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all small boys, enlarging upon the idea with gruff chuckles from his twin.

      The doctor got up presently. ‘Ice cream and yoghurt for supper,’ he suggested. ‘Miss Pomfrey, if you would come down to my study, I will give you something to ease that sore throat. Peter, I leave you in charge for a few minutes.’

      In the study, with Humphrey standing between them, he said, ‘You have had a long day. I’m afraid the next few days will be equally long. Paul is picking up nicely, and the swelling should go down in another five or six days. He must stay in bed for another day or so, then he could be allowed to get up, wrapped up warmly and kept in the room. Peter seems all right…’

      ‘Yes, and so good with his brother.’

      ‘I shall be at home this evening. I’ll keep an eye on the boys while you have dinner, and then if you would be with them for half an hour or so, I’ll take over. You could do with an early night…’

      She said, before she could stop her tongue, ‘Do I look so awful?’

      He surveyed her coolly. ‘Let us say you do not look at your best, Miss Pomfrey.’

      He took no notice of her glare but went to his case. ‘Crush one of these and stir it into Paul’s ice cream. Get him to drink as much as possible.’ He added, ‘You will, of course, be experienced in the treatment of childish ailments?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Araminta. The horrible man. What did he expect when she’d been kept busy the whole day with the boys? Not look her best, indeed!

      She went to the door and he opened it for her and then made matters worse by observing, ‘Never mind, Miss Pomfrey, as soon as the mumps have been routed, you shall have all the time you want for beauty treatment and shopping.’

      She spun round to face him, looking up into his bland face. ‘Why bother? And how dare you mock me? You are an exceedingly tiresome man, but I don’t suppose anyone has dared to tell you so!’

      He stared down at her, not speaking.

      ‘Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said that,’ said Araminta. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings, although I don’t see why I should be, for you have no regard for mine. Anyway,’ she added defiantly, ‘it’s a free world and I can say what I like.’

      ‘Indeed you can, Miss Pomfrey. Feel free to express your feelings whenever you have the need.’

      He held the door wide and she flounced through. Back with the boys once more, she wondered if he would give her the sack. He was entitled to do so; she had been more than a little outspoken. On the other hand, he would have to get someone to replace her pretty smartly, someone willing to cope with two small boys and the mumps…

      Apparently he had no such intention. Paul was soon readied for the night and Peter was prancing round in his pyjamas, demanding that he should have his supper with his brother.

      ‘Well, I don’t see why not,’ said Araminta. ‘Put on your dressing gown, there’s a good boy, and I’ll see what Bas says…’

      ‘And what should Bas say?’ asked the doctor, coming in in his usual quiet fashion.

      ‘That he won’t mind helping me bring supper up here for Peter as well as Paul.’

      ‘By all means. Ask him to do so, Miss Pomfrey, and then have your dinner—a little early, but I dare say you will enjoy a long evening to yourself.’

      There was nothing to say to that, so she went in search of Bas.

      Peter said. ‘You must say Mintie, Uncle. Why do you always call her Miss Pomfrey?’

      ‘I have a shocking memory. How about a game of Spillikins after supper?’

      Araminta still felt annoyed, and apprehensive as well, but that didn’t prevent her from enjoying her meal. Jet sent in garlic mushrooms, chicken à la king with braised celery, and then a chocolate mousse. It would be a pity to miss these delights, reflected Araminta, relishing the last of the mousse. She must keep a curb on her tongue in future.

      She went back to sit with the boys and the doctor went away to eat his dinner, urged to be quick so that there would be time for one more game of Spillikins before their bedtime.

      ‘It’s already past your bedtime,’ said Araminta.

      ‘Just for once shall we bend the rules?’ said the doctor as he went out of the room.

      He was back within half an hour, and another half an hour saw the end of their game. He got up from Paul’s bed.

      ‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ he told them, ‘and you’ll both be asleep.’

      When he came back he said, ‘Thank you, Miss Pomfrey, goodnight.’

      She had already tucked the boys in, so she wished him a quiet goodnight and left him there.

      A faint grizzling sound wakened her around midnight. Peter had woken up with a headache and a sore throat…

      She went down to breakfast in the morning feeling rather the worse for wear. The doctor glanced up briefly from his post, wished her good morning and resumed his reading. Araminta sat down, poured her coffee, and, since he had nothing further to say, observed, ‘Peter has the mumps.’

      The doctor took off his spectacles, the better to look at her.

      ‘To be expected. I’ll go and have a look at him. He had a bad night?’

      ‘Yes,’ said Araminta, and stopped herself just in time from adding, And so did I.

      ‘And so did you,’ said the doctor, reading her peevish face like an open book. He passed her the basket of rolls and offered butter. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve had your breakfast.’

      Araminta buttered a roll savagely. She might have known better than to have expected any sympathy. She thought of several nasty remarks to make, but he was watching her from his end of the table and for once she decided that prudence might be the best thing.

      She bit into her roll with her splendid teeth, choked on a crumb and had to be thumped on the back while she whooped and spluttered. Rather red in the face, she resumed her breakfast and the doctor his seat.

      He said mildly, ‘You don’t appear to be your usual calm self, Miss Pomfrey. Perhaps I should get extra help while the boys are sick.’

      ‘Quite unnecessary,’ said Araminta. ‘With both of them in bed there will be very little to do.’

      She was aware that she was being optimistic; there would be a great deal to do. By the end of the day she would probably be at her wits’ end, cross-eyed and sore-throated from reading aloud, headachey from jigsaw puzzles and worn out by coaxing two small fractious boys to swallow food and drink which they didn’t want…

      ‘Just as you wish,’ observed the doctor, and gathered up his letters. ‘I’ll go and have a look at Peter. Did Paul sleep?’

      ‘For most of the night.’

      He nodded and left her to finish her breakfast, and presently, when he had seen Paul, he returned to tell her that Peter was likely to be peevish and out of sorts. ‘I’ll give you something before I leave to relieve his sore throat. Paul is getting on nicely. Bas will know how to get hold of me if you are worried. Don’t hesitate if you are. I’ll be home around six.’

      The day seemed endless, but away from the doctor’s inimical eye Araminta was her practical, unflappable self, full of sympathy for the two small boys. Naturally they were cross, given to bursts of crying, and unwilling to swallow drinks and the ice cream she offered. Still, towards teatime she could see that Paul was feeling better, and although Peter’s temperature was still too high, he was less peevish.

      She hardly left them; Nel relieved her when she had a meal, and offered to sit with them while she went out for a while, but Araminta, with Bas translating, assured her that she was fine and that when the doctor came home she would have an

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