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An Apple from Eve
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.Considering that she didn’t really like him very much, Doctor Tane ban Diederijk did seem to crop up in Euphemia’s life rather a lot. Perhaps she was being a bit unfair to him – she hadn’t wanted to let her family home to anyone, so she was bound to prejudiced about him living there instead of her.But then he asked her to go to Spain to act as companion to his fiancée Diana – and Euphemia’s dislike grew. How could the doctor be so stupid as to see anything in such a spiteful girl as Diana, let alone want to marry her? If only she could see the back of both of them!









“Is there someone you would like to marry?” Tane persisted.


Euphemia wandered on a few paces and examined a charming group of miniature roses. If she said yes, he would want to know who, and if she said no, that would be a lie, and she found she couldn’t tell him lies easily. “Your roses are really magnificent,” she observed.

He laughed. “Put in my place, am I? Do I know him?”

She didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m not going to answer that either.”

The doctor took his hand from her arm and flung an arm around her shoulders. “I can’t think why you object so strongly—after all, I have an interest in you. You’re my landlady, and this man, whoever he is, might decide to buy the house, and then where should I be?”

She said earnestly, “I can promise you that won’t happen,” and then, forgetting everything else but his comfortable presence, she added, “He won’t ever marry me. He’s…he’s…”

“Ah, the eternal triangle.” His voice was soothing and just sufficiently impersonal, although there was a glint of laughter in his eyes. “But take heart, Phemie, there is nearly always a way out.”


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.




An Apple from Eve

Betty Neels










CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE




CHAPTER ONE


IT HAD STARTED to rain fiercely and suddenly after a long dry, hot day, and the girl at the wheel of the elderly Morris 1000 halted cautiously at the traffic lights in the middle of Chiswick, listening anxiously to the puffs and wheezing of the engine—a good car on the open road, she thought loyally, but a bit of a problem in city traffic. The lights had been red for a long time; she glanced sideways at a bus drawn in close to her left and then looked to her right: a steel grey Bentley within inches of her, its driver staring ahead of him, showing her a handsome profile with an arrogant nose and a high forehead. She judged him to be a large man, although it was difficult to know that from where she was. She amused herself guessing his age; thirty-five? Forty? Younger than that perhaps, his hair was so fair that it could have been silver. He turned his head suddenly and she was disconcerted by his cold blue stare; one didn’t expect complete strangers to smile at one, but neither did one expect a look of glacial dislike. She restrained herself with difficulty from the childish impulse to make a face at him, to be rendered speechless with rage as a long arm in a beautifully tailored sleeve stretched across and tapped her indicator.

‘Unless you intend suicide, I suggest that you put that thing in.’ His voice was as cold as his look and before she could say a word, the lights had changed and the Bentley had slipped away, out of sight in the thick traffic within seconds.

It seemed to Euphemia that she would never reach the M3, and when she did the turning to Chobham was endless miles away. She heaved a sigh of relief when she turned off at last to go through Chobham and then take the narrow road to her home, Hampton-cum-Spyway was a very small village, tucked away in a valley, with an outsize church, a cluster of picturesque cottages and a scattering of comfortably sized old houses. She went slowly down the short street, past the butchers, the baker and the post office and general stores, and drove round the village green, glimpsing old Dr Bell’s car in front of her home as she turned into the gateway at the side of the house, its gate propped open for so many years now that it no longer fulfilled its function, and stopped in front of the garage.

She turned off the engine, got out and went under the rose arch in the hedge to the front garden, crossed the unkempt lawn and opened the front door. The house was charming; wisteria hung over it like a purple waterfall, almost hiding the roses sharing the walls with it, hiding too the shabby state of the paintwork. The door was solid oak studded with nails and opened into a pleasant hall. The girl went in, dropping her handbag on to a side table, stepped over a hole in the carpet with the air of one who had done it many times before, and ran upstairs two at a time.

The landing was spacious with several doors and a number of narrow passages leading in all directions. She went straight to a door at the front of the house and went in.

It was a large room, dominated by a fourposter bed and a good deal of dark oak furniture. Her father lay on the bed, his face ashen against the pillows, Dr Bell stood at the foot, Ellen, her younger sister, was standing behind him, not looking. There was a fourth person in the room bending over her father, who straightened up as she went to the bed. The driver of the Bentley.

Euphemia took her father’s limp hand and smiled at him, not speaking, and it was Dr Bell who broke the silence. ‘Euphemia, my dear—I’m glad you could come so quickly. A colleague of mine at St Cyprian’s advised me to call in Dr van Diederijk as consultant. He’s a heart specialist of international reputation.’ He turned to the giant of a man standing by the bed. ‘This is Euphemia Blackstock, the eldest of the Colonel’s children.’

The doctor nodded and said how do you do in a politely disinterested voice. ‘Can we talk somewhere?’ he asked. ‘The Colonel’s daughters could perhaps stay with him…?’

Ellen had gone to stand by Euphemia. She was a pretty girl, fair and blue-eyed and with an air of helplessness, in direct contrast to her sister, for Euphemia was above middle height, on the plump side, with rich dark brown hair and tawny eyes and an exquisite nose above a soft too wide mouth. The mouth became surprisingly firm now. ‘I should like to know what you decide,’ she addressed Dr van Diederijk in a quiet voice that expected an answer.

He raised pale eyebrows. ‘Of course, Miss Blackstock. You are a nurse, I believe?’ Somehow he managed to convey astonishment at that fact.

‘Yes.’ He might be an eminent heart specialist, but she began to wonder if he had a heart himself. Reassurance and a little kindliness would have been acceptable; she had had Ellen’s frightened, garbled message while she was on duty and she had driven home as fast as she could, full of forebodings. They were a close-knit family, more so since her mother had died a year previously, and they all loved their fiery-tempered, tough parent. To see him laid low on his bed had terrified Euphemia, although she hadn’t allowed it to show. She wondered now if her father had been holding out on them, knowing that there was something wrong and not telling them.

She followed the two men out of the room and ignoring the consultant’s cool annoyance, addressed herself to Dr Bell.

‘Did Father know that he was ill? Was this unexpected? And if it wasn’t why wasn’t I told?’

‘He expressly forbade me to mention it, Euphemia.’ Dr Bell looked uncomfortable. ‘A question of valves,’ he went on. ‘I suggested that he might put himself in the hands of a surgeon some months ago, but he wouldn’t hear of it, and now it’s become imperative.’

‘He could recover if they operate?’

‘That’s for Dr van Diederijk to say.’

She turned to the silent man watching her. ‘You’re not a surgeon?’

‘No, a physician.’

‘So it’s your advice which will decide whether surgery will give my father a chance.’

He nodded his splendid head. ‘That is so.’ He added softly: ‘And now if Dr Bell and I might go somewhere undisturbed…’

She hated him; cold, arrogant, rude, self-important…she had quite a list of adjectives by the time she was back in her father’s room.

Ellen was standing forlornly looking out of the window, and Euphemia gave her a loving understanding glance as she went to the bed. Ellen had always been the baby, even though both the boys were younger than she; she hated violence and sickness, and bad temper, and Euphemia had tried to shield her from all these. It hadn’t been too difficult, because Ellen had been the one to stay at home and run the house with the help of Mrs Cross who came in to oblige every day. She would have to send for the boys, thought Euphemia—just in case…

She sat down by the bed and took her father’s hand again. He was too ill to talk and she made no effort to speak, sensing that peace and quiet was what he wanted. Presently she said softly to Ellen: ‘Go down and make coffee, will you, darling? Those two men will want something.’

It was quite some time later when Dr Bell came back and beckoned her from the door. ‘Dr van Diederijk has gone up to St Jude’s—he intends to discuss your father’s case with a surgeon there. He’s made his decision, but he prefers to say nothing more until he’s talked to Mr Crisp.’

‘And you?’ she asked a little sharply. ‘Aren’t you going to tell me anything either?’

‘We must have patience, my dear,’ said Dr Bell kindly, ‘it’s an important thing to everyone concerned.’

‘When shall we know?’

Dr Bell looked awkward and she wondered why. ‘At the latest tomorrow morning. Have you told the boys?’

‘I’m about to telephone them.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘It’s almost five o’clock: If I ring Stowe now they can put them on a train as soon as possible and they could be home this evening—late this evening.’ She frowned a little. ‘Tomorrow morning wouldn’t be a better idea?’ She looked past the old man. ‘Father’s very ill, I can see that for myself, but if they do a valve replacement…’

Dr Bell muttered something in a soothing voice. ‘Travelling will be easier for them this evening—the trains are always crowded in the morning and taxis are harder to get.’

She supposed he was right, but she was too worried and unhappy to think about it. She telephoned the boys’ school and was assured that they would be sent home at once. She went to find Ellen, sent her to the kitchen to coax Mrs Cross to stay a bit later and get a meal ready, then went herself to her father’s room where Dr Bell was standing by his patient’s bed. ‘I have evening surgery,’ he told her, ‘but I’ll come the moment you want me. I’m afraid there’s nothing much we can do until we have the consultants’ opinions.’

Euphemia drew up a chair and sat down beside her father, sleeping peacefully, a drugged sleep, but she was thankful for it; he wasn’t a man to bear with illness and she couldn’t have borne to have seen him lying there worrying about himself. Presently Ellen came in with a supper tray.

‘I’ll take over when you say so,’ she whispered, but, Euphemia shook her head.

‘I’m not tired, you stay downstairs and make sure everything is ready for the boys. Oh, and be a dear and ring St Cyprian’s and tell them that I can’t come back tonight—explain, will you? I’ll telephone them in the morning.’

Dr Bell came again much later. The Colonel was still unconscious and beyond taking his pulse he did nothing.

‘Shouldn’t he go to hospital?’ asked Euphemia urgently.

‘Dr van Deiderijk thinks it unwise to move him for the moment.’

She looked at the kind elderly face she had known for all of twenty years. ‘If you say so…’ She sighed. ‘If you hear anything from that man you’ll let me know at once—won’t you?’

‘Of course. You don’t like him, my dear?’

‘No,’ said Euphemia flatly.

The boys got home late that night and in the early hours of the morning her father died. Euphemia, sitting with him, didn’t call them from their beds; there was no point in doing so. Dr Bell came in answer to her telephone call, and surprisingly, Dr van Diederijk came with him. It was almost five o’clock now and a pearly morning that promised to be a warm day, and beside Dr Bell’s hastily dragged on clothes, the Dutchman’s appearance suggested that he had been up, freshly shaved, and immaculately dressed after a long restful night.

Euphemia greeted them with a face stony with fiercely held back grief. It was later, downstairs in the shabby sitting-room, that she asked:

‘Was it your decision not to admit my father to hospital, Dr van Diederijk?’

He was standing before the fireplace, his hands in his pockets.

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’ She took a breath and went on in a rush: ‘You took away his only chance! What right had you to do that—he might be alive now if you’d advised operation…’

‘Alive, yes, if you can call it living to be attached to monitoring machines and drips and ECGs. Your father was an intelligent man, he would have been only too aware that he was being kept alive but with no hope of leading a normal life again. It would have been a matter of days only—can you imagine what that would have meant to him? You must know in your heart that I made the right decision—he had been ill for a long time, I understand—far too long for a replacement to be satisfactory. Besides, he wasn’t a young man any more…’

‘Then why wasn’t I told?’ Her voice shook with rage and grief.

‘I have it from Dr Bell that he didn’t wish you to be told.’ He looked at the other man, who nodded.

Euphemia turned her back on them both so that they shouldn’t see the tears. In a moment when she had control of her voice she said: ‘If I’d known, I could have stayed at home and nursed him.’

‘For that very reason he wished nothing to be said. I must say that I can understand his wishes; you must try and understand too.’

She spun round to face him. ‘Well, I don’t, but then I’m not made of ice…he was my father, you know—and even if he weren’t I wouldn’t be so cold-blooded about it as you are!’

She rushed out of the room, brushing past him, one small corner of her numbed brain aware of the faint whiff of expensive aftershave as she did so. She went to the kitchen, made herself a pot of tea, had a hearty cry and pulled herself together. It was all of twenty minutes by the time she had made her way back to the shabby, comfortable sitting-room. The two men were there, waiting patiently, and she asked them in a wooden voice if they would like coffee. She looked a fright by now, her beautiful nose red with weeping, her eyelids swollen, but she really didn’t care. When they refused, she enquired politely if there was anything else to be done, and when Dr Bell told her that he would make all the necessary arrangements, accompanied them to the door and bade them good morning, remarking on the beauty of the day as she did so. Dr Bell patted her shoulder, said he’d be back later and made for his car, while Dr van Diederijk paused on the doorstep. ‘Give yourself a double whisky and go and lie down for a couple of hours,’ he advised her. ‘It will help you to get through the day.’

She didn’t answer him, only gave him a cold glance and went indoors. All the same, she did as he had said. The whisky went straight to her head; she prudently set the alarm for eight o’clock and got on to her bed and fell instantly asleep.

The man was right, she had to admit later. She awoke refreshed and clear-headed, able to tackle the day ahead of her, full of so many problems. It was at the end of it that she began to think about the future. The boys would be all right; their school fees would be covered by a fund their father had set up for them years ago. She herself would be able to keep herself easily enough, but Ellen was a different matter. She couldn’t remain at home by herself, but on the other hand she had had no particular training. Euphemia frowned over the problem and then decided to ask Mr Fish their solicitor’s advice.

She had only the vaguest notion of her father’s income; there had never been much money and the house had grown shabby with the years, but he had lived comfortably and money had been something he had never discussed with her. She dismissed the matter and set herself to writing to various relations and friends. The boys she had sent to stay with friends close by for a couple of days and Ellen was of no use at all, declaring that she couldn’t possibly think of anything except her father’s death. Euphemia had comforted her gently and sent her to bed early, staying up late herself, writing her letters until, quite worn out, she went to bed herself.

She got through the following days with outward calm. She was a girl with plenty of common sense, and it stood her in good stead now. She loved her father and she grieved for him, but life had to go on. He would have been the first to remind her of that.

Aunts, uncles and cousins she barely knew came to the funeral, and when Aunt Thea, a mild-looking middle-aged lady with a deplorable taste in hats, suggested with genuine eagerness that Ellen should go back to Middle Wallop with her for a long visit, Euphemia thanked heaven silently for settling one of her most pressing problems. The boys were going back to school on the following day and she would return to the Men’s Medical ward at St Cyprian’s on the day after that. There only remained the reading of her father’s will, and that would hold no surprises.

She couldn’t have been more mistaken. Sitting in the small room the Colonel had used as his study, watching Mr Fish gather together his papers after the will had been read, Euphemia tried to take it all in and failed. She hadn’t expected there would be much money, but she had never guessed at debts, still less that the house—their loved home—was mortgaged and would have to be sold. Mr Fish had been adamant about that; either she must lay her hands on the very considerable sum the house was worth, or sell it and pay off the mortgage. People, said Mr Fish in his dry, elderly voice, tended to be businesslike about such things. The fact that they were rendering someone homeless was secondary to their instinct for good business.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,’ Euphemia promised her brothers and sister. ‘No one’s going to do anything for a month at least, there’s plenty of time to fix something up.’ She spoke so cheerfully that they actually believed her.

‘Uncle Tom—would he lend us the money?’ asked Ellen hopefully, and, ‘Cousin Fred drove here in a socking great Jag,’ observed Nicky, the elder of her brothers.

‘But he’s getting married,’ Billy, the youngest, chimed in, and added with all the wisdom of twelve years, ‘He’ll need all his money.’

Euphemia swept them all to their feet. ‘Well, we’re not going to worry about it now, Father wouldn’t have liked it. Ellen, shouldn’t you go and pack, and you two, put out what you need and I’ll pop up presently.’

She went back to the drawing-room where the last of the family were bidding each other goodbye. They met seldom, only at christenings or weddings or funerals, when they enjoyed a good gossip. Dr Bell was still there too. Euphemia whispered: ‘I want to speak to you,’ as she went past him, and when the last of her relatives, barring Aunt Thea who had gone to help Ellen pack, had disappeared through the open gate, she turned to him.

‘Dr Bell, I want your advice. Father has left some debts—not many, but they must be paid, and the house is mortgaged. Mr Fish says we must sell it, but…well, it’s our home. There must be another way of getting the money, only I can’t think of it at the moment.’

He beamed at her, pleased that he could help. ‘There is another way—at least, you can postpone selling the house for a time. Find a tenant, and let it furnished. I believe that might bring in enough to pay the instalments on the mortgage. I’m not going to say it’s the right answer, but it would give you a breathing space, and who knows, something may happen…’

‘You mean win a prize from Ernie or marry a millionaire?’ She beamed at him. ‘Dr Bell, you’re an angel! That’s what I’ll do. How do I start? Advertise? And how much rent should I ask?’ She faltered for a moment. ‘If only Father…’ She blinked back tears and smiled again, a shaky, lopsided smile this time. ‘Bless you for thinking of it, Dr Bell.’

He patted her arm. ‘As I said, it may serve its purpose for a breathing space while you all get adjusted. I’ll ask around—I meet a good many people, someone somewhere will be looking for just such a place as this.’

Ellen and Aunt Thea joined them then and when they had driven off, Ellen tearful but happy to have her immediate future settled for her, Euphemia bade the doctor goodbye and went up to the boys’ room to help them pack. The house seemed very quiet and empty, and would be even more so presently when they had gone. She got out the car and drove them to the station and stood waving until the train was out of sight.

It was getting dark when she got back to the house, with an overcast sky and the threat of thunder. She made herself a pot of tea and ate some of the leftover sandwiches, then went along to her father’s study to start sorting out the papers in his desk. Her sadness had gone beyond tears; she felt numb, anxious to get as much done as possible before she went back to the hospital in the morning. She worked until late into the night and then wandered through the nice old house, wondering if she would be able to let it at a good rent, whether she would ever have the chance to pay off the mortgage; it was for a frighteningly large amount. She was still doing sums in her head when she fell asleep in the pretty bedroom she had had since she was a small girl.

She had been dreading returning to the hospital. She had a great many friends there; she had done her training with most of them, worked her way up the ladder of promotion until she had been offered Men’s Medical two years previously, and now at the age of twenty-seven, she had a safe future before her. Not that she wished to remain a nurse for ever; she wanted to marry, preferably a man with enough money to support her in comfort somewhere in the country—a garden, she had daydreamed idly from time to time, with a donkey and dogs and children to play in it. But none of these things would be of any use unless she loved him and he loved her.

Driving to work through the early morning she realised that her vague dreams would have to go by the board for the present. Ellen had to be thought of, and the boys. No man in his right mind would be prepared to take on a whole family, and even if she succeeded in finding someone to rent their home she would have to go on working. She could see no chance of ever paying the mortgage off, but with each year of instalments paid, there was the chance that something might happen. She turned the car into the hospital forecourt and parked neatly. As she crossed to the swing doors she decided that Ellen would probably marry someone rich who would want to live in the house and thus keep it in the family—a childish notion but comforting none the less.

Everyone was very kind to her. The Senior Nursing Officer, a tart middle-aged lady who seldom had a kind word for anyone, was surprisingly sympathetic, and Euphemia’s own friends lingered on their way to their wards to offer their sympathy. And once on her own ward, her nurses, who liked her because she was sensible and fair and kind as well as very pretty, made it their business to murmur conventional stilted phrases. It was the tray of tea on her desk and the vase of flowers beside it that touched her; they might not have known quite what to say to her, but the tea spoke volumes.

And the patients knew all about it too, all of them, from crabby old Mr Crouch, who disliked everyone on principle, to Dicky, the boy with a heart condition, six feet tall but with the mind of a four-year-old. As she did her morning round, Euphemia received sympathy from each one of the twenty-four beds’ occupants.

She had been prepared for it, but she found that by the end of the day she was worn out. She went off duty finally, made tea; had a long hot bath and went along to telephone Ellen, who it seemed had settled in nicely, although grieving in her gentle way and anxious to know what was to be done about their home. Euphemia reassured her firmly and went back to her room to write to the boys. By the time she had done that she was tired; another pot of tea with her friends coming off their evening duty, and she was ready for bed. She hadn’t expected to sleep, but she did.

Sir Richard Blake, doing his weekly round the next morning, had something to say too. He considered her a sensible girl, with no nonsense about her, and he had been acquainted with the Colonel. He swept round the ward barking questions at the students trailing behind him, leaving them limp at the ward doors when he had finished, although his patients, to whom he showed nothing but benevolence, regretted to see him go. But he didn’t leave immediately. Euphemia, bidding him good morning and speeding him on his way with a polite ‘Thank you, sir,’ was surprised when he marched into her office with a brusque: ‘A minute of your time, Sister.’

She followed him in and closed the door, trying hard to remember if she had done anything awful since his last round.

‘Sorry to hear about your father.’ The brusqueness hid sympathy. ‘He was a splendid man.’ Sir Richard went over to the window and stood with his back to her, looking out at the dreary side street it over-looked. ‘Dr Bell mentioned that you were thinking of letting the house for a while—seems a good idea—very nice place you’ve got there, ideal for someone who wants peace and quiet. As a mater of fact I’ve mentioned it to someone, he’ll probably get in touch…’

Euphemia addressed the elderly back, aware that Sir Richard was feeling uncomfortable and probably afraid that she might burst into tears.

‘That’s very kind of you, sir, and I’m very grateful. It seems the best thing to do until we’ve had time to discuss things…’ She wasn’t going to tell him that it was in fact the only thing to do. ‘I think Father would have approved—there’s no one to run the house at present and it would be a shame for it to stay empty.’

Her companion went to the door. ‘You’re probably right. You’re a sensible young woman.’ He coughed. ‘No use being sentimental, glad to see you taking it so well.’ He opened the door. ‘I’ll be half an hour later for next week’s round, by the way.’

Euphemia went and sat at her desk, for the moment oblivious of the ward just outside the door.

He had believed her, she thought; no one need know that there wasn’t a penny piece in the family kitty and that the house was mortgaged up to the chimeypots. For the first time since her father’s death she felt cheerful. They would all miss their home abominably, but they were all young; Ellen was barely twenty and would certainly marry and the boys—well, their education at least was safe, and Nicky would go into the Army, probably Billy would too. As for herself… A knock on the door and her staff nurse’s head poked round it stopped her brooding: old Mr Steele was a very nasty colour and would Sister take a look at him?

The days dragged, although they were busy too. She had deliberately changed her days off so that she could work, but now she was free for two days, and just as deliberately she had arranged to go and see Ellen on the first of them and then spend the night at home before embarking on the task of packing up their personal possessions. She had heard no more about a possible tenant; she would have to go to a house agent and put it in their hands.

She was sitting in her office making out the Kardex before she went off duty when one of the student nurses knocked on the door, said: ‘There’s someone to see you, Sister,’ and went away again. Euphemia, head bowed over her report, muttered: ‘OK—who is it?’ and then looked up blankly at Dr van Diederijk’s suave voice: ‘You will forgive me, Sister, but we have an urgent matter to discuss and I am a busy man.’

‘I’m quite busy too,’ observed Euphemia promptly, ‘and I’m going off duty at any minute now.’

This contradictory remark caused him to smile thinly, but he didn’t waste words on it. ‘I should like to rent your house; I hear from Sir Richard Blake that you propose to let it for a period. If you will let me have the name of your solicitor and the rent you are asking the matter should be settled without delay.’

She reviewed mixed feelings. Relief that here was a chance to rent the house quickly and offer respite from the foreclosure of the mortgage, surprise at seeing the man again, and a deep annoyance that it should be he who wanted to live in her home. ‘Why the hurry?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

He gave her an impatient look. ‘It is hardly your business, is it? But since you are curious enough to ask…I come very frequently to London; I am a consultant in several hospitals here and I need somewhere quiet to live. Does that satisfy you?’

Euphemia said sweetly: ‘If it satisfies my solicitor, it will satisfy me.’

‘What rent had you in mind?’

She stared at him silently; she had no idea. After a few moments she said so, and seethed at the thin smile he gave her. ‘Perhaps that should be left for your solicitor to decide?’ he suggested. ‘I had thought…’ He named a sum which made her catch her breath—more than enough to cover the mortgage repayments; almost twice as much as she had hoped to get.

She said sharply: ‘Isn’t that a great deal too much?’ and got another mocking smile.

‘You may be an excellent nurse, Miss Blackstock, but I fear you are no business woman. Your house is worth that amount to me and I think that your solicitor will not dispute that.’

‘But you said you weren’t going to live there all the time?’

‘My home is in Holland, nevertheless I prefer to have a second home here, at least for the foreseeable future. I intend to marry shortly and it will be convenient—I can hardly expect my wife to live in hotels.’

She was diverted by the idea of him marrying; he wasn’t all that young—late thirties, she judged, perhaps younger, it was difficult to tell. She had thought of him as married and had felt vaguely sorry for his wife. She wondered what his fiancée was like, tall and slim and ethereal and as cool as he was, probably… She was recalled to her surroundings by his voice, impatient again. ‘I take it that you have no objection if I view the house.’

‘None at all.’

‘Then may I come tomorrow? In the afternoon, if possible, and it would be convenient if you were there, so that any small problems could be dealt with at once.’

‘It’s my day off…’

‘I know.’ His tone implied that she had made a silly remark.

It would be lovely, she thought, to tell him that she had changed her mind and wasn’t going to rent her home after all. She dismissed the idea immediately; it didn’t really matter who lived there, just as long as her home remained in the family. She said quietly: ‘Very well, Doctor, would three o’clock suit you?’

He went then, after a brief goodbye. The little room seemed very empty, but then he was such a very large man.




CHAPTER TWO


EUPHEMIA MADE short work of the Kardex, handed over to Sue Baker, her staff nurse, and hurried off duty. She would have to change her plans; she would go home straight away, polish, dust and Hoover and arrange a vase or two of flowers. She supposed she would have to give Dr van Diederijk tea; that would mean cleaning the silver tea service and getting out the china tea things they only used on great occasions. Well, it was hardly a great occasion, she argued to herself as she flung off her uniform, but she had no intention of allowing even the faintest whiff of poverty to reach the doctor’s splendid nose.

She got into a cotton dress and packed the expensive cotton jersey she had bought only last month and then rummaged in her cupboard to find the sandals that went with it, her mind busy with the chores which lay ahead of her. She must ring Ellen before she left the hospital and put off seeing her until the following day, and if there was enough of everything in the larder, she might make some little cakes for tea.

She toyed with the idea of bribing Mrs Cross to come over and serve it, but perhaps that would be a bit obvious—one could try too hard.

Polishing the hall table a couple of hours later, she found herself glad to have so much to do. She had been dreading coming home to a house without her father, but she had had no time to sit and broad. The nice old place had a neglected air with no one living in it, already it was beginning to come alive again, although there was still a good deal to be done. Euphemia had opened all the windows the moment she got in and Hoovered like mad because she had the feeling that he was the kind of man to ask her, ever so politely, to open this or that door so that he might see what was behind it. There were several bedrooms which hadn’t been used for months, so she raced around making them presentable with counterpanes and a brisk dusting. Several of the cupboards were stuffed with the boys’ things, too, as well as Ellen’s and her last year’s clothes, but these she decided, he would have to accept; they could be cleared out later.

She went to bed late after a sketchy supper and was up betimes, arranging flowers, polishing once more, turning the shabby rugs to hide the threadbare patches. Breakfast was as sketchy as her supper had been because she still had the cakes to make. She finished her housework, spent half an hour searching for the back door key, which no one had ever bothered about, and went to the kitchen to do her baking. There was time to make a fruit cake too and everything she needed to make it with. With everything safely in the oven she went upstairs, changed into the pale green jersey and the sandals, did her hair in a rather careless knot at the back of her head, made up her pretty face and went downstairs once more. The little cakes were done, and very nice they looked too. Euphemia made herself some coffee while she waited for the fruit cake to bake to perfection, arranged it on the Spode china plate, and walked across the green to the pub, where she ate fish and chips in the basket with a splendid appetite before going back to put the final touches to the tea tray.

She had planned to be in the garden, sitting at her ease with a book, when the doctor arrived, but she was doing her face once again when he thumped the knocker. He was early—wanting to catch her out, she thought crossly as she raced downstairs to open the door, so that her ‘Good afternoon, Dr van Diederijk’ was coldly said.

‘I’m early,’ his eyes searched her face, ‘and you’re annoyed about it. Would you like me to go away for half an hour?’

She pinkened with embarrassment. ‘No, of course not—it doesn’t matter in the least. Please come in,’ and because she felt guilty of bad manners she pointed out the torn carpet in a kindly way.

He stepped over the hole neatly. ‘I had noticed it,’ he told her. ‘A good carpet too—a Moorfields, isn’t it? You could have it repaired.’

She didn’t choose to answer this; anything could be repaired provided there was the money to pay for it. She asked haughtily: ‘Where would you like to start?’

He didn’t answer her at once but crossed the hall to take a leisurely look at the portrait hanging on the father wall. It had been done years previously as a surprise Christmas present for her father—her mother, Ellen, the boys and herself, painted in a charming group against the background of the oak-panelled wall in the sitting room.

The doctor said, to surprise her: ‘I hope you will leave that—it belongs to the house, doesn’t it?’

‘Well, if you don’t mind, I will—I haven’t anywhere to hang it…’

He turned to look at her. ‘I understand from Sir Richard that your sister will be living with an aunt—do you intend to do the same?’

It really wasn’t any business of his, but if she annoyed him he might not rent the house from her. ‘No, I shall stay at the hospital,’ and to forestall the next question: ‘The boys will go to my aunt for their holidays.’ She opened the drawing-room door, because that was the grandest room in the house even if shabby. She had polished and dusted and put flowers in the vases and it looked charming and welcoming too. The doctor wandered in and strolled around, asking none of the questions she had expected. ‘It’s an open fire,’ she pointed out unnecessarily, ‘and there’s a radiator under the end window—the central heating isn’t very modern, but it works.’

He nodded, went past her and opened the door on to the garden. He stood on the patio outside, still not speaking, and her heart sank. The garden was large, hedged with beech, its flower beds a riot of colour; it was also unkempt, its grass too long, weeds everywhere. Euphemia said quickly: ‘The garden will be tidied up before you—that is—if you take the house.’

‘Did I not make it plain that I would rent it from you?’ He gave her a cool enquiring look. ‘I will arrange for a gardener. Is there anyone who will housekeep? Perhaps you know of a good woman?’

‘There’s Mrs Cross, she came in each day while my…she’s a widow and lives just across the green, she’s got a sister who lives close by—she came in to help with spring-cleaning. I daresay she might work for you as well—it’s a large house for one, although I don’t suppose you’ll be using all the rooms.’

He wasn’t going to answer that either, but turned from the door. ‘Perhaps we might look at them?’

She showed him the sitting-room, shabbier than any other room in the house because they had all used it whenever they were at home, and then her father’s study and lastly the morning-room which was in fact a repository for fishing rods, tennis racquets, an elderly sewing machine and a catholic selection of books on the shelves which ran along one wall.

‘I shall clear all this away,’ said Euphemia, and he nodded.

The kitchen with the pantry beyond, a stillroom and what had once been the game larder was inspected quickly; he merely stood in the middle of the floor and observed: ‘If Mrs Cross is satisfied with this, I need not bother too much. Upstairs?’

She led him up the staircase and in and out of the bedrooms, most of them agreeably roomy, the smaller ones at the back of the house making up for their lack of size by their plain washed walls and plaster cornices. They were sparsely furnished, but what there was was old and graceful and, thanks to Euphemia’s hard work, beautifully polished.

Back on the main landing again, the doctor spoke. ‘Two bathrooms, you said?’

It sounded quite inadequate in a house of that size. ‘There’s a shower in the bathroom at the front of the house,’ offered Euphemia, unaware how anxious her voice sounded.

He agreed smoothly. ‘You have no objection to me having another shower put in—there’s a small dressing room adjoining this room…’ He strode across and opened a door and when she followed meekly: ‘At my expense, of course.’

‘If you want one,’ she conceded. Why a man living alone should need two bathrooms and two showers was beyond her, even if this fiancée of his came visiting, unless she was the kind of girl who brought Mum with her…she very nearly giggled and he threw her an enquiring glance. ‘You are amused?’ he wanted to know.

‘No, no, of course not. Is there anywhere else you would like to go? Then perhaps you would like a cup of tea?’

‘Thank you, that would be welcome. I’ll get in touch with my solicitor tomorrow and you will be hearing from yours shortly. I should like to move in within the next ten days.’

Euphemia’s mind boggled at the amount of packing up to be done in that time. She would have to get Ellen to help her and perhaps Mrs Cross, and as though he had read her thoughts: ‘May I suggest that your—er—personal possessions should be stored in one of the bedrooms—it will give you a great deal less work. I should be obliged if the morning room could be cleared so that my secretary will have a room in which to work.’

‘Yes, of course. Will she live here too?’

His tone withered her. ‘What a singularly stupid question, Miss Blackstock!’

She pinkened. ‘Yes, it was,’ she agreed cheerfully. ‘So sorry, I forgot that you’re engaged.’

‘And that is equally stupid.’

‘Ah, now there you’re wrong,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘If I were going to marry you I’d take grave exception to a secretary living in the house with you.’

‘God forbid!’ He gave her a nasty mocking smile. ‘That you were going to marry me.’

Euphemia’s tawny eyes shone with rage. ‘And I’ll say amen to that,’ she told him sweetly. ‘Shall we go downstairs? If you will go into the drawing-room I’ll bring in the tea.’

She sailed into the kitchen, put the kettle on and warmed the teapot. The tea tray looked very nice—paper-thin china, the silver spoons, silver hot water jug and sugar bowl, the little cakes piled appetisingly on to Sèvres china. Euphemia bounced to the table and took one and bit into it. ‘And I hope they choke him!’ she declared in a loud cross voice.

‘In which case he won’t be able to rent the house, will he?’ enquired the doctor’s gentle voice. He was standing just inside the door, not smiling, although she had the impression that he was deeply amused about something. ‘I came to see if I could carry the tray…’

‘How kind—it’s this one.’ She ladled the tea into he pot without looking at him, and made the tea. When she looked round he had gone again with the tray.

She would have to apologise, she supposed, but in this she was frustrated, for each time she opened her mouth to do so, her companion made some remark which required a proper answer. It wasn’t long before she realised that he was doing it deliberately, keeping the conversation strictly businesslike, asking her about local tradespeople and then getting up to leave once he’d got all the answers. She accompanied him to the door and wished him a polite goodbye.

‘The little cakes were delicious,’ he told her. ‘Far too light to choke upon. Good day to you, Miss Blackstock.’

Euphemia stood in the open doorway, staring after him as he climbed into his Bentley and drove away. Part of her mind registered the fact that he did this with a calm skill and careless ease, just as though he were mounting a bicycle. ‘Oh, blow the man!’ she said under her breath, and went in to clear the tea things.

Later that evening she telephoned Aunt Thea and told her the news, and that lady, a woman of good sense, agreed that it was a splendid solution to rent the house and did Euphemia want Ellen there to help pack up?

‘That’s the doctor who came to see Father,’ said Ellen unnecessarily into the phone presently. ‘Then he must be a nice man.’

‘Why?’ asked Euphemia baldly.

‘Well, to like our house enough to want to live in it.’

A viewpoint Euphemia hadn’t considered. ‘He’s taking it for a year.’ She told her sister, ‘He wants to come in ten days’ time. Aunt Thea suggested that you might come up and help pack up our things, but there’s no need. I’ll get Mrs Cross and we can put everything in one of the bedrooms and lock the door.’

‘Oh, you mustn’t do that!’ Ellen sounded quite horrified. ‘It looks as if you don’t trust him.’

‘Rubbish,’ declared Euphemia, rather struck with the idea all the same. ‘I’m sure it’s the usual thing to do.’

‘Oh, well—’ Ellen sounded uncertain. ‘We wouldn’t want to upset him.’

‘Nothing would upset him,’ said Euphemia snappily, so that Ellen said instantly:

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to help pack up?’

‘No, love—I’ll start tomorrow and finish on my days off next week. Are you happy, Ellen?’

‘Aunt Thea is a dear, it’s funny being here after—after home and Father, but I’m happy, Phemie, really I am. Are you all right?’

‘Yes, love. I’ll telephone in a day or two.’

Euphemia spent the whole of the next day collecting up the small personal possessions of them all and it was only half done by the time she left that evening, even so the house didn’t look the same without the clutter of tennis racquets and cricket bats and Ellen’s collection of paperweights, and the pot plants she had tended so carefully. Euphemia moved them all into the greenhouse because she didn’t think that the doctor would care to have the task of watering them regularly—she must remember to ask Mrs Cross to do something about that.

The ward was busy when she got back to the hospital, too busy for her to indulge in her own private thoughts, and her free time was almost entirely taken up with visits to Mr Fish and the house agents. They were all entirely satisfactory, and she felt almost lighthearted as she drove down to Hampton-cum-Spyway for her days off.

Mrs Cross had been in her absence; the hall was freshly polished and the windows and paintwork gleamed. It was the same in the sitting-room and the drawing-room, and in the kitchen she found a note written in Mrs Cross’s spidery writing to the effect that she had done downstairs and would be back again to give upstairs the same treatment after Miss Phemie had finished packing up, and there was milk in the fridge.

Euphemia made tea, ate the doughnuts she had bought on her way home, and rolled up her sleeves. In five days the doctor would be taking up residence and there must be no trace of the family Blackstock left in the house. She worked until late, got up early in the morning and went on packing, pausing only for a quick meal at the pub and a brief visit to Mrs Cross who on the strength of her new job and, Euphemia suspected, more money, had brought a bright blue nylon overall and had her hair permed.

‘Every day ’e wants me,’ she explained. ‘Got to get ’is breakfast most mornings and cook ’im a meal at night, but ’e’s almost never ’ome for ’is lunch and I’m ter suit meself ’ow I’m ter work. Me sister Eth, she’ll come in mornings and give an ’and. Paying us ’andsome, ’e is, too.’

‘That’s very nice for you, Mrs Cross,’ said Euphemia cheerfully, and her companion made hasty to add: ‘Not but I wasn’t ’appy with you an’ yer father. I’ll miss yer…’

‘Well, yes, we’ve all had to make changes, haven’t we?’ She kept her voice steady. ‘But it’s nice that we can keep the house this way, and Dr van Diederijk seems to like it.’

‘But ’e won’t be ’ere all the time, ’e goes ’ome ter Holland quite a bit. I gets me pay whether ’e’s here or not.’

‘That’s splendid, Mrs Cross. Now, I must go—I’ve still an awful lot to do. You’ve got the back door key, haven’t you? I’ll keep mine until the doctor actually gets here just in case there’s something I’ve forgotten.’

Euphemia went back to the house and began on the boys’ rooms—the worst of the lot, what with model trains and boats and footballs all over the place. By the end of the second day she was tired out but satisfied. The house looked delightful—shabby, certainly, but the furniture was good and well polished and she had decided that somehow or other she would come down and arrange fresh flowers. Mrs Cross had offered to do it, but she tended to fling a dozen blooms into a vase and leave it at that. The roses in the garden were flowering well; she would pick the choicest. On the thought she went and gathered a bunch for herself to take back to her room; after all, the house wasn’t the doctor’s for another five days.

She managed to give herself a free evening on the day before he was due to move in, and drove herself down through a heavy summer shower to spend an hour or more gathering roses and arranging them around the house. As she made a last tour of inspection the thought struck her forcibly that now the house was no longer home. Until then, polishing and cleaning and turning out cupboards, she hadn’t allowed herself to think of that, but now she would have no right to come any more; she would have to travel down to Middle Wallop or spend her free days window shopping and going to cinemas. She came slowly out of the drawing-room, her eyes full of tears, but not bothering with them, since there was no one to see her crying, and lifted the latch of the front door. It was opened at the same time from outside and she found herself staring up into the doctor’s face.

Without giving any reason as to why he was there, he pushed her gently back into the hall and came in and shut the door. ‘This is still your home. I’ve only borrowed it for a time.’ He smiled so kindly at her that she could only gape at him, astonished that he had hit the nail on the head so unerringly. He went on matter-of-factly: ‘Is everything locked up and put away, or can we have a cup of coffee? I was on my way back from a patient of mine in Guildford and it seemed an idea to come this way. I didn’t expect to find anyone here.’ His eyes had taken in the bowl of roses on the side table. ‘Flowers,’ he observed, ‘and a wonderful smell of polish and lavender bags. Thank you, specially as you had no need to do it.’

Euphemia sniffed. ‘I wasn’t going to hand it over all dusty and—and lonely.’ She got out a hanky and blew her nose vigorously and wiped her eyes. ‘I’ll get some coffee.’

They went into the kitchen together and she made coffee for them both while he carried on a rather one-sided conversation about nothing in particular. They left the house together presently, and he gave her no chance to linger but ushered her through the door with a brisk: ‘Of course, you will be coming back, probably sooner than you think.’

Euphemia had murmured something, intent on being sensible and unsentimental about it all, then got into the Morris and driven away after bidding him goodbye in answer to his own still brisk farewell. He had been kind, she acknowledged, as she started on the drive back to the hospital, but she still didn’t like him. And why had he been there, anyway? He hadn’t told her that. She shrugged the thought aside; it didn’t matter now, in a few hours he would be living there. She wanted to cry again because she was lonely and missed her father, and picking up the threads of life and changing its pattern wouldn’t be easy.

She flung herself into her work with an energy which left her nurses breathless, and even Sir Richard, pausing at the end of his round to bid her a courteous farewell, remarked that her devotion to duty exceeded even his high standards. ‘But I daresay you are glad to be occupied,’ he observed, ‘although it must be a great relief to you to know that Dr van Diederijk is your tenant at Hampton-cum-Spyway and not some stranger.’

Euphemia clenched her teeth on the observation that he was, at any rate to her, a complete stranger. She agreed politely and sped the great man on his way to the Women’s Medical. But it was a relief all the same when the cheque for the handsome sum Dr van Diederijk was paying every month arrived by the next day’s post. She paid it into the bank with instructions that the mortgage was to be paid each month. There was still a little money over: holidays, she decided, clothes for the boys, and perhaps it would pay for some sort of training for Ellen, only she wasn’t sure what. Of course, Ellen might marry. She had had a number of boyfriends, although Euphemia didn’t think that she was serious about any of them; all the same it was a very likely possibility.

Euphemia stopped thinking about Ellen for a moment and thought about herself. Matthew Patterson, whose parents lived on the other side of the green, had asked her to marry him several times, but she had refused him on each occasion; his eyes were too close together, she considered, and he had a nasty temper. And there was Terry Walker too, Senior Medical Registrar, who had proposed, rather lightheartedly, she had to admit—besides, she had the lowering feeling that when he discovered her father had left them all without a penny, he wouldn’t be as keen as he made out. Miss Blackstock, with a highly respected colonel for a father and a supposedly comfortable portion of his worldly goods to come her way sooner or later, was a rather different kettle of fish from Miss Blackstock with nothing at all. But it was hardly fair to think about herself; it was the boys who mattered. The house would have gone to Nicky and she must at all costs try and save it for him. The sums she had scribbled on the backs of envelopes and scraps of paper weren’t encouraging; the mortgage would take fifteen years to pay off, which would be about right for Nicky but would leave her, at the ripe age of forty-two, exactly where she was now…

It was almost a week later when she received a brief note from Dr van Diederijk inviting her to join himself and a few friends for drinks at her old home. In four days’ time, he had written in a rather sprawling hand, and underlined the date and the time. She read it several times and then put it down on her desk as Terry Walker walked in.

He was a good-looking youngish man, ambitious and good at his work but not over-liked by his colleagues. He smiled at her now in a rather guarded manner and asked: ‘What’s this I hear about you renting your house? Surely you’ll need to keep it open for the boys and your sister?’ And when she didn’t answer at once: ‘You didn’t have to rent it, did you?’ He gave her a sharp look and although she hadn’t meant to tell him anything she changed her mind now.

‘Yes, we did. The house is mortgaged.’

He looked so surprised that she felt quite sorry for him. ‘You mean you’ve no money?’ At her cold stare he added hastily: ‘What I mean is, how about the boys—their education?’

‘That’s safe enough.’ She saw the embarrassment on his face and felt sorry for him—after all, he had been home with her once or twice and he must have got the impression that her background was comfortable and solid. To lighten the atmosphere she picked up the letter. ‘I’ve had an invitation to have drinks in my own home, don’t you think that was nice of Dr van Diederijk?’

Terry read it quickly. ‘Good lord, you’re not going? Can’t you see he’s only being polite? I don’t imagine for one moment he expects you to go. He couldn’t do less than ask you, of course, knowing that you won’t accept.’

Euphemia kept her eyes on the desk, which was a good thing, because they glittered like topazes. She said softly: ‘No, of course not,’ a remark which could have meant a lot or nothing at all. As she got up to accompany Terry on his round, she was already planning what she should wear.

She took care to get to Hampton-cum-Spyway a little late. The last thing she wanted was a tête-à-tête with her host, and she had timed it well. There were a number of cars strung out around the green and lights in all the downstairs windows. As she rang the bell she could hear the discreet hum of conversation coming from the drawing-room.

Mrs Cross opened the door, wearing the blue overall and looking important. ‘Oh, it’s you, Miss Euphemia—you could have walked in—it’s your ’ouse.’ She smiled briefly. ‘I’m ever so busy.’

‘I’m sure you are,’ agreed Euphemia, ‘but I couldn’t really walk in, now could I?’ She went to the mirror above the wall table and tucked away a strand of hair. She had taken pains to make the most of herself and the dress she was wearing, while not new, was an expensive one her father had given her on her last birthday; finely pleated chiffon over a silk slip, very simply cut, its blues and greens and tawny shades making the most of her eyes.

‘And very nice, too,’ commented Dr van Diederijk from the drawing-room door. ‘I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming.’

She held out her hand. ‘There was a good deal of traffic…’ She gave him a social smile and was annoyed to see that he was looking amused, but he replied gravely enough: ‘It was good of you to come.’

They crossed the hall together. ‘Well, I was curious,’ she told him frankly, and was put out at his bland: ‘Yes, I thought you might be.’

The drawing-room was full. At first glance Euphemia was reassured to see a number of faces she already knew, but there were an equal number of people she had never seen before. Dr van Diederijk touched her arm lightly and introduced her to a small group of people, several of whom she knew slightly, waited long enough to see that she had a glass of sherry and then moved away. She exchanged small talk for ten minutes or so and then, catching sight of Dr Bell, excused herself and made her way over to him.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know half these people.’ She took another sherry from a passing waiter and took an appreciative sip, quite forgetting that she’d missed her tea and supper was unlikely.

‘You’re all right, my dear?’ asked Dr Bell kindly.

Euphemia smiled a little tremulously because his sympathy was real and she had grown tired of presenting a calm face to so many people who had asked the same question without really wanting to know. ‘Yes, we’re managing. It’ll get better, won’t it? Just at first… Ellen’s settled down very well, I’m going down my next days off to see her. The boys are fine too. It’s such a relief that the house is let.’ She drank the rest of her sherry. ‘I’m not going to look too far ahead.’

‘Quite right, my dear. I see that van Diederijk hasn’t altered anything—even the carpet in the hall.’

She sniffed. ‘He told me I could have it mended…’ she stopped and touched her companion’s sleeve. ‘Who on earth is that?’ she asked.

Dr Bell followed her gaze. ‘Ah, that is Diana Sibley, van Diederijk’s fiancée.’ He coughed. ‘The daughter of a baronet.’

Euphemia took a good look without actually staring. ‘She looks very conscious of the fact,’ she said softly, disliking what she saw. Miss Sibley was tall and slender to the point of boniness, with no bosom worth mentioning and a long face and a straight nose above a thin-lipped mouth cleverly concealed by the masterly application of lipstick. Her eyes were dark, and as she came nearer Euphemia, still disliking her, decided that her dark hair owed more to a good hairdresser than to nature. She was beautifully dressed and she was smiling. Euphemia thought she was cold, as cold as Dr van Diederijk; if they had children, they would be a bunch of little icicles. She giggled into her sherry and earned a cold glance from her host, which emboldened her to grin at him and then turn her back. Dr Bell looked worried for a moment and then plunged into gentle conversation until she interrupted him with: ‘I’m dreadfully sorry, that was awful of me—I hope she didn’t see me, only I thought…’

She told him about the little icicles and went on feverishly: ‘I’m talking nonsense—I shouldn’t have come. I’ve not had anything to eat since midday and I thought it would be all right, but I can’t forget…it takes a little while, doesn’t it?’

The old man took her hand. ‘My dear child, you were brave to come, your father would have been proud of you.’ He patted her hand. ‘He wouldn’t want you to grieve, you know, he wasn’t that kind of man.’

‘No, I know, and I won’t, only being here…’ She glanced round the familiar room and caught the doctor’s eye fastened upon her. He said something to his fiancée and came across the room before Euphemia could move, and Dr Bell said at once: ‘Euphemia hasn’t had anything to eat all day.’

Dr van Diederijk looked down his nose at her. ‘That would explain it,’ he said suavely. ‘We will go to the kitchen and see what can be found.’

Euphemia went red. ‘There’s no need—I was going in a few minutes…’

‘All the more reason to eat first.’ He had ushered her to the door and out into the hall while he was speaking and she was in the kitchen before she could think of an answer.

Mrs Cross was standing at the table slicing ham, and she looked up and beamed at them both as they went in. ‘There ain’t no more of them canopies,’ she observed, ‘them waiters ‘as taken the lot, but there’s all them sausages.’ She went back to her slicing. ‘Nice ter see yer both together—both being owners of the ’ouse, like.’

Euphemia picked up a sausage. ‘Dr van Diederijk rents this house, Mrs Cross. I still own it.’ She bit into the sausage with something of a snap and added as an afterthought: ‘No offence, Doctor.’

‘Trivialities do not offend me, Miss Blackstock. Pray eat all you wish. You will excuse me if I go back to my guests.’

‘Not only will I excuse you, Doctor, I don’t really mind you going in the least.’ Euphemia picked up another sausage.

‘What an abominable girl you are!’ The doctor spoke softly in a steely voice as he went away.

‘You didn’t ought ter, Miss Euphemia,’ protested Mrs Cross. “E might say ’e didn’t want the ’ouse any more, and then where are yer?’

Euphemia selected a slice of ham, wrapped it round another sausage and gobbled it down. ‘He signed a contract for a year.’

‘Such a nice young man, too,’ said Mrs Cross.

‘He’s not young, and he’s certainly not nice.’ Euphemia wandered out of the kitchen, taking an apple from a bowl on the table as she went.

She was sitting on the stairs munching it when the drawing room door opened and the doctor came out. He paused when he saw her, closed the door behind him and stood leaning against it, watching her.

‘Eve and the apple,’ he observed blandly.

‘My name is Euphemia.’ She nibbled at the core with splendid teeth.

‘I was employing a figure of speech.’

‘Oh, so who am I tempting?’

He said silkily: ‘Not me, I do assure you, Euphemia. What an extraordinary name! Diana—my fiancée—would like to meet you.’

She got to her feet, the apple core still in her hand, very conscious of her bad manners earlier on. She said formally: ‘That’s very kind of her. Is she in the drawing-room?’

For answer he opened the door and she went past him. Diana Sibley was across the room, talking to Dr Bell, although her eyes were on the door. Half way there Euphemia remembered the apple core in her hand. She paused just long enough to hand it to the doctor before advancing, smiling nicely, to meet her.




CHAPTER THREE


DIANA SIBLEY had switched on her most charming smile, which was a pity, since it was quite wasted on Euphemia. ‘Miss Blackstock, I’ve been dying to meet you—you’re our guardian angel, you know, letting us have this darling house. I simply couldn’t face the idea of living in an hotel every time Tane had to come to London.’ She added carelessly, ‘My parents’ place is in Hertfordshire—there’s room enough for us both to live there while we’re in England, but Tane doesn’t want to do that.’ She gave him an arch look. ‘He doesn’t like the idea of sharing me with anyone, do you, darling?’

Euphemia was pleased to see that the doctor looked extremely uncomfortable and, behind his bland face, angry. She had no doubt that he was clenching his teeth in an effort not to tell his beloved to hush up. She said sweetly: ‘I’m so glad you like the house. I’m sure you would rather be here with the doctor than with your family.’

Diana put a thin useless-looking hand on the doctor’s sleeve. ‘Not until we’re married.’ She made big eyes at them in turn. Dr van Diederijk richly deserved her, thought Euphemia as Diana went on: ‘Tane wasn’t going to ask you, but I insisted, and I so hoped you’d come. You’re awfully brave, in your place I couldn’t have done it.’ She shuddered and gave Euphemia another smile, although her eyes were like dark pebbles and just as hard. ‘I expect you’re very strong, you must be to be a nurse.’ She studied Euphemia smilingly with her head on one side. ‘Anyone over eight stone seems huge to me,’ she confided.

Euphemia’s tawny eyes travelled slowly down Diana’s spare frame. ‘Not really,’ she said cheerfully, ‘just normal.’ She saw the girl’s mouth tighten with annoyance and added: ‘So nice to have met you—and now I must just say hello to some of the people I know here.’ She put out a hand. ‘Thank you for asking me—I must go very soon, I’m on duty early in the morning.’ She included the doctor in her smile, dropped a kiss on Dr Bell’s cheek and crossed the room to join some friends. Diana, left alone with her fiancé, watched her, instantly surrounded by welcoming cries. ‘Anyone would think she owned the place,’ she declared thinly.

The doctor gave her a thoughtful look. ‘But, my dear, she does,’ he pointed out.

Euphemia left a few minutes later, seen politely to the door by her host. She uttered the usual banalities about a pleasant evening, how nice to meet his fiancée and she did hope that he would be happy there; she altered that to ‘you both’ in the same breath, then because he didn’t say anything and she felt awkward standing there in the open doorway being stared at in such silence she went on: ‘I expect you’re looking for a house to suit you both for—later on when you’re married…’

‘You are free to expect anything you wish, Euphemia.’

She went past him and started down the drive to the gate, neatly mended now, she noticed. A great many things she would like to say to him were jostling for a place on her tongue, but she held it prudently. After all, she needed the rent money and the likelihood of seeing him again was remote.

Not remote at all. Sir Richard, doing his morning round on the following morning, brought Dr van Diederijk with him. The two gentlemen trod with deliberation into the ward, followed by the Medical Registrar, the House Physician, the Social Worker, a physiotherapist and a clutch of selfconscious students, and Euphemia, advancing to meet them with her staff nurse and one of the lesser fry clutching the patients’ notes, came to a rather abrupt halt at the sight of him.




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