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An Independent Woman
Betty Neels
Mills & Boon presents the complete Betty Neels collection. Timeless tales of heart-warming romance by one of the world’s best-loved romance authors.A hard man to resist… But a perfect man to marry? Julia Gracey has always lived by the rule that women should stand on their own two feet. But every time there’s a problem, Professor Gerard van der Maes always seems to be on hand with the perfect solution!Gerard seems determined to sweep Julia off her feet— and she is adamant that she won’t let him take over her life! But when Julia is about to lose her home, Gerard offers one final proposition that she finds impossible to resist—marriage!



“I hope I never meet the professor again.”
Julia snipped savagely at a length of curtain intended for a dress.
“Well, I don’t suppose you will—he’s a bit grand for us….” Ruth said.
“Why do you say he’s so grand?”
“He’s at the very top of the tree in the medical world and he’s got a Dutch title, comes from a very ancient family with lots of money…”
“Huh,” said Julia. “Probably no one’s good enough for him.”
Ruth replied mildly, “You do dislike him, don’t you?”

About the Author
Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of BETTY NEELS in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

An Independent Women
Betty Neels





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

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

CHAPTER ONE
THE street, like hundreds of other streets in that part of London, was shabby but genteelly so, for the occupants of the small turn-of-the-century houses which lined it had done their best; there were clean net curtains at the windows and the paintwork was pristine, even if badly in need of a fresh coat. Even so, the street was dull under a leaden sky and slippery with the cold sleet.
The girl, Ruth, looking out of the window of one of the houses, frowned at the dreary view and said over her shoulder, ‘I don’t think I can bear to go on living here much longer…’
‘Well, you won’t have to—Thomas will get the Senior Registrar’s post and you’ll marry and be happy ever after.’
The speaker who answered, Julia, was kneeling on the shabby carpet, pinning a paper pattern to a length of material. She was a pretty girl, with a quantity of russet hair tied back carelessly with a bootlace, a tip-tilted nose and a wide mouth. Her eyes under thick brows were grey, and as she got to her feet it was apparent that she was a big girl with a splendid figure.
She wandered over to the window to join her sister. ‘A good thing that Dr Goodman hasn’t got a surgery this morning; you’ve no need to go out.’
‘The evening surgery will be packed to the doors…’
They both turned their heads as a door opened and another girl, Monica, came in. A very beautiful girl, almost as beautiful as her elder sister. For while Julia, she of the russet hair, was pretty, the other two were both lovely, with fair hair and blue eyes. Ruth was taller than Monica, and equally slender, but they shared identical good looks.
‘I’m off. Though heaven knows how many children will turn up in this weather.’ Monica smiled. ‘But George was going to look in…’
George was the parish curate, young and enthusiastic, nice-looking in a rather crumpled way and very much in love with Monica.
They chorused goodbyes as she went away again.
‘I’m going to wash my hair,’ said Ruth, and Julia got down onto her knees again and picked up the scissors.
The front doorbell rang as she did so, and Ruth said from the door, ‘That will be the milkman; I forgot to pay him…I’ll go.’
Professor Gerard van der Maes stood on the doorstep and looked around him. He had, in an unguarded moment, offered to deliver a package from his registrar Thomas, to that young man’s fiancée—something which, it seemed, it was vital she received as quickly as possible. Since the registrar was on duty, and unlikely to be free for some time, and the Professor was driving himself to a Birmingham hospital and would need to thread his way through the northern parts of London, a slight deviation from his route was of little consequence.
Now, glancing around him, he rather regretted his offer. It had taken him longer than he had expected to find the house and he found the dreary street not at all to his taste. From time to time he had listened to Thomas’s diffident but glowing remarks about his fiancée, but no one had told him that she lived in such a run-down part of the city.
The girl who answered the door more than made up for the surroundings. If this was Ruth, then Thomas must indeed be a happy man.
He held out a hand. ‘Van der Maes, a colleague of Thomas. He wanted you to have a parcel and I happened to be going this way.’
‘Professor van der Maes.’ Ruth beamed up at him. ‘How kind of you.’ She added, not quite truthfully, ‘I was just going to make coffee…’
He followed her into the narrow hall and into the living room and Ruth said, ‘Julia…’
‘If it’s money you want there’s some in my purse…’ Julia didn’t look up. ‘Don’t stop me or I’ll cut too much off.’
‘It’s Professor van der Maes.’
‘Not the old man from across the street?’ Julia snipped carefully. ‘I knew he’d break a leg one day, going outside in his slippers.’
Ruth gave the Professor an apologetic glance. ‘We have a visitor, Julia.’
Julia turned round then, and looked at the pair of them standing in the doorway. Ruth, as lovely as ever, looked put out and her companion looked amused. Julia got to her feet, looking at him. Not quite her idea of a professor: immensely tall and large in his person, dark hair going grey, heavy brows above cold eyes and a nose high-bridged and patrician above a thin mouth. Better a friend than an enemy, thought Julia. Not that he looked very friendly…
She held out a hand and had it gently crushed.
‘I’ll make the coffee,’ said Ruth, and shut the door behind her.
‘Do sit down,’ said Julia, being sociable.
Instead he crossed the room to stand beside her and look down at the stuff spread out on the carpet.
‘It looks like a curtain,’ he observed.
‘It is a curtain,’ said Julia snappishly. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that by the time she had finished with it it would be a dress suitable to wear to an annual dance which the firm she worked for gave to its employees. A not very exciting occasion, but it was to be held at one of London’s well-known hotels and that, combined with the fact that it was mid-February and life was a bit dull, meant that the occasion merited an effort on her part to make the best of herself.
She remembered her manners. ‘Do you know Thomas? I suppose you’re from the hospital. He’s Ruth’s fiancé. He’s not ill or anything?’
‘I know Thomas and I am at the same hospital. He is in splendid health.’
‘Oh, good. But horribly overworked, I suppose?’
‘Yes, indeed.’ His eye fell on the curtain once more.
‘You are a skilled needlewoman?’
‘Only when I am desperate. What do you do at the hospital? Teach, I suppose, if you are a professor?’
‘I do my best…’
‘Of what? Professor of what?’
‘Surgery.’
‘So you’re handy with a needle too!’ said Julia, and before he could answer that Ruth came in with the coffee.
‘Getting to know each other?’ she asked cheerfully.
‘Thank you for bringing the parcel, Professor. I’m sorry you won’t see Monica—she runs the nursery school here. Luckily I’ve got the morning off from the surgery, and Julia is always here, of course. She works at home—writes verses for greetings cards.’
Ruth handed round the coffee, oblivious of Julia’s heavy frown.
‘How very interesting,’ observed the Professor, and she gave him a quick look, suspecting that he was amused. Which he was, although nothing of it showed on his face.
Ruth asked diffidently. ‘I suppose Thomas hasn’t heard if he’s got that senior registrar’s job? I know he’d phone me, but if he’s busy…’
‘I think I can set your mind at rest. He should hear some time today. He’s a good man and I shall be glad to have him in my team in a senior capacity.’ He smiled at Ruth. ‘Does that mean that you will marry?’
She beamed at him. ‘Yes, just as soon as we can find somewhere to live.’ She went on chattily, ‘An aunt left us this house, and we came here to live when Mother and Father died, but I think we shall all be glad when we marry and can leave it.’
‘Your other sister—Monica?’encouraged the Professor gently.
‘Oh, she’s engaged to the local curate; he’s just waiting to get a parish. And Julia’s got an admirer—a junior partner in the firm she works for. So you see, we are all nicely settled.’
He glanced at Julia. She didn’t look at all settled, for she was indignantly pink and looked as though she wanted to throw something. She said coldly, ‘I’m sure the Professor isn’t in the least interested in us, Ruth.’She picked up the coffee pot. ‘More coffee, Professor?’
Her tone dared him to say yes and delay his departure.
He had a second cup, and she hated him. And she thought he would never go.
When he did, he shook hands, with the observation that the dress would be a success.
Ruth went with him to the door. When she came back she said, ‘He’s got a Rolls; you ought to see it.’She glanced at Julia’s kneeling form. ‘You were a bit rude, dear. And he’s such a nice man.’
Julia snipped savagely at a length of curtain. ‘I hope I never meet him again.’
‘Well, I don’t suppose you will. He’s a bit grand for us…’
‘There’s nothing wrong with a rising young surgeon and a member of the clergy.’ She’d almost added and a junior partner in a greetings card firm,’ but she didn’t, for Oscar, accepted as her admirer by everyone but herself, didn’t quite fit. Curiosity got the better of her.
‘Why do you say he’s grand?’
‘He’s at the very top of the tree in the medical world and he’s got a Dutch title—comes from an ancient family with lots of money. Never talks about himself. Thomas says he’s a very private man.’
‘Huh,’said Julia. ‘Probably no one’s good enough for him.’
Ruth commented mildly, ‘You do dislike him, don’t you?’
Julia began to wield her scissors again. ‘Dislike him? I don’t even know him. Shall we have Welsh rarebit for lunch? I’ll make some scones for tea. Monica will be ravenous when she gets home; she never has time to eat her sandwiches. And if you’re going to the shops you could bring some steak and kidney and I’ll make a pudding.’ She added, ‘Filling and cheap.’
She spoke without rancour; the three Gracey sisters, living together for the sake of economy in the poky little house a long-dead aunt had bequeathed to them, had learned to live frugally. The house might be theirs, but there were rates and taxes, gas and electricity, clothes and food to be paid for. None of them had been trained to do anything in the business world, having been left suddenly with nothing but memories of their mother and father, killed in a car accident, and a carefree life in a pleasant old house in the country with never a thought of money worries.
It had been Julia who’d got them organised, refusing to be daunted by unexpected debts, selling their home to pay off the mortgage, arguing with bank managers, solicitors, and salvaging the remnants of her father’s ill-advised investments. Once in their new home, it had been she who had urged the rather shy Ruth to take the part-time job as a receptionist to the local doctor while she looked for work for herself and Monica joined the staff of the local nursery school. But Julia had had no luck until, searching through the ads in the local paper, she’d seen one from the greetings card company.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, she had decided, and had sat down to compose a batch of verses and send them off. Much to her surprise, the firm had taken her on. It was badly paid, but it meant that she could work at home and do the housekeeping and the cooking. And they managed very well.
Ruth had met Thomas when she had gone to the hospital to collect some urgent path. lab. Results for Dr Goodman, and soon they would marry. Monica, although she liked children, had never been quite sure that she wanted to stay at home, especially in such alien surroundings, but then George had come one day to tell the children Bible stories and all ideas of going out into the glamorous world to find a job more to her liking had faded away. They would have to wait to marry, of course, until George had a parish. In the meantime she was happy.
Which left Julia, twenty-four years old, bursting with life and energy. Because she had a happy nature she didn’t allow herself to dwell on what might have been, but wrote her sentimental little verses, kept the house clean and tidy and, being clever with her needle, dressed herself in a style which, while not being the height of fashion, was a passable imitation.
It was fortunate, she supposed, that Oscar, her admirer—for he was only that at the moment, although he promised to be rather more when it was convenient for him to be so—had absolutely no taste in clothes. That horrible professor might sneer in a well-mannered way at the curtain, but Oscar wouldn’t suspect. Indeed, even if he did, he would probably approve, for he was of a frugal nature when it came to spending money. He was persistent too. She had tried, over and over again, to shake him off, to suggest that she would make him a most unsuitable wife, but he refused to be shaken and, despite the countless excuses she had given, she was committed to attend the annual dance given by the greetings card firm.
Rightly, Ruth and Monica had urged her to go and enjoy herself. But neither of them had met Oscar, and she had given way because she knew that they both felt unhappy at the idea of her being left alone when they married. When she allowed herself to think about it she felt unhappy about that too.
She put away her sewing and started on the household chores, and found herself thinking about the Professor. He seemed a tiresome man, and she suspected that it would be hard to get the better of him. Probably he was horrid to his patients.
Professor van der Maes, contrary to Julia’s idea, was treating the endless stream of patients attending his clinic with kindness and patience, his quiet voice reassuring, his smile encouraging. He was a tired man, for he worked too hard, but no patient had ever found him uncaring. But that was a side which he seldom showed to anyone else. The nursing staff who worked for him quickly learnt that he would stand no nonsense, that only their best efforts would suit him, and as for his students—he represented the goal they hoped to obtain one day. A good word from him was worth a dozen from anyone else, just as a quiet reprimand sent them into instant dejection. They called him the old man behind his back, and fiercely defended any criticism anyone was foolish enough to utter.
The Professor remained unmoved by other people’s opinion of him, good or bad. He was an excellent surgeon and he loved his work, and he had friends who would be his for life, but he had no use for casual acquaintances. He had a social life when his work permitted, and was much sought after as a dinner party guest. Since he was unmarried, he could have taken his pick of any of the women he met. But, although he was a pleasant companion, he showed no interest in any of them. Somewhere in the world, he supposed, there was the woman he would fall in love with and want for his wife, but he was no longer young and he would probably end his days as a crusty old bachelor.
It wasn’t until he was driving back to London a few days later that he thought about the three Gracey sisters. Ruth would make Thomas a good wife: a beautiful girl with her shy smile and gentle voice. He thought only fleetingly of Julia. Pretty, he supposed, but sharp-tongued, and she made no effort to be pleasant. She was the last person he imagined would spend her days writing sentimental verses for greetings cards, and what woman in her senses wore dresses made from curtains? He laughed, and forgot her.
The dance was ten days later, and, since the firm had had a good year, it was to be held at one of the more prestigious hotels. There was to be a buffet supper before everyone went to the hotel ballroom, and Ruth and Monica, anxious that Julia should enjoy herself, lent slippers and an old but still magnificent shawl which had belonged to their mother. They sent her there in a taxi— an unnecessary expense, Julia protested; the journey there would have been a lengthy one by bus but far cheaper. However, they insisted, privately of the opinion that Oscar could have come and fetched her instead of meeting her there…
The dress, despite its origin, was a success, simply made, but it fitted where it should, and unless anyone had actually seen the curtain, hanging in the spare bedroom, one would never have known…
Julia walked out of the taxi feeling quite pleased with herself, straight into the Professor’s person.
He set her tidily on her feet. ‘Well, well, Miss Julia Gracey. Unexpected and delightful.’ He looked around him. ‘You are alone?’
She bade him good evening in a choked voice. ‘I am meeting someone in the hotel.’
She glanced around, looking without much hope for Oscar. There was no sign of him, of course. He had said that he would be at the hotel entrance, waiting for her. She supposed that she would have to go inside and look for him. She was not easily daunted, but the hotel’s imposing entrance and the equally imposing appearance of the doorman daunted her now, and how and by what misfortune had the Professor got here? Surely he hadn’t anything to do with greetings cards?
It seemed not. He said easily, ‘I’m meeting friends here. We may as well go in together.’ He paid the cabby and took her arm. ‘Your friend will be looking for you inside?’
He was being kind, with a casual kindness it was impossible to resent. She sought frantically for something to say as the doorman opened the doors with a flourish and they joined the people in the foyer.
There was no sign of Oscar. She had been a fool to accept his invitation; she didn’t even like him much.
‘Let me have your shawl,’ said the Professor. ‘I’ll let the girl have it.’ And he had taken it from her and left her for a moment, returning with a ticket which he tucked into the little handbag hanging from her wrist.
She found her tongue then, ‘Thank you. I’ll—I’ll wait here. Oscar will find me…’
‘Oscar?’ She mistrusted his casual voice. ‘Ah, yes, of course. And if I’m not mistaken this must be he…’
She should have been glad to see him, and she might well have been if he had expressed regret at not meeting her promptly. But all he did was thump her on the shoulder and say heartily, ‘Sorry old lady. I got held up; so many people wanted to have a chat.’
He looked her up and down. ‘Got yourself a new dress for the occasion? Not bad, not bad at all…’
His glance fell upon the Professor, who had made no attempt to go away.
‘Do I know you?’
Julia, aware of the Professor’s eyes fixed on the curtain, said tartly, ‘No, Oscar, you don’t. This is Professor van der Maes. He knows Ruth’s fiancé.’
Oscar looked uneasy under the Professor’s cool gaze. ‘Nice to meet you. Come along, Julia, I’ll find you somewhere to sit; I’ve one or two important clients to talk to, but we’ll be able to dance presently.’
He nodded in a condescending manner at the Professor, who took no notice but said pleasantly to Julia, ‘I do hope you have a happy evening,’ and, as Oscar turned away rudely to speak to a passing couple, ‘but I doubt it.’ He looked amused. ‘I can’t say that I agree with Oscar about your dress, but then I know it’s a curtain, don’t I?’
He was sorry the moment he had said it; for a moment she had the look of a small girl who had been slapped for no reason at all. But only for a moment. Julia stared up into his handsome face. ‘Go away, Professor. I don’t like you and I hope I never see you again.’
She had spoken quietly but she looked daggers at him. She turned her back then, surprised at how upset she felt. After all, she hadn’t liked him the first time, and she couldn’t care less if he jeered at the dress or liked it. If Oscar liked it, that was all that mattered, she told herself, not believing a word of it. But presently, when Oscar had finished his conversation, she went with him to the hotel ballroom, to be sat on one of the little gilt chairs and told to wait awhile until he had the leisure to dance with her.
A not very promising prospect—but quickly lightened by a number of men who, seeing a pretty girl sitting by herself, danced her off in rapid succession. Which served Oscar right by the time he found himself ready to partner her.
‘Some of these modern dances are not dignified,’ he told her severely, propelling her round the ballroom with correct stiffness. ‘You would have done better to have sat quietly until I was free to come to you.’
‘But I like to dance, Oscar.’
‘Dancing in moderation is splendid exercise,’ said Oscar, at his stuffiest.
They came to a dignified halt as the music stopped. Julia spoke her thoughts out loud. ‘Do you want to marry me, Oscar?’ she asked.
He looked at her with astonishment and displeasure.
‘My dear Julia, what a very—very…’ he sought for the right word ‘…unwomanly remark to make. I must only hope it was a slight aberration of the tongue.’
‘It wasn’t anything to do with my tongue; it was a thought in my head.’ She looked at him. ‘You haven’t answered me, Oscar?’
‘I have no intention of doing so. I am shocked, Julia. Perhaps you should retire to the ladies’ room and compose yourself.’
‘You sound like someone in a Victorian novel,’ she told him. ‘But, yes, I think that would be best.’
The ballroom was at the back of the hotel; it took her a few moments to find the cloakroom where the Professor had left her wrap. She would have to take a bus, she hadn’t enough money for a taxi, but it wasn’t late and there were plenty of people about. She wrapped the vast mohair shawl she and her sisters shared for evening occasions round her and crossed the foyer, comfortably full of people. And halfway to the door the Professor, apparently appearing from thin air, put a hand on her arm.
‘Not leaving already?’he wanted to know. ‘It’s barely an hour since you arrived.’
She had to stop, his hand, resting so lightly on her arm, nevertheless reminding her of a ball and chain. She said politely, ‘Yes, I’m leaving, Professor.’ She looked at his hand. ‘Goodbye.’
He took no notice; neither did he remove his hand.
‘You’re upset; you have the look of someone about to explode. I’ll take you home.’
‘No, thank you. I’m quite capable of getting myself home.’
For answer he tucked her hand under his elbow. ‘Your Oscar will come looking for you,’ he said mildly.
‘He’s not my Oscar…’
‘Ah, I can’t say that I’m surprised. Now, come along. This is indeed a splendid excuse for me to leave with you—a pompous dinner with endless speeches to which I have been bidden.’
He had propelled her gently past the doorman, out into the chilly night and, after towing her along gently, popped her into his car, parked nearby.
Getting in beside her, he asked, ‘Are you going to cry?’
‘Certainly not. And I have no wish to be here in your car. You are being high-handed, Professor.’She sniffed. ‘I’m not a child.’
He looked at her, smiling a little. ‘No, I had realised that. Are you hungry?’
She was taken by surprise. ‘Yes…’
‘Splendid. And, since you are not going to cry and I’m hungry too, we will go and eat somewhere.’
‘No,’ said Julia.
‘My dear girl, be sensible. It’s the logical thing to do.’
He started the car. ‘Let us bury the hatchet for an hour or so. You are free to dislike me the moment I see you to your front door.’
She was hungry, so the prospect of a meal was tempting. She said, ‘Well, all right, but not anywhere grand—the curtain…’
He said quietly, ‘I’m sorry I said that. You look very nice and it was unforgivable of me. We will go somewhere you won’t need to be uneasy.’
He sounded kind and her spirits lifted. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad… He spoilt it by adding, ‘Is your entire wardrobe made up of curtains?’He glanced at her. ‘You must be a very talented young lady.’
She was on the point of making a fiery answer when the thought of a meal crossed her mind. She had no idea why he had asked her out and she didn’t care; she would choose all the most expensive things on the menu…
He took her to Wilton’s, spoke quietly to the maître d’, and followed her to one of the booths, so that any fears concerning her dress were instantly put at rest.
‘Now, what shall we have?’asked the Professor, well aware of her relief that the booth sheltered her nicely from the other diners. ‘I can recommend the cheese soufflé, and the sole Meunière is excellent.’ When she agreed he ordered from the waitress and turned his attention to the sommelier and the wine list. Which gave Julia a chance to study the menu. She need not have bothered to choose the most expensive food; everything was expensive.
When it came it was delicious, and cooked by a master hand. She thought fleetingly of Oscar, and applied herself to her dinner, and, being nicely brought up, made polite conversation the while. The Professor replied suitably, amused at that and wondering what had possessed him to take her to dinner. He went out seldom, and when he did his companion would be one of his numerous acquaintances: elegant young women, dressed impeccably, bone-thin and fussing delicately about what they could and couldn’t eat.
Julia, on the other hand, ate everything she was offered with an unselfconscious pleasure, and capped the sole with sherry trifle and drank the wine he had ordered. And that loosed her tongue, for presently, over coffee, she asked, ‘If you are Dutch, why do you live in England?’
‘I only do so for part of the time. My home is in Holland and I work there as well. I shall be going back there in a few weeks’ time for a month or so.’
‘How very unsettling,’observed Julia. ‘But I suppose you are able to pick and choose if you are a Professor?’
‘I suppose I can,’ he agreed mildly. ‘What are you going to do about Oscar?’
‘I dare say he won’t find me a suitable wife for a junior partner…’
‘And will that break your heart?’
‘No. He sort of grew on me, if you see what I mean.’
He said smoothly, ‘Ah—you have a more romantic outlook, perhaps?’
She took a sip of coffee. ‘It’s almost midnight. Would you take me home, please?’
Not one of the women he had taken out to dinner had ever suggested that it was getting late and they wished to go home. On the contrary. The Professor stifled a laugh, assured her that they would go at once, and signed the bill. On the journey through London’s streets he discussed the weather, the pleasures of the English countryside and the prospect of a fine summer.
The street was quiet and only barely lit. He got out and opened the car door for her, before taking the door key from her. He opened the door and gave her back the key.
Julia cast around in her mind for something gracious to say. ‘Thank you for my dinner,’ she said finally, and, since that didn’t sound in the least gracious, added, ‘I enjoyed the dinner very much and the restaurant was— was very elegant. It was a very pleasant evening…’
She didn’t like his smile in the dimly lit hallway. ‘Don’t try too hard, Julia,’ he told her. ‘Goodnight.’
He pushed her gently into the hall and closed the door soundlessly behind her.
‘I hate him,’ said Julia, and took off her shoes, flung the shawl onto the floor and crept upstairs to her bed. She had intended to lie awake and consider how much she disliked him, but she went to sleep at once.
The Professor took himself off home, to his elegant Chelsea house, locked the Rolls in the mews garage behind it, and let himself into his home. There was a wall-light casting a gentle light on the side table in the hall and he picked up the handful of letters on it as he went to his study.
This was a small, comfortably furnished room, with rows of bookshelves, a massive desk, a chair behind it and two smaller ones each side of the small fireplace. Under the window was a table with a computer and a pile of papers and books. He ignored it and put the letters on his desk before going out of the room again and along the hall, through the baize door at the end and down the steps to the kitchen, where he poured himself coffee from the pot on the Aga and acknowledged the sleepy greetings from two small dogs.
They got out of the basket they shared and sat beside him while he drank his coffee: two small creatures with heavily whiskered faces, short legs and long, thin rat-like tails. The professor had found them, abandoned, terrified and starving, some six months earlier. It was apparent that they weren’t going to grow any larger or handsomer, but they had become members of his household and his devoted companions. He saw them back into their basket, with the promise of a walk in the morning, and went back to his study. There were some notes he needed to write up before he went to bed.
He sat down and pulled the papers towards him and then sat back in his chair, thinking about the evening. What had possessed him to take Julia out to dinner? he wondered. A nice enough girl, no doubt, but with a sharp tongue and making no attempt to hide the fact that she didn’t like him. The unknown Oscar was possibly to be pitied. He smiled suddenly. She had enjoyed her dinner, and he doubted whether Oscar rose much above soup of the day and a baked potato. He acknowledged that this was an unfair thought; Oscar might even now be searching fruitlessly for Julia.
When Julia went down to breakfast in the morning, Ruth and Monica were already at the kitchen table, and without wasting time they began to fire questions at her.
‘Did you dance? Was it a splendid hotel? What did you eat? Did Oscar propose? Did he bring you home?’
Julia lifted the teapot. ‘I danced three and a half times, and the hotel was magnificent.’
She shook cornflakes into a bowl. She didn’t like them, but, according to the TV ad, the girl who ate them had a wand-like figure—a state to which she hoped in time to subdue her own generous curves. She said, ‘I didn’t eat at the hotel.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘Oscar didn’t propose. I don’t think he ever will now. And he didn’t bring me home.’
‘Julia, you didn’t come home alone?’
‘No, Professor van der Maes drove me back.’
She finished the cornflakes and put bread in the toaster.
‘Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out,’ said Ruth. ‘What on earth was the Professor doing there? He doesn’t write verses, does he?’
‘No. Though I’m sure he is very handy with a needle.’
Her sisters exchanged glances. ‘Why did you dance half a dance?’ asked Ruth.
Julia said through a mouthful of toast, ‘Oscar was annoyed because I hadn’t stayed on my chair to wait for him, so I asked him if he wanted to marry me.’
‘Julia, how could you…?’
‘He told me to go to the ladies’ room and compose myself, so I found my shawl and left, and the Professor was at the entrance. He said he was hungry and asked me if I was, and when I said yes, he took me to Wilton’s.’
‘Wilton’s?’ chorused her sisters, and then added, ‘The dress…?’
‘It was all right. We sat in a booth. It was a nice dinner. And then, when I asked him to bring me home, he did.’
Two pairs of astonished blue eyes stared at her. ‘What about Oscar?’
‘He was shocked.’
‘And the Professor? Whatever did he say?’
‘He said he wasn’t surprised that Oscar wasn’t mine.
You will both be late for work…’
‘But why should the Professor take you out to dinner?’ asked Ruth.
‘He said he was hungry.’
‘You can be very tiresome sometimes, Julia,’ said Monica severely.
When they had gone Julia set about the household chores and then, those done, she made coffee and a cheese sandwich and sat down to write verses. Perhaps Oscar would be able to get her the sack, but on the other hand her verses sold well. The senior partners might not agree. For it wasn’t the kind of work many people would want to do and it was badly paid. She polished off a dozen verses, fed Muffin, the family cat, and peeled the potatoes for supper. Oscar, she reflected, wouldn’t bother her again.

CHAPTER TWO
OSCAR came four days later. Julia was making pastry for a steak pie and she went impatiently to the front door when its knocker was thumped. Oscar was on the doorstep. ‘I wish to talk to you, Julia.’
‘Come in, then,’ said Julia briskly. ‘I’m making pastry and don’t want it to spoil.’
She ushered him into the house, told him to leave his coat in the hall, and then went back into the kitchen and plunged her hands into the bowl.
‘Do sit down,’ she invited him, and, when he looked askance at Muffin the household cat, sitting in the old Windsor chair by the stove, added, ‘Take a chair at the table. It’s warm here. Anyway, I haven’t lighted the fire in the sitting room yet.’
She bent over her pastry, and presently he said stuffily, ‘You can at least leave that and listen to what I have to say, Julia.’
She put the dough on the floured board and held a rolling pin.
‘I’m so sorry, Oscar, but I really can’t leave it. I am listening, though.’
He settled himself into his chair. ‘I have given a good deal of thought to your regrettable behaviour at the dance, Julia. I can but suppose that the excitement of the occasion and the opulence of your surroundings had caused you to become so—so unlike yourself. After due consideration I have decided that I shall overlook that…’
Julia laid her pastry neatly over the meat and tidied the edges with a knife. ‘Don’t do that,’ she begged him. ‘I wasn’t in the least excited, only annoyed to be stuck on a chair in a corner—and left to find my own way in, too.’
‘I have a position to uphold in the firm,’said Oscar. And when she didn’t answer he asked, ‘Who was that man you were talking to? Really, Julia, it is most unsuitable. I trust you found your way home? There is a good bus service?’
Julia was cutting pastry leaves to decorate her pie. She said, ‘I had dinner at Wilton’s and was driven home afterwards.’
Oscar sought for words and, finding none, got to his feet. ‘There is nothing more to be said, Julia. I came here prepared to forgive you, but I see now that I have allowed my tolerance to be swept aside by your frivolity.’
Julia dusted her floury hands over the bowl and began to clear up the table. Listening to Oscar was like reading a book written a hundred years ago. He didn’t belong in this century and, being a kind-hearted girl, she felt sorry for him.
‘I’m not at all suitable for you, Oscar,’ she told him gently.
He said nastily, ‘Indeed you are not, Julia. You have misled me…’
She was cross again. ‘I didn’t know we had got to that stage. Anyway, what you need isn’t a wife, it’s a doormat. And do go, Oscar, before I hit you with this rolling pin.’
He got to his feet. ‘I must remind you that your future with the firm is in jeopardy, Julia. I have some influence…’
Which was just what she could have expected from him, she supposed. They went into the hall and he got into his coat. She opened the door and ushered him out, wished him goodbye, and closed the door before he had a chance to say more.
She told her sisters when they came home, and Monica said. ‘He might have made a good steady husband, but he sounds a bit out of date.’
‘I don’t think I want a steady husband,’ said Julia, and for a moment she thought about the Professor. She had no idea why she should have done that; she didn’t even like him…
So, during the next few days she waited expectantly for a letter from the greetings card firm, but when one did come it contained a cheque for her last batch of verses and a request for her to concentrate on wedding cards—June was the bridal month and they needed to get the cards to the printers in good time…
‘Reprieved,’said Julia, before she cashed the cheque and paid the gas bill.
It was difficult to write about June roses and wedded bliss in blustery March. But she wrote her little verses and thought how nice it would be to marry on a bright summer’s morning, wearing all the right clothes and with the right bridegroom.
A week later Thomas came one evening. He had got the job as senior registrar and, what was more, had now been offered one of the small houses the hospital rented out to their staff. There was no reason why he and Ruth shouldn’t marry as soon as possible. The place was furnished, and it was a bit poky, but once he had some money saved they could find something better.
‘And the best of it is I’m working for Professor van der Maes.’ His nice face was alight with the prospect. ‘You won’t mind a quiet wedding?’ he asked Ruth anxiously.
Ruth would have married him in a cellar wearing a sack. ‘We’ll get George to arrange everything. And it will be quiet anyway; there’s only us. Your mother and father will come?’
Julia went to the kitchen to make coffee and sandwiches and took Monica with her. ‘We’ll give them half an hour. Monica, have you any money? Ruth must have some clothes…’
They sat together at the table, doing sums. ‘There aren’t any big bills due,’said Julia. ‘If we’re very careful and we use the emergency money we could just manage.’
Thomas was to take up his new job in three weeks’ time: the best of reasons why he and Ruth should marry, move into their new home and have a few days together first. Which meant a special licence and no time at all to buy clothes and make preparations for a quiet wedding. Julia and Monica gave Ruth all the money they could lay hands on and then set about planning the wedding day. There would be only a handful of guests: Dr Goodman and his wife, George, and the vicar who would take the service, Thomas’s parents and the best man.
They got out the best china and polished the tea spoons, and Julia went into the kitchen and leafed through her cookery books.
It was a scramble, but by the time the wedding day dawned Ruth had a dress and jacket in a pale blue, with a fetching hat, handbag, gloves and shoes, and the nucleus of a new wardrobe suitable for a senior registrar’s wife. Julia had assembled an elegant buffet for after the ceremony, and Monica had gone to the market and bought daffodils, so that when they reached the church—a red-brick mid-Victorian building, sadly lacking in beauty—its rather bleak interior glowed with colour.
Monica had gone on ahead, leaving Julia to make the last finishing touches to the table, which took longer than she had expected. She had to hurry to the church just as Dr Goodman came for Ruth.
She arrived there a bit flushed, her russet hair glowing under her little green felt hat—Ruth’s hat, really, but it went well with her green jacket and skirt, which had been altered and cleaned and altered again and clung to, since they were suitable for serious occasions.
Julia sniffed appreciatively at the fresh scent of the daffodils and started down the aisle to the back views of Thomas and his best man and the sprinkling of people in the pews. It was a long aisle, and she was halfway up when she saw the Professor sitting beside Mrs Goodman. They appeared to be on the best of terms and she shot past their pew without looking at them. His appearance was unexpected, but she supposed that Thomas, now a senior member of the team, merited his presence.
When Ruth came, Julia concentrated on the ceremony, but the Professor’s image most annoyingly got between her and the beautiful words of the simple service. There was no need for him to be there. He and Thomas might be on the best of terms professionally, but they surely had different social lives? Did the medical profession enjoy a social life? she wondered, then brought her attention back sharply to Thomas and Ruth, exchanging their vows. They would be happy, she reflected, watching them walk back down the aisle. They were both so sure of their love. She wondered what it must feel like to be so certain.
After the first photos had been taken Julia slipped away, so as to get home before anyone else and make sure that everything was just so.
She was putting the tiny sausage rolls in the oven to warm when Ruth and Thomas arrived, closely followed by everyone else, and presently the best man came into the kitchen to get a corkscrew.
‘Not that I think we’ll need it,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘The Prof bought half a dozen bottles of champagne with him. Now that’s what I call a wedding gift of the right sort. Can I help?’
‘Get everyone drinking. I’ll be along with these sausage rolls in a minute or two.’
She had them nicely arranged on a dish when the Professor came into the kitchen. He had a bottle and a glass in one hand.
He said, ‘A most happy occasion. Your vicar has had two glasses already.’
He poured the champagne and handed her a glass. ‘Thirsty work, heating up sausage rolls.’
She had to laugh. Such light-hearted talk didn’t sound like him at all, and for a moment she liked him.
She took her glass and said, ‘We can’t toast them yet, can we? But it is a happy day.’And, since she was thirsty and excited, she drank deeply.
The Professor had an unexpected feeling of tenderness towards her; she might have a sharp tongue and not like him, but her naïve treatment of a glass of Moet et Chandon Brut Imperial he found touching.
She emptied the glass and said, ‘That was nice.’
He agreed gravely. ‘A splendid drink for such an occasion,’ and he refilled her glass, observing prudently, ‘I’ll take the tray in for you.’
The champagne was having an effect upon her empty insides. She gave him a wide smile. ‘The best man— what’s his name, Peter?—said he’d be back…’
‘He will be refilling glasses.’ The Professor picked up the tray, opened the door and ushered her out of the kitchen.
Julia swanned around, light-headed and lighthearted. It was marvellous what a couple of glasses of champagne did to one. She ate a sausage roll, drank another glass of champagne, handed round the sandwiches and would have had another glass of champagne if the Professor hadn’t taken the glass from her.
‘They’re going to cut the cake,’ he told her, ‘and then we’ll toast the happy couple.’Only then did he hand her back her glass.
After Ruth and Thomas had driven away, and everyone else was going home, she realised that the Professor had gone too, taking the best man with him.
‘He asked me to say goodbye,’ said Monica as the pair of them sat at the kitchen table, their shoes off, drinking strong tea. ‘He took the best man with him, said he was rather pressed for time.’
Julia, still pleasantly muzzy from the champagne, wondered why it was that the best man had had the time to say goodbye to her. If he’d gone with the Professor, then surely the Professor could have found the time to do the same? She would think about that when her head was a little clearer.
Life had to be reorganised now that Ruth had left home; they missed her share of the housekeeping, but by dint of economising they managed very well.
Until, a few weeks later, Monica came into the house like a whirlwind, calling to Julia to come quickly; she had news.
George had been offered a parish; a small rural town in the West country. ‘Miles from anywhere,’ said Monica, glowing with happiness, ‘but thriving. Not more than a large village, I suppose, but very scattered. He’s to go there this week and see if he likes it.’
‘And if he does?’
‘He’ll go there in two weeks’ time. I’ll go with him, of course. We can get married by special licence first.’ Then she danced round the room. ‘Oh, Julia, isn’t it all marvellous? I’m so happy…!’
It wasn’t until later, after they had toasted the future in a bottle of wine from the supermarket, that Monica said worriedly, ‘Julia, what about you? What will you do? You’ll never be able to manage…’
Julia had had time to have an answer ready. She said cheerfully, ‘I shall take in lodgers until we decide what to do about this house. You and Ruth will probably like to sell it, and I think that is a good thing.’
‘But you?’ persisted Monica.
‘I shall go to dressmaking classes and then set up on my own. I shall like that.’
‘You don’t think Oscar will come back? If he really loved you…?’
‘But he didn’t, and I wouldn’t go near him with a bargepole—whatever that means.’
‘But you’ll marry…?’
‘Oh, I expect so. And think how pleased my husband will be to have a wife who makes her own clothes.’
Julia poured the last of the wine into their glasses. ‘Now tell me your plans…’
She listened to her sister’s excited voice, making suitable comments from time to time, making suggestions, and all the while refusing to give way to the feeling of panic. So silly, she told herself sternly; she had a roof over her head for the time being, and she was perfectly able to reorganise her life. She wouldn’t be lonely; she would have lodgers and Muffin…
‘You’ll marry from here?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but very quietly. We’ll go straight to the parish after the wedding. There’ll be just us and Ruth—and Thomas, if he can get away. No wedding breakfast or anything.’ Monica laughed. ‘I always wanted a big wedding, you know—white chiffon and a veil and bridesmaids—but none of that matters. It’ll have to be early in the morning.’
Monica’s lovely face glowed with happiness, and Julia said, ‘Aren’t you dying to hear what the vicarage is like? And the little town?You’ll be a marvellous vicar’s wife.’
‘Yes, I think I shall,’ said Monica complacently.
Presently she said uncertainly, ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right, Julia? There has always been the three of us…’
‘Of course I’ll be fine—and how super that I’ll be able to visit you. Once I get started I can get a little car…’
Which was daydreaming with a vengeance, but served to pacify Monica.
After that events crowded upon each other at a great rate. George found his new appointment very much to his liking; moreover, he had been accepted by the church wardens and those of the parish whom he had met with every sign of satisfaction. The vicarage was large and old-fashioned, but there was a lovely garden… He was indeed to take up his appointment in two weeks’ time, which gave them just that time to arrange their wedding—a very quiet one, quieter even than Ruth’s and Thomas’s, for they were to marry in the early morning and drive straight down to their new home.
Julia, helping Monica to pack, had little time to think about anything else, but was relieved that the girl who was to take over Monica’s job had rented a room with her: a good omen for the future, she told her sisters cheerfully. Trudie seemed a nice girl, too, quiet and studious, and it would be nice to have someone else in the house, and nicer still to have the rent money…
She would have to find another lodger, thought Julia, waving goodbye to George’s elderly car and the newly married pair. If she could let two rooms she would be able to manage if she added the rent to the small amounts she got from the greetings card firm. Later on, she quite understood, Ruth and Monica would want to sell the house, and with her own share she would start some kind of a career…
She went back into the empty house; Trudie would be moving in on the following morning and she must make sure that her room was as welcoming as possible. As soon as she had a second lodger and things were running smoothly, she would pay a visit to Ruth.
A week went by. It was disappointing that there had been no replies to her advertisement; she would have to try again in a week or so, and put cards in the windows of the row of rather seedy shops a few streets away. In the meantime she would double her output of verses.
Trudie had settled in nicely, coming and going quietly, letting herself in and out with the key Julia had given her. Another one like her would be ideal, reflected Julia, picking up the post from the doormat.
There was a letter from the greetings card firm and she opened it quickly; there would be a cheque inside. There was, but there was a letter too. The firm was changing its policy: in future they would deal only with cards of a humorous nature since that was what the market demanded. It was with regret that they would no longer be able to accept her work. If she had a batch ready to send then they would accept it, but nothing further.
Julia read the letter again, just to make sure, and then went into the kitchen, made a pot of tea and sat down to drink it. It was a blow; the money the firm paid her was very little but it had been a small, steady income. Its loss would be felt. She did some sums on the back of the envelope and felt the beginnings of a headache. It was possible that Oscar was behind it… She read the letter once again; they would accept one last batch. Good, she would send as many verses as she could think up. She got pencil and paper and set to work. Just let me say on this lovely day…she began, and by lunchtime had more than doubled her output.
She typed them all out on her old portable and took them to the post. It would have been satisfying to have torn up the letter and put it in an envelope and sent it back, but another cheque would be satisfying too.
The cheque came a few days later, but still no new lodger. Which, as it turned out, was a good thing…
Thomas phoned. Ruth was in bed with flu, could she possibly help out for a day or two? Not to stay, of course, but an hour or two each day until Ruth was on her feet. There was a bus, he added hopefully.
It meant two buses; she would have to change halfway. The hospital wasn’t all that far away, but was awkward to get to.
Julia glanced at the clock. ‘I’ll be there about lunch-time. I must tell Trudie, my lodger. I’ll stay until the evening if that’s OK.’
‘Bless you,’ said Thomas. ‘I should be free about five o’clock.’
Trudie, summoned from a horde of toddlers, was helpful. She would see to Muffin, go back at lunchtime and make sure that everything was all right, and she wasn’t going out that evening anyway. Julia hurried to the main street and caught a bus.
The house was close to the hospital, one of a neat row in which the luckier of the medical staff lived. The door key, Thomas had warned her, was under the pot of flowers by the back door, and Julia let herself in, calling out as she did so.
It was a very small house. She put her bag down in the narrow hall and went up the stairs at its end, guided by the sound of Ruth’s voice.
She was propped up in bed, her lovely face only slightly dimmed by a red nose and puffy eyes. She said thickly, ‘Julia, you darling. You don’t mind coming? I feel so awful, and Thomas has to be in Theatre all day. I’ll be better tomorrow…’
‘You’ll stay there until Thomas says that you can get up,’ said Julia, ‘and of course I don’t mind coming. In fact it makes a nice change. Now, how about a wash and a clean nightie, and then a morsel of something to eat?’
‘I hope you don’t catch the flu,’ said Ruth later, drinking tea and looking better already, drowsy now in her freshly made bed, her golden hair, though rather lank, it must be admitted, neatly brushed. All the same, thought Julia, she looked far from well.
‘Has the doctor been?’ she asked.
‘Yes, Dr Soames, one of the medical consultants.
Someone is coming with some pills…’
Thomas brought them during his lunch hour. He couldn’t stop, his lunch ‘hour’ being a figure of speech. A cup of coffee and a sandwich was the norm on this day, when Professor van der Maes was operating, but he lingered with Ruth as long as he could, thanked Julia profusely and assured her that he would be back by five o’clock. ‘I’ll be on call,’ he told her, ‘but only until midnight.’
‘Would you like me to keep popping in for a few days, until Ruth is feeling better?’
‘Would you? I hate leaving her.’
He went then, and Julia went down to the little kitchen, made another hot drink for Ruth and boiled herself an egg. Tomorrow she would bring some fruit and a new loaf. Bread and butter, cut very thin, was something most invalids would eat.
It was almost six o’clock when Thomas returned, bringing the Professor with him. The Professor spent a few minutes with Ruth, assured Thomas that she was looking better, and wandered into the kitchen, where Julia was laying a tray of suitable nourishment for Ruth.
‘Get your coat,’ he told her. ‘I’ll drive you home.’ Julia thumped a saucepan of milk onto the stove. ‘Thank you, but I’ll get a bus when I’m ready.’
Not so much as a hello or even a good evening, thought Julia pettishly.
His smile mocked her. ‘Thomas is here now. Two’s company, three’s none.’
‘Thomas will want his supper.’
Thomas breezed into the kitchen. ‘I’m a first-rate cook. We’re going to have a picnic upstairs. You go home, Julia. You’ve been a godsend, and we’re so grateful. You will come tomorrow?’
‘Yes,’ said Julia, and without looking at either of the men went and got her coat, said goodnight to her sister and went downstairs again.
The two men were in the hall and Thomas backed into the open kitchen door to make room for her, but even then the professor took up almost all the space. He opened the door and she squeezed past him into the street. Thomas came too, beaming at them both, just as though he was seeing them off for an evening out.
The Professor had nothing to say. He sat relaxed behind the wheel, and if he felt impatience at the heavy traffic he didn’t show it. Watching the crowded pavements and the packed buses edging their way along the streets, Julia suddenly felt ashamed at her ingratitude.
‘This is very kind of you,’ she began. ‘It would have taken me ages to get home.’
He said coolly, ‘I shan’t be going out of my way. I’m going to the children’s hospital not five minutes’ drive away from your home.’
A remark which hardly encouraged her to carry on the conversation.
He had nothing more to say then, but when he stopped before her house he got out, opened the car door for her and stood waiting while she unlocked the house door, dismissing her thanks with a laconic, ‘I have already said it was no trouble. Goodnight, Julia.’
She stood in the open door as he got into the car and drove off.
‘And that’s the last time I’ll accept a lift from you,’ she said to the empty street. ‘I can’t think why you bothered, but I suppose Thomas was there and you had no choice.’ She slammed the door. ‘Horrid man.’
But she was aware of a kind of sadness; she was sure that he wasn’t a horrid man, only where she was concerned. For some reason she annoyed him…
She got her supper, fed Muffin, and went to warn Trudie that she would be going to Ruth for the next few days. ‘No one phoned about a room, I suppose?’ she asked.
‘Not a soul. Probably in a day or two you’ll have any number of callers.’
But there was no one.
For the next few days Julia went to and fro while Ruth slowly improved. Of the Professor there was no sign, although her sister told her that he had come frequently to see her. Dr Soames came too, and told her that she was much better. ‘Though I look a hag,’ said Ruth.
‘A beautiful hag,’ said Julia bracingly, ‘and tomorrow you’re going to crawl downstairs for a couple of hours.’
Ruth brightened. ‘Tom can get the supper and we’ll have it round the fire, and I dare say Gerard will come for an hour…’
‘Gerard?’
‘The Professor. I simply couldn’t go on calling him Professor, even though he seems a bit staid and stand-offish, doesn’t he? But he’s not in the least, and he’s only thirty-six. He ought to be married, he nearly was a year ago, but he’s not interested in girls. Not to marry, anyway. He’s got lots of friends, but they’re just friends.’
‘You surprise me…’
Ruth gave her a thoughtful look. ‘You don’t like him?’
‘I don’t know him well enough to know if I like or dislike him.’
Ruth gave her a sharp look. ‘I’m feeling so much better; I’m sure I could manage. You’ve been an angel, coming each day, but you must be longing to be let off the hook.’
‘There’s nothing to keep me at home. Trudie looks after herself and keeps an eye on Muffin. And if you can put up with me for another few days I think it might be a good idea.’
‘Oh, darling, would you really come? Just for a couple more days. I do feel so much better, but not quite me yet…’
‘Of course I’ll come. And we’ll see how you are in two days’ time.’
After those two days Julia had to admit that Ruth was quite able to cope without any help from her. It was all very well for her to spend the day there while Ruth was in bed, but now that she was up—still rather wan—Julia felt that Ruth and Tom would much rather be on their own.
The moment she arrived the next morning she told Ruth briskly, ‘This is my last day; you don’t need me any more…’
Ruth was sitting at the table in the tiny kitchen, chopping vegetables. She looked up, laughing. ‘Oh, but I do. Sit down and I’ll tell you.’
Julia took a bite of carrot. ‘You want me to make curtains for the bathroom? I told you everyone could see in if they tried hard enough.’
‘Curtains, pooh! Dr Soames says I need a little holiday, and Thomas says so too. He wants you to go with me. Do say you can. You haven’t got another lodger yet, and Trudie could look after Muffin.’
‘You’re going to Monica’s?’It would be lovely to go away from the dull little house and duller street. ‘Yes, of course I’ll come.’
‘You will? You really won’t mind? Thomas won’t let me go alone…’ She added quickly, ‘And we’re not going to Monica. We’re going to Holland.’
Before Julia could speak, she added, ‘Gerard has a little cottage near a lake. There’s no one there, only his housekeeper. He says it’s very quiet there, and the country’s pretty and just what I need. Thomas wants me to go. He’s got a couple of days due to him and he’ll drive us there.’
‘There won’t be anyone else there? Only us?’
‘Yes, you and I. Tom will stay one night and come and fetch us back—he won’t know exactly when, but it will be a week or two. You’re not having second thoughts?’
Which was exactly what Julia was having, but one look at her sister’s still pale face sent them flying; Ruth needed to get away from London and a week in the country would get her back onto her feet again. Although early summer so far had been chilly and wet, there was always the chance that it would become warm and sunny. She said again, ‘Of course I’ll love to come. I’ll fix things up with Trudie. When are we to go?’
‘Well, Thomas can get Saturday and Sunday off— that’s in three days’ time. We shan’t need many clothes, so you’ll only need to bring a case—and I’ve enough money for both of us.’
‘Oh, I’ve plenty of money,’ said Julia, with such an air of conviction that she believed it herself.
‘You have? Well, I suppose you have more time to work for the greetings card people now, and of course there’s the rent from Trudie…’
Which was swallowed up almost before Julia had put it into her purse. But Ruth didn’t have to know that, and she certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone that she no longer had a market for her little verses. There would be another lodger soon, she told herself bracingly and she would find a part-time job; in the meantime she would enjoy her holiday.
The nagging thought that it was the Professor who had been the means of her having one rankled all the way home. For some reason she hated to be beholden to him.
She felt better about that when she came to the conclusion that he didn’t know that she would be going; beyond offering the use of his house, he wouldn’t be concerned with the details.
The Professor, phoning instructions to his housekeeper in Holland, was very well aware that she would be going with Ruth; he had himself suggested it, with just the right amount of casualness. He wasn’t sure why he had done so but he suspected that he had wanted her to feel beholden to him.
He was an aloof man by nature, and an unhappy love affair had left him with a poor opinion of women. There were exceptions: his own family, his devoted housekeeper, his elderly nanny, the nursing staff who worked for him, life-long friends, wives of men he had known for years. He had added Ruth to the list, so in love with her Thomas—and so different from her sharp-tongued sister. And yet—there was something about Julia…
No need to take a lot of clothes, Ruth had said. Julia foraged through her wardrobe and found a leaf-brown tweed jacket, so old that it was almost fashionable once again. There was a pleated skirt which went quite well with it, a handful of tops and a jersey dress. It was, after all, getting warmer each day. As it was country they would go walking, she supposed, so that meant comfortable shoes. She could travel in the new pair she had had for the weddings. She added undies, a scarf and a thin dressing gown, and then sat down to count her money. And that didn’t take long! There would be a week’s rent from Trudie to add, and when she got back there would be another lot waiting for her. She went in search of her lodger and enlisted her help.
Trudie was a quiet, unassuming girl, saving to get married, good-natured and trustworthy. She willingly agreed to look after Muffin and make sure that the house was locked up at night.
‘You could do with a holiday. No doubt when you get back you’ll have a house full of lodgers and not a moment to yourself.’
A prospect which should have pleased Julia but somehow didn’t.
Three days later Thomas and Ruth came to fetch her. They were to go by the catamaran from Harwich, a fast sea route which would get them to their destination during the afternoon. Julia, who had received only a garbled version of where they were going, spent a great part of their journey studying a map—a large, detailed one which the Professor had thoughtfully provided.
Somewhere south of Amsterdam and not too far from Hilversum. And there were any number of lakes and no large towns until one reached Utrecht.
Ruth said over her shoulder, ‘It’s really country, Julia.
Gerard says we don’t need to go near a town unless we want to, although it’s such a small country there are lots of rural areas with only tiny villages.’
It didn’t seem very rural when they landed at the Hoek and took to the motorway, for small towns followed each other in quick succession, but then Thomas turned into a minor road and Julia saw the Holland she had always pictured. Wide landscapes, villages encircling churches much too large for them, farms with vast barns and water meadows where cows wandered. And the further they drove the more remote it became. The land was flat, but now there were small copses and glimpses of water. Julia looked around her and sighed with pleasure. Maybe there were large towns nearby, and main roads, but here there was an age-old peace and quiet.
Ruth, who had been chattering excitedly, had fallen silent and Thomas said, ‘See that church spire beyond those trees? Unless I’ve read the map wrongly, we’re here…’

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