The Vicar's Daughter - Бетти Нилс

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heard of her before this morning. Her doctor asked me for a second opinion on her small son. A pampered brat who needed his bottom smacked. He got at the wine decanter and was first drunk and then sick. No one had thought to ask him what he’d had to eat or drink.’ He slowed the car. ‘A waste of my time. There’s a meter—we’re in luck.’

      The restaurant was close by and only half-full. Margo gave him an eloquent glance and sped away to the Ladies’, and when she got back found him at a table by the window, studying the menu. He got up as she reached him, took her jacket and handed it to the waiter, then said, ‘You deserve a drink. Would you like sherry?’

      ‘You can’t have one—you’re driving—so I won’t either. I’d like tonic and lemon, please.’

      He waited as she took a menu from the waiter. ‘We have plenty of time; choose whatever you would like.’

      The menu was mouthwatering and, since there were no prices, probably very expensive. Margo decided on an omelette and salad, thereby endearing herself to the doctor, who chose the same, thankful that when she chose sticky toffee pudding with cream to follow he could settle for biscuits and cheese.

      Presently, as she poured their coffee, he was pleased to see that she had a pretty colour in her cheeks now, and a well-fed look. Shabby treatment, he reflected, to leave her sitting there without so much as a glass of water...

      He asked idly, ‘Do you often run errands for anyone who asks?’

      ‘Well, yes. You see, Father always helps anyone who needs it, and of course that means Mother and I help out too.’

      ‘You would not wish for a different life?’

      ‘I haven’t any training, have I?’ she reminded him.

      ‘I’d love to travel...’ Just for a moment she looked wistful. ‘But life isn’t dull. There’s always something happening, even in a small village like Thinbottom.’

      ‘You don’t hanker for life in London?’

      ‘Goodness me, no. Do you like living here, Professor?’

      ‘Don’t, I beg you, call me Professor; it makes me feel elderly. No, I don’t like living here—my home is in Holland. I only come here from time to time. I stay with an old friend and, though I’m too busy to go out much, I do have other friends scattered around the country with whom I spend my weekends when I’m free.’

      ‘You’re going back to Holland soon?’

      Her heart sank when he said, ‘Oh, yes, in a few weeks—I have to be back there for Christmas.’

      Soon after, they got back into the car, and, encouraged by his questions, she gave him an account of the travellers.

      ‘I went to see them in that house you found for them. The baby’s a darling. They plan to move on but they’ll be all right; they were given clothes and blankets and they didn’t seem to mind that they hadn’t a van. I wish I knew someone...’

      ‘They’ll probably strike lucky. The weather is good, and that should be a great help to them.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shall we stop for tea, or would you like to get home as quickly as possible?’

      ‘Well, by the time we’re home it will be teatime. If you can spare the time I know Mother would love to give you a cup. You don’t need to stay if you’re going further.’

      He hid a smile. ‘That does sound delightful.’ He began to talk about the country they were passing through, careful to put her at her ease.

      CHAPTER TWO

      THEY reached the vicarage shortly before five o’clock, and Margo led the way in through the open front door to be met by her mother’s voice.

      ‘Is that you, love? You’re early...’ Mrs Pearson’s head appeared round the kitchen door. ‘Dr van Kessel, how nice to see you. You’ll stay for tea? It’s in the dining room—I thought that Margo might be hungry...’

      ‘You’ll stay?’ asked Margo. ‘That is, if you’d like to.’

      ‘Indeed I would. Thank you, Mrs Peaison—if you don’t mind having an uninvited guest. I happened to meet Margo, and it seemed sensible to give her a lift as I was driving this way myself.’

      ‘Now that was kind of you. Take off your coat, and you too, Margo, and go and fetch your father. You come with me, Doctor...’

      ‘He’s a professor, Mother,’ said Margo quickly.

      ‘He’s Gijs to his friends.’ He glanced at Margo and smiled. ‘And I hope Margo will allow me to call her Margo...’

      ‘Of course you may, if you want to. Everyone does.’

      She gave him a wide smile and skimmed away to fetch her father from his study.

      Sitting beside his hostess presently, Gijs reflected that it was a very long time since he had sat down to a substantial tea. At the hospital he drank the cups of tea brought to him and often drank them tepid, since he hadn’t the time to stop in his work. If he wasn’t at the hospital but at his consulting rooms, his secretary would sneak him a cup between patients—but five o’clock tea, such as this was, was a rarity. Sliced bread and butter arranged on a pretty plate, jam, honey, a covered dish of buttered toast, scones and a large fruit cake. Moreover, the tea was hot and strong, with plenty of milk.

      ‘I don’t suppose you have much time for tea,’ observed Mrs Pearson chattily. ‘Last time I was in London with the Women’s Institute we had tea at a hotel—little teapots barely enough for one cup and quite nasty looks from the waitresses when we asked for more hot water. And such mean little sandwiches and cakes. I dare say that’s fashionable. Where did you see Margo?’

      ‘At Lady Mellor’s house. I’m sure that Margo can tell you about it better than L’

      Margo told. ‘I dare say Lady Mellor had a lot to worry about,’ she finished, ‘and the butler was very nice about it. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, if you see what I mean.’

      From anyone else, thought the professor, that would sound priggish, but somehow not from Margo—she is, after all, the vicar’s daughter, brought up to see good in everyone. Let’s hope she’ll never be disillusioned.

      He said lightly then, ‘It was just our good luck that we should meet in such an unlikely place. I’m delighted to have had company driving down here.’

      ‘You like England?’ asked the vicar.

      ‘Very much.’ The two men started a discussion about the English countryside, but the professor volunteered no real information about his own country. Certainly he enlarged upon the social and commercial aspects, and enlarged too upon his homeland, albeit rather vaguely, but Margo reflected that he had told them nothing of his own home or where he lived. Perhaps he was married...

      The thought was an unwelcome one which she thrust aside. Why shouldn’t he be married with a brood of children? It was none of her business. She did want to know, however.

      Margo being Margo, it was no sooner said than done.

      ‘Are you married?’ she asked him. Then regretted it the moment she had spoken; the look of amused surprise on his face sent the colour into her cheeks and she mumbled, ‘Sorry, that was rude of me...’

      ‘No, I’m not married.’ He ignored the mumble. ‘I have never found the time.’

      Mrs Pearson hastened to fill an awkward pause. ‘Of course one always expects doctors to be family men—I’m sure I don’t know why. A wife and children must be a hindrance to their work at times.’

      He smiled. ‘I imagine that doctors’ wives quickly learn not to be that—rather, a pleasant distraction after a long day’s work. And my married colleagues are doting fathers.’

      “Then

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