The Edge of Winter. Бетти Нилс
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Название: The Edge of Winter
Автор: Бетти Нилс
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
isbn: 9781408982358
isbn:
The little corner shop was still open when she went off duty, so she bought a loaf and a tin of beans and a pound of apples and went home, where, over her simple meal, she found herself wishing that the Dutch doctor was there too, bad temper and all, offering her something tasty from Harrods.
It was several days later that she overheard Sir Donald telling James that Doctor van Sibbelt was back in his own country. It was a pity that they walked away just then and she was unable to hear any more. It was fortunate, though, that that very evening she had agreed to go to the cinema with James. They had time for a cup of coffee before the film started and she led the conversation carefully round to Doctor van Sibbelt, ‘What part of Holland does he come from?’ she wanted to know in an off-hand way.
‘No idea. I don’t really know what he does—something in medicine, of course. He comes over here quite a bit, so I hear. His English is pretty good, isn’t it?’
‘I—yes, I suppose so…’
James rambled on. ‘He’s rather a splendid-looking chap, I thought—made a great impression on the girls…’ He chuckled to himself. ‘Not bad, seeing that he’s reaching for forty.’ The way he said it made it sound like eighty, and Araminta said sharply: ‘That’s not even middle-aged,’ and then hurried on because James had given her a mildly enquiring look: ‘Ought we to be going? I’d hate to miss any of the film.’
And that was the last of Doctor van Sibbelt. Or so she told herself.
She went home the following weekend, driving herself in the Mini. It was a splendid morning, although there was a nip in the air which warned her that winter wasn’t so very far away. She left early, before the morning traffic piled up, so that she was out of London and on to the M4 while the roads were still fairly quiet. She drove fast, stopping briefly for coffee before turning off the motorway to go across country to Bridgewater. She was a good driver, but if she went through Bristol she would be held up for hours and she knew the quieter country roads very well. At Bridgewater she took the Minehead road and slowed down to enjoy the scenery, and Dunster, when she reached it, was delightfully quiet. She entered the little town on a sigh of pleasure, past the Luttrell Arms and the smalls shops lining the broad main street, with a glimpse of the castle at the end of it, and then past the church and into a narrow lane where the houses, although small, were well kept. At the end of the row, standing a little apart, was her home, just the same as all the others but with a small garden before it. Araminta pulled the Mini into the side of the road and jumped out, running up the path like a small girl to fling herself into Aunt Martha’s arms and then embrace her father. And there was Toby to hug too, an elderly nondescript cat who had walked in one day years ago and had been a close member of the household ever since. He sat on her lap, purring, while she drank the coffee her aunt insisted she needed before they had their lunch, and presently she went upstairs to her small, rather dark, room, with its shelves full of china ornaments and the bits and pieces she had collected since she was a very small girl, and its narrow bed with its faded eiderdown. She tidied herself slowly, savouring the quiet and the delicious smells coming from the kitchen. Aunt Martha might look like a straightlaced dowager, but she was a dream of a cook.
It was after lunch, when they had washed up and were sitting round the fire, her aunt with her knitting, her father with his pipe and a massive book at his elbow and Araminta sitting between them with Toby in her lap once more, that the name of Doctor van Sibbelt cropped up. They had been talking about their holiday and it was Aunt Martha who remarked on his charm of manner as she went on to say: ‘And did he go to see you, child? I gave him your address; he seemed anxious to let you know about that little girl-Mary Rose.’
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