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Winter of Change
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.He was her guardian angel. At twenty-one, Mary Jane Pettigrew was perfectly able to look after herself, but it came as quite a surprise to discover she had inherited a large house and an income to go with it.There was, of course, a catch, and his name was Fabian van der Blocq, who had been appointed Mary Jane’s guardian. She couldn’t even marry without his consent! Mary Jane wasn’t going to let Fabian have it all his own way. But that was easier said than done!









He looked down his long nose at her. “Be good enough not to interfere.”


Mary Jane’s bosom heaved, her nice eyes sparkled with temper. “Well, really it’s not your business—”

He interrupted her. “Oh, but it is. I am here at your grandfather’s request to attend to his affairs—at his urgent request, I remind you, before he should die—and here you are telling me what to do and what not to do. You’re a tiresome girl.” With which parting shot, uttered in his perfect, faintly-accented English, he went into the study.

Mary Jane, a gentle-natured girl for the most part, flounced into the sitting room and, quite beside herself with temper, poured herself a whiskey. It was unfortunate that Mr. Van Blocq chose to return only five minutes later.

“Good God, woman. Can’t I turn my back for one minute without you reaching for the whiskey bottle!”

She said carefully in a resentful voice, “You’re enough to drive anyone to drink. Are you married? If you are, I’m very sorry for your wife.”

He took her glass from her, set it down and poured himself a drink. “No, I’m not married,” he said blandly, “so you may spare your sympathy.”




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. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.




Winter of Change

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


SISTER THOMPSON made her slow impressive way down Women’s Surgical, bidding her patients a majestic good morning as she went, her sharp eyes behind their glasses noticing every small defect in the perfection she demanded on her ward—and that applied not only to the nursing and care of the ladies lying on either side of her, but also to the exact position of the water jugs on the lockers, the correct disposal of dressing gowns, the perfection of the bedspreads and the symmetry of the pillows. The nurses who worked for her held her in hearty dislike, and when posted to her ward quickly learned the habit of melting away out of her sight whenever their duties permitted. Something which Mary Jane Pettigrew, her recently appointed staff nurse, was, at that particular time, quite unable to do. She watched her superior’s slow, inevitable progress with a wary eye as she changed the dressing on Miss Blake’s septic finger; she had no hope of getting it done before Sister Thompson arrived, for Miss Blake was old and shaky and couldn’t keep her hand still for more than ten seconds at a time. Mary Jane, watching Nurse Wells and Nurse Simpson disappear, one into the sluice room, the other into the bathrooms at the end of the ward, wondered how long it would be before they were discovered—in the meantime, perhaps she could sweeten Sister Thompson’s temper.

She fastened the dressing neatly and wished her superior a cheerful good morning which that good lady didn’t bother to answer, instead she said in an arbitrary manner: ‘Staff Nurse Pettigrew, you’ve been on this ward for two weeks and not only do you fail to maintain discipline amongst the nurses; you seem quite incapable of keeping the ward tidy. There are three pillows—and Miss Trump’s top blanket, also Mrs Pratt’s water jug is in the wrong place…’

Mary Jane tucked her scissors away in her pocket and picked up the dressing tray. She said with calm, ‘Mrs Pratt can’t reach it unless we put it on that side of her locker, Sister, and Miss Trump was cold, so I unfolded her blanket. May the nurses go to coffee?’

Sister Thompson cast her a look of dislike. ‘Yes—and see that they’re back before Mr Cripps’ round.’ She turned on her heel and went back up the ward and into her office, to appear five minutes later with the information that Mary Jane was to present herself to the Chief Nursing Officer at once, ‘and,’ added Sister Thompson, ‘I suggest that you take your coffee break at the same time, otherwise you will be late for the round.’

Which meant that unless the interview was to be a split-second, monosyllabic affair, there would be no coffee. Mary Jane skimmed down the ward, making a beeline for the staff cloakroom. Whatever Sister Thompson might say, she was going to take a few minutes off in order to tidy her person. The room was small, nothing more than a glorified cupboard, and in order to see her face in the small mirror she was forced to rise on to her toes, for she was a small girl, only a little over five feet, with delicate bones and a tiny waist. She took one look at her reflection now, uttered a sigh and whipped off her cap so that she might smooth her honey-brown hair, fine and straight and worn in an old-fashioned bun on the top of her head. The face which looked back at her was pleasant but by no means pretty; only her eyes, soft and dark, were fine under their thin silky arched brows, but her nose was too short above a wide mouth and although her teeth were excellent they tended to be what she herself described as rabbity. She rearranged her cap to her satisfaction, pinned her apron tidily and started on her journey to the office.

Her way took her through a maze of corridors, dark passages and a variety of staircases, for Pope’s Hospital was old, its ancient beginnings circumvented by more modern additions, necessitating a conglomeration of connecting passages. But Mary Jane, her thoughts busy, trod them unhesitatingly, having lived with them for more than three years. She had no idea why she was wanted, but while she was in the office it might be a good idea to mention that she wasn’t happy on Women’s Surgical. She had been aware, when she took the post, that it would be no bed of roses; Sister Thompson was notorious for her ill-temper and pernickety ways, but Mary Jane, recently State Registered, had felt capable of moving mountains… She would, she decided as she sped down a stone-flagged passage with no apparent ending, give in her notice at the end of the month and in the meantime start looking for another job. The thought of leaving Pope’s was vaguely worrying, as she had come to regard it as her home, for indeed she had no home in the accepted sense. She had been an orphan from an early age, brought up, if one could call it that, by her grandfather, a retired Army colonel, who lived in a secluded house near Keswick and seldom left it. She had spent her holidays there all the while she was at the expensive boarding school to which he had sent her, and she had sensed his relief when she had told him, on leaving that admirable institution, that she wished to go to London and train to be a nurse, and in the three years or more in which she had been at Pope’s she had gone to see him only once each year, not wishing to upset his way of living, knowing that even during the month of her visit he found her youthful company a little tiresome.

Not that he didn’t love her in his own reserved, elderly fashion, just as she loved him, and would have loved him even more had he encouraged her to do so. As it was she accepted their relationship with good sense because she was a sensible girl, aware too that she would probably miss a good deal of the fun of life because she would need to work for the rest of it; even at the youthful age of twenty-two she had discovered that men, for the most part, liked good looks and failing that, a girl with a sound financial background, and she had neither, for although her grandfather lived comfortably enough, she had formed the opinion over the years that his possessions would go to some distant cousin she had never seen, who lived in Canada. True, old Colonel Pettigrew had educated her, and very well too, provided her with the right clothes and given her handsome presents at Christmas and on her birthday, but once she had started her training as a nurse, he had never once offered to help her financially—not that she needed it, for she had the good sense to keep within her salary and although she liked expensive clothes she bought them only when she saved enough to buy them. Her one extravagance was her little car, a present from her grandfather on her twenty-first birthday; it was a Mini and she loved it, and despite her fragile appearance, she drove it well.

The office door was firmly closed when she reached it and when she knocked she was bidden to enter at once the outer room, guarded by two office Sisters, immersed in paper work, one of whom paused long enough to wave Mary Jane to a chair before burying herself in the litter of papers on her desk. Mary Jane perched on the edge of a stool, watching her two companions, feeling sorry for them; they must have started out with a desire to nurse the sick, and look where they were now—stuck behind desks all day, separated from the patients by piles of statistics and forms, something she would avoid at all costs, she told herself, and was interrupted in her thoughts by the buzzer sounding its summons.

The Chief Nursing Officer was quite young, barely forty, with a twinkling pair of eyes, a nice-looking face and beautifully arranged hair under her muslin cap. She smiled at Mary Jane as she went in.

‘Sit down, Staff Nurse,’ she invited. ‘There’s something I have to tell you.’

‘Oh lord, the sack!’ thought Mary Jane. ‘Old Thompson’s been complaining…’ She was deep in speculation as to what she had done wrong when she was recalled to her surroundings by her companion’s pleasant voice.

‘It concerns your grandfather, Nurse Pettigrew. His housekeeper telephoned a short time ago. He isn’t very well and has asked for you to go to his home in order to look after him. Naturally you will wish to do so, although I’ve been asked to stress the fact that there’s no’—she paused—‘no cause for alarm, at least for the moment. I believe your grandfather is an old man?’

Mary Jane nodded. ‘Eighty-two,’ she said in her rather soft voice, ‘but he’s very tough. May I go at once, please?’

‘As soon as you wish. I’ll telephone Sister Thompson so that there’s no need for you to go back to the ward. Perhaps when you get to your grandfather’s, you’ll let me know how things are.’

She was dismissed. She made her way rapidly to the Nurses’ Home, thankful that she wouldn’t have to face Sister Thompson, her mind already busy with the details of her journey. It was full autumn, it would be cold in Cumbria, so she would take warm clothes but as few as possible—she could pack a case in a few minutes. She was busy doing that when her bedroom door was flung open and her dearest friend, Janet Moore, came in. ‘There’s a rumour,’ she began, ‘someone overheard that you’d been sent to the Office.’ Her eyes lighted on the little pile of clothes on the bed. ‘Mary Jane, you’ve never been…no, of course not, you’ve never done anything really wicked in your life. What’s up?’

Mary Jane told her as she squeezed the last sweater into her case, shut the lid and started to tear off her uniform. She was in slacks and a heavy woolly by the time she had finished, and without bothering to do more than smooth her hair, tied a bright scarf over it, pushed impatient feet into sensible shoes, caught up her handbag and the case and made for the door, begging her friend to see to her laundry for her as she went. ‘See you,’ she said briefly, and Janet called after her:

‘You’re not going now—this very minute? It’s miles away—it’ll be dark…’

‘It’s ten o’clock,’ Mary Jane informed her as she made off down the corridor, ‘and it’s two hundred and ninety miles—besides, I know the way.’

It seemed to take a long time to get out of London, but once she was clear of the suburbs and had got on to the A1, she put a small, determined foot down on the accelerator, keeping the little car going at a steady fifty-five, and when the opportunity occurred, going a good deal faster than that.

Just south of Newark she stopped for coffee and a sandwich and then again when she turned off the A1 at Leeming to cross the Yorkshire fells to Kendal. The road was a lonely one, but she knew it well, and although the short autumn afternoon was already dimming around her, she welcomed its solitude after the rush and bustle of London. At Kendal she stopped briefly before taking the road which ran through Ambleside and on to Keswick. The day was closing in on her now, the mountains around blotting out the last of a watery sun, but she hardly noticed them. At any other time she would have stopped to admire the view, but now she scarcely noticed them, for her thoughts were wholly of her grandfather. The last few miles of the long journey seemed endless, and she heaved a sigh of relief as she wove the car through Keswick’s narrow streets and out again on to the road climbing to Cockermouth. Keswick was quickly left behind; she was back in open country again and once she had gone through Thronthwaite she slowed the car. She was almost there, for now the road ran alongside the lake with the mountains crowding down to it on one side, tree-covered and dark, shutting out the last of the light, and there was only an odd cottage or two now and scattered along the faint gleam of the water, larger houses, well away from each other. The road curved away from the lake and then returned and there, between it and the water, was her grandfather’s house.

It stood on a spit of land running out into the lake, its garden merging into the grass alongside the quiet water. It was of a comfortable size, built of grey stone and in a style much favoured at the beginning of the nineteenth century, its arched windows fitted with leaded panes, its wrought-iron work a little too elaborate and a turret or two ornamenting its many-gabled roof. All the same it presented a pleasing enough picture to Mary Jane as she turned the car carefully into the short drive and stopped outside the front porch. Its door stood open and the woman standing there came to meet her with obvious relief.

‘Mrs Body, how lovely to see you! I came as quickly as I could—how’s Grandfather?’

Mrs Body was pleasant and middle-aged and housekeeper to the old Colonel for the last twenty years or more. She took Mary Jane’s hand and said kindly, ‘There, Miss Mary Jane, if it isn’t good to see you, I must say. Your grandfather’s not too bad—a heart attack, as you know, but the doctor’s coming this evening and he’ll tell you all about it. But now come in and have tea, for you’ll be famished, I’ll be bound.’

She led the way indoors as she spoke, into the dim, roomy hall. ‘You go up and see the Colonel, he’s that anxious for you to get here—and I’ll get the tea on the table.’

Mary Jane nodded and smiled and ran swiftly up the uncarpeted staircase, past the portraits of her ancestors and on to the landing, to tap on a door in its centre. The room she was bidden to enter was large and rather over-full of ponderous furniture, but cheerful enough by reason of the bright fire burning in the grate and the lamps on either side of the bed.

The Colonel lay propped up with pillows, an old man with a rugged face which, to Mary Jane’s discerning eye, had become very thin. He said now in a thin thread of a voice, ‘Hullo, child—how long did it take you this time?’ and she smiled as she bent to kiss him; ever since he had given her the car, he had made the same joke about the time it took her to drive up from London. She told him now, her head a little on one side as she studied him. She loved him very much and he was an ill old man, but none of her thoughts showed on her calm, unremarkable features. She sat down close to the bed and talked for a little while in her pretty voice, then got up to go to her tea, telling him that she would be back later.

‘Yes, my dear, do that. I daresay Morris will be here by then, he knows all about me.’ He added wistfully, ‘You’ll stay, Mary Jane?’

She retraced her steps to his bed. ‘Of course, Grandfather. I’ve no intention of going back until you’re well again—I’ve got unlimited leave from Pope’s,’ she grinned engagingly at him, ‘and you know how much I love being here in the autumn.’

Tea was a substantial meal; a huge plate of bacon and eggs, scones, home-made bread and a large cake, as well as a variety of jams and a dish of cream. Mary Jane, who was hungry, did justice to everything on the table while Mrs Body, convinced that she had been half starved in hospital, hovered round, urging her to make a good meal.

She did her best, asking questions while she ate, but Mrs Body’s answers were vague, so it was with thankfulness that she went to meet the doctor when he rang the bell. She had known him since she was a little girl and held him in great affection, as he did her. He gave her an affectionate kiss now, saying, ‘I knew you would come at once, my dear. You know your grandfather’s very ill?’

They walked back to the sitting room and sat down. ‘Yes,’ said Mary Jane. ‘I’ll nurse him, of course.’

‘Yes, child, I know you will, but that won’t be for long. He’ll rally for a few days, perhaps longer, but he’s not going to recover. He was most anxious that you should come.’

‘I’ll stay as long as I can do anything to help, Uncle Bob—who’s been looking after him?’

‘Mrs Body and the district nurse, but he wanted you—there’s something he wishes to talk to you about. I suggest you let him do that tomorrow morning when he’s well rested.’ He smiled at her. ‘How’s hospital?’

She told him briefly about Sister Thompson. ‘It’s not turning out quite as I expected, perhaps I’m not cut out to make a nurse…’

He patted her shoulder. ‘Nonsense, there’s nothing wrong with you, Mary Jane. I should start looking for another job and leave as soon as you can—at least…’ He paused and she waited for him to finish, but he only sat there looking thoughtful and presently said: ‘Well, I’ll go and take a look—you’ll be around when I come downstairs?’

He went away, and Mary Jane went along to the kitchen and spent some time helping Mrs Body and catching up on the local news until Doctor Morris reappeared. In the hall he said briefly: ‘He’s fighting a losing battle, I’m afraid,’ then went on to give her his instructions, ‘and I’ll be in some time tomorrow morning,’ he concluded.

There was a dressing room next to the Colonel’s room. Mary Jane, who usually slept in one of the little rooms, moved her things into it, had a brief chat with her grandfather, settled him for the night and went down to the kitchen where the faithful Mrs Body was waiting with cocoa. They sat at the table, drinking it, with Major, the Colonel’s middle-aged dog, sitting at their feet, and discussed the small problems confronting them. Mary Jane finished her cocoa and put down her cup. ‘Well, now I’m here,’ she said in her sensible way, ‘you must have some time to yourself—these last few days must have been very tiring for you. If I’d known, I’d have come sooner.’

Mrs Body shook her head. ‘Your grandfather wouldn’t hear of it, not at first, but when Doctor Morris told him—he couldn’t get you here fast enough,’ she concluded, and sighed. ‘All the same, I’ll admit I’ll be glad of an hour or so to myself. Lily comes up each morning as she always does, she’s a good girl, and now you’re here, I could get away for a bit.’

Mary Jane agreed. ‘Supposing you take the Mini for a couple of hours each day? You could go to Keswick or Cockermouth if you want to do some shopping. I’ll be quite all right here—I can go for a walk when you get back.’

The housekeeper gave her a grateful smile. ‘That’s kind of you, Miss Mary Jane, I’d like that. I want my hair done and one thing and another—you don’t mind me using the Mini?’

‘Heavens, no. Now I think I’ll go to bed, it’s been a long day. Will you be all right? I’ll be in the dressing room and I’ve fixed Grandfather’s bell and I shall leave the door open—besides, he’s had a sedative. You will sleep? or shall I bring you something?’

‘Bless you, child, I’ve never taken any of those nasty pills yet, and don’t intend to. I’ll sleep like a baby.’

It was a bright, clear morning when Mary Jane woke the next morning and her grandfather was still sleeping; he had wakened once in the small hours and she had gone and sat with him for an hour until he dozed off again; now he would probably sleep for another hour or more. She put on slacks and a sweater, tied her hair back and went downstairs. Mrs Body was already up, so they drank their early morning tea together and then Mary Jane took Major into the garden and across the grass to the lake’s edge. The water was calm and as smooth as silk, the mountains reflected in it so that it took on their colour, grey and green. Across the lake Skiddaw loomed above the other peaks, the sun lending it a bronze covering for its granite slopes.

Mary Jane looked about her with pleasure as she threw sticks for Major, a pleasure tinged with sadness because the Colonel was ill, and although he was an old man, and didn’t, she suspected, mind dying, she would miss him very much. He had been all the family she had known; now she would be alone, save for the cousin in Canada. She had never met him and her grandfather seldom mentioned him. She supposed that after her grandfather died, this cousin would inherit the house and whatever went with it. She knew nothing of the Colonel’s affairs; he had encouraged her to earn her own living when she had left school and she had always imagined that he had done so because he couldn’t afford to keep her idle at home, for although the house was a comfortable one and well furnished and there was no evidence of poverty, common sense told her that the old man and his housekeeper could live economically enough, whereas if she lived with them, she would need clothes and pocket money and holidays… She went back into the house, and after a reassuring peep at the Colonel, went to eat her breakfast.

Mrs Body left soon after Lily arrived and Mary Jane went upstairs to make her grandfather comfortable for the day. He seemed better, even demanding his razor so that he might shave himself, a request which she refused in no uncertain manner. Indeed, she fetched the old-fashioned cut-throat razor which he always used, and wielded it herself without a qualm, an action which caused him to ask her somewhat testily exactly what kind of work she did in hospital. There seemed no point in going too deeply into this; she fetched the post, opened his letters for him, and when he had read them, offered to read The Times to him. Perhaps it was her gentle voice, perhaps it was the splendid sports news, one or other of them sent him off into a sound sleep. She put the bell by his hand and went downstairs. It was barely eleven o’clock, Mrs Body wouldn’t be back until the afternoon, Lily was bustling around the sitting room— Mary Jane went into the garden, round to the front of the house where she would be able to hear her grandfather’s bell; there was a lot of weeding which needed doing in the rose beds which bordered the drive.

She had been hard at it for fifteen minutes or so when she became aware that a car had stopped before the gate, and when she looked round she saw that it was a very splendid car—a Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible, the sober grey of its coachwork gleaming against the green of the firs bordering the road behind it. Its driver allowed the engine to idle silently while he looked at Mary Jane, who, quite unable to recognise the car or its occupant, advanced to the gate, tossing back her mousey hair as she did so. ‘Are you lost?’ she wanted to know. ‘Cockermouth is only…’

‘Thank you, but no, I am not lost,’ said the man. ‘This is Colonel Pettigrew’s house.’ It was, she realised, a statement, not an enquiry.

She planted her fork in between the roses, dusted off her grubby hands and advanced a few steps. ‘Yes, it is.’ She eyed him carefully; she had never seen him before and indeed, she wouldn’t have forgotten him easily if she had, for he was a handsome man, not so very young any more, but the grey hair at his temple served to emphasise the intense blackness of the rest, and his eyes were as dark as his hair, under thick straight brows. His nose was a commanding one and his mouth was firm above an angular jaw. Oh, most definitely a face to remember.

‘I’ve come to see Colonel Pettigrew.’ He didn’t smile as he spoke, but looked her up and down in a casual uninterested fashion.

She ignored the look. ‘Well, I’m not sure that you should,’ she offered calmly. ‘He’s ill, and at the moment he’s asleep. Doctor Morris will be here presently, and I think he should be asked first, but if you like to come in and wait—you’ll have to be quiet.’

The eyebrows rose. ‘My dear good young woman, you talk as though I were a pop group or a party of schoolchildren! I’m not noisy by nature and I don’t take kindly to being told what I may and may not do.’

‘Oh, pooh,’ said Mary Jane, a little out of patience, ‘don’t be so touchy! Come in, do.’ She added, ‘Quietly.’

The car whispered past her and came to a silent halt at the door, and the man got out. There was a great deal of him; more than six foot, she guessed, and largely built too. She wondered who he was, and was on the point of asking when she heard the bell from her grandfather’s room. ‘There,’ she shot at her companion, a little unfairly, ‘you’ve woken him up,’ and flew upstairs.

The Colonel looked refreshed after his nap. He said at once, ‘I heard a car and voices. I’m expecting someone, but there’s hardly been time…’

Mary Jane shook up a pillow and slipped it behind his head. ‘It’s a man,’ she explained unhurriedly. ‘He’s got beetling eyebrows and he’s got rather a super Rolls. He says he wants to see you, but I told him he couldn’t until Uncle Bob comes.’

A faint smile lighted up her grandfather’s face. ‘Did you, now? And did he mind?’

‘I didn’t ask him.’

Her grandfather chuckled. ‘Well, my dear, if it won’t undermine your authority too much, I should like to see him—now. We have important business. Morris knows he’s coming and I don’t suppose he’ll object. Tell him to come up.’

‘All right, Grandfather, if you say so.’

She found the stranger in the sitting room, sitting in one of the comfortable old-fashioned chairs. He got to his feet as she went in and before she could speak, said: ‘All right, I know my way,’ and was gone, taking the stairs two at a time. She followed him into the hall just in time to hear the Colonel’s door shut quietly on the old man’s pleased voice. After a moment she went slowly into the garden again.

She was still there when Doctor Morris arrived, parked his elderly Rover beside the Rolls, greeted her cheerfully and added in a tone of satisfaction, ‘Ah, good, so he’s arrived—with your grandfather, I suppose?’

Mary Jane pulled a weed with deliberation. ‘Yes, he is—and very high-handed, whoever he is, too. I asked him to wait until you came, but Grandfather heard us talking and wanted to see him at once—he said it was business. He seems better this morning, so I hope you don’t mind?’

The doctor shook his head. ‘No, I’m pleased. You’re both here now—your grandfather was worrying. I’ll go up now.’

He left her standing there. She stared after him; he hadn’t told her who the stranger was, but he obviously knew him. She went indoors, tidied herself and went along to get a tray of coffee ready, to find that Lily had already done so. ‘And lunch, miss—I suppose the gentleman will be staying like last time. I’d better do some extra potatoes, hadn’t I?’

Mary Jane agreed, desiring at the same time to question Lily about the probable guest, but if her grandfather had wanted to tell her, he could have done so, so too could Uncle Bob. If they wanted to have their little secrets, she told herself a trifle huffily, she for one didn’t care. Probably the visitor was a junior partner to her grandfather’s solicitor, but surely he wouldn’t be able to afford a Rolls-Royce? She went outside again and had a good look at the car—it had a foreign number plate and it came from Holland, a clue which she immediately seized upon; the man was someone from her grandfather’s oldest friend, Jonkheer van der Blocq, an elderly gentleman whom she had never met but about whom she knew quite a bit, for her grandfather had often mentioned him. Relieved that she had solved the mystery, she went back indoors in time to meet the doctor coming downstairs.

‘There you are,’ he remarked for all the world as though he had spent the last hour looking for her. ‘Your grandfather wants you upstairs.’ He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘He’s better, but you know what I mean by that, don’t you? For the time being. Now run up, like a good girl. I’ll be in the sitting room.’

She started up the stairs, remembering to call over her shoulder:

‘There’s coffee ready for you—would you ask Lily?’ and sped on to tap on the Colonel’s door and be bidden to enter.

The stranger was standing with his back to the window, his hands in his pockets, and the look he cast her was disconcerting in its speculation; there was faint amusement too and something else which she couldn’t place. Mary Jane turned her attention to her elderly relative.

‘Yes, Grandfather?’ she asked, going up to the bed.

He eyed her lovingly and with some amusement on his tired old face.

‘You’re not a pretty girl,’ he observed, and waited for her to answer.

‘No, I know that as well as you—you didn’t want me up here just to remind me, did you?’ She grinned engagingly. ‘I take after you,’ she told him.

He smiled faintly. ‘Come here, Fabian,’ he commanded the man by the window.

And when he had stationed himself by the bed: ‘Mary Jane, this is Fabian van der Blocq, the nephew of my old friend. He is to be your guardian after my death.’

Her eyes widened. ‘My guardian? But I don’t need a guardian, Grandfather! I’m twenty-two and I’ve never met Mr—Mr van der Blocq in my life before, and—and…’

‘You’re not sure if you like me?’ His voice was bland, the smile he gave her mocking.

‘Since you put the words into my mouth, I’m not sure that I do,’ Mary Jane said composedly. ‘And what do you have to be the guardian of?’

‘This house will be yours, my dear,’ explained her grandfather, ‘and a considerable sum of money. You will be by no means penniless and there must be someone whom I can trust to keep an eye on you and manage your business affairs.’

‘But I—’ She paused and glanced across the bed to the elegant figure opposite her. ‘Oh, you’re a lawyer,’ she declared. ‘I wondered if you might be.’

Mr van der Blocq corrected her, still bland. ‘You wondered wrongly. I’m a surgeon.’

She was bewildered. ‘Are you? Then why…?’ she went on vigorously, ‘Anyway, Grandfather isn’t going to die.’

The old gentleman in the bed made a derisive sound and Mr van der Blocq curled his lip. ‘I am surprised that you, a nurse, should talk in such a fashion—you surely don’t think that the Colonel wishes us to smother the truth in a froth of sickly sentiment?’

Mary Jane drew her delicate pale eyebrows together. ‘You’re horrible!’ she told him in her gentle voice. It shook a little with the intensity of her feelings and she gave him the briefest of glances before turning back to her grandfather, whom she discovered to be laughing weakly.

‘Don’t you mind,’ she demanded, ‘the way this—this Mr van der Blocq talks?’

Her grandfather stopped laughing. ‘Not in the least, my dear, and I daresay that when you know him better you won’t mind either.’

She tossed her untidy head. ‘That’s highly unlikely. And now you’re tired, Grandfather—you’re going to have another nap before lunch.’

To her surprise he agreed quite meekly. ‘But I want you back in the afternoon, Mary Jane—and Fabian.’

She agreed, ignoring the man staring at her while she rearranged blankets, shook up pillows and made her grandfather comfortable. This done to her satisfaction, she made for the door. Mr van der Blocq, beating her to it by a short head, opened it with an ironic little nod of his handsome head, and without looking at him she went through it and down the stairs to where Doctor Morris was waiting.

They drank their coffee in an atmosphere which was a little tense, and when the doctor got up to go, Mary Jane got up too, saying, ‘I’ll see you to your car, Uncle Bob,’ and although he protested, did so. Out of their companion’s hearing, however, she stopped.

‘Look,’ she said urgently, ‘I don’t understand—why is he to be my guardian? He doesn’t even live in England, does he? and I don’t know him—besides, guardians are old…’

The doctor’s eyes twinkled. ‘At a rough guess I should say he was nudging forty.’

‘Yes? But he doesn’t look…’ She didn’t finish the sentence. ‘Well, it all seems very silly to me, and Grandfather…’ She lifted her eyes to her companion. ‘He’s really not going to get any better? Not even if we do everything we possibly can?’

‘No, my dear, and it will be quite soon now. I’ll be back this evening. You know where to find me if you want me.’

She went back slowly to the sitting room and Mr Van der Blocq, lounging by the window, turned round to say: ‘I don’t suppose you got much help from Doctor Morris, did you?’ He went on conversationally, ‘If it is of any comfort to you, I dislike the idea of being your guardian just as much—probably more—than you dislike being my ward.’

Mary Jane sat down and poured more coffee for them both. ‘Then don’t. I mean, don’t be my guardian, there’s no need.’

‘You heard your grandfather. You will be the owner of this house and sufficient money to make you an attractive target for any man who wants them.’ He came across the room and sat down opposite her. ‘I shall find my duties irksome, I dare say, but you can depend upon me not to shirk them.’ He sat back comfortably. ‘Do you mind if I smoke my pipe?’

She shook her head, and suddenly mindful of her duties as a hostess, asked, ‘Where are you staying? Or are you perhaps only here for an hour or two?’ She added hastily, ‘You’ll stay to lunch?’

A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘Thank you, I will—and I’m not staying anywhere,’ his dark eyes twinkled. ‘I believe the Colonel expected that I would stay here, but if it’s too much trouble I can easily go to a hotel.’

‘Oh no, not if Grandfather invited you. I’ll go and see about lunch and get a room ready.’ She got to her feet. ‘There’s sherry on the sofa table, please help yourself.’

Lily, she discovered when she got to the kitchen, had surpassed herself with Duchesse potatoes to eke out the cold chicken and salad, and there was a soup to start with; Mary Jane, feverishly opening tins to make a fruit salad, hoped that their guest wouldn’t stay too long; she found him oddly disquieting and she wasn’t even sure if she liked him, not that that would matter overmuch, for she supposed that she would see very little of him. She wasn’t sure what the duties of a guardian were, but if he lived in Holland he was hardly likely to take them too seriously.

Ten minutes later, making up the bed in one of the guest rooms, she began to wonder for how long she was to have a guardian—surely not for the rest of her life? The idea of Mr van der Blocq poking his arrogant nose into her affairs, even from a distance, caused her to shudder strongly. She went downstairs, determined to find out all she could as soon as possible.




CHAPTER TWO


HER INTENTION MET with no success however. At lunch, her questions, put, she imagined, with suitable subtlety, were parried with a faint amusement which annoyed her very much, and when in desperation she tried the direct approach and asked him if, in the event of his becoming her guardian, it was to last a lifetime, he laughed and said with an infuriating calm:

‘Now, why couldn’t you have asked that in the first place? I have no intention of telling you, however. I imagine that your grandfather will explain everything to you presently.’

Mary Jane looked down her unassuming little nose. ‘How long are you staying?’ she asked with the icy politeness of an unwilling hostess. A question which met with an instant crack of laughter on the part of her companion. ‘That depends entirely upon your grandfather’s wishes, and—er—circumstances.’

She eyed him levelly across the table. ‘You don’t care tuppence, do you?’ she declared fiercely. ‘If Grandfather dies…’

She was unprepared for the way in which his face changed, and the quietness of his voice. ‘Not if, when. And why pretend? Your grandfather knows that he is dying. He told me this morning that his one dread as he got older was that he would be stricken with some lingering complaint which would compel him to lie for months, dependent on other people. We should be glad that he is getting his wish, as he is.’ His eyes swept over her. ‘Go and do your face up, and look cheerful, he expects us in a short while, and don’t waste time arguing that he must have another nap; I happen to know that he won’t be happy until he has had the talk he has planned.’

Mary Jane got to her feet. ‘You’ve no right to talk to me like this,’ she said crossly, ‘and I have every intention of tidying myself.’

She walked out of the room, and presently, having redone her face and brushed her hair until it shone, she put it up as severely as possible, under the impression that it made her look a good deal older, and went back downstairs, having first peeped in on the Colonel, to find him dozing. So she cleared away the lunch dishes and was very surprised when Mr van der Blocq carried them out to the kitchen, and because Lily had gone home, washed up, looking quite incongruous standing at the sink in his beautifully cut suit.

The Colonel was awake when they went upstairs; Mary Jane sat him up in his bed, arranging him comfortably with deft hands and no fuss while Mr van der Blocq looked on, his hands in his pockets, whistling softly under his breath.

‘And now,’ said the Colonel with some of his old authority, ‘you will both listen to me, but first I must thank you, Fabian, for coming at once without asking a lot of silly questions—it must have caused you some inconvenience, though I suppose you are now of sufficient consequence in your profession to be able to do very much as you wish. Still, the journey is a considerable one—did you stop at all?’

His visitor smiled faintly. ‘Once or twice, but I enjoy long journeys and the roads are quiet at night.’

Mary Jane cast him a surprised look. ‘You’ve been travelling all night?’ she wanted to know. ‘You haven’t slept?’

He gave her an impatient glance, his ‘no’ was nonchalant as he turned back to the old man in the bed. ‘Enough that I’m here, I’m sure that Doctor Morris wouldn’t wish us to waste your strength in idle chatter.’ A remark which sent the colour flaming into Mary Jane’s cheeks, for it had been so obviously directed against herself.

Her grandfather closed his eyes for a moment. ‘You’re quite right. Mary Jane, listen to me—this house and land will be yours when I die, and there is also a considerable amount of money which you will inherit—that surprises you, doesn’t it? Well, my girl, your mother and father wouldn’t have thanked me if I had reared a feather-brained useless creature, depending upon me for every penny. As it is, you’ve done very well for yourself, and as far as I’m concerned you can go on with your nursing if you’ve set your mind on it, though I would rather that you lived here and made it home,’ he paused, a little short of breath, ‘You’re not a very worldly young woman, my dear, and I’ve decided that you should have a guardian to give you help if you should need it and see to your affairs, and cast an eye over any man who should want to marry you—you will not, in fact, be able to marry without Fabian’s consent.’ He paused again to look at her. ‘You don’t like that, do you? but there it is—until you’re thirty.’

Mary Jane swallowed the feelings which could easily have choked her. She said, keeping her voice calm and avoiding Mr van der Blocq’s eye, ‘And your cousin in Canada, Grandfather? I always thought that he was—that he would come and live—I didn’t know about the money.’

Her grandparent received this muddled speech with a frown and said with some asperity, ‘Dead. His son’s dead too, I believe—there was a grandson, I believe, but no one bothered to let me know. Besides, you love the place, don’t you, Mary Jane?’

She swallowed the lump in her throat. If he was going to be coolly practical about his death, she would try her best to be the same.

‘Yes, Grandfather, you know I do, but I don’t need the money—I’ve my salary…’

‘Have you any idea what a house like this costs in upkeep? Mrs Body, Lily, the rates, the lot—besides, you deserve to have some spending money after these last three years living on the pittance you earn.’

He closed his eyes and then opened them again, remembering something.

‘You witness what I’ve said, Fabian? You understand your part in the business, eh? And you’re still willing? I would have asked your uncle, but that’s not possible any more, is it?’

Mr van der Blocq agreed tranquilly that he was perfectly willing and that no, it was not possible for his uncle to fulfil the duties of a guardian. ‘And,’ he concluded, and his voice now held a ring of authority and firmness, ‘if you have said all you wished to say, may I suggest that you have a rest? We shall remain within call. Rest assured that your wishes shall be carried out when the time comes.’

Mary Jane, without quite knowing how, found herself propelled gently from the room, but halfway down the stairs she paused. ‘It’s so unnecessary!’ she cried. ‘Surely I can run this house and look after my own money—and it’s miles for you to come,’ she gulped. ‘And talking about it like this, it’s beastly…’

He ignored that, merely saying coolly, ‘I hardly think you need to worry about my too frequent visits.’ He smiled a small, mocking smile and she felt vaguely insulted so that she flushed and ran on down the stairs and into the kitchen, where she found Mrs Body, unpacking her shopping. She looked up as Mary Jane rushed in and said: ‘Hullo, Miss Mary Jane, what’s upset you? The Colonel isn’t…?’

‘He’s about the same. It’s that man—Mr van der Blocq—we don’t seem to get on very well.’ She stood in front of the housekeeper, looking rather unhappily into her motherly face. ‘Do you know him?’

‘Lor’, yes, my dear—he’s been here twice in the last few months, and a year or two ago he came with that friend of your grandfather’s, the nice old gentleman who lives in Holland—he’s ill too, so I hear.’

Mary Jane waved this information on one side. ‘He’s staying,’ she said. ‘I don’t know for how long. I made up a bed in the other turret room. Ought we to do something about dinner?’

‘Don’t you worry about that, Miss Mary Jane—the Colonel told me that he’d be coming, so I’ve a nice meal planned. If you’ll just set the table later on—but time enough for that. Supposing you go for a little walk just down to the lake and back. You’ll hear me call easily enough and a breath of air will do you good before tea.’

Mary Jane made for the door and flung it open. She had a great deal to think about; it was a pity she had no one to confide in; she hadn’t got used to the fact that her grandfather was dying, nor his matter-of-fact attitude towards that fact, and the strain of matching his manner with her own was being a little too much for her. She wandered down the garden, resolutely making herself think about the house and the future. She didn’t care about the money, just as long as there was enough to keep everything going as her grandfather would wish it to be. She stopped to lean over a low stone wall, built long ago for some purpose or other but now in disuse. The Colonel, a keen gardener, had planted it with a variety of rock plants, but it had no colour now. She leaned her elbows on its uneven surface and gazed out to the lake and Skiddaw beyond, not seeing them very clearly for the tears which blurred her eyes. It was silly to cry; her grandfather disliked crying women, he had told her so on various occasions. She brushed her hand across her face and noted in a detached way that the mountains had a sprinkling of snow on their tops while the rest of them looked grey and misty and sad. She wished, like a child, that time might be turned back, that somehow or other today could have been avoided. Despite herself, her eyes filled with tears again; she wasn’t a crying girl, but just for once she made no attempt to stop them.

Major had followed her out of the house, and sat close to her now, pressed against her knee, and when he gave a whispered bark she wiped her eyes hastily and turned round. Mr van der Blocq was close by, just standing there, looking away from her, across the lake. He spoke casually. ‘You have had rather a shock, haven’t you? You must be a little bewildered. May I venture to offer you a modicum of advice?’ He went on without giving her a chance to speak. ‘Don’t worry about the future for the moment. It’s not a bad idea, in circumstances such as these, to live from one day to the next and make the best of each one.’

He was standing beside her now, still not looking at her tear-stained face, and when she didn’t reply he went on, still casually:

‘Major hasn’t had a walk, has he? Supposing we give him a run for a short while?’

Mary Jane, forgetful of the deplorable condition of her face, looked up at him. ‘I don’t like to go too far away…’

‘Nor do I, but Mrs Body has promised to shout if she needs us—she’s sitting with your grandfather now, and I imagine we could run fast enough if we needed to.’ He smiled at her and just for a moment she felt warmed and comforted.

‘All right,’ she agreed reluctantly, ‘if you say so,’ and started off along the edge of the lake, Major at her heels, not bothering to see if Mr van der Blocq was following her.

They walked into the wind, not speaking much and then only about commonplace things, and as they turned to go back again Mary Jane had to admit to herself that she felt better—not, she hastened to remind herself, because of her companion but probably because she had needed the exercise and fresh air. She went straight to her grandfather’s room when they got back to the house, but he was still sleeping, so obedient to Mrs Body’s advice she went to the sitting room and had tea with her visitor. They spoke almost as seldom as they had done during their walk; indeed, she formed the opinion that her companion found her boring and hardly worthy of his attention, for although his manners were not to be faulted she had the strongest feeling that they were merely the outcome of courtesy; in other circumstances he would probably ignore her altogether. She sighed without knowing it and got up to feed Major.

When she got back to the sitting room, Mr van der Blocq got to his feet and with the excuse that he had telephone calls to make and letters to write, went away to the Colonel’s study, which, he was careful to explain, his host had put at his disposal, leaving Mary Jane to wander out to the kitchen to help Mrs Body and presently to lay the table in the roomy, old-fashioned dining room before going up to peep once more at her sleeping grandfather before changing from her slacks and sweater into a grey wool dress she had fortuitously packed, aware as she did so of the murmur of voices from the Colonel’s room.

She frowned at her reflection as she smoothed her hair into its neat bun and did her face. If Mr van der Blocq had wakened her grandfather in order to pester him with more papers, then she would have something to say to him! He came out of the adjoining room as she left her own, giving her a wordless nod and standing aside for her to go down the stairs. She waited until they were both in the hall before she said: ‘I think you must be tiring Grandfather very much. I don’t think he should be disturbed any more today—there’s surely no need.’

He paused on his way to the study. ‘My dear good girl, may I remind you that I am a qualified physician as well as a surgeon, and as such am aware of your grandfather’s condition—better, I must remind you, than you yourself.’ He looked down his long nose at her. ‘Be good enough not to interfere.’

Mary Jane’s bosom heaved, her nice eyes sparkled with temper. ‘Well, really it’s not your business…’

He interrupted her. ‘Oh, but it is, unfortunately. I am here at your grandfather’s request to attend to his affairs—at his urgent request, I should remind you, before he should die, and here you are telling me what to do and what not to do. You’re a tiresome girl.’

With which parting shot, uttered in his perfect, faintly accented English, he went into the study, closing the door very gently behind him.

Mary Jane, a gentle-natured girl for the most part, flounced into the sitting room, and quite beside herself with temper, poured herself a generous measure of whisky. It was a drink she detested, but now it represented an act of defiance, she tossed off a second glass too. It was unfortunate that Mr van der Blocq chose to return after five minutes, by which time the whisky’s effects upon her hungry inside were at their highest; by then her head was feeling decidedly strange and her feet, when she walked to a chair, didn’t quite touch the floor. It was unfortunate too that he saw this the moment he entered the room and observed coldly, ‘Good God, woman, can’t I turn my back for one minute without you reaching for the whisky bottle—you reek of it!’ An exaggeration so gross that she instantly suspected that he had been spying upon her.

She said carefully in a resentful voice, ‘You’re enough to drive anyone to drink,’ the whisky urging her to add, ‘Are you married? If you are, I’m very sorry for your wife.’

He took her glass from her and set it down and poured himself a drink. ‘No, I’m not married,’ he said blandly, ‘so you may spare your sympathy.’ He sat down opposite her, crossed his long legs and asked, ‘What did you do before you took up nursing? Were you ever here, living permanently?’

She cleared her fuzzy mind. ‘No, I went to a boarding school, although I came here for the holidays, and then when I left school—when I was eighteen—I asked Grandfather if I might take up nursing and I went to Pope’s. I’ve only been home once a year since then.’

‘No boy-friends?’ She hesitated and he added, ‘I shall be your guardian, you know, I have to know a little about you.’

‘Well, no.’ Her head was clearer now. ‘I never had much chance to meet any—only medical students, you know, and the housemen, and of course they always went for the pretty girls.’ She spoke without self-pity and he offered no sympathy, nor did he utter some empty phrase about mythical good looks she knew she hadn’t got, anyway. He said merely, ‘Well, of course—I did myself, but one doesn’t always marry them, you know.’

She agreed, adding in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘Oh, I know that, I imagine young doctors usually marry where there’s some money—unless they’re brilliant with an assured future, and you can’t blame them—how else are they to get on?’

‘A sensible opinion with which I will not argue,’ he assured her, his tone so dry that her slightly flushed face went slowly scarlet. It was fortunate that Mrs Body created a diversion at that moment by telling them that dinner would be ready in fifteen minutes and would Mary Jane like to take a quick peep at the Colonel first?

She was up in his room, pottering around because she sensed that he wanted company for a few minutes. When Doctor Morris arrived she waited while he examined his patient, adjusted his treatment, asked if he was through with his business, nodded his satisfaction at the answer and wished him a good night. Downstairs again, he accepted the drink offered him, muttered something to Mr van der Blocq and turned to Mary Jane.

‘Your grandfather’s happy; he’s put his affairs in order, it’s just a question of keeping him content and comfortable. You’ll do that, I know, Mary Jane.’ He stood up. ‘I must be off, I’ve a couple more visits. Fabian, come to the car with me, will you?’

They talked very little over their meal and anything which they said had very little to do with the Colonel or what he had told them that day—indeed, Mr van der Blocq kept the conversation very much in his own hands, seeming not to notice her long silences and monosyllabic replies. She went to bed early, leaving him sitting by the fire, looking quite at home, with Major at his feet and still more papers on the table before him.

Once ready for bed, she went through to her grandfather’s room, to find him awake, so she pulled up a chair to the dim lamp and made herself comfortable, declaring that she wasn’t sleepy either. After a while he dozed off and so did she, to waken much later to find Mr van der Blocq standing looking down at her. She wasn’t sure of the expression on his face, but what ever it was it changed to faint annoyance as she got silently to her feet. He said briefly, ‘Go to bed,’ and sat down in the chair she had vacated.

She was awakened by his hand on her shoulder. She sat up at once with an urgent whispered ‘Grandfather?’ and when he nodded and handed her dressing gown from a chair, she jumped out of bed, thrust her arms into its sleeves anyhow and was half way to the door in her bare feet when he reminded her, ‘Your slippers—it’s cold.’ Before she quite reached the door he caught her by the arm. ‘Your grandfather wants to say something to you—don’t try and stop him; he’s quite conscious and as comfortable as he can be. I’ve sent for Morris.’

The Colonel was wide awake and she went straight to the bed and took his hand with a steady smile. He squeezed her fingers weakly.

‘Plenty of guts—like me,’ he whispered with satisfaction. ‘Can’t abide moaning women. Something I want you to do. Always wanted you to meet my friend—Fabian’s uncle—he’s ill too. Go and look after him—bad-tempered fellow, can’t find a nurse who’ll stay. Promised Fabian you’d go.’ He looked at her. ‘Promise?’

She said instantly, ‘Yes, Grandfather, I promise. I’ll look after him.’

‘Won’t be for long—Fabian will see to everything.’

She glanced across at the man standing on the other side of the bed, looking, despite pyjamas and dressing gown, as impassive and withdrawn as he always did. She wondered, very briefly, if he had any feelings at all; if so, they were buried deep. He returned her look with one of his own, unsmiling and thoughtful, and then went to the door. ‘That’s Morris’s car—I’ll let him in and wake Mrs Body.’

The Colonel died a couple of hours later, in his sleep, a satisfied little smile on his old face so that Mary Jane felt that to cry would be almost an insult—besides, had he not told her that she had guts? She did all the things she had to do with a white set face, drank the tea Mrs Body gave her, then had a bath and dressed to join Mr van der Blocq at the breakfast table, where she ate nothing at all but talked brightly about the weather. Afterwards, thinking about it, she had to admit that he had been a veritable tower of strength, organising a tearful Mrs Body and a still more tearful Lily, arranging everything without fuss and a minimum of discussion, telephoning the newspapers, old friends, the rector…

She came downstairs from making the beds just as he came out of the study and Mrs Body was coming from the kitchen with the coffee tray. He poured her a cup, told her to drink it in a no-nonsense voice, and when she had, marched her off for a walk, Major at their heels. It was a fine morning but cold, and Mary Jane, in her sweater and slacks and an old jacket snatched from the back porch, was aware that she looked plainer than even she thought possible—not that she cared. She walked unwillingly beside her companion, not speaking, but presently the soft air and the quiet peace of the countryside soothed her; she even began to feel grateful to him for arranging her day and making it as easy as he could for her. She felt impelled to tell him this, to be told in a brisk impersonal way that as her guardian it was his moral obligation to do so.

He went on: ‘We need to talk; there is a good deal to be arranged. You will have to leave Pope’s—you realised that already, I imagine. I think it may be best if I wrote to your Matron or whatever she is called nowadays, and explain your circumstances. Your grandfather’s solicitor will come here to see you—and me, but there should be no difficulties there, as everything was left in good order. I think it may be best if you return to Holland with me on the day after the funeral; there’s no point in glooming around the house on your own, and I can assure you that my uncle needs a nurse as soon as possible—his condition is rapidly worsening and extremely difficult.’ He paused to throw a stone for Major. ‘He was a good and clever man, and I am fond of him.’

Mary Jane stood still and looked at him. ‘You’ve thought of everything,’ she stated, and missed the gleam in his eyes. ‘I only hope I’ll be able to manage him and that he’ll like me, because I promised Grandfather…’

Her voice petered out and although she gulped and sniffed she was quite unable to stop bursting into tears. She was hardly aware of Mr van der Blocq whisking her into his arms, only of the nice solid feel of his shoulder and his silent sympathy. Presently she raised a ruined face to his. ‘So sorry,’ she said politely. ‘I don’t cry as a general rule—I daresay I’m tired.’

‘I daresay you are. We’ll walk back now, and after lunch, which you will eat, you shall lie on the sofa in the study and have a nap while I finish off a few odd jobs.’

He let her go and strolled down to the water’s edge while she wiped her eyes and blew her nose and re-tied her hair, and when they started back, he took her arm, talking, deliberately, of the Colonel.

Under his eye she ate her lunch, and still under it, tucked herself up in front of the study fire and fell instantly asleep. She awoke to the clatter of the tea tray as Mrs Body set it on the table beside the sofa and a moment later Doctor Morris came in.

The two men began at once to talk, and gradually, as she poured the tea and passed the cake, Mary Jane joined in. Before the doctor got up to go she realised with surprise that she had laughed several times. The surprise must have shown on her face, for Mr van der Blocq said with uncanny insight: ‘That’s better—your grandfather liked you to laugh, didn’t he? Now, if you feel up to it, tell me how you stand at Pope’s. A month’s notice is normal, I suppose—have you any holidays due? Any commitments in London?’

‘I’ve a week’s holiday before Christmas, that’s all, and I’m supposed to give a month’s notice. There’s nothing to keep me in London, but all my clothes and things are at Pope’s.’

‘We will pick them up as we go. What is the name of your matron?’

‘Miss Shepherd—she’s called the Principal Nursing Officer now.’

‘Presumably in the name of progress, but what a pity. I shall telephone her now.’ Which he did, with a masterly mixture of authority and charm. Mary Jane listened with interest to his exact explanations, which he delivered unembellished by sentiment and without any effort to enlist sympathy. It didn’t surprise her in the least that within five minutes he had secured her resignation as from that moment.

When he had replaced the receiver, she remarked admiringly, ‘My goodness, however did you manage it? I thought I would have to go back.’

‘Manage what?’ he asked coolly. ‘I made a reasonable request and received a reasonable reply to it—I fail to see anything extraordinary in that.’

He returned to his writing, leaving her feeling snubbed, so that her manner towards him, which had begun to warm a little, cooled. It made her feel cold too, as though he had shut a door that had been ajar and left her outside. She went to the kitchen presently on some excuse or other, and sat talking to Mrs Body, who was glad of the company anyway.

‘You’ve not had time to make any plans, Miss Mary Jane?’ she hazarded.

‘No, Mrs Body. You know that Grandfather left me this house, don’t you? You will go on living here, won’t you? I don’t think I could bear it if you and Lily went away.’

The housekeeper gave her a warm smile. ‘Bless you, my dear, of course we’ll stay—it would break my heart to go after all these years, and Lily wouldn’t go, I’m sure. But didn’t I hear Doctor van der Blocq say that you would be going back to Holland with him?’

Mary Jane explained. ‘It won’t be for long, I imagine—if you wouldn’t mind being here—do you suppose Lily would come and live in so that you’ve got company? I’m not sure about the money yet, but I’m sure there’ll be enough to pay her. Shall I ask her?’

‘A good idea, Miss Mary Jane. Supposing I mention it to her first, once everything’s seen to? I must say the doctor gets things done—everything’s going as smooth as silk and he thinks of everything. That reminds me, he told me to move your things back to your old room.

Mary Jane looked surprised. ‘Oh, did he? How thoughtful of him,’ and then because she was young and healthy even though she was sad: ‘What’s for dinner—I’m hungry.’

Mrs Body beamed. ‘A nice bit of beef. For a foreign gentleman the doctor isn’t finicky about his food, is he? and I always say there’s nothing to beat a nice roast. There’s baked apples and cream for afters.’

‘I’ll lay the table,’ Mary Jane volunteered, and kept herself busy with that until Mr van der Blocq came out of the study, when she offered him a drink, prudently declining one herself before going upstairs to put on the grey dress once more. The sight of her face, puffy with tears and tense with her stored-up feelings, did little to reassure her, and when she joined Mr van der Blocq in the sitting room, the brief careless glance he accorded her deflated what little ego she had left. Sitting at table, watching him carving the beef with a nicety which augured well for his skill at his profession, she found herself wishing that he didn’t regard her with such indifference—not, she told herself sensibly, that his opinion of her mattered one jot. He wasn’t at all the sort of man she… He interrupted her thoughts.

‘It seems to me a good idea if you were to call me Fabian. I do not like being addressed as Mr van der Blocq—inaccurately, as it happens. Even Mrs Body manages to address me, erroneously, as Doctor dear.’ He smiled faintly as he looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

She studied his face. ‘Well, if you want me to,’ her voice was unenthusiastic, ‘only I don’t know you very well, and you’re…’

‘A great deal older than you? Indeed I am.’

It annoyed her that he didn’t tell her how much older, but she went on, ‘I was going to say that I find it a little difficult, because Grandfather told me that you were an important surgeon and I wouldn’t dream of calling a consultant at Pope’s by his first name.’

The preposterous idea made her smile, but he remained unamused, only saying in a bored fashion. ‘Well, you are no longer a nurse at Pope’s—you are Miss Pettigrew with a pleasant little property of your own and sufficient income with which to live in comfort.’

She served him a baked apple and passed the cream. ‘What’s a sufficient income?’ she wanted to know.

He waved a careless, well kept hand, before telling her.

She had been on the point of sampling her own apple, but now she laid down her spoon and said sharply, ‘That’s nonsense—that’s a fortune!’

‘Not in these days, it will be barely enough. There’s your capital, of course, but I shall be in charge of that.’ His tone implied that he was discussing something not worthy of his full attention, and this nettled her.

‘You talk as though it were chicken feed!’

‘That was not my intention. I’m sure you are a competent young woman and well able to enjoy life on such a sum. The solicitor will inform you as to the exact money.’

‘Then why do I have to have you for a guardian?’

He put down his fork and said patiently, ‘You heard your grandfather—I shall attend to any business to do with investments and so forth and have complete control of your capital. I shall of course see that your income is paid into your bank until you assume full control over your affairs when you are thirty. It will also be necessary for me to give my consent to your marriage should you wish to marry.’

She was bereft of words. ‘Your consent—if I should choose’ She almost choked. ‘It’s not true!’

‘I am not in the habit of lying. It is perfectly true, set down in black and white by your grandfather, and I intend to carry out his wishes to the letter.’

‘You mean that if anyone wants to marry me he’ll have to ask you?’

He nodded his handsome head.

‘But that’s absurd! I never heard such nonsense…how could you possibly know—have any idea…?’

His voice had been cool, now it was downright cold. ‘My dear good girl, let me assure you that I find my duties just as irksome as you find them unnecessary.’

This shook her. ‘Oh, will you? I suppose they’ll take up some of your time. I’ll try not to bother you, then—I daresay there’ll be no need for us to see much of each other.’

His lips twitched. ‘Probably not, although I’m afraid that while you are at my uncle’s house you will see me from time to time—he’s too old to manage his own affairs, and my cousin, who lives with him, isn’t allowed to do more than run the house.’

They were in the sitting room drinking their coffee when she ventured: ‘Will you tell me a little about your uncle? I don’t know where he lives or anything about him, and since I am to stay there…’

Mr van der Blocq frowned. ‘Why should I object?’ he wanted to know testily. ‘But I must be brief; I’m expecting one or two telephone calls presently. He lives in Friesland, a small village called Midwoude. It is in fact on the border between Friesland and Groningen. The country is charming and there is a lake close by. The city of Groningen is only a few miles away; Leeuwarden is less than an hour by car. You may find it a little lonely, but I think not, for you are happy here, aren’t you? My uncle, I have already told you, is difficult, but my cousin Emma will be only too glad to make a friend of you.’

‘And you—you live somewhere else?’

‘I live and work in Groningen.’ He spoke pleasantly and with the quite obvious intention of saying nothing more. She had to be content with that, and shortly after that, when he went to answer his telephone call, Mary Jane went into the kitchen, helped Mrs Body around the place, laid the table for breakfast and went up to bed.

Now if I were a gorgeous creature with golden hair and long eyelashes, she mused as she wandered up the staircase, we might be spending the evening together—probably he had some flaxen-haired beauty waiting for him in Groningen. For lack of anything better to do and to keep her thoughts in a cheerful channel, she concocted a tale about Mr van der Blocq in which the blonde played a leading part, and he for once smiled frequently and never once addressed the creature as ‘my dear good girl’.

The next few days passed quickly; there was a good deal to attend to and Major had to be taken for his walk, and time had to be spent with the Colonel’s friends who called in unexpected numbers. The lawyer came too and spent long hours in the study with her guardian, although he had very little to say to her.

It wasn’t until after the funeral, when the last of the neighbours and friends had gone, that old Mr North asked her to join him in the study and bring Mrs Body and Lily with her. Mary Jane half listened while he read the legacies which had been left to them both, it wasn’t until they had gone and she was sitting by the fire with Fabian at the other end of the room that Mr North gave her the details of her own inheritance. The money seemed a vast sum to her; she had had no idea that her grandfather had had so much, even the income she was to receive seemed a lot of money. Mr North rambled on rather, talking about stocks and shares and securities and ended by saying:

‘But you won’t need to worry your head about this, Mary Jane, Mr van der Blocq will see to everything for you. I understand that you will be travelling to Holland tomorrow. That will make a nice change and you will return here ready to take your place in local society. I take it that Mrs Body will remain?’

She told him that yes, she would, and moreover Lily had agreed to live in as well, so that the problem of having someone to look after the house and Major was solved.

‘You have no idea how long you will be away?’ asked Mr North.

‘None,’ she glanced at Fabian, who took no notice at all, ‘but I’m sure that Mrs Body will look after everything beautifully.’

The old gentleman nodded. ‘And you? You will be sorry to leave your work at the hospital, I expect.’

She remembered Sister Thompson. ‘Yes, though I was thinking of changing to another hospital.’ She smiled at him. ‘Now I shan’t need to.’

He went shortly afterwards and she spent the rest of the day packing what clothes she had with her and making final arrangements with Mrs Body before taking Major for a walk by the lake. It was a clear evening with the moon shining. Mary Jane shivered a little despite her coat, not so much with cold as the knowledge that she would miss the peace and quiet even though she had it to come back to.

She went indoors presently and into the study to wish Fabian good night. He stood by her grandfather’s desk while she made a few remarks about their journey and then said a little shyly, ‘You’ve been very kind and—and efficient. I don’t know what we should have done without your help. I’m very grateful.’

He rustled the papers in his hand and thanked her stiffly, and she went to her room, wondering if he would ever unbend, or was he going to remain coldly polite and a little scornful of her for the rest of their relationship? Eight years, she told herself as she got into bed, seemed a long time. She would be thirty and quite old, and Fabian would be…she started to guess and fell asleep, still guessing.




CHAPTER THREE


MARY JANE HAD never travelled in a Rolls-Royce—she found it quite an experience. Fabian was a good driver and although he spoke seldom he was quite relaxed, she sat silently beside him, thinking about the last two weeks—such a lot had happened and there had been so much to plan and arrange; she hoped she had forgotten nothing—not that it would matter very much, for her companion would not have overlooked the smallest detail. He had told her very little about the journey, beyond asking her to be ready to start at eight o’clock in the morning.

They were on the motorway now, doing a steady seventy, and would be in London by early afternoon, giving her ample time in which to pack her things at the hospital before they left for the midnight ferry.

‘Anything you haven’t time to see to you can leave,’ he had told her, ‘and arrange to send on the things you don’t want—Mrs Body can sort them out later. You can buy all you need when we get to Holland.’

‘Oh no, I can’t, I’ve only a few pounds.’

‘I will advance you any reasonable sum—do you need any money now?’

‘No, thank you, but what about my fare?’

‘Mr North and I will take care of such details.’

They had settled into silence after that. Mary Jane stared through the window as the Rolls crept up behind each car in turn and passed it. Presently she closed her eyes against the boredom of the road, the better to think. But her thoughts were muddled and hazy; she hadn’t slept very well the night before, and fought a desire to doze off, induced by the extreme comfort of the car, and had just succeeded in reducing her mind to tolerable clarity when her efforts were shattered by her companion’s laconic, ‘We’ll stop for coffee.’

She glanced at her watch; they had been on the road for just two hours and Stafford wasn’t far away. ‘That would be nice,’ she agreed pleasantly, and was a little surprised when he left the motorway, taking the car unhurriedly down side roads which led at last to a small village.

‘Stableford,’ read Mary Jane from the signpost. ‘Why do we come here?’

‘To get away from the motorway for half an hour. There’s a place called The Cocks—ah, there it is.’ He pulled up as he spoke.

The coffee was excellent and hot, and Mary Jane ate a bun because breakfast seemed a long time ago, indeed, a meal in another life.




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