sister, had been married for six months, and her brother, the eldest of the family, intended marrying the following year now that he had a junior partnership in his father’s firm, and Phyllis was still only a schoolgirl—if her darling eldest daughter didn’t find someone soon she would be what Mrs Pearce persisted in calling an old maid. She never spoke her fears out loud, of course, but Loveday, gently cross-questioned each time she went home, was well aware of them. Sometimes she shared them too; as her mother knew, she had chances enough, and once or twice she had been on the point of saying yes, and each time something had made her hesitate even while common sense had told her that she was being foolish, waiting for someone she couldn’t even picture in her mind.
They all studied the brochures that evening; it was going to cost quite a lot, Loveday calculated, but she would have enough if she were careful, but Rimada was quite positive that she hadn’t nearly sufficient money.
‘I am not good with money,’ she explained to the Pearce family. ‘I buy things…’
‘Get your guardian to let you have some,’ struck in Loveday.
Rimada gave her a shocked look. ‘I would never…’ The look changed to one of delighted surprise. ‘But I have thought of something—of course, I will ask Mama—she gives me anything I want.’
‘Would you like to telephone her now?’ asked Mr Pearce helpfully.
She shook her head. ‘Better than that, I will visit her. She will send money for me to travel to Holland and I will arrange that I have four days off together—next week, I think. I will ask her and she will be pleased to give me all the money I need.’
Her companions looked at her with interest. Rimada’s faculty for getting her own way always interested them; they were moderately well off themselves, but it would never have entered Loveday’s head to ask her parents to pay for a holiday she could well afford for herself provided she saved for it. Not that they weren’t generous, but she was a grown woman, earning a sufficient income to keep her independent, and independence was vital to a girl on her own; especially, as Mrs Pearce frequently thought, rather sadly, if she didn’t intend to marry.
‘If your mother has no objection, dear,’ she murmured to Rimada, who looked surprised.
‘How can she object? I am her only child and my happiness is most important to her. She will arrange a ticket for me to fly home and she will arrange that Loveday will come with me, and pay for her too.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Loveday quietly. ‘I couldn’t possibly get away—besides, even if I could, I can well afford the fare, Rimmy.’
But Rimada was persuasive; at the end of half an hour’s argument Loveday had agreed to go with her; it would mean juggling with the off-duty, but that could be managed, she thought. But she insisted that she would pay her own fare to Holland and had to laugh when Rimada said plaintively: ‘I find you so strange, Loveday, to spend your own money when there is someone else to pay for you.’
They went back to the hospital two days later, early in the morning, their plans crystallized by numerous telephone calls, a number of lengthy discussions as to the clothes they should take with them on the cruise, and a close study of the brochures. Moreover, Loveday had a cheque in her purse which her father, in the privacy of the potting shed, had pressed upon her—to cover her fare to Holland, he had explained briefly. It only remained for them to book their flight to Schiphol for the end of the following week and reply suitably to Rimada’s mother, who had arranged, after a lengthy telephone call, for her daughter to draw enough money for her flight from an old family friend in London, and at the same time she had said a few words to Loveday, making her welcome in a charming little speech.
Some days later, Loveday, packing a small case ready for their early morning flight, reflected that the time and trouble taken in adjusting theatre duties so that she could be free over the weekend had been well worth it; she was looking forward to seeing Rimada’s home, and although her friend had assured her that there was absolutely no chance of her meeting her guardian, she found herself, against her will, wishing that there was. Only, of course, so that she might let him see that his peculiar behaviour had made no impression upon her. He would have to find himself another pretty girl to kiss, she told herself crossly; as many pretty girls as he wanted, she added savagely, not liking the idea at all.
She had known that Rimada’s home was a comfortable one, and she had supposed, without wasting too much thought about it, that her family were a good deal better off than her own; Rimada’s remarks about her fortune she had always taken with a pinch of salt, for her friend was inclined to flights of fantasy, so she really was surprised when they were met at Schiphol by a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. No hired car, this, for the man was obviously a well trusted servant and friend, greeting Rimada with the respectful familiarity of someone who had known her for a long time.
‘This is Jos,’ said Rimada. ‘He’s been with us ever since I can remember. He doesn’t speak English, but he’s a wizard driver.’
They tore along the motorway in the direction of Den Haag; Rimada’s home was to the north of that city, north too of Wassenaar, its fashionable suburb. As they went, she pointed out the more interesting aspects of the countryside through which they were passing and while Loveday obediently looked from left to right so as to miss nothing, she wondered if Rimada had been wise in her decision not to tell her mother the true purpose of her cruise. A decision which, she had assured Loveday, Terry had agreed with. If it were I marrying, thought Loveday, frowning thoughtfully at a windmill, I would have wanted Mother and Father to know—I would have wanted them to meet him too. But perhaps it wasn’t quite the same in her friend’s case. She settled back more comfortably and murmured her appreciation of a particularly fine church in the distance.
If she had been surprised at the car and the chauffeur, she was even more surprised at the sight of Rimada’s home; a large villa, embellished with balconies, turrets and fancy brickwork, set in the midst of a garden so precise that it might have been ruled out with a set-square, and so perfectly kept that it appeared to have been embroidered upon the ground rather than growing in the earth. The massive mahogany and glass door was flung open by a tall angular woman, whose rather harsh features broke into a smile as they got out of the car. ‘Jaantje,’ introduced Rimada as they went inside, and hardly pausing, crossed the thickly carpeted floor to a half-open door.
The room they entered was lavishly furnished in a style to make Loveday blink, and in the middle of its superabundance of velvet curtains, brocade chairs, cushions, little tables loaded with silver photo frames, lamps and overstuffed chairs, sat Rimada’s mother. It could be none other; here was Rimada, shorter and stouter and rather heavily made up, there were the blue eyes, as large as her daughter’s, and the sweet smile. The lady got to her feet as they went in, the folds of her gossamer garment—quite unsuitable for the time of day—floating around her in an expensive cloud of haute couture chiffon.
‘Lieveling—Rimtsje!’ She enfolded her daughter lovingly and with some difficulty, because Rimada was a head taller and very much larger than her mother. ‘And Loveday.’ She turned to smile. ‘I hear so much of you,’ she went on in perfect English, ‘you have been so kind to my little girl in her exile.’
Loveday shook hands and murmured; she had never thought of Rimada as being in exile before; perhaps her mother was given to embroider her conversation with the exaggerations which sometimes adorned her daughter’s. And she had never thought of her friend as a little girl, either; her mother had undoubtedly never seen her offspring making a play for the numerous young men who took her fancy at the Royal City.
They all sat down, and coffee was brought in presently while they talked—Rimada did most of the talking, to such good effect that by the time they had finished their second cups and nibbled the biscuits which went with them, she had coaxed more than twice the amount she needed for her holiday from her mother; nor did that lady seem in the least surprised at the sum her daughter asked for.
‘Dear child,’ she said earnestly, ‘it is quite ridiculous that Adam doesn’t allow you more money. The least he could have done after forcing you to take up nursing in that dreary hospital, was to see that you had sufficient with which to enjoy yourself. I have mentioned it to him on many occasions, you know, but he is as steel; my motherly feelings have no effect upon him; he is a hard man.’ She dabbed her eyes with a large chiffon handkerchief and went on with the same breath, ‘tomorrow we will go to Den Haag; I saw a delightful little dress in Kuhne’s, just right for you, dearest. A little expensive, I am afraid, but we must see what we can do.’ She smiled kindly at Loveday. ‘You like clothes, Loveday?’
The three ladies embarked happily upon this interesting subject and were only interrupted by the entrance of Jaantje, inquiring if the young ladies would like to tidy themselves before lunch, and if so, she would show Miss her room.
Loveday found her bedroom to be as elaborately furnished as the sitting-room; its comfort amounting to luxury. But not quite to her fancy, she decided as she walked round it, picking things up and putting them down again. It was a room to suit Rimada’s mother down to the ground; Rimada too, she rather thought, but for her own taste it was a little too ornate and over-furnished. She found her way to the bathroom leading from it and eyed the gold-plated taps with something like awe; she had never quite believed Rimada when she had said that her mother was rich, but she could see now that she had been mistaken. She washed her face and hands, re-did her hair and face and went downstairs for lunch.
They went shopping the following morning. At least Rimada and her mother shopped while Loveday admired and tried not to envy. She considered Den Haag a lovely city and longed to explore, but it was obvious that there was to be none of that; Rimada, in the excitement of choosing a wardrobe of new clothes, had no thought for anything else; naturally enough. Loveday, with an eye to her slender purse, purchased one or two trifles for her family and refused to be coaxed or bullied, however gently, into buying anything for herself. It wasn’t as if, she told her friend later, she was going to be the bride, and it really didn’t matter a great deal what she wore as long as she was presentable. She had some nice clothes, perhaps not quite as new as she would have liked, but elegant and becoming; she had good taste and an eye for fashion and the fortunate attribute of wearing the right things at the right time. Later that day she sat on Rimada’s bed, staring out on to the flat, tranquil countryside, swept by September rain and a bustling wind, and applauded suitably each time her friend opened a box to reveal some new garment.
‘You’re sure, aren’t you, Rimmy?’ she asked suddenly.
Her friend held up a blue crêpe dress. ‘Well, of course. Look—it is exactly the colour of my eyes.’
‘Silly—I mean about marrying Terry. It’s easy enough for us to get a holiday and just go, but won’t he find himself without a job?’
Rimada nodded, not giving her whole attention. ‘I think so, but he does not mind that. He is far too clever for this job he has, you know. He will one day be a clever surgeon with an enormous practice.’
Loveday remembered his singular ineptitude in theatre and doubted it very much. All the same, he was qualified to a certain extent; he could always earn a living. Only, watching Rimada happily trying on her new clothes, Loveday wondered if that would be enough to content her. Just supposing her guardian didn’t relent? How would she react to being the wife of a comparatively poor young doctor—and how could he hope to be anything else for quite a number of years to come? He would have to work for his fellowship to start with, and that would mean at least two years’ hard study. She voiced her doubts: ‘Supposing you can’t get your money, Rimmy, do you suppose it would be better for you to wait a bit? You could be engaged, you know, until Terry has made his way…if your guardian sees that he intends to make a success of surgery, he’ll probably help.’
She watched Rimada’s mouth set stubbornly. ‘No. I wish to marry now, and so does Terry—nothing shall stop us.’ She shot Loveday a speculative glance. ‘If you back out now, I will still get what I want.’ And Loveday believed her.
They went down to a rather splendid dinner presently, and friends came in afterwards. Loveday, introduced as Rimada’s closest friend, was passed from group to group, thankfully surprised to find that everyone there could speak English. She was having a lovely time, she told herself firmly, hiding what she was distressed to find was boredom: if this was living it up with the rich, then she was disappointed. Sitting around drinking something she didn’t much care about as well as not knowing exactly what it was; listening to chat about clothes, gossip about friends, little titbits of scandal about people she would never meet… She had difficulty in not yawning, feeling mean and priggish for not enjoying herself more. Perhaps tomorrow, she decided, smilingly listening to a young man with long hair carrying on about the latest pop record, she would be able to go for a walk and see something of her surroundings.
She was getting ready for bed, much later, when the thought darted into her sleepy head that Adam de Wolff—she couldn’t remember the rest of his outlandish name—wouldn’t have enjoyed himself much either. She got into bed, dismissing the idea as being disloyal to Rimada and her mother, who were being so kind.
More friends came before lunch the next morning; Rimada’s mother had an unending succession of them, it seemed. Pleasant, talkative people, who sympathized with her in their excellent English because she was a nurse, and in the case of the men, told her how pretty she was. Everyone was so kind and friendly, which made her feel meaner than ever at not enjoying their company more than she did. And Rimada’s mother, kind though she was, began to irritate her, for she felt that the kindness was superficial and would disappear quickly enough if that lady’s comfort was interfered with in any way. I must be getting old and crabby, thought Loveday miserably; all this luxury and I’m not really enjoying it one bit—she might have liked it better if she had been brought up in it. She resolved to try harder; Rimada’s mother was really rather sweet although she spoilt Rimmy beyond anything, and once or twice, when she had been crossed, the sweetness had cracked, and as for Rimada—well, she was a poppet really, with a heart of gold.
Rimada had a hairdresser’s appointment after lunch and her mother always had a rest; it was easy enough to convince them that she would like to explore the country instead of looking at the shops in Den Haag, waiting for her friend. She started off briskly—there was wooded country close by and dunes in the distance. The weather was kinder with a blue sky and a hint of chill in the air. Loveday walked steadily looking around her as she went, stopping to study the farmhouses she passed and stare at the coated cows in the fields bordering the pleasant country road. The trees were further away than she had supposed; she reached them at last to find that they bordered the dunes, and urged on by a heady wind blowing in from the North Sea, she scrambled across them to stand on the beach at last and look at the wide expanse of water before her. It looked cold and grey, and already on the horizon the water was a rapidly darkening reflection of the great bank of clouds creeping over the sky. She stayed ten minutes or more and turned back regretfully, plodding over the dunes once more and then through the trees. The sun had lost its strength by now; she shivered a little in her jersey dress and walked faster. There was no one invited for that evening, she remembered with pleasure, and Rimada’s mother had asked her to unpick and reset the stitches of some embroidery she was doing—she found herself looking forward to the quiet little task.
It had turned four o’clock by the time she got back to the house. She went through the garden door, intending to slip upstairs and tidy herself; Rimada wouldn’t be back for another hour, but her mother would be in the sitting-room. Loveday closed the door quietly behind her and then stood motionless in the hall. Her hostess was already in the sitting-room, having what sounded very like an attack of hysterics. Loveday started forward at a particularly loud wail and was brought up short by a man’s voice. She recognized it immediately even though it spoke another language and registered anger. She was still standing, her mouth a little open with surprise, when the sitting-room door was flung open and Rimada’s guardian, on the point of coming out, changed his mind at the sight of her, and leaned against the door instead, his hands in his pockets, a quite unpleasant expression upon his handsome face. He said: ‘Hullo, Miss Loveday Pearce. Eavesdropping?’
Her mouth closed with a snap, her fine eyes sparkled with instant fire. ‘I am doing nothing of the sort,’ she protested in a voice throbbing with rage. ‘How dare you speak to me like that? I’ve just this minute come into the house and you instantly abuse me!’ Her bosom heaved on a deep breath. ‘You’re far, far worse than Rimada told me!’
He strolled across the hall to stand before her, effectively blocking her path. ‘Surely you don’t have to rely on her opinion?’ His voice was silky. ‘I fancy I didn’t create too good an impression last time we met.’
She coloured faintly. ‘You’re insufferable! I…’ She was prevented from saying more by the appearance of Rimada’s mother, her tears hastily dried, her voice nicely under control once more. ‘Oh, you two have met,’ she declared in a hostess voice. ‘But let me introduce you, all the same. Loveday, this is my nephew, Professor Baron de Wolff van Ozinga—Adam, you know.’
She smiled coldly at him. ‘And this, Adam, is Rimtsje’s great friend, Loveday Pearce.’ She ignored their stony faces and went on brightly: ‘Just in time for tea, dear—we have been talking tiresome business and I am so relieved to have it all settled. Come into the sitting-room.’
‘I’ll just tidy myself, if I may.’ Loveday ignored her hostess’s obvious desire to have her company and went upstairs, where she took her time to do her hair and face while she wondered what the argument had been about. It had been a hot one, of that she was sure, probably about Rimmy. The quicker the poor girl got married and away from her guardian’s bullying influence the better, thought Loveday, applying lipstick with care. Who was he to interfere, anyway? The head of the family, presumably—she remembered that he was a baron as well as a professor and wondered how she should address him. She was still trying to decide as she went downstairs and entered the sitting-room. After the sea air of the afternoon, she found it over-warm and heavily scented by the great vases of hothouse flowers on the tables; they must have cost a fortune—perhaps they had been the cause of the argument. She chose a chair as far away from the Baron as possible, but he had risen to his feet as she went in and instead of sitting down again in the great armchair opposite his aunt, he walked across the room and took a chair close to her own.
‘I had an idea that you might be here,’ he told her affably. ‘I hear that my feather-brained cousin is planning a cruising holiday in your company.’ He saw her questioning look and went on smoothly: ‘I had occasion to telephone her at the Royal City, and was told that she had come home for a couple of days.’ He glanced across at his aunt, sitting on the edge of her chair, looking apprehensive. ‘My aunt tells me that you plan to go shortly. It should be pleasant at this time of year.’
‘I hope so,’ Loveday spoke warily. ‘I haven’t been to Madeira before.’
His brows rose. ‘Surely you will be visiting other points of call?’
She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at his chin—a very determined chin. ‘Oh, yes—only Madeira comes first, you know. I believe the weather there is delightful at this time of year.’ An inane remark, she knew, and he must share her opinion, judging by the glint in his eyes. But she had to say something; she stared down at her hands and failed to see the little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
‘Oh, undoubtedly—a wonderful excuse for Rimada to buy a huge number of clothes.’
‘The poor child never has enough,’ put in her mother plaintively. ‘You have no idea how important clothes are to a girl, Adam. It is all very well for you; you indulge your every whim, I have no doubt, but you have no sympathy for your cousin…’
‘My dear aunt, you wrong me. I have a great deal of sympathy for Rimada—as well as taking an interest in her well-being.’
He got up to hand round the tea cups and for a few minutes the conversation was safe and trivial, so that Loveday didn’t need to think of every word she uttered. She had actually relaxed sufficiently to answer the Baron’s civil questions about her work at the hospital, when the front door banged and a moment later Rimada came in. She stopped short in the doorway, the picture of consternation, as her cousin got to his feet once more.
‘My dear Rimtsje,’ his voice was suavely affectionate, ‘how delightful to see you, and how charming you look—a new hair-style, is it not?’ He crossed the room unhurriedly and kissed her on one suddenly pale cheek. ‘I’ve surprised you?’ he wanted to know gently.
‘Your car wasn’t outside,’ stated Rimada uncertainly.
‘Ah—nor was it. I took it round to the garage so that Jos could give it a quick clean.’ He beamed at her, ‘Loveday has just been telling me all about your trip—it sounds very interesting.’
Loveday, from behind his enormous back, frowned and nodded and made an urgent face and then smoothed it to instant calm as he turned to face her. ‘We shall enjoy ourselves enormously,’ she made haste to say with over-bright enthusiasm; Rimada seemed to have lost her tongue. ‘The cruise lasts for two weeks, you know, and we’re both keen to see Gibraltar and Lisbon—that’s during the second week.’
She could almost hear Rimada’s sigh of relief. ‘There are some summer palaces,’ she went on, glad that she had read up the guide books so thoroughly. ‘We hope to see as many as possible, don’t we, Rimmy?’
The Baron had sat down again, close to Loveday. Rimada cast her coat down on a chair and went to sit by her mother, who had remained silent but now broke into lighthearted chatter about mutual friends and various functions she hoped to go to. Her nephew waited for her to draw breath before he asked quietly: ‘I hope you will invite me to dinner, Aunt.’
She was instantly in a fluster. ‘Of course, Adam. Had I not already done so? I fully intended…we have no guests for this evening, just we three women. You won’t be bored?’

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