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Caroline's Waterloo
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. There would be no romance!Caroline had never imagined that anyone would want to marry her – she wasn’t pretty or clever in any way. But the imposing Professor Radinck Thoe van Erckelens did propose to her – and having speedily fallen in love with him, she accepted.Radinck was clear about what he wanted in a wife – a convenient hostess! Caroline had to decide whether to settle for that, or to set about changing Radinck’s feelings for her.



“You’ve hated every minute of it, haven’t you, Radinck?
“But I’m going to my room in a few minutes, only before I go, I’d like to thank you for giving me such a nice wedding.” She added kindly, “It’s only this one evening, you know, you won’t have to do it ever again. You asked me not to disturb your life, and I won’t, only they all expected…” She pinkened faintly. “Well, they expected us to look—like…”
“Exactly, Caroline.” He had got to his feet. “I’m only sorry that I didn’t think of the wedding cake.” He smiled at her: it was a kind, gentle sort of smile and it held a touch of impatience. She said good night without fuss and didn’t linger. She thought about that smile later, as she got ready for bed. It had been a glimpse of Radinck again, only next time, she promised herself, he would smile without impatience. It might take a long time, but that was something she had.
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.

Caroline’s Waterloo
Betty Neels



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

CHAPTER ONE
THE NARROW brick road wound itself along narrow canals, through wide stretches of water meadows and small clumps of trees and, here and there, a larger copse. Standing well away from the road there were big farmhouses, each backed by a great barn, their mellow red brick glistening in the last rays of the October sun. Save for the cows, already in their winter coats, and one or two great horses, there was little to be seen and the only other movement was made by the four girls cycling briskly along the road. They had come quite a distance that day and now they were flagging a little; the camping equipment each carried made it heavy going, and besides, they had lost their way.
It had been easy enough leaving Alkmaar that morning, going over the Afsluitdijk and into Friesland, pedalling cheerfully towards the camping ground they had decided upon, but now, with no village in sight and the dusk beginning to creep over the wide Friesian sky, they were getting uneasy.
Presently they came to a halt, to look at the map and wonder where they had gone wrong. ‘This doesn’t go anywhere,’ grumbled the obvious leader, a tall, very pretty girl. ‘What shall we do? Go back—and that’s miles—or press on?’
They all peered at the map again, one fair head, two dark ones and an unspectacular mouse-brown. The owner of the mouse-brown hair spoke:
‘Well, the road must go somewhere, they wouldn’t have built it just for fun, and we’ve been on it now for quite a while—I daresay we’re nearer the end than the beginning.’ She had a pretty voice, soft and slightly hesitant, perhaps as compensation for her very ordinary face.
Her three companions peered at the map again. ‘You’re right, Caro—let’s go on before it’s quite dark.’ The speaker, one of the dark-haired girls, glanced around her at the empty landscape. ‘It’s lonely, isn’t it? I mean, after all the towns and villages we’ve been through just lately.’
‘Friesland and Groningen are sparsely populated,’ said Caro, ‘they’re mostly agricultural.’
The three of them gave her a tolerant look. Caro was small and quiet and unassuming, but she was a fount of information about a great many things, because she read a lot, they imagined with a trace of pity; unlike the other nurses at Oliver’s, she was seldom invited to go out by any of the young doctors and she lived alone in a small bedsitter in a horrid shabby little street convenient to the hospital. She had any number of friends, because she could be relied upon to change off-duty at a moment’s notice, lend anything needed without fuss, and fill in last-minute gaps. As she was doing now; the nurse who should have been in her place had developed an appendix and because four was a much better number with which to go camping and biking, she had been roped in at the last minute. She hadn’t particularly wanted to go; she had planned to spend her two weeks’holiday redecorating her room and visiting art galleries. She knew almost nothing about art, but she had discovered long ago that art galleries were restful and pleasant and there were always other people strolling around for company, even though no one ever spoke to her. Not that she minded being alone; she had grown up in a lonely way. An orphan from childhood, the aunt she had lived with had married while Caro was still at school and her new uncle had never taken to her; indeed, over the years, he had let it be known that she must find a home for herself; her aunt’s was too small to house all three of them. If she had been pretty he might have thought differently, and if she had tried to conciliate him he might have had second thoughts. As it was, Caroline hadn’t seen her aunt for two years or more.
‘Well, let’s get on,’ suggested Stacey. She tossed her blonde hair back over her shoulders and got on to her bike once more, followed by Clare and Miriam with Caro bringing up the rear.
The sun seemed to set very rapidly and once it had disappeared behind them, the sky darkened even more rapidly. But the road appeared to run ahead of them, clearly to be seen until it disappeared into a large clump of trees on the horizon. There were distant lights from the farmhouse now, a long way off, but they dispelled the loneliness so that they all became cheerful again, calling to and fro to each other, discussing what they would eat for their supper and whose turn it was to cook. They reached the trees a few minutes later, and Stacey, still in front, called out excitedly: ‘I say, look there, on the left—those lights—there must be a house!’ She braked to take a better look and Clare and Miriam, who hadn’t braked fast enough, went into her, joined seconds later by Caro, quite unable to stop herself in time. She ploughed into the struggling heap in front of her, felt a sharp pain in her leg and then nothing more, because she had hit her head on an old-fashioned milestone beside the cycle path.
She came to with a simply shocking headache, a strange feeling that she was in a nightmare, and the pain in her leg rather worse. What was more, she was being carried, very awkwardly too, with someone supporting her legs and her head cradled against what felt like an alpaca jacket—but men didn’t wear alpaca jackets any more. She tried to say so, but the words didn’t come out right and she was further mystified by a man’s cockney voice close to her ear, warning someone to go easy. She wanted to say, ‘My leg hurts,’ but talking had become difficult and when she made her eyes open, she could see nothing much; a small strip of sky between tall trees and somewhere ahead lights shining. She gave up and passed out again, unaware that the awkward little party had reached the house, that Stacey, obedient to the cockney voice, had opened the door and held it wide while the others carried her inside. She was unaware too of the size and magnificence of the hall or of its many doors, one of which was flung open with some force by a large man with a sheaf of papers in his hand and a scowl on his handsome features. But she was brought back to consciousness by his commanding voice, demanding harshly why he was forced to suffer such a commotion in his own house.
It seemed to Caro that someone should speak up and explain, but her head was still in a muddle although she knew what she wanted to say; it was just a question of getting the words out. She embarked on an explanation, only to be abruptly halted by the harsh voice, very close to her now. ‘This girl’s concussed and that leg needs attention. Noakes, carry her into the surgery.’ She heard his sigh. ‘I suppose I must attend to it.’
Just for a moment her addled brain cleared. She said quite clearly: ‘You have no need to be quite so unfeeling. Give me a needle and thread and I’ll do it myself.’
She heard his crack of laughter before she went back into limbo again.
She drifted in and out of sleep several times during the night and each time she opened her eyes it was to see, rather hazily, someone sitting by her bed. He took no notice of her at all, but wrote and read and wrote again, and something about his austere look convinced her that it was the owner of the voice who had declared that she was concussed.
‘I’m not concussed,’ she said aloud, and was surprised that her voice sounded so wobbly.
He had got to his feet without answering her, given her a drink and said in a voice which wasn’t going to take no for an answer: ‘Go to sleep.’
It seemed a good idea; she closed her eyes.
The next time she woke, although the room was dim she knew that it was day, for the reading lamp by the chair was out. The man had gone and Stacey sat there, reading a book.
‘Hullo,’ said Caro in a much stronger voice; her head still ached and so did her leg, but she had stopped feeling dreamlike.
Stacey got up and came over to the bed. ‘Caro, do you feel better? You gave us all a fright, I can tell you!’
Caro looked carefully round the room, trying not to move her head because of the pain. It was a splendid apartment, its walls hung with pale silk, its rosewood furniture shining with age and polishing. The bed she was in had a draped canopy and a silken bedspread, its beauty rather marred by the cradle beneath it, guarding her injured leg.
‘What happened’ she asked. ‘There was a very cross man, wasn’t there?’
Stacey giggled. ‘Oh, ducky, you should have heard yourself! It’s an enormous house and he’s so good-looking you blink…’
Caroline closed her eyes. ‘What happened?’
‘We all fell over, and you cut your leg open on Clare’s pedal—it whizzed round and gashed it badly, and you fell on to one of those milestones and knocked yourself out.’
‘Are you all right? You and Clare and Miriam?’
‘Absolutely, hardly a scratch between us—only you, Caro—we’re ever so sorry.’ She patted Caro’s arm. ‘I’ve got to tell Professor Thoe van Erckelens you’re awake.’
Caro still had her eyes shut. ‘What an extraordinary name…’
Her hand was picked up and her pulse taken and she opened her eyes. Stacey had gone, the man—presumably the Professor—was there, towering over her.
He grunted to himself and then asked: ‘What is your name, young lady?’
‘Caroline Tripp.’ She watched his stern mouth twitch at the corners; possibly her name sounded as strange to him as his did to her. ‘I feel better, thank you.’ She added, ‘It was kind of you to sit with me last night.’
He had produced an ophthalmoscope from somewhere and was fitting it together. ‘I am a doctor, Miss Tripp—a doctor’s duty is to his patient.’
Unanswerable, especially with her head in such a muddled state. He examined her eyes with care and silently and then spoke to someone she couldn’t see. ‘I should like to examine the leg, please.’
It was Stacey who turned back the coverlet and removed the cradle before unwinding the bandage which covered Caro’s leg from knee to ankle.
‘Did you stitch it?’ asked Caro, craning her neck to see.
A firm hand restrained her. ‘You would be foolish to move your head too much,’ she was told. ‘Yes, I have cleaned and stitched the wound in your leg. It is a deep, jagged cut and you will have to rest it for some days.’
‘Oh, I can’t do that,’ said Caro, still not quite in control of her woolly wits, ‘I’m on duty in four days’ time.’
‘An impossibility—you will remain here until I consider you fit to return.’
‘There must be a hospital…’ Her head was beginning to throb.
‘As a nurse you should be aware of the importance of resting both your brain and your leg. Kindly don’t argue.’
She was feeling very peculiar again, rather as though she were lying in a mist, listening to people’s voices but quite unable to focus them with her tired eyes. ‘You can’t possibly be married,’ she mumbled, ‘and you sound as though you hate me—you must be a mi—mi…’
‘Misogynist.’
She had her eyes shut again so that she wouldn’t cry. He was being very gentle, but her leg hurt dreadfully; she was going to tell him so, but she dropped off again.
Next time she woke up it was Clare by the bed and she grinned weakly and said: ‘I feel better.’
‘Good. Would you like a cup of tea?—it’s real strong tea, like we make at Oliver’s.’
It tasted lovely; drinking it, Caroline began to feel that everything was normal again. ‘There’s some very thin bread and butter,’ suggested Clare. Caro devoured that too; she had barely swallowed the last morsel before she was asleep again.
It was late afternoon when she woke again. The lamp was already lighted and the Professor was sitting beside it, writing. ‘Don’t you have any patients?’ asked Caroline.
He glanced up from his writing. ‘Yes. Would you like a drink?’
She had seen the tray with a glass and jug on it, on the table by her bed. ‘Yes, please—I can help myself; I’m feeling fine.’
He took no notice at all but got up, put an arm behind her shoulders, lifted her very gently and held the glass for her. When she had finished he laid her down again and said: ‘You may have your friends in for ten minutes,’ and stalked quietly out of the room.
They crept in very silently and stood in a row at the foot of the bed, looking at her. ‘You’re better,’ said Miriam, ‘the Professor says so.’ And then: ‘We’re going back tomorrow morning.’
Caro tried to sit up and was instantly thrust gently back on to her pillow. ‘You can’t—you can’t leave me here! He doesn’t like me—why can’t I go to hospital if I’ve got to stay? How are you going?’
‘Noakes—that’s the sort of butler who was at the gate when we fell over—he’s to drive us to the Hoek. The bikes are to be sent back later.’
‘He’s quite nice,’ said Clare, ‘the Professor, I mean—he’s a bit terse but he’s been a perfect host. I don’t think he likes us much but then of course, he’s quite old, quite forty, I should think; he’s always reading or writing and he’s away a lot—Noakes says he’s a very important man in his profession.’ She giggled, ‘You can hardly hear that he’s Dutch, his English is so good, and isn’t it funny that Noakes comes from Paddington? but he’s been here for years and years—he’s married to the cook. There’s a housekeeper too, very tall and looks severe but she’s not.’
‘And three maids besides a gardener,’ chimed in Miriam. ‘He must be awfully rich.’
‘You’ll be OK,’ Stacey assured her, ‘you’ll be back in no time. Do you want us to do anything for you?’
Caro’s head was aching again. ‘Would you ask Mrs Hodge to go on feeding Waterloo until I get back? There’s some money in my purse—will you take some so that she can get his food?’
‘OK—we’ll go round to your place and make sure he’s all right. Do you have to pay Mrs Hodge any rent?’
‘No, I pay in advance each month. Is there enough money for me to get back by boat?’
Stacey counted. ‘Yes—it’s only a single fare and I expect Noakes will take you to the boat.’ She came a bit nearer. ‘Well, ’bye for now, Caro. We hate leaving you, but there’s nothing we can do about it.’
Caro managed a smile. ‘I’ll be fine—I’ll let you know when I’m coming.’
They all shook hands with her rather solemnly. ‘We’re going quite early and the Professor said we weren’t to disturb you in the morning.’
Caroline lay quietly after they had gone, too tired to feel much. Indeed, when the Professor came in later and gave her a sedative she made no demur but drank it down meekly and closed her eyes at once. It must have been quite strong because she was asleep at once, although he stayed for some time, sitting in his chair watching her, for once neither reading nor writing.
She didn’t wake until quite late in the morning, to find Noakes’ wife—Marta—standing by the bed with a small tray. There was tea again and paper-thin bread and butter and scrambled egg which she fed Caro with just as though she were a baby. She spoke a little English too, and Caro made out that her friends had gone.
When Marta had gone away, she lay and thought about it; she felt much more clear-headed now, almost herself, but not quite, otherwise she would never have conceived the idea of getting up, getting dressed, and leaving the house. She couldn’t stay where she wasn’t welcome—it was like her uncle all over again. Perhaps, she thought miserably, there was something about her that made her unacceptable as a guest. She was on the plain side, that she already knew, and perhaps because of that she was self-effacing and inclined to be shy. She had quickly learned not to draw attention to herself, but on the other hand she had plenty of spirit and a natural friendliness which had made her a great number of friends. But the Professor, she felt, was not one of their number.
The more she thought of her scheme, the more she liked it; the fact that she had a considerable fever made it seem both feasible and sensible, although it was neither. She began, very cautiously, to sit up. Her head ached worse than ever, but she ignored that and concentrated on moving her injured leg. It hurt a good deal more than she had expected, but she persevered until she was sitting untidily on the edge of the bed, her sound foot on the ground, its stricken fellow on its edge. It had hurt before; now, when she started to dangle it over the side of the bed, the pain brought great waves of nausea sweeping over her.
‘Oh, God!’ said Caro despairingly, and meant it.
‘Perhaps I will do?’ The Professor had come softly into the room, taking great strides to reach her.
‘I’m going to be sick,’ moaned Caro, and was, making a mess of his beautifully polished shoes. If she hadn’t felt so ill she would have died of shame, as it was she burst into tears, sobbing and sniffing and gulping.
The Professor said nothing at all but picked her up and laid her back in bed again, pulling the covers over her and arranging the cradle just so over her injured leg before getting a sponge and towel from the adjoining bathroom and wiping her face for her. She looked at him round the sponge and mumbled: ‘Your shoes—your lovely shoes, I’m so s-sorry.’ She gave a great gulp. ‘I should have gone with the others.’
‘Why were you getting out of bed?’ He didn’t sound angry, only interested.
‘Well, I thought I could manage to dress and I’ve enough money, I think—I was going back to England.’
He went to the fireplace opposite the bed and pressed the brass wall bell beside it. When Noakes answered it he requested a clean pair of shoes and a tray of tea for two and waited patiently until these had been brought and Noakes, accompanied by a maid, had swiftly cleared up the mess. Only then did he say: ‘And now suppose we have a little talk over our tea?’
He pulled a chair nearer the bed, handed her a cup of tea and poured one for himself. ‘Let us understand each other, young lady.’
Caroline studied him over the rim of her cup. He talked like a professor, but he didn’t look like one; he was enormous and she had always thought of professors as small bent gentlemen with bald heads and untidy moustaches, but Professor Thoe van Erckelens had plenty of hair, light brown, going grey, and cut short, and he had no need to hide his good looks behind a moustache. Caro thought wistfully that he was exactly the kind of man every girl hoped to meet one day and marry; which was a pity, because he obviously wasn’t the marrying kind…
‘If I might have your full attention?’ enquired the Professor. ‘You are sufficiently recovered to listen to me?’
Her head and her leg ached, but they were bearable. She nodded.
‘If you could reconcile yourself to remaining here for another ten days, perhaps a fortnight, Miss Tripp? I can assure you that you are in no fit condition to do much at the moment. I shall remove the stitches from your leg in another four days and you may then walk a little with a stick, as from tomorrow, and provided your headache is lessening, you may sit up for a period of time. Feel free to ask for anything you want, my home is at your disposal. There is a library from which Noakes will fetch a selection of books, although I advise you not to read for a few days yet, and there is no reason why you should not sit in the garden, well wrapped up. You will drink no alcohol, nor will you smoke, and kindly refrain from watching television for a further day or so; it will merely aggravate your headache. I must ask you to excuse me from keeping you company at any time—I am a busy man and I have my work and my own interests. I shall of course treat you as I would any other patient of mine and when I consider you fit to travel, I will see that you get back safely to your home.’
Caro had listened to this precise speech with astonishment; she hadn’t met anyone who talked like that before—it was like reading the instructions on the front of a medicine bottle. She loved the bit about no drinking or smoking; she did neither, but she wondered if she looked the kind of girl who did. But one thing was very clear. The Professor was offering her hospitality but she was to keep out of his way; he didn’t want his ordered life disrupted—which was amusing really; now if it had been Clare or Stacey or Miriam, all pretty girls who had never lacked for men friends, that would have been a different matter, but Caroline’s own appearance was hardly likely to cause even the smallest ripple on the calm surface of his life.
‘I’ll do exactly as you say,’ she told him, ‘and I’ll keep out of your way—you won’t know I’m here. And thank you for being so kind.’ She added: ‘I’m truly sorry about me being sick and your shoes…’
He stood up. ‘Sickness is to be expected in cases of concussion,’ he told her. ‘I am surprised that you, a nurse, should not have thought of that. We must make allowances for your cerebral condition.’
She looked at him helplessly. Underneath all that pedantic talk there was a quite ordinary man; for some reason, the professor was concealing him. After he had gone she lay back on her pillows, suddenly sleepy, but before she closed her eyes she decided that she would discover what had happened to make him like that. She must make friends with Noakes…
She made splendid progress. The Professor dressed her leg the next morning and when Marta had draped her in a dressing gown several sizes too large for her, he returned to lift her into a chair by the open window, for the weather was glorious and the view from it delightful. The gardens and the house were large and full of autumn colours, and just to lie back with Marta tucking a rug over her and settling her elevenses beside her was bliss. She had been careful to say very little to the Professor while he attended to her leg; he had made one or two routine remarks about the weather and how she felt and she had answered him with polite brevity, but now he had gone and despite his silence, she felt lonely. She sipped the warm milk Marta had left for her and looked at the view. The road was just visible beyond the grounds and part of the drive which led to it from the house; presently she heard a car leaving the house and caught a glimpse of it as it flashed down the drive: an Aston Martin—a Lagonda. The Professor must have a friend who liked fast driving. Caro thought that it might be rather fun to know someone who drove an Aston Martin, and even more fun to actually ride in one.
She was to achieve both of these ambitions. The Professor came as usual the following morning after breakfast to dress her leg, but instead of going away immediately as he usually did he spoke to Juffrouw Kropp who had accompanied him and then addressed himself to Caro.
‘I am taking you to the hospital in Leeuwarden this morning. You are to have your head X-rayed. I am certain that no harm has come from your concussion, but I wish my opinion to be confirmed.’
Caro eyed him from the vast folds of her dressing gown. ‘Like this?’ she asked.
He raised thick arched brows. ‘Why not? Juffrouw Kropp will assist you.’ He had gone before she could answer him.
Juffrouw Kropp’s severe face broke into a smile as the door closed. She fetched brush and comb and make-up and produced a length of ribbon from a pocket. She brushed Caro’s hair despite her protests, plaited it carefully and fastened it with the ribbon, fetched a hand mirror and held it while Caro did things to her face, then fastened the dressing gown and tied it securely round Caro’s small waist. Like a well-schooled actor, the Professor knocked on the door, just as though he had been given his cue, plucked Caro from the bed and carried her downstairs where Noakes stood, holding the front door wide. The Professor marched through with a muttered word and Noakes slid round him to open the door of the Aston Martin, and with no discomfort at all Caro found herself reclining on the back seat with Noakes covering her with a light rug and the Professor, to her astonishment, getting behind the wheel.
‘This is never your car?’ she asked, too surprised to be polite.
He turned his head and gave her an unfriendly look. ‘Is there any reason why it shouldn’t be?’ he wanted to know, coldly.
She said kindly: ‘You don’t need to get annoyed. It’s only that you don’t look the kind of man to drive a fast car.’ She added vaguely: ‘A professor…’
‘And no longer young,’ he snapped. ‘I have no interest in your opinions, Miss Tripp. May I suggest that you close your eyes and compose yourself—the journey will take fifteen minutes.’
Caroline did as she was bid, reflecting that until that very moment she hadn’t realised what compelling eyes he had; slate blue and very bright. When she judged it safe, she opened her eyes again; she wasn’t going to miss a second of the ride; it would be something to tell her friends when she got back. She couldn’t see much of the road because the Professor took up so much of the front seat, but the telegraph poles were going past at a terrific rate; he drove fast all right and very well, and he didn’t slow at all until she saw buildings on either side of them and presently he was turning off the road and stopping smoothly.
He got out without speaking and a moment later the door was opened and she was lifted out and set in a wheelchair while the Professor spoke to a youngish man in a white coat. He turned on his heel without even glancing at her and walked away, into the hospital, leaving her with the man in the white coat and a porter.
How rude he is, thought Caro, and then: poor man, he must be very unhappy.
She was wheeled briskly down a number of corridors to the X-ray department. It was a modern hospital and she admired it as they went, and after a minute or so, when the white-coated man spoke rather diffidently to her in English, showered him with a host of questions. He hadn’t answered half of them by the time they reached their destination and she interrupted him to ask: ‘Who are you?’
He apologised. ‘I’m sorry, I have not introduced myself. Jan van Spaark—I am attached to Professor Thoe van Erckelens’ team. I am to look after you while you are here.’
‘A doctor?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, I think you would call me a medical registrar in your country.’
The X-ray only took a short while, and in no time at all she was being wheeled back to the entrance hall, but here, to her surprise, her new friend wished her goodbye and handed her over to a nurse, who offered a hand, saying: ‘Mies Hoeversma—that is my name.’
Caro shook it. ‘Caroline Tripp. What happens next?’
‘You are to have coffee because Professor Thoe van Erckelens is not quite ready to leave.’
She was wheeled to a small room, rather gloomy and austerely furnished used, Mies told her, as a meeting place for visiting doctors, but the coffee was hot and delicious and Mies, although her English was sketchy, was a nice girl. Caro, who had been lonely even though she hadn’t admitted it to herself, enjoyed herself. She could have spent the morning there, listening to Mies describing life in a Dutch hospital and giving her a lighthearted account of her own life in London, but the door opened, just as they had gone off into whoops of mirth over something or other, and the porter reappeared, spoke to Mies and wheeled Caro rapidly away, giving her barely a moment in which to say goodbye.
‘Why the hurry?’ asked Caro, hurriedly shaking hands again.
‘The Professor—he must not be kept waiting.’ Mies was quite serious; evidently he had the same effect on the hospital staff as he had on his staff at home. Instant, quiet obedience—and yet they liked him…
Caroline puzzled over that as she was whisked carefully to the car, to be lifted in by the Professor before he got behind the wheel and drove away. Jan van Spaark had been there, with two other younger men and a Sister, the Professor had lifted his hand in grave salute as he drove away.
He seemed intent on getting home as quickly as possible, driving very fast again, and it was a few minutes before Caroline ventured in a small polite voice: ‘Was it all right—my head?’
‘There is no injury to the skull,’ she was assured with detached politeness. ‘Tomorrow I shall remove the stitches from your leg and you may walk for brief periods—with a stick, of course. You will rest each afternoon and read for no more than an hour each day.’
‘Very well, Professor, I’ll do as you say.’ She sounded so meek that he glanced at her through his driving mirror. When she smiled at him he looked away at once.
He carried her back to her room when they reached the house and set her down in the chair made ready for her by the window. ‘After lunch I will carry you downstairs to one of the sitting rooms. Are you lonely?’
His question took her by surprise. She had her mouth open to say yes and remembered just in time that he wanted none of her company.
‘Not in the least, thank you,’ she told him. ‘I live alone in London, you know—I have a flat, close to Oliver’s.’
He nodded, wished her goodbye and went away—she heard the car roar away minutes later. Not a very successful morning, she considered, although he had wanted to know if she were lonely. And she had told a fib—not only was she lonely, but the flat she had mentioned so casually was in reality a bedsitter, a poky first floor room in a dingy street… She was reminded forcibly of it now and of dear old Waterloo, stoically waiting for her to come back. She longed for the sight of his round whiskered face and the comfort of his plump furry body curled on her knee. ‘I’m a real old maid,’ she said out loud, and then called, ‘Come in,’ in a bright, cheerful voice because there was someone at the door.
It was Noakes with more coffee. ‘And the Professor says if yer’ve got an ’eadache, miss, yer ter take one of them pills in the red box.’
‘I haven’t got a headache, thank you, Noakes, not so’s you’d notice. Has the Professor gone again?’
‘Yes, miss—Groningen this time. In great demand, ’e is.’
‘Yes. It’s quiet here, isn’t it? Doesn’t he ever have guests or family?’ Noakes hesitated and she said at once: ‘I’m sorry, I had no right to ask you questions about the Professor. I wasn’t being nosey, though.’
‘I know that, miss, and I ain’t one ter gossip, specially about the Professor—’e’s a good man, make no mistake, but ’e ain’t a ’appy one, neither.’ Caro poured a cup of coffee and waited. ‘It used ter be an ’ouse full when I first come ’ere. Eighteen years ago, it were—come over on ‘oliday, I did, and took a fancy ter living ’ere after I met Marta. She was already working ’ere, kitchenmaid then, that was when the Professor’s ma and pa were alive. Died in a car accident, they did, and he ups and marries a couple of years after that. Gay times they were, when the young Baroness was ’ere…’
‘Baroness?’
Noakes scratched his head. ‘Well, miss, the Professor’s a baron as well as a professor, if yer take my meaning.’
‘How long ago did he marry, Noakes?’ Caroline was so afraid that he would stop telling her the rest, and she did want to know.
‘It was in 1966, miss, two years after his folk died. Pretty lady she was, too, very gay, ’ated ’im being a doctor, always working, she used ter say, and when ’e was ’ome, looking after the estate. She liked a gay life, I can tell you! She left ’im, miss, two years after they were married—ran away with some man or other and they both got killed in a plane crash a few months later.’
Caro had let her coffee get cold. So that was why the Professor shunned her company—he must have loved his wife very dearly. She said quietly: ‘Thank you for telling me, Noakes. I’m glad he’s got you and Mrs Noakes and Juffrouw Kropp to look after him.’
‘That we do, miss. Shall I warm up that coffee? It must be cold.’
‘It’s lovely, thank you. I think I’ll have a nap before lunch.’
But she didn’t go to sleep, she didn’t even doze. She sat thinking of the Professor; he had asked her if she were lonely, but it was he who was the truly lonely one.

CHAPTER TWO
THE PROFESSOR TOOK the stitches out of Caro’s leg the next morning and his manner towards her was such as to discourage her from showing any of the sympathy she felt for him. He had wished her a chilly good morning, assured her that she would feel no pain, and proceeded about his business without more ado. Then he had stood back and surveyed the limb, pronounced it healing nicely, applied a pad and bandage and suggested that she might like to go downstairs.
‘Well, yes, I should, very much,’ said Caro, and smiled at him, to receive an icy stare in return which sent the colour to her cheeks. But she wasn’t easily put off. ‘May I wear my clothes?’ she asked him. ‘This dressing gown’s borrowed from someone and I expect they’d like it back. Besides, I’m sick of it.’
His eyebrows rose. ‘It was lent in kindness,’ he pointed out.
She stammered a little. ‘I didn’t mean that—you must think I’m ungrateful, but I’m not—what I meant was it’s a bit big for me and I’d like…’
He had turned away. ‘You have no need to explain yourself, Miss Tripp. I advise you not to do too much today. The wound on your leg was deep and is not yet soundly healed.’ He had left her, feeling that she had made a mess of things again. And she had no sympathy for him at all, she assured herself; let him moulder into middle age with his books and his papers and his lectures!
With Marta’s help she dressed in a sweater and pleated skirt and was just wondering if she was to walk downstairs on her own when Noakes arrived. He held a stout stick in one hand and offered her his arm.
‘The Professor says you’re to go very slowly and lean on me,’ he advised her, ‘and take the stairs one at a time.’ He smiled at her. ‘Like an old lady,’ he added.
It took quite a time, but she didn’t mind because it gave her time to look around her as they passed from one stair to the next. The hall was even bigger than she had remembered and the room into which she was led quite took her breath away. It was lofty and square and furnished with large comfortable chairs and sofas, its walls lined with cabinets displaying silver and china and in between these, portraits in heavy frames. There was a fire in the enormous hearth and a chair drawn up to it with a small table beside it upon which was a pile of magazines and newspapers.
‘The Professor told me ter get something for yer to read, miss,’ said Noakes, ‘and I done me best. After lunch, if yer feels like it, I’ll show yer the library.’
‘Oh, Noakes, you’re all so kind, and I’ve given you all such a lot of extra work.’
He looked astonished. ‘Lor’ luv yer, miss—we enjoy ’aving yer—it’s quiet, like yer said.’
‘Yes. Noakes, I’ve heard a dog barking…’
‘That’ll be Rex, miss. ’E’s a quiet beast mostly, but ’e barks when the Professor comes in. Marta’s got a little cat too.’
‘Oh, has she? So have I—his name’s Waterloo, and my landlady’s looking after him while I’m away. It’ll be nice to see him again.’
‘Yes, miss. Juffrouw Kropp’ll bring coffee for you.’
It was indeed quiet, sitting there by herself. Caroline leafed through the newspapers and tried to get interested in the news and then turned to the magazines. It was almost lunchtime when she heard the Professor’s voice in the hall and she sat up, put a hand to her hair and then put on a cheerful face, just as though she were having the time of her life. But he didn’t come into the room. She heard his voice receding and a door shutting and presently Juffrouw Kropp brought in her lunch tray, set it on the table beside her and smilingly went away again. Caro had almost finished the delicious little meal when she heard the Professor’s voice again, speaking to Noakes as he crossed the hall and left the house.
She was taken to the library by a careful Noakes after lunch and settled into a chair by one of the circular tables in that vast apartment, but no sooner had he gone than she picked up her stick, eased herself out of her chair and began a tour of the bookshelves which lined the entire room. The books were in several languages and most of them learned ones, but there were a number of novels in English and a great many medical books in that language. But she rejected them all for a Dutch-English dictionary; it had occurred to her that since she was to spend several more days as the Professor’s guest, she might employ her time in learning a word or two of his language. She was deep in this task, muttering away to herself when Noakes brought a tea tray, arranged it by her, and asked her if she was quite comfortable.
‘Yes, Noakes, thank you—I’m teaching myself some Dutch words. But I don’t think I’m pronouncing them properly.’
‘I daresay not, miss. Tell yer what, when Juffrouw Kropp comes later, get ’er ter ’elp yer. She’s a dab hand at it. Nasty awkward language it is—took me years ter learn.’
‘But you always speak English with the Professor?’
‘That’s right, miss—comes as easy to ’im as his own language!’
Caroline ate her tea, feeling much happier now that she had something to do, and when Juffrouw Kropp came to light the lamps presently, she asked that lady to sit down for a minute and help her.
Caro had made a list of words, and now she tried them out on the housekeeper, mispronouncing them dreadfully, and then, because she was really interested, correcting them under her companion’s guidance. It whiled away the early evening until the housekeeper had to go, leaving her with the assurance that Noakes would be along presently to help her back to her room.
But it wasn’t Noakes who came in, it was the Professor, walking so quietly that she didn’t look up from her work, only said: ‘Noakes, Juffrouw Kropp has been such a help, only there’s a word here and I can’t remember…’
She looked round and stopped, because the Professor was standing quite close by, looking at her. She answered his quiet good evening cheerfully and added: ‘So sorry, I expected Noakes, he’s coming to help me up to my room. I’d have gone sooner if I’d known you were home.’
She fished the stick up from the floor beside her and stood up, gathering the dictionary and her pen and paper into an awkward bundle under one arm, only to have them removed immediately by the Professor.
He said stiffly: ‘Will you dine with me this evening? Since you are already downstairs…’
Caroline was so surprised that she didn’t answer at once, and when she did her soft voice was so hesitant that it sounded like a stammer.
‘Thank you for asking me, but I won’t, thank you.’ She put out a hand for the dictionary and he transferred it to the other hand, out of her reach.
‘Why not?’ He looked annoyed and his voice was cold.
‘You don’t really want me,’ she said frankly. ‘You said that I wasn’t to—to interfere with your life in any way and I said I wouldn’t.’ She added kindly: ‘I’m very happy, thank you, I’ve never been so spoiled in all my life.’ She held out her hand; this time he gave her the dictionary.
‘Just as you wish,’ he said with a politeness she found more daunting than coldness. He took the stick from her, then took her arm and helped her out of the room and across the hall. At the bottom of the staircase he picked her up and carried her to the wide gallery above and across it to her room. At the door, he set her down and opened it for her. His ‘Goodnight, Miss Tripp’ was quite without expression. Caroline had no way of knowing if he was relieved that she had refused his invitation or if he was angry about it. She gave him a quiet goodnight and went through the door, to undress slowly and get ready for bed; she would have a bath and have her supper in her dressing gown by the fire.
Marta came presently to help her into the bath, turn down the bed and fuss nicely round the room, and after her came one of the maids with her supper; soup and a cheese souffle with a salad on the side and a Bavarian creme to follow. Caroline didn’t think the Professor would be eating that, nor would he be drinking the home-made lemonade she was offered.
The house was very quiet when she woke the next morning and when Marta brought her her breakfast tray, she told her that Noakes had gone with the Professor to the airfield just south of the city and would bring the car back later.
‘Has the Professor gone away?’ asked Caroline, feeling unaccountably upset.
‘To England and then to Paris—he has, how do you say? the lecture.’
‘How long for?’ asked Caro.
Marta shrugged her shoulders. ‘I do not know—five, six days, perhaps longer.’
Which meant that when he came home again she would go almost at once—perhaps he wanted that. She ate her breakfast listlessly and then got herself up and dressed. Her leg was better, it hardly ached at all and neither did her head. She trundled downstairs slowly and went into the library again where she spent a busy morning conning more Dutch words. There didn’t seem much point in it, but it was something to do.
After lunch she went into the garden. It was a chilly day with the first bite of autumn in the air and Juffrouw Kropp had fastened her into a thick woollen cape which dropped around her ankles and felt rather heavy. But she was glad of it presently when she had walked a little way through the formal gardens at the side of the house and found a seat under an arch of beech. It afforded a good view of her surroundings and she looked slowly around her. The gardens stretched away on either side of her and she supposed the meadows beyond belonged to the house too, for there was a high hedge beyond them. The house stood, of red brick, mellowed with age, its many windows gleaming in the thin sunshine; it was large with an important entrance at the top of a double flight of steps, but it was very pleasant too. She could imagine it echoing to the shouts of small children and in the winter evenings its windows would glow with light and guests would stream in to spend the evening…not, of course, in reality, she thought sadly; the Professor had turned himself into a kind of hermit, excluding everyone and everything from his life except work and books. ‘I must try and make him smile,’ she said out loud, and fell to wondering how she might do that.
It was the following morning, while she was talking to Noakes as he arranged the coffee tray beside her in the library, that they fell to discussing Christmas.
‘Doesn’t the Professor have family or friends to stay?’ asked Caro.
‘No, miss. Leastways, ’e ’olds an evening party—very grand affair it is too—but ‘e ain’t got no family, not in this country. Very quiet time it is.’
‘No carols?’
Noakes shook his head. ‘More’s the pity—I like a nice carol, meself.’
Caro poured out her coffee. ‘Noakes, why shouldn’t you have them this year? There are—how many? six of you altogether, aren’t there? Couldn’t you teach everyone the words? I mean, they don’t have to know what they mean—aren’t there any Dutch carols?’
‘Plenty, miss, only it ain’t easy with no one ter play the piano. We’d sound a bit silly like.’
‘I can play. Noakes, would it be a nice idea to learn one or two carols and sing them for the Professor at Christmas—I mean, take him by surprise?’
Noakes looked dubious. Caroline put her cup down. ‘Look, Noakes, everyone loves Christmas—if you could just take him by surprise, it might make it seem more fun. Then perhaps he’d have friends to stay—or something.’
It suddenly seemed very important to her that the Professor should enjoy his Christmas, and Noakes, looking at her earnest face, found himself agreeing. ‘We could ’ave a bash, miss. There’s a piano in the drawing room and there’s one in the servants’ sitting-room.’
‘Would you mind if I played it? I wouldn’t want to intrude…’
‘Lor’ luv yer, miss, we’d be honoured.’
She went with him later that day, through the baize door at the back of the hall, down a flagstoned passage and through another door into a vast kitchen, lined with old-fashioned dressers and deep cupboards. Marta was at the kitchen table and Juffrouw Kropp was sitting in a chair by the Aga, and they looked up and smiled as she went in. Noakes guided her to a door at the end and opened it on to a very comfortably furnished room with a large table at one end, easy chairs, a TV in a corner and a piano against one wall. There was a stove halfway along the further wall and warm curtains at the windows. The Professor certainly saw to it that those who worked for him were comfortable. Caroline went over to the piano and opened it, sat down and began to play. She was by no means an accomplished pianist, but she played with feeling and real pleasure. She forgot Noakes for the moment, tinkling her way through a medley of Schubert, Mozart and Brahms until she was startled to hear him clapping and turned to see them all standing by the door watching her.
‘Cor, yer play a treat, miss,’ said Noakes. ‘I suppose yer don’t ’appen to know Annie Get Yer Gun?’
She knew some of it; before she had got to the end they were clapping their hands in time to the music and Noakes was singing. When she came to a stop finally, he said: ‘Never mind the carols, miss, if yer’d just play now and then—something we could all sing?’
He sounded wistful, and looking round at their faces she saw how eager they were to go on with the impromptu singsong. ‘Of course I’ll play,’ she said at once. ‘You can tell me what you want and I’ll do my best.’ She smiled round at them all; Noakes and Marta and Juffrouw Kropp, the three young maids and someone she hadn’t seen before, a quite old man—the gardener, she supposed. ‘Shall I play something else?’ she asked.
She sat there for an hour and when she went she had promised that she would go back the following evening. And on the way upstairs she asked Noakes if she might look at the piano in the drawing-room.
She stood in the doorway, staring around her. The piano occupied a low platform built under the window at one end, it was a grand and she longed to play upon it; she longed to explore the room too, its panelled walls hung with portraits, its windows draped with heavy brocade curtains. The hearth had a vast hood above it with what she supposed was a coat of arms carved upon it. All very grand, but it would be like trespassing to go into the room without the Professor inviting her to do so, and she didn’t think he would be likely to do that. She thanked a rather mystified Noakes and went on up to her room.
Lying in bed later, she thought how nice it would be to explore the house. She had had glimpses of it, but there were any number of closed doors she could never hope to have opened for her. Still, she reminded herself bracingly, she was being given the opportunity of staying in a lovely old house and being waited on hand and foot. Much later she heard Noakes locking up and Rex barking. She hadn’t met him yet; Noakes had told her that he was to be kept out of her way until she was quite secure on her feet. ‘Mild as milk,’ he had said, ‘but a bit on the big side.’ Caroline had forgotten to ask what kind of dog he was. Tomorrow she would contrive to meet him; her leg was rapidly improving, indeed it hardly hurt at all, only when she was tired.
Her thoughts wandered on the verge of sleep. Would the Professor expect to be reimbursed for his trouble and his professional services, she wondered, and if so how would one set about it? Perhaps the hospital would settle with him if and when he sent a bill. He wouldn’t be bothered to do that himself, she decided hazily; she had seen a serious middle-aged woman only that morning as she crossed the hall on her way to the library and Noakes had told her that it was the secretary, Mevrouw Slikker, who came daily to attend to the Professor’s correspondence. Undoubtedly she would be businesslike about it. Caro nodded her sleepy head at this satisfactory solution and went to sleep.
She walked a little further the next day, following the paths around the gardens and sitting down now and again to admire her surroundings. She wondered if the Professor ever had the time to admire his own grounds and thought probably not, he was certainly never long enough in his own house to enjoy its comforts and magnificence. She wandered round to the back of the house and found a pleasing group of old buildings grouped round a courtyard, barns and stables and a garage and a shed which smelled deliciously of apples and corn. It was coming out of this interesting place that she came face to face with an Old English sheepdog. He stood almost to her waist and peered at her with a heavily eyebrowed whiskered face. ‘Rex!’ she cried. ‘Oh, aren’t you a darling!’ She extended a closed fist and he sniffed at it and then put an enormous paw on each of her shoulders and reared up to peer down at her. He must have liked what he saw, for he licked her face gently, got down on to his four feet again and offered a head for scratching. They finished their walk together and wandered in through a little side door to find Noakes looking anxious.
‘There you are, miss—I ’opes yer ’aven’t been too far.’ His elderly eyes fell upon Rex. ‘’E didn’t frighten yer? ’E’s always in the kitchen with Marta in the mornings. I’ll take ’im back…’
‘Oh, Noakes, please could he stay with me? He’s company and ever so gentle. Is he allowed in the house?’
‘Lor’ yes, miss. Follows the Professor round like a shadow, ’e does. Well, I don’t see no ’arm.’ He beamed at her. ‘There’s a nice lunch for yer in the library and Juffrouw Kropp says if yer wants ’er this afternoon she’s at yer disposal.’
So the day passed pleasantly enough, and the following two days were just as pleasant. Caro did a little more each day now; the Professor would be back in two days’ time, Noakes had told her, and she had to be ready to leave then. She had no intention of trespassing on his kindness for an hour longer than she needed to. Of course she would have to get tickets for the journey home, but that shouldn’t take long, and Noakes would help her and perhaps the Professor would allow him to drive her to the station in Leeuwarden; she had already discovered that the train went all the way to the Hoek—all she would need to do was to get from it to the boat. She had mentioned it carefully to Noakes when he had been clearing away her supper dishes, but he had shaken his head and said dubiously that it would be better to consult the Professor. ‘’E may not want yer to go straight away, miss,’ he suggested.
‘Well, I should think he would,’ she told him matter-of-factly, ‘for I’m quite well now and after all, he didn’t invite me as a guest. He’s been more than kind to let me get well here and I mustn’t stay longer than absolutely necessary.’
Noakes had shaken his head and muttered to himself and then begged her to go down to the sitting-room and play for them all again—something she had done with great pleasure, for it passed the evenings very nicely. When she was on her own she found that she had an increasing tendency to think about the Professor—a pointless pastime, she told herself, and went on doing it nonetheless.
It rained the next day, so that she spent a great deal of it in the library, with Rex beside her, poring over her dictionary. She was making progress, or so she thought, with an ever-lengthening list of words which she tried out on members of the staff. All rather a waste of time, she knew that, but it passed the days and in some obscure way made the Professor a little less of a stranger. She went earlier than usual to play the piano that day, perhaps because the afternoon was unnaturally dark and perhaps because she was lonely despite Rex’s company. And Noakes and his staff seemed pleased to see her, requesting this, that and the other tune, beating time and tra-laing away to each other. Presently, with everyone satisfied, Caroline began to play to please herself; half forgotten melodies she had enjoyed before her aunt had married again and then on to Sibelius and Grieg, not noticing how quiet everyone had become; she was halfway through a wistful little French tune when she stopped and turned round. ‘Sorry, I got carried away,’ she began, and saw the Professor standing in the doorway, his hands in his pockets, leaning against the door frame.
He didn’t smile, indeed, he was looking coldly furious, although his icily polite: ‘Pray don’t stop on my account, Miss Tripp,’ was uttered in a quiet voice.
Caroline stood up rather too hard on the bad leg so that she winced. ‘You’re angry,’ she said quickly, ‘and I’m sorry—I have no right to be here, but you’re not to blame Noakes or anyone else—I invited myself.’
She wanted to say a great deal more, but the look of annoyance on his face stopped her. She wished everyone goodnight in her newly acquired Dutch and went past him through the door and along the passage. He caught up with her quite easily before she could reach the staircase, and she sighed soundlessly. He was going to lecture her and she might as well have it now as later; perhaps she might even get him to see that no harm had been done, indeed he might even be glad that his staff had enjoyed a pleasant hour.
She turned to face him. ‘It’s a pity you frown so,’ she said kindly.
He looked down his splendid nose at her. ‘I have very good reason to frown, Miss Tripp, and well you know it. I return home unexpectedly and what do I find? My butler, my housekeeper, my cook, the maidservants and the gardener being entertained by you in the servants’ sitting-room. Probably if I had come home even earlier I should have found you all playing gin rummy in the cellars.’
She made haste to reassure him. ‘Not gin rummy—it was canasta, and we played round the kitchen table—just for half an hour,’ she added helpfully. ‘You see, I’m learning Dutch.’
His fine mouth curved into a sneer. ‘Indeed? I cannot think why.’
Caroline said in her quiet hesitant voice: ‘Well, it’s something to do, you know. I’m quite well, you see.’
His voice was silky and his voice cold. ‘Miss Tripp, you have disrupted my household—when one considers that I have done my best to help you and I find your behaviour intolerable.’
She stared back at him, her lip caught between her teeth, because it was beginning to tremble. After a long moment she said: ‘I’m sorry, Professor.’
He turned on his heel. ‘I’m glad to hear it—I hope you will mend your ways.’
He went into his study without another word and she went to her room, where she sat on her bed to review the situation. The Professor was going out to dinner that evening, she had heard Noakes say so—to one of his grand friends, she supposed, where the girls knew better than to play the piano in the servants’ room and said things to make him smile instead of frown. Oh well…she got up and went across to the tallboy where her few possessions were housed and laid them on the bed, fetched her duffle bag from the cupboard and began to pack. She did it neatly and unhurriedly. There was plenty of time; she would eat her supper alone presently, as she always did, and when everyone had gone to the kitchen for their own meal, she would slip away. She would have to leave a letter. She frowned a long while over its composition, but at length it was done, neatly written and sealed into an envelope. She would have to leave it somewhere where Noakes wouldn’t find it at once. The Professor’s study would be the best place, he always went straight there when he came home, shutting himself away in his own learned lonely world—for he was lonely, Caroline was sure of that.
She finished her packing and went down to her supper which this evening had been set in the dining room, a richly sombre place. She felt quite lost sitting at the great oval table surrounded by all the massive furniture, but she made a good meal, partly to please Noakes and partly because she wasn’t sure when she would have the next one. And Noakes was uneasy, although the Professor, he assured her, hadn’t been in the least angry—indeed, he had hardly mentioned the matter. Noakes hoped—they all hoped—that tomorrow she would play for them again, but first he would ascertain if the Professor objected to her visiting the servants’ sitting-room.
Caroline made some cheerful reply, finished her meal, mentioned that she would go to bed early and went upstairs. When she crept down half an hour later there was no sound. Everyone was in the kitchens by now and she wouldn’t be missed, probably not until the morning, or at least until the Professor came home, and that would be late. She had put on her anorak, counted her money carefully and carried her bag downstairs before going to the study and putting the letter on the Professor’s desk. She paused in the doorway for a last look; his desk was an orderly clutter of papers and books and his chair was pushed to one side as though he had got up in a hurry. She sighed deeply, closed the door gently, picked up the duffle bag and went to the door. Her leg was aching a little and she had bandaged it firmly because as far as she knew she would have to walk quite a distance before she could get a bus—the nearest village wasn’t too far away, she had found that out from Juffrouw Kropp. If there wasn’t a bus she would have to thumb a lift.
She put out a reluctant hand and opened the door. It was heavy, but it swung back on well-oiled hinges, revealing the Professor, key in hand, about to open it from outside. Caro, taken completely by surprise, stood with her mouth open, gaping at him. He, on the other hand, evinced no surprise, nor did he speak, merely took her duffle bag from her, put a large hand on her chest and pushed her very gently back into the house, and then just as gently shut the door behind him. Only then did he ask: ‘And where were you going, Caroline?’
‘Home—well, the hospital, actually.’ He had never called her Caroline before—no one called her that, but it sounded rather nice.
‘Why?’ He stood blocking her path, the duffle bag on the floor beside him.
It seemed silly to have to explain something to him which he already knew all about. ‘I’ve upset your household: I can quite see that I’ve been a perfect nuisance to you. I’m very grateful for all you’ve done for me—and your kindness—but I’m quite able to go back now and… Well, thank you again.’
His harsh laugh made her jump. Quite forgetting to be meek, she said severely: ‘And there’s no need to laugh when someone thanks you!’
‘It strikes me as ironic that you should express gratitude for something you haven’t had. I cannot remember being kind to you—I merely did what any other person would have done in similar circumstances, and with the minimum of trouble to myself. If I had been a poor man with a wife and children to care for and had offered you help and shelter at the cost of my and their comfort, that would have been quite a different kettle of fish. As it is, I must confess that I have frequently forgotten that you were in the house.’
Caro didn’t speak. A kind of despair had rendered her dumb; her head was full of a mixed bag of thoughts, most of them miserable.
He put out a hand and touched her cheek awkwardly. ‘Have you been lonely?’
Living in a bedsitter had taught her not to be lonely. She shook her head, still feeling the touch of his finger.
‘And you will be glad to get back—to your flat and your friends. I doubt if you will be allowed to work for a little while.’
She had found her voice at last. It came out in a defiant mutter: ‘I shall be awfully glad to get back.’
The gentleness had gone out of his voice; it sounded cold and distant again, just as though he didn’t care what she did. ‘Yes—I see. But be good enough to wait until the morning. I will arrange a passage for you on the night ferry tomorrow and Noakes shall drive you to the Hoek and see you on board.’
Caroline said stiffly: ‘Thank you.’
‘You have sufficient money?’
She nodded dumbly.
‘Then go to bed.’ His eye had caught her bandaged leg. ‘Your leg is worse?’
‘No. I—I put a crepe bandage on it because I thought I might have to walk for a bit.’
He stared at her without expression, then: ‘Come to the study and I will take a look and if necessary rebandage it.’
He prodded and poked with gentle fingers, dressed it lightly and said: ‘That should see you safely to Oliver’s—get it looked at as soon as you can. It will do better without a dressing.’ He held the study door open and offered a hand. ‘Goodbye, Caroline.’
His hand was cool and firm and she didn’t want to let it go.
‘Goodbye, Professor. I shall always be grateful to you—and I’m sorry that I—I disturbed your peace and quiet.’
Just for a moment she thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t.

CHAPTER THREE
CARO ARRIVED BACK at Meadow Road during the morning and the moment she opened the door of number twenty-six, Mrs Hodge bounced out of her basement flat, avid for a good gossip.
‘Your friends came,’ she said without preamble, ‘said you had a bad cut leg and concussion; nasty thing concussion; you could ’ave died.’ She eyed Caro’s leg with relish and then looked disappointed, and Caro said almost apologetically:
‘I don’t need a bandage any more. Thank you for looking after Waterloo, Mrs Hodge.’
‘No trouble.’ Mrs Hodge, a woman who throve on other people’s troubles, felt her sympathy had been wasted. ‘Your rent’s due on Monday.’
Caro edged past her with the duffle bag. ‘Yes, I know, Mrs Hodge. I’ll just see to Waterloo and unpack and then go back to the hospital and see when I’m to go back.’
She went up the stairs and unlocked the door at the back of the landing. Not one of Mrs Hodge’s best rooms, but it was quieter because it overlooked back yards and there was a tiny balcony which was nice for Waterloo.
He came to meet her now and she picked him up and laid him on her shoulder while he purred in her ear, delighted to have her back. Caroline sat down on the divan which did duty as a bed at night and looked around her.
The room was small and rather dark and seemed even more so after the Professor’s spacious home; she had done the best she could with pretty curtains and cushions and a patchwork cover for the divan, but nothing could quite disguise the cheap furniture or the sink in one corner with the tiny gas cooker beside it. Caro, not given to being sorry for herself, felt a lump in her throat; it was all such a cruel contrast… She missed them all, the Professor, even though he didn’t like her, Noakes and Marta, Juffrouw Kropp… She had been utterly spoilt, waited on hand and foot, and she, who had never been spoilt, had loved it. Right up until the moment she had gone on board, too, with Noakes seeing to her bag and getting her magazines to read and having a word with someone or other so that she had a super cabin to herself and a delicious meal before she had gone to bed. She had tried to pay him, but he had said very firmly that the Professor would deal with that later. Caroline had hoped that although he had said goodbye to her, she would have seen the Professor again before she left, but he had left the house after breakfast and wasn’t back when she went away, with the entire staff gathered at the door to see her off.

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