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it, but her lovely day was a little spoilt by that.

      At breakfast he asked her if she had enjoyed her day out, and, quite carried away by the pleasure, she assured him that she had and embarked on a brief description of where they had been, only to realise very quickly that he wasn’t in the least interested. So she stopped in mid-sentence, applied herself to attending to the boys’ wants and her own breakfast, and when he got up from the table with a muttered excuse took no notice.

      He turned back at the door to say, ‘I see no reason why the boys shouldn’t attend church this morning. Kindly have them ready in good time, Miss Pomfrey. And, of course, yourself.’

      So they went to church, the boys delighted to be with their uncle, she at her most staid. The sermon seemed longer than ever, but she didn’t mind, she was planning her new clothes. Piet had said he would take her to Amsterdam, a city worthy of a new outfit.

      The doctor, sitting so that he could watch her face, wondered why he had considered her so plain—something, someone had brought her to life. He frowned; he must remember to warn her…

      There was a general upsurge of the congregation and presently they were walking home again.

      They had just finished lunch and were full of ideas as to how they might spend their afternoon when Christina Lutyns was ushered in.

      She kissed the doctor on both cheeks, nodded to the boys and ignored Araminta, breaking into a torrent of Dutch.

      The doctor had got up as she entered, and stood smiling as she talked. When she paused he said something to make her smile, and then said in English, ‘I shall be out for the rest of the day, Miss Pomfrey.’ When the boys protested, he promised that when he came home he would be sure to wish them goodnight. ‘Although you may be asleep,’ he warned them.

      They had been asleep for hours when he came home. He went to their room and bent to kiss them and tuck the bedclothes in, and Araminta, who had had a difficult time getting them to go to sleep, hoped that he would have a good excuse in the morning.

      Whatever it was, it satisfied the boys, but not her, for he spoke Dutch.

      That evening he asked her when she would like her free day. Piet had suggested Thursday, but she felt uncertain of having it. If the doctor had work to do he wouldn’t change that to accommodate her. But it seemed that Thursday was possible. ‘Going out with van Vleet again?’ asked the doctor casually.

      ‘Yes, to Amsterdam.’ She added, in a voice which dared him to disagree with her, ‘I hear it is a delightful city. I am looking forward to seeing it.’

      ‘Miss Pomfrey, there is something I should warn you about…’

      ‘Is there? Could it wait, Doctor? The boys will be late for school if I don’t take them now.’

      ‘Just as you like, Miss Pomfrey.’ And somehow she contrived not to be alone with him for the rest of the day; she felt sure he was going to tell her that they would be returning to England sooner than he had expected, and she didn’t want to hear that. Not now that she had met Piet.

      Rather recklessly she went shopping during the morning hours while the boys were in school. Clothes, good clothes, she discovered, were expensive, but she couldn’t resist buying a dress and loose jacket in a fine wool. It was in pale amber, an impractical colour and probably she wouldn’t have much chance to wear it, but it gave her mousy hair an added glint and it was a perfect fit. She bought shoes, too, and a handbag and a pretty scarf.

      Thursday came and, much admired by the boys, she went downstairs to meet Piet. He was in the hall talking to the doctor and turned to watch her as she came towards them. His hello was friendly. ‘How smart you look—I like the colour; it suits you.’

      ‘We told her that she looks beautiful,’ said Peter.

      ‘She does, doesn’t she, Uncle?’ Paul added.

      The doctor, appealed to, observed that indeed Miss Pomfrey looked charming. But his eyes when he glanced at her were cold.

      Amsterdam was everything that she had hoped for, and Piet took her from one museum to the other, for a trip on the canals, a visit to the Rijksmusee and there they had a quick look at the shops. They had coffee and had a snack lunch and, later, tea. And in the evening, as the lights came on, they strolled along the grachten, looking at the old houses and the half-hidden antique shops.

      He took her to the Hotel de L’Europe for dinner, and it was while they drank their coffee that he told her that he was to marry in the New Year.

      ‘Anna is in Canada, visiting her grandparents,’ he told her. ‘I miss her very much, but soon she will be home again. You would like each other. She is like you, I think, rather quiet—I think you say in English, a home bird? She is a splendid cook and she is fond of children. We shall be very happy.’

      He beamed at her across the table and she smiled back while the half-formed daydreams tumbled down into her new shoes. She had been a fool, but, thank heaven, he had no idea…

      ‘Tell me about her,’ said Araminta. Which he did at some length, so that it was late by the time they reached the doctor’s house.

      ‘We must go out together again,’ said Piet eagerly.

      ‘Well, I’m not sure about that. I believe we’re going back to England very shortly. Shall I let you know?’ She offered a hand. ‘It’s been a lovely day, and thank you so very much for giving me dinner. If we don’t see each other again, I hope that you and your Anna will be very happy.’

      ‘Oh, we shall,’ he assured her.

      ‘Don’t get out of the car,’ said Araminta. ‘There’s Bas at the door.’

      It was quiet in the hall, and dimly lit. Bas wished her goodnight and went away, and she stood there feeling very alone. She had only herself to thank, of course. Had she really imagined that someone as uninteresting as herself could attract a man? He had asked her out of kindness—she hoped he hadn’t pitied her…

      She was aware that the study door was open and the doctor was standing there watching her. She made for the stairs, muttering goodnight, but he put out an arm and stopped her.

      ‘You look as though you are about to burst into tears. You’ll feel better if you talk about it.’

      ‘I haven’t anything to talk about…’

      He put a vast arm round her shoulders. ‘Oh, yes, you have. I did try to warn you, but you wouldn’t allow me to.’

      He sounded quite different: kind, gentle and understanding.

      ‘I’ve been such a fool,’ began Araminta as she laid her head against his shoulder and allowed herself the luxury of a good cry.

CHAPTER SIX

      THE doctor, waiting patiently while Araminta snivelled and snorted into his shoulder, became aware of several things: the faint scent of clean mousy hair under his chin, the slender softness of her person and a wholly unexpected concern for her. Presently he gave her a large white handkerchief.

      ‘Better?’ he asked. ‘Mop up and give a good blow and tell me about it.’

      She did as she was told, but said in a watery voice, ‘I don’t want to talk about it, thank you.’ And then she added, ‘So sorry…’ She had slipped from his arm. ‘You’ve been very kind. I’ll wash your hanky…’

      He sat her down in a small chair away from the brightness of his desk lamp.

      ‘You don’t need to tell me if you don’t wish to.’ He had gone to a small table under the window and come back with a glass. ‘Drink that; it will make you feel better.’

      She sniffed it. ‘Brandy? I’ve never had any…’

      ‘There’s always a first

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