Wedding Bells for Beatrice. Betty Neels
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Название: Wedding Bells for Beatrice
Автор: Betty Neels
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon M&B
isbn: 9781408983065
isbn:
Her observation that she had no knowledge of the Dutch language was waved aside. ‘English is spoken,’ she was told, ‘although of course you will be expected to study the language during your stay there.’
She had wanted to know how long that would be.
‘We haven’t decided yet. I believe that the Leiden School of Medicine recommend a month in the first instance. Two ward sisters, a male nurse and a physiotherapist will also be going.’
Authority had dismissed her courteously, her head full of unanswered questions.
That evening she phoned her mother, who heard her news without interruption and then remarked in her placid way, ‘Well, dear, it will make a nice change for you and you’ll meet some nice people. You might see that charming man who came to the party with Derek—’
‘Most unlikely,’ said Beatrice quickly, and wished that it wasn’t. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll know more by then, maybe.’
She dressed with care on New Year’s Eve in a silk crêpe dress in a pretty shade of old rose, covered it with a long velvet coat and, with her new shoes and her evening bag tucked under her arm, went down to the forecourt. It was a bitter night but the sky was clear and the hospital lights dispelled the dark. She was fitting the key in her car’s lock when footsteps behind her made her turn round. Tom was coming towards her.
She had managed to avoid him for two days, firmly refusing to go out with him when he had telephoned. She opened the door and got into the car just as he reached it.
‘Still playing hard to get?’ he wanted to know. ‘I’m not taking no for an answer, Beatrice.’
‘I’m not playing at anything, Tom; I said no and I meant it.’
She switched on the engine and he put a hand on the window. ‘Let’s get together and talk this through,’ he suggested. ‘You know as well as I do that we could rub along together.’
‘I’m sorry, Tom, but no.’
‘Are you off this weekend?’
‘I’m going home, Tom. I must go, I’m already late.’
He took his hand away reluctantly and she drove out into the quiet street and turned the car westward. The street would be lively enough in a few hours’ time, the pub would be overflowing with people celebrating the new year and there would be a good deal of activity still. She drove carefully, avoiding the very heart of the city where crowds were already gathering. She wasn’t nervous, only anxious to get to Hampstead on time.
The house Derek’s grandmother lived in was in a quiet, wide avenue, a large Edwardian mansion surrounded by a well kept and uninteresting garden, full of laurel bushes and well kept shrubs, rather sombre. Its large windows were blazing with light and there were any number of cars parked on the sweep before the front door. Beatrice eased her little car between a Daimler and a Mercedes, replaced her sensible driving shoes with the new ones and trod across to the portico. The old lady lived in some style and her servants had been with her for almost all of her married life. The elderly butler who admitted her was white-haired and a little shaky but his appearance brought a nostalgic whiff of earlier days as he led her solemnly across the hall and handed her over to an equally elderly maid who preceded her up the long flight of stairs to the room set aside for lady guests. Beatrice poked at her hair, wriggled her feet in the shoes to make sure that they were comfortable, gave the maid the coat she had shed and went downstairs.
There was a good deal of noise coming from behind the big double doors on one side of the hall. The butler opened them for her and she went inside and found a room full of people.
It was necessary to find her hostess and she was relieved to see the old lady sitting at the other end of the room, talking to Derek. She made her way there, said all that was civil, exchanged a friendly kiss with Derek and looked around for her mother and father.
‘They’re in the second drawing-room; I’ve just come from there. Do come back here when you’ve spoken to them, I want to hear about this jaunt to Holland.’
She had begun to work her way through the groups of people drinks in hand chatting together. She knew several of them and stopped to say hello as she went. She was going through the open arch which led to a smaller similar room when she stopped.
Professor van der Eekerk was leaning against a wall, watching her.
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