Nanny by Chance. Betty Neels

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      They were on the outskirts of Utrecht by now, and soon at its heart. Some magnificent buildings, she conceded, and a bewildering number of canals. She glimpsed several streets of shops, squares lined by tall, narrow houses with gabled roofs and brief views of what she supposed were parks.

      The boys were talking now, nineteen to the dozen, and in Dutch. Well, of course, they would, reflected Araminta. They had a Dutch mother and uncle. They were both talking at once, interrupted from time to time by the doctor’s measured tones, but presently Paul shouted over his shoulder, ‘We’re here, Mintie. Do look, isn’t it splendid?’

      She looked. They were in a narrow gracht, tree-lined, with houses on either side of the canal in all shapes and sizes: some of them crooked with age, all with a variety of gabled roofs. The car had stopped at the end of the gracht before a narrow red-brick house with double steps leading up to its solid door. She craned her neck to see its height—four storeys, each with three windows. The ground floor ones were large, but they got progressively smaller at each storey so that the top ones of all were tucked in between the curve of the gable.

      The doctor got out, went around to allow the boys to join him and then opened her door. He said kindly, ‘I hope you haven’t found the journey too tiring?’

      Araminta said, ‘Not in the least,’ and felt as elderly as his glance indicated. Probably she looked twice her age; her toilet on board had been sketchy…

      The boys had run up the steps, talking excitedly to the man who had opened the door, and the doctor, gently urging her up the steps said, ‘This is Bas, who runs my home with his wife. As I said, he speaks English, and will do all he can to help you.’

      She offered a hand and smiled at the elderly lined face with its thatch of grey hair. Bas shook hands and said gravely, ‘We welcome you, miss, and shall do our best to make you happy.’

      Which was nice, she thought, and wished that the doctor had said something like that.

      What he did say was rather absent-minded. ‘Yes, yes, Miss Pomfrey. Make yourself at home and ask Bas for anything you may need.’

      Which she supposed was the next best thing to a welcome.

      The hall they entered was long and narrow, with a great many doors on either side of it, and halfway along it there was a staircase, curving upwards between the panelled walls. As they reached a pair of magnificent mahogany doors someone came to meet them from the back of the house. It was a short, stout woman in a black dress and wearing a printed pinny over it. She had a round rosy face and grey hair screwed into a bun. Her eyes were very dark and as she reached them she gave Araminta a quick look.

      ‘Jet…’ Dr van der Breugh sounded pleased to see her and indeed kissed her cheek and spoke at some length in his own language. His housekeeper smiled then, shook Araminta’s hand and bent to hug the boys, talking all the time.

      The doctor said in English, ‘Go with Jet to the kitchen, both of you, and have milk and biscuits. Miss Pomfrey shall fetch you as soon as she has had a cup of coffee.’

      Bas opened the doors and Araminta, invited to enter the room, did so. It was large and lofty, with two windows overlooking the gracht, a massive fireplace along one wall and glass doors opening into a room beyond. It was furnished with two vast sofas on either side of the fireplace and a number of comfortable chairs. There was a Pembroke table between the windows and a rosewood sofa table on which a china bowl of late roses glowed.

      A walnut and marquetry display cabinet took up most of the wall beside the fireplace on one side, and on the other there was a black and gold laquer cabinet on a gilt stand. Above it was a great stoel clock, its quiet tick-tock somehow enhancing the peace of the room. And the furnishings were restful: dull mulberry-red and dark green, the heavy curtains at the windows matching the upholstery of the sofas and chairs. The floor was highly polished oak with Kasham silk rugs, faded with age, scattered on it.

      A magnificent room, reflected Araminta, and if it had been anyone other than the doctor she would have said so. She held her tongue, however, sensing that he would give her a polite and chilly stare at her unasked-for praise.

      He said, ‘Do sit down, Miss Pomfrey. Jet shall take you to your room when you have had coffee and then perhaps you would see to the boys’ things and arrange some kind of schedule for their day? We could discuss that later today.’

      Bas brought the coffee then, and she poured it for them both and sat drinking it silently as the doctor excused himself while he glanced through the piles of letters laid beside his chair, his spectacles on his handsome nose, oblivious of her presence.

      He had indeed forgotten her for the moment, but presently he looked up and said briskly, ‘I expect you would like to go to your room. Take the boys with you, will you? I shall be out to lunch and I suggest that you take the boys for a walk this afternoon. They know where the park is and Bas will tell you anything you may wish to know.’

      He went to open the door for her and she went past him into the hall. She would have liked a second cup of coffee…

      Bas was waiting for her and took her to the kitchen, a semi-basement room at the back of the house. It was nice to be greeted by cheerful shouts from the boys and Jet’s kind smile and the offer of another cup of coffee. She sat down at the old-fashioned scrubbed table while Bas told her that he would serve their lunch at midday and that when they came back from their walk he would have an English afternoon tea waiting for her.

      His kind old face crinkled into a smile as he told her, ‘And if you should wish to telephone your family, you are to do so—mijnheer’s orders.’

      ‘Oh, may I? I’ll do that now, before I go to my room…’

      Her mother answered the phone, expressed relief that Araminta had arrived safely and observed that there were some interesting burial mounds in the north of Holland if she should have the opportunity to see them. ‘And enjoy yourself, dear,’ said her parent.

      Araminta, not sure whether it was the burial mounds or her job which was to give her enjoyment, assured her mother that she would do so and went in search of the boys.

      Led upstairs by Jet, with the boys running ahead, she found herself in a charming room on the second floor. It overlooked the street below and was charmingly furnished, with a narrow canopied bed, a dressing table under its window and two small easy chairs flanking a small round table. The colour scheme was a mixture of pastel colours and the furniture was of some pale wood she didn’t recognise. There was a large cupboard and a little door led to a bathroom. The house might be old, she thought, but the plumbing was ultra-modern. It had everything one could wish for…

      The boys’ room was across the narrow passage, with another bathroom, and at the end of the passage was a room which she supposed had been a nursery, for it had a low table and small chairs round it and shelves full of toys.

      She was right. The boys, both talking at once, eager to show her everything, told her that some of the toys had belonged to their uncle and his father; even his grandfather.

      ‘We have to be careful of them,’ said Paul, ‘but Uncle Marcus lets us play with them when we’re here.’

      ‘Do you come here often?’ asked Araminta.

      ‘Every year with Mummy and Daddy.’

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