“I’m sorry I’ve been so silly about this. It’s strange that I should be telling you of all people.”

He was staring hard at her. “Why do you say that, Hannah?”

“Well—you and I—I mean, we’re miles apart, aren’t we? In different worlds. Hank hinted that it was because of me that he didn’t get a better table and we had to wait to be served—I must be a failure as a dinner companion. I wasn’t exactly a success with you, was I?”

Valentijn muttered something forceful under his breath, then got up and walked over to where she was sitting and stood looking down at her. He seemed enormous, looming over her, and strangely reassuring, too. He said slowly, “You look pretty in that dress, Hannah.”

She looked up at him shyly—she wasn’t used to compliments, especially from elegant, self-assured gentlemen. She wiped away the last of the tears with the back of her hand and smiled at him. “It’s new. I bought it just in case I got asked somewhere.” She smoothed the soft folds of the skirt with a careful hand. “Well, at least I’ve had a chance to wear it.”

She got to her feet and, as Valentijn didn’t budge an inch, she found herself within inches of his waistcoat. He very gently drew her close and kissed her just as gently. “Good night, Hannah.”

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

Hannah
Betty Neels

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

BABY VAN EYSINK had made up his tiny mind not to take his feed; all four and a half pounds of him was protesting, doll-like arms and legs waving and his small face puce with manly rage. The puce deepened alarmingly as his blue eyes, squinting with temper, stared up into the face above him. Not much of it was visible above the mask, only a pair of wide grey eyes thickly fringed with dark lashes, and a few strands of fine straight light brown hair which had escaped from under the starched cap, but the eyes had laughter lines at their corners and the voice, urging him to be a good boy and do his best, was soft and gentle, so that he allowed himself to be soothed, and his loud bawling became a series of protesting squeaks and snuffles until he squeezed his eyes tight shut and began to feed, reluctantly at first and then with growing enthusiasm.

His performance had been watched anxiously by the girl sitting up in bed in the small hospital room. Now she spoke quietly, her English fluent but heavily accented.

‘Hannah, you are a marvellous person, this is now three times that my little baby has fed from his bottle, and that after so many weeks with that drip thing. I am so very happy, I shall telephone his papa this evening and tell him and he will be happy too. Now we shall soon go home, is it not?’

‘Not,’ said Hannah. ‘Well, what I mean is not for a little while longer—little Paul has to gain another pound and feed normally for at least three days. Besides, you’re not quite up to looking after him yet, are you, Mevrouw van Eysink?’

‘But there will be a nurse and when we are both quite well again, there will be a nanny.’ The girl pulled herself up on her monkey rope and altered her position. ‘I cannot wait for the moment when they will take this horrid thing from me!’

‘Not long now.’ Hannah’s voice was as soothing as when she had coaxed the tiny scrap on her lap, now feeding noisily. ‘You’ll be as good as new once it’s off; a few months’ exercise and therapy and you’ll be fit to dance at anyone’s wedding.’

‘Yours?’

‘Heavens, no! Is your husband coming this weekend?’

‘Yes, of course. Dear Paul!’ The girl in the bed tweaked a lace frill straight and smiled to herself. ‘I must not grumble, must I? I could have been killed, and worse, I could have lost my baby. It is a miracle that he was born, is it not?’

‘It is. It’s worth lying still in bed and then wearing a hip spica for a bit, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, oh, yes! Dear Hannah, you are always so sensible and reassuring just like Oom Valentijn…’

Hannah made a face under her mask; Oom Valentijn was quoted, praised and admired at least three times a day. He must be an uncle in a million, she decided and she was heartily sick of him. And a lot of good that did, for Mevrouw van Eysink had launched herself into a lengthy eulogy once more.

‘I am devoted to him,’ she declared, not for the first time. ‘You see, I do not remember my father, and my mother is, how do you say? invalid, and I have no brothers or sisters—so I am a spoilt little girl, having my own way always until Uncle Valentijn comes to see me. I am four years old then and he is twenty-one, and he tease me and teach me to ride a pony and look after cats and dogs and ride a bicycle, and he does not allow me to cry when I fall off. He comes—he came—many times over the years, even after he is married…’

‘Oh, is he married?’ asked Hannah idly.

‘Not any more. He was a young man then and it was an unfortunate marriage, for they found that they did not love each other and Annette went away with another man and there was a divorce…’ She saw the look that Hannah gave her. ‘You think that I should not be telling you all this? But I like you and you are discreet, and without you I should not have the little Paul and I must talk to someone, you understand? I love my Paul, but for Oom Valentijn I have a strong affection. Why, he even helped us to marry, for my mother did not find Paul rich enough, but Oom Valentijn told me to marry whom I chose and that money didn’t matter, and he is right, although we are not poor, you understand. It is a pity that he is not married too, for he has a great deal of money and a beautiful house to live in.’

‘Well, I daresay he’ll find someone,’ observed Hannah. There surely were plenty of girls around who would be glad to live in a lovely home and have all the money they wanted, even if they had to marry someone middle-aged to get them.

They lapsed into companionable silence, broken after a minute or two by Mevrouw van Eysink’s small, excited shriek. ‘Oom Valentijn!’ She plunged into a spate of Dutch. Hannah didn’t look round; for one thing little Paul needed one’s undivided attention and for another, she wasn’t all that interested. She knew exactly what he would be like—thick-set and balding and wearing pebble glasses, like the Dutch characters she had occasionally seen on TV or at the films: his opinions had been quoted so often now that she felt that she knew him very well indeed—and deadly boring he must be too.

She twiddled the teat in little Paul’s mouth with a cunning hand because he was getting tired now and hadn’t quite finished, but she had to look up when Uncle Valentijn walked past her to the bed, giving her a civil, ‘Good morning, Nurse,’ as he did so.

Her reply, equally civil, ended in a gasp. Uncle Valentijn wasn’t running true to form. He was tall and his shoulders were enormous and he showed no signs of approaching middle age. True, his hair was iron grey, cropped unfashionably close, but his features, while not those of a young man, were remarkably handsome, with a high-bridged nose and a straight mouth and blue eyes—they were studying her now, briefly and with polite indifference, and Hannah flushed under her mask, glad that little Paul should give a loud burp and need instant attention.

Uncle Valentijn made himself comfortable on the side of his niece’s bed. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner, my dear,’ and Hannah, liking his deep, rather slow voice, pricked up her ears. ‘You seem to have made a remarkable recovery.’ He bent and kissed one delicately made-up cheek. ‘And just as pretty as ever. I saw Paul as soon as I got back—he sends his love and will be with you at the week-end.’

His niece beamed at him. ‘He comes each weekend, but soon I shall go home, once I have this—this thing off.’ She paused. ‘Can we not speak Dutch?’ She turned her head to look at Hannah. ‘You will not mind, Hannah, if we speak in our own language? I am so tired of speaking yours…’

Her visitor turned to look at Hannah too and there was faint amusement in his eyes. ‘Not in the least,’ she said, and felt awkward and in the way.

‘And how is my godchild?’ he wanted to know, and crossed the room, to take the baby from her with a polite murmur of, ‘May I?’

He knew exactly what he was about, she saw that at a glance, but then so he should. Hadn’t Mevrouw van Eysink told her time and again that he was a famous paediatrician? Baby Paul was lucky; not only had he survived a bad motor car crash before he was born and then arrived two months too soon, but he had doting parents, who from all accounts were able to provide him with a more than comfortable home and as a bonus, Uncle Valentijn.

She received the infant back presently, laid him in his cot, collected up her bits and pieces, and with the advice that if her patient required anything she had only to ring the bell, she went. To her surprise, Uncle Valentijn got up to open the door for her.

She was waylaid almost at once by the willowy blonde who shared the staff nurse’s duties with her on the Prem. Unit and as well as that, was a close friend.

‘Hannah!’ She put out a hand so that Hannah had to stop. ‘Hannah, who’s that stupendous type who strolled in a little while ago—he’s really something…’

Hannah interrupted her a little tartly. ‘That’s Uncle Valentijn.’

Her friend’s large blue eyes popped alarmingly. ‘But it can’t be! He’s fat and middle-aged and…’

‘Well, I thought that’s how he’d be—like that Dutch character we saw in that film a couple of weeks ago, remember? And I’d got heartily sick of him, anyway: Uncle Valentijn this and Uncle Valentijn that, day after day.’ Hannah shifted her tray and prepared to move on. ‘You know how it is, Louise.’

Louise giggled. ‘Is he staying?’

‘How should I know? He said “Good morning” and “May I” and the rest of the time they spoke Dutch. He didn’t even look at me—I mean, not to see me, you know. People don’t. I wish I had fair hair and blue eyes and a figure.’

Hannah spoke without a trace of envy for the girl with her, who had all those things.

‘You’re very nice as you are, love,’ declared Louise. ‘Have you had coffee? I haven’t either, we’ll pop down as soon as we’ve cleared up, shall we? There’s nothing due until half past ten.’

‘I’m famished,’ observed Hannah. ‘If only I didn’t get so hungry then I’d diet.’ She looked down at her small well-rounded figure and sighed, then muttered under her breath, ‘Here comes the Honourable!’

Sister Thorne, the younger daughter of a viscount, no less, bore down upon them in a purposeful fashion which they had learnt to be very wary of. She was a large woman with a booming voice, constantly issuing orders and making sure that no member of her staff had time to do more than draw breath between one task and the next. She didn’t look in the least like a member of the aristocracy, thought Hannah, watching her approach; she should have been as willowy and pretty as Louise, instead of which she was stout with a face like a well-bred horse, used no make-up and strained back her greying hair in an unbecoming bun. She was a splendid nurse, though, and made no bones about staying on duty when she should have been off if there was something on the ward she wasn’t quite happy about. She expected her nurses to do the same, of course, and they did so without complaining, although whereas Sister Thorne, however late she was, was whisked away in some chauffeur-driven car to wherever it was she spent her evenings, the nurses had to run for a bus and spend the evening soothing their boy-friends’ tempers because they’d missed the big picture at the local cinema.

She halted in front of Hannah now. ‘You should have tidied away by now, Staff Nurse. I expect my nurses—my trained nurses—to set an example to the students. You’ve just left Baby van Eysink? I shall visit there next, I believe Doctor van Bertes is there, is he not? He will wish to see the notes of his niece’s case. Be good enough to go to my office and fetch them and bring them to me there.’

She glanced at Louise, standing uneasily, wanting to go but not wishing to appear to be running away. ‘Your cap is crooked, Staff Nurse, and you are wearing excessive make-up.’ She sailed away and Hannah, with an expressive look at her friend, sped in the opposite direction, to shed her load in the dressings room and repair to the office and fetch the notes.

Sister Thorne and Uncle Valentijn were standing facing each other when she knocked and went into her patient’s room, and she had the impression that they had been arguing. Well, she amended to herself, not arguing, neither of them were the type to do that, issuing statements perhaps and not agreeing in a well-bred way. Hannah handed her superior the notes and made for the door, to be arrested by the visitor’s smooth: ‘One moment, Staff Nurse Lang.’ He gestured politely at Sister Thorne, who nodded graciously.

‘I hear from both my niece and from Sister Thorne that it is largely through your efforts and patience that my godson is thriving. I—we are deeply indebted to you.’

Hannah, taken by surprise, blushed fiercely, mumbled that it hadn’t been anything really and poised herself for flight. As she went she saw the look Uncle Valentijn gave her—amused, mocking and tinged with the indifference which she had detected in his voice. A horrible man, she decided, nipping down the corridor, far, far worse than the Uncle Valentijn she had built up from her fertile imagination.

She was off duty at five o’clock, with two free days to follow, and she didn’t see him again before she went off duty, half an hour late, because Baby Paul took twice as long as usual to finish his bottle.

‘A pity you’re off duty,’ observed his mother. ‘Uncle Valentijn will be back this evening—and you have days off too, haven’t you?’ She frowned. ‘I do not like it when you are not here, Hannah, because Paul is sometimes not good, but of course you need your free time—I expect you have much fun.’

Hannah wrapped the baby neatly into a gossamer shawl and popped him into his cot. She said soberly: ‘It’s nice to have a change.’ She bade her patient goodbye and fifteen minutes later, clad in a pleated skirt and a short-sleeved blouse, her small waist encircled by a wide belt, she went through the hospital doors into the dusty warmth of a London summer’s evening. As she crossed the busy street, she didn’t see Uncle Valentijn, sitting at the wheel of a powerful Bristol motor car, waiting to turn it into the forecourt of the hospital. He watched her with casual interest; an unassuming girl, he considered, but presenting a pleasing enough appearance. She should be walking down a country lane, he thought suddenly, not battling her way through London streets. The traffic lights changed and he swept into the hospital grounds, dismissing her from his mind.

Hannah joined the tail of a bus queue, waiting patiently while she allowed her thoughts to wander over the day behind her. She was glad that little Paul was perking up at last; it had been touch and go with him ever since his birth, but now it looked as though he was going to make it; another month or two of care and he would have caught up with his weight. She would miss him, and his mother too, for that matter. Mevrouw van Eysink was only a couple of years older than she was and although they came from quite different backgrounds they got on well.

She climbed on to her bus and was swept through the rather dingy streets, over the river and into still more streets, not dingy now but tired-looking backwaters, each row of Victorian houses looking exactly like the next. Hannah got off presently, walked down a side street and turned into another one leading from it. The houses here were just the same as all the others—shabby genteel was the expression, she decided, going down their length to the end of the row. Some of them were still occupied by only one family, but the rest had been converted in a ramshackle way into flats. From the outside they didn’t look so bad, but the builders had skimped the paint and plaster inside and used cheap wood for the doors and windows, so that nothing quite fitted any more. She turned into number thirty-six and started up the staircase the four flats shared.

She and her mother lived on the third floor, sandwiched between an old lady who walked with a stick whose every tap could be clearly heard by those beneath her, and a young couple who were ardent disciples of pop music, so that Hannah’s mother never ceased to complain in her plaintive way about the noise. But despite Hannah’s frequent suggestions that they should find somewhere else to live, both quieter and cheaper, she always refused. ‘This is a good address,’ she argued, ‘and surely you don’t grudge me that refinement? After all, your dear father was a rural dean and heaven alone knows how I have to scrape and screw on my miserable pension and the sacrifices I’m forced to make.’

Hannah, hearing it all for the hundredth time, had always agreed quietly and forborne to mention that a large portion of her own salary went to bolster up that pension. Her mother had never been able to cope with money; when her husband had been alive he had given her a generous allowance—too generous, as it turned out, for on his death it was discovered that he had been digging into his slender capital in order to pay it, and now, five years later, his widow still considered that she should have the same amount to spend upon herself. And Hannah had said nothing; her mother was still a pretty woman, a fact which her mother frequently pointed out to her, adding the invariable rider that she could never understand how it was that she had such a very ordinary daughter. She always said it laughingly, making a little joke out of it, but to Hannah, very conscious of her ordinary face and small, slightly plump person, it was not a joke.

Her mother’s voice, high and girlish and slightly complaining, greeted her as she opened their flat door.

‘Hannah? You’re late, darling. I’m afraid I haven’t done anything about supper yet; this warm weather has brought on one of my wretched headaches…’

Hannah went through the narrow hall into the sitting room. Her mother was lying on a rather shabby sofa, one beautifully kept hand to her forehead. ‘Don’t bang the door,’ she added sharply, and Hannah said, ‘No, Mother. I’m sorry you’ve got a bad head. I’ll get supper presently.’

She gave a small soundless sigh as she said it; she was tired and hot and hungry, and just for a moment she allowed her thoughts to dwell on life as it had been five years ago. She had been nineteen then, living at home and helping her father as well as coping with the major share of the housekeeping in the nice old house where they had lived. There had been a lot to do and plenty of time in which to do it and leisure to ride the elderly cob her father kept in the field beyond the house, or cycle round the lanes. She drove her father too and helped the old crotchety man who ruled the garden, and as though that wasn’t enough, she cooked most of their meals, so expertly that guests would compliment Mrs Lang on her cook, to be answered by a charming smile and a murmured: ‘Oh, we manage very well between us,’ which left them with the strong and erroneous impression that she had spent hours in the kitchen turning out the delicacies on the table. Which wasn’t true, of course, but Hannah never let on; her mother was selfish and dreadfully lazy, but she loved her, despite the rather tepid affection her parent accorded her.

Hannah stooped to kiss her mother and then went into the small kitchen to put on the kettle; she had missed her tea and if she was to get their supper she simply had to have five minutes’ peace and quiet first. She took the tray into the sitting room and sat it on the little table in the window, then sat herself down on a high-backed chair beside it.

‘Been busy?’ asked Mrs Lang idly.

‘Oh, about the same as usual.’ Hannah knew that her mother had very little interest in her work, indeed, she shuddered away from illness. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mother?’

Her mother accepted a cup with a wan smile. ‘Dear child, what a comfort you are—it’s selfish of me, but I’m glad that you have no plans to marry.’ Mrs Lang sipped her tea and took a quick questioning look at Hannah. ‘You haven’t, have you? I don’t suppose you get much chance to meet young men…only doctors and students.’

‘They seldom marry nurses, Mother. They can’t afford to.’

‘Oh, well, I daresay you’ll meet some nice man one day.’ Mrs Lang added with complete insincerity: ‘I do hope so.’ After a pause she added: ‘And poor little me will have to look after myself.’

‘I don’t suppose I’ll get married,’ said Hannah gruffly, ‘so you don’t need to worry. What would you like for supper?’

And presently she went into the kitchen and made a soufflé and salad, and all the while she was doing that she wondered what it would be like to be married and pretty like Mevrouw Eysink, lovingly spoilt and petted and the proud mother of a little baby like Paul, not to mention a devoted husband rushing over each weekend with armfuls of gifts…

‘Roses,’ said Hannah, gazing unseeingly at the view of chimney pots from the kitchen window, ‘hand-made chocs and diamonds…’

‘What did you say, dear?’ called her mother from the sitting room.

‘Supper’s ready, Mother.’

Hannah spent her days off in the usual way, slowly developed over the five years during which they had lived in London. At first they had made a point of going somewhere—an art gallery, a film they wanted to see, or a concert, but gradually things altered. Mrs Lang began to complain that she found the housework too much for her, even though Hannah did most of it in her off duty, and then, just for a little while, there had been the young man from the hospital pharmacy, who had taken Hannah out on several occasions. She hadn’t wanted to take him home, but she finally gave in to her mother’s request to meet him, and then sat and listened to her mother destroying, in the nicest possible way, the tentative friendship she and the young man had formed.

Not that her mother lied; she merely made it appear that Hannah was a dedicated nurse and moreover had promised her father when he died that she would live with her mother and look after her. Mrs Lang, without actually saying so, had led him to believe that she was suffering from something vague and incurable which necessitated constant loving attention. The young man hadn’t given up immediately; he asked Hannah out once more and she had accepted. But when she had mentioned it to her mother that lady said without a moment’s hesitation that she had invited several people to dinner on that particular evening and had relied upon Hannah to cook the meal. She had dissolved into easy tears, murmuring that she supposed that she was of no account any more and Hannah must certainly go out if she wished; the invitations could be cancelled. ‘The first dinner party I’d planned for months,’ she had finished plaintively. And the soft-hearted Hannah had hugged her and declared that she didn’t mind if she didn’t go out and she’d love to cook the dinner for their guests.

The young man didn’t ask her out again; they still smiled and nodded at each other when they met in the hospital, but that was all. It hadn’t been quite the romance Hannah had dreamed of, but it had been pleasant enough while it lasted, and somehow after that the little outings were discontinued. Her mother liked to watch TV in the evenings and do her embroidery or knit, and on the one or two occasions that Hannah had met friends from the hospital and gone to a cinema, she had been gently chided for leaving her parent by herself. So nowadays she turned the flat out, did the week’s shopping and the washing and escaped thankfully to the library, where she spent a long time choosing books.

Very occasionally she went shopping for herself, but by the time their living expenses were paid and her mother had deducted her allowance from her pension, there wasn’t much money over. Hannah, who loved clothes, had to make do with things in the sales and the multiple stores, but she had a splendid dress sense and a nose for a bargain and contrived to be in the fashion even if the clothes she bought were cheap.

There would be more money soon, she thought as, her days off over once more, she started back to the hospital. She had been offered a relief Sister’s post in a couple of months’ time, and she was going to accept it. It would mean leaving the baby unit which she loved, but she had to get a Sister’s post as soon as she could, and one couldn’t quarrel with one’s bread and butter. Perhaps later on, when Sister Thorne retired…Ten years’ time—it seemed an age away; she would be thirty-four and settled into a rut from whence there was no escape—perhaps by then she would apply for her job.

She turned in at the entrance to the hospital, looking up at its mid-Victorian pile with an affectionate eye. It was a frankly hideous building, red brick and a mass of unnecessary turrets and balconies, high narrow windows which took the strength of an ox to open and shut and dreadfully out-of-date departments, yet she had a very soft spot for it. When, in a few years’ time, St Egberts was moved to the magnificent new buildings across the river and already half completed, she would regret going. It had stood for hundreds of years where it now was, dominating the narrow city streets and rows of smoke-grimed houses, and it would never be quite the same again.

She had chosen to go back after supper. She could have stayed at home for another night and got up early and gone on duty in the morning, but it was always such a rush. She pushed open the main doors and crossed the entrance hall. Just as she was turning into one of the dark passages leading from it she was hailed by old Michael, the Head Porter.

‘Message for you, Staff Nurse—Mevrouw van Eysink wants you to go to her room as soon as you come in.’ He grinned at her. ‘Very important, she said.’

Hannah had gone to poke her head through the small window in the lodge. ‘Me? Why? Have I done something awful, Michael?’

‘Don’t ask me, love. She sounded excited like and said I was to be sure and keep an eye open in case you came back this evening. Her hubby’s with her.’

Hannah frowned. ‘I can’t think of anything…’ she began. ‘I suppose I’d better go.’

She altered course, taking another passage which led her to the lifts. She wasn’t supposed to use them, but there was no one about. She gained the Prem. Unit and slid inside the doors and peered cautiously round the office door. Louise was there, writing: the night nurses would already be busy settling their small patients for the first part of the night, making up feeds and handing out cocoa and sleeping pills to the mothers.

‘You’re late,’ whispered Hannah.

Louise raised her pretty head. ‘Hullo—Sister went off late and left me a mass of stuff to finish and of course we had an emergency in. I’m almost finished, though. I say, your Mevrouw van Eysink wants to see you.’

‘That’s why I’m here. Is something awful wrong?’

‘Not a thing—all a bit mysterious and hush-hush; hubby’s here, and the uncle was here this morning. I say, did you know that he’s a famous paediatrician?’

‘Yes, I knew. I’ll nip along now—see you presently—I’ll make a pot of tea.’

Mevrouw van Eysink was sitting up in bed and her husband was sitting beside her, an arm round her shoulders. He was a nice-looking young man and as he got up when Hannah went into the room, he was smiling widely.

‘Hannah!’ cried Mevrouw van Eysink. ‘You do not object that we take your free time? But Paul must go back tonight and it is most important that we talk together.’

Hannah walked over to the bed, casting an eye over the sleeping small Paul as she went. ‘Paul’s all right?’ she wanted to know.

‘He has gained three hundred grams, but he does not like the other nurse—she is sweet and very efficient, but I think that deep inside her she becomes impatient and he knows it. He is a clever boy.’

Hannah agreed warmly. Baby Paul, arriving too soon into the world, had shown a good deal of spirit in just staying in it, let alone turning himself into a normal healthy baby.

‘We wish to ask you…’ began Mevrouw van Eysink, and nudged her husband, who went on:

‘I am taking Paul and Corinna home at the end of next week, Hannah, and we want you to come with us. I have spoken to your Directrice and the doctors who have been attending and they say that it would be quite possible for this to be done, provided that you agree.’

Hannah’s wide mouth had opened, so had her eyes. ‘Me? Go with you to Holland? Oh, I’d love to!’ She beamed at them both. ‘But how?’

‘Oh, you would be lent to us as a necessity to little Paul’s health. Three weeks or a month. By then Corinna will be almost her own self once more.’ He added slyly: ‘Don’t worry about your chances for the relief Sister’s post; they’re as good as ever.’

Hannah had forgotten all about that anyway. ‘Oh, I’d be glad to come.’ The smile faded as she remembered her mother. ‘Mijnheer van Eysink, could I let you know for certain tomorrow? You see, I live with my Mother and she—she doesn’t like being on her own; I’d have to arrange for someone…’

‘Why, of course, Hannah, but I’m sure your mother would manage for a week or two with someone to help her. Is she ill or an invalid?’

‘No, no, she’s…she’s just…’

Mevrouw van Eysink gave her a thoughtful look. ‘Well, you talk to her, Hannah,’ she advised briskly, ‘and let us know tomorrow. Perhaps if she realised how important it is for little Paul to thrive for the next few weeks—and he does it better with you than with anyone else—I am sure she will fall in with your plans.’

Hannah, looking at the two smiling, happy faces, decided not to argue the point. She would have to think of something; she would be off in the evening and although she hadn’t meant to, she would go home and talk to her mother.

She stayed a few minutes longer and then went over to the home, where she joined her closest friends over the inevitable pot of tea and told them her news. They were flatteringly surprised and excited, although one or two of them wondered privately if she would be able to persuade her mother to let her go—they had met Mrs Lang upon occasion and found her charming, pretty and quite ruthless when it came to having her own way.

Hannah went on duty in the morning, half prepared to find that the van Eysinks had changed their minds, but the moment she entered Mevrouw van Eysink’s room, she was met with an eager demand for her answer.

She picked up little Paul and handed him to his mother before she replied. She would have to explain a little more about her mother, and she did it carefully, anxious that her patient wouldn’t think that she was finding excuses not to go to Holland. ‘So you see,’ she finished, ‘it’s just a question of finding someone to be with Mother while I’m away, only it is a little difficult. She hasn’t many friends and almost no family, and she would dislike a stranger.’ She wrapped herself in the bathing apron and went to fetch Paul from Mevrouw van Eysink.

‘We must think of something, Hannah.’ Lost in thought, Mevrouw van Eysink nibbled at a beautifully manicured finger. ‘I think perhaps I know what to do, but I will say no more at present.’ She smiled brilliantly. ‘You will see your mother this evening? Good, then we must hope, is it not?’

‘I’m bound to think of something,’ declared Hannah, more to comfort herself than anyone else. She bathed and fed Paul while his mother kept up a lively chatter about nothing in particular. And Hannah, her neat head bowed over the scrap on her knee, tried to think of someone whom her mother would accept as a companion for a few weeks. She could call to mind no one at all.

Presently, her two patients comfortable, she tidied everything away, and with the promise of sending coffee as soon as she could reach the kitchen, she picked up her tray and left the room. She was halfway along the corridor when she met Uncle Valentijn. He passed her with a coolly courteous good morning and a glance which didn’t really see her. She doubted very much if he remembered who she was.

CHAPTER TWO

BUT HANNAH WAS WRONG. Uncle Valentijn greeted his favourite niece with a kiss, peered at the baby and asked: ‘What have you been saying to your so sensible Hannah? She was fairly dancing down the corridor.’

He was told with such a wealth of detail that finally he put up a large, well-kept hand. ‘Now let me get this straight. She’s to go back with you? A splendid idea; she’s been with you both since you were admitted, hasn’t she? She seems a very calm young woman, hard-working and presumably unencumbered by boy-friends?’

‘Well, you make her sound very dull!’ declared Mevrouw van Eysink indignantly.

‘She is not what I would call eye-catching.’ He was laughing at her.

‘Pooh, I’d rather have her than six of your Nerissas—lanky, self-centred…’

Uncle Valentijn’s eyebrows drew together and the smile disappeared. ‘Perhaps I should mention to you that Nerissa and I have just become engaged.’

‘Oom Valentijn, you haven’t!—it’s a joke!’

‘No, it is time that I married again. I’m nearly forty, you know, liefje. Nerissa is a lovely girl, very chic and good company.’

‘Is that what you want?’ His niece’s voice was quite shrill. ‘Don’t you want to love someone and be loved and give you a nice family?’

He got up and walked over to the window. He said flatly: ‘I used to think that I did. Nerissa and I suit each other very well; I think I am past the fine raptures of youth.’ He added soberly: ‘And I’ll thank you to be courteous to my future wife at all times.’

He turned round and smiled at her, but his eyes were angry, so that she said weakly: ‘Yes, of course, Uncle Valentijn,’ and then to change the subject as quickly as possible, ‘What shall I do about Hannah? Her mother—it seems she is likely to make it difficult for Hannah to come with us. Not that Hannah said so, but the nurse who relieves her told me that Mrs Lang is a very selfish woman; she is a widow and has been spoilt all her life. Hannah goes out very seldom, I am told, because although her mother is never unpleasant, she makes Hannah feel guilty. And I am sure that she hasn’t enough money to get a companion, and even then her mother might refuse to have such a person. What am I to do?’ She raised tearful blue eyes to her listener.

‘You’ve set your heart on having Hannah, haven’t you?’

‘She saved little Paul’s life when everyone else said that he had no chance, and she made me be brave. If anything should happen to little Paul now…’

‘In that case we must think of something, must we not?’ He turned round as a ward maid came in with the coffee tray. ‘Leave it to me, my dear.’

Stowing her worries away behind a calm face, Hannah worked her way through her day and then took herself off home, reluctant to have to explain what her mother would regard as unwelcome news, and still vainly searching for some argument which her mother might agree to. Not that that lady would refuse point blank, nor would she rant and rave, but she would weep a little and point out that she led a lonely life and Hannah mustn’t consider her, so that Hannah, with her too soft heart, would give in.

And Mevrouw van Eysink had made her promise to go and see her when she got back to the hospital, declaring dramatically that she wouldn’t sleep until she knew if Hannah was to go with them or not, and because the staff nurse on night duty was a friend of Hannah’s and would turn a blind eye to a late visit, she had agreed, which added yet another worry, for how was she to explain if her mother had made it quite impossible for her to go with baby Paul?

She made her way home with mixed feelings—reluctance to start an argument with her mother, and eagerness to get it over, and as luck would have it, the bus was dead on time and had never gone so fast. She found herself walking down the street, only a few steps from the front door, with not a thought in her head.

As she turned the key in the lock she was surprised to hear her mother’s quite cheerful voice call: ‘Oh, there you are! I was expecting you—come in and tell me all about it.’

Hannah advanced cautiously into the sitting room, to find her mother sitting in her favourite chair with, of all things, a tray with glasses and a bottle of sherry upon it.

‘Whatever…?’ began Hannah, quite at a loss.

Her mother smiled archly. ‘I’ve had a charming visitor. Such a delightful man—Doctor van Bertes—an important figure in the medical world, I imagine. Your patient’s uncle, and so anxious about the little baby. It seems you are the only nurse he cares to trust him with and he came to beg me to manage without you for a few weeks.’ She smiled to herself. ‘He quite understood that I needed someone to care for me and he fully appreciated the sacrifice I would be making, and he begged me—oh, so charmingly!—to allow him to substitute your occasional help with a very good woman of his acquaintance who would come each morning and see to the household, do the shopping and cook me a little meal. Of course, how could I refuse such a generous offer?’ She added peevishly: ‘I don’t know why you couldn’t have told me about it sooner, Hannah.’

‘I didn’t know, Mother. That’s why I came home this evening—to tell you.’ Hannah took a deep breath and tried not to sound eager. ‘You agreed to Doctor van Bertes’ suggestion?’

‘That’s what I’ve just said if you’d been listening.’ Her mother’s voice was sharp. ‘Now you’re here, I could fancy an omelette—but have a glass of this excellent sherry first. Doctor van Bertes sent me half a dozen bottles with his compliments and thanks.’

Hannah needed a drink. She sipped with appreciation while she brooded on Uncle Valentijn; a man of resource and a bit high-handed too—supposing, just supposing she hadn’t wanted to go? She had said that she did, though, and Mevrouw van Eysink must have voiced her doubts to him. Probably he considered that she was incapable of arranging her own affairs. Which, she considered fairly, was perfectly true.

She drank her sherry, got a dainty supper for her mother while that lady reiterated her high opinion of Uncle Valentijn and presently took her departure. It was still fairly early and although she had had a cup of coffee with her mother she hadn’t had her own supper, and although she was a sensible girl and independent she wasn’t all that keen on going into one of the small cafés near the hospital. She could, of course, see what there was on the ward when she went to see Mevrouw van Eysink. She sat in the almost empty bus thinking about clothes and should she wear uniform, and what about off duty and who was going to pay her, and had to be roused by a friendly conductor when the bus stopped by the hospital. She was still pondering these as she went up to the Prem. Unit, where she found her friend in the office, reading the report for the second time.

She looked up as Hannah went in. ‘Hullo. Mevrouw van Eysink’s waiting for you—says she won’t go to sleep until you’ve seen her. You lucky devil, Hannah, going to Holland—I expect they’ve got pots of money and you’ll live off the fat of the land. Why can’t these things happen to me?’

‘Well, you don’t need them,’ observed Hannah. ‘You’re getting married in six months and then you’ll be able to do your own housekeeping and live off the fat of the land yourself.’

Her companion laughed. ‘On a house surgeon’s salary? You must be joking!’ Hannah smiled because she knew she didn’t mean a word of it. ‘Can I pop along?’

‘Yes, do—I’ve fed baby Paul and she’s only waiting to see you before we tuck her down for the night.’

But it wasn’t only Mevrouw van Eysink who was waiting, Uncle Valentijn was there too, the epitome of understated elegance. Hannah, seeing him, hesitated at the door. ‘Oh, I’ll come back later,’ she said, and withdrew her head, to have the door opened and find herself taken by the arm and drawn into the room. ‘We’re waiting for you,’ observed the doctor. ‘Corinna refused to sleep, so perhaps you will tell her at once if you are going with her to Holland.’

‘Yes—oh, yes, I am.’ Hannah smiled widely at her patient and was quite unprepared for the sudden gush of tears from Mevrouw van Eysink. ‘My goodness, have you changed your mind?’ she asked. ‘I can easily…’

‘Tears of joy’, declared Uncle Valentijn. ‘She has been on tenterhooks.’

‘Oh, well, it’s all fixed,’ Hannah gave him a considering look. ‘Thank you, Doctor van Bertes, for—for persuading my mother, it was kind of you.’

His blue eyes, cool and amused, stared back at her. ‘High-handed, I suspect, is the word you would prefer to use, but baby Paul must be our first concern. I hope that your mother is content with the arrangements which I suggested.’

‘Oh, very—and the sherry.’

His mouth twitched. ‘I’m glad, and I know that Corinna, once she has finished weeping, will tell you that she is quite content with matters as they stand.’

His niece blew her delicate nose and smiled mistily. ‘Dear Uncle Valentijn, what would we do without you? Paul will be so pleased that everything is settled, and so easily too.’

Hannah caught the doctor’s eye and said quickly, ‘Well, I’ll say goodnight. It’s time you were asleep, and I’m not really supposed to be here.’

‘Nor am I.’ He bent to kiss his niece, looked briefly at the sleeping Paul and went to the door where Hannah was still standing. She hadn’t expected him to come with her and she stood awkwardly before muttering again: ‘Well, I’ll be off—see you in the morning, Mevrouw van Eysink.’ She added very quickly, ‘Goodnight, Doctor van Bertes.’

He didn’t answer for the simple reason that he went with her, striding down the corridor while she fumed, wondering how she could slip away into the kitchen and see if there was a slice of bread and butter to be had. She was still mulling over one or two quite unsuitable plans when he came to a halt outside Sister’s office. ‘Have you had supper?’ he asked.

‘Supper? Why, no, but—but I’m going to have it now.’

‘Good, I’ll join you—I’m famished.’

How to tell him that he would be expected to creep into the kitchen and hack a chunk off the loaf and if Night Sister had done her rounds, make tea?

‘Well—’ she began.

‘What I should have said,’ observed her companion smoothly, ‘was will you join me?’ And at her obvious hesitation, even more smoothly: ‘I can perhaps give you some idea of what will be expected of you when you accompany my niece.’

Hannah was too surprised to speak for a moment, but hunger got the better of all her other feelings. ‘That would be nice,’ she said sedately.

‘Good. We’re not too far from the Baron of Beef. I take it that you may stay out until a reasonable hour?’

‘Midnight, but I wouldn’t want to be out as late as that.’

The blue eyes gleamed, but all he said was: ‘Naturally not—you’re on duty in the morning, I presume.’

He swept her through the hospital and out into the street and into a taxi, where she sat very upright in the corner, unaware that in the dark he was grinning with amusement, but once in the restaurant, among the lights and crowded tables, she relaxed a little.

‘I hope you are hungry,’ remarked her host. ‘I am.’

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am.’ Hannah essayed a small smile, wishing that he wouldn’t look at her with a faint mockery which made her uncomfortable. And as though he read her thoughts the mockery wasn’t there any more, only a kind smile. ‘Good. Would you like a drink while we decide?’

She accepted a sherry because she wasn’t sure what else to ask for and bent to the enjoyable task of choosing her supper. She had dined out so seldom that she found this difficult, and when her companion suggested artichoke hearts with vinaigrette dressing for a start, followed by tournedos Rossini with new peas and new potatoes, she agreed happily and with relief. He didn’t consult her about the wine, though; she drank what was poured into her glass and enjoyed it, only asking after the first sip, what it was.

‘A claret,’ she was told, ‘quite harmless and most suitable to drink with a steak.’ He glanced at her. ‘I don’t suppose you have much opportunity to go out, Hannah.’

The sherry had put a different complexion on things, and the claret was improving it with every minute. ‘No, hardly ever. When my father was alive we had people to dinner and we went out to other people’s houses, but not to restaurants.’

‘Ah, yes, your father was a rural dean, your mother was telling me; you must have had a pleasant life.’

‘Oh, yes!’ Hannah just stopped herself in time from pouring out her pleasant memories to him and went red at the thought. The Doctor eyed her over his glass and wondered what he had said to make her face flame. He hadn’t met anyone quite so shy and stiff for years; certainly he hadn’t been in his right mind when he had asked her to join him for supper. Now if it had been Nerissa, with her gaiety and clever talk— He frowned down at his plate and Hannah, seeing it and the faint boredom on his face, launched into what she hoped was interesting chatter. He listened courteously, answering her when it was required of him, and uneasily aware that she wasn’t used to drinking half a bottle of claret and it had loosened her tongue past repair.

Hannah, happily unaware of her companion’s thoughts, chatted brightly over her trifle, having a little difficulty with words now and then. It wasn’t until she had had two cups of black coffee and they were in the taxi going back to the hospital that her usual good sense took over again.

She checked the flow of talk with such suddenness that Uncle Valentijn turned to look at her, but whatever he intended saying didn’t get said, for they were back at the hospital and she was already opening the door. He leaned across her. ‘No,’ he said quietly, and got out and went round and helped her out. He told the driver to wait and walked with her to the doors.

‘Thank you for my supper,’ said Hannah, and swallowed. ‘I’m sorry I talked so much—it must have been frightfully boring for you. I had a glass of sherry with Mother and then another one with you and all that wine, and I’m not awfully used to it.’ She added, to convince him, ‘I’m a very sober kind of person, really. I—I hope you won’t think I’m not—not careful enough to look after baby Paul.’

He took her hand in his. ‘Hannah, I think you are a most fitting person to look after my godson. I would trust him with you absolutely.’

She drew a deep breath. ‘Oh, that’s all right, then. I wouldn’t like you to think I’m not to be trusted.’

‘My dear girl, Corinna trusts you, doesn’t she, and likes you? I am very fond of her and of her husband and I would go to any lengths to make them happy; their opinion of you is much more important than mine.’

A remark Hannah didn’t much care for, although she wasn’t sure why, only that it hinted vaguely that he didn’t like her, or at least, didn’t think her worth an opinion. She wished him a sober goodnight and went through the swing doors, her pleasure in the evening quite spoiled.

But a sound night’s sleep dispelled her doubts and she went on duty with a light heart. It remained light until almost noon, when Uncle Valentijn paid a lightning visit to his niece in order to wish her goodbye, and Hannah, unaware of this and walking down the corridor with Paul’s feed from the milk kitchen, was brought up short outside Mevrouw van Eysink’s partly open door. For once her patient and visitor were speaking English and Uncle Valentijn’s voice, while not loud, was very clear.

‘Of course I have to go, my dear—you seem to forget that I have my work like any other man. I’ll see Paul tonight and he’ll make all the necessary arrangements, so you need have no worries on that score.’

His niece murmured and Hannah, judging it to be a good moment in which to enter, had her hand stretched towards the door handle. She dropped it to her side at the visitor’s next words, though.

‘Don’t thank me, liefje, I must admit that I have spent more amusing evenings, and don’t for God’s sake let her loose on the claret; my head aches with her chatter!’

Hannah felt her face glow. She whisked round and went soundlessly back the way she had come, her face very white now. She was in the milk kitchen with her back to the door when she heard the doctor’s leisurely stride pass.

‘Beast!’ said Hannah with feeling. ‘Horrible man! I hope I never see him again, and when I do I’ll cut him dead!’

She marched back again with her tray, her nice eyes flashing with temper, her face still very flushed, so that Mevrouw van Eysink exclaimed: ‘Hannah, you look as though you have been fighting a battle! Your face is most red and animated.’

Hannah allowed her calm professional mask to slide over her outraged feelings. She said cheerfully: ‘The milk kitchen’s like a furnace, it must be the hottest day we’ve had this summer.’

Mevrouw van Eysink watched her while her very small son was changed, soothed and offered his feed. ‘There is much to talk about,’ she observed happily. ‘You wish to wear uniform, Hannah?’

‘Oh, I think so, if you don’t mind—Paul sicks up quite a bit, you know, and besides, it’s most important that he doesn’t pick up small infections. If I wore a dress and got it grubby or something on it, there’s always the chance that it might upset him.’

‘I have seen you only once—last night, in your clothes. It was pretty, the pink dress you were wearing.’

‘Marks and Spencer’s with an expensive belt someone gave me for Christmas.’

‘Uncle Valentijn has been here to say goodbye; he was sorry to have missed you and wished me to express the hope that he will see you again in Holland.’

And very nicely put, thought Hannah, considering it was a fib. She murmured: ‘How kind. Your uncle was so good as to give me dinner yesterday,’ and waited for the next fib.

Sure enough it came: ‘Yes, he told me how much he enjoyed it.’ Mevrouw van Eysink heaved a thankful sigh at having got that over and done with and rattled on: ‘He is anxious to get home. He is engaged just within the last week or so to a girl I do not like very much. Her name is Nerissa and I find that silly, and she is tall and slim and always very beautifully dressed; she does not like babies or animals and I cannot think why Uncle Valentijn wants to marry her, for she will not allow him to keep his dogs, I am sure, and never, never will she have a baby…’

‘Perhaps the doctor doesn’t mind?’

‘Not mind?’ Mevrouw van Eysink’s voice rose several octaves. ‘He is a baby doctor, I told you, Hannah—he loves the little babies, and the children too, even when they are tiresome.’

She eyed her son, leaning over Hannah’s shoulder and bringing up his wind just as he ought. ‘Will little Paul be the right size by the time I have another baby?’ she asked.

‘Oh, lord, yes—he ought to catch up within the next six months. Are you ready to give him a cuddle?’

They made a pretty picture, Hannah thought; baby Paul still looked rather like a doll and his mother, in her silk lace trimmed nightie, was quite one of the prettiest creatures she had ever met. ‘How long am I to come for?’ she asked.

Mevrouw van Eysink touched the baby’s bald head with a loving finger. ‘A month. That’s not too long, Hannah? You will not mind living with us? There will be a lot for you to do, but we will promise that you will have time to yourself. We live near Hilversum, in the country, and if you wish, you can ride in the woods there, and there are shops to visit and it is easy to go to Amsterdam or Utrecht. There is a car you can borrow, and also bicycles.’

‘It sounds lovely,’ observed Hannah. ‘I love the country and I can ride—and you don’t have to worry about me being bored or anything like that, because I never am. Anyway, I’m going to look after Paul.’

‘And I’m so relieved about that, I have wondered so much what I would do if you refused to come. You will live with us, of course, and you will meet some nice people I hope, when they come to dinner with us. We have many friends.’

A new dress, thought Hannah, something for the evening, I wonder if they dress up or should I just take a short dress—two. A long one as well. She decided there and then to get one of each; it would mean spending most of the money she had in the bank, for really there hadn’t been much over each month by the time she had contributed to the household and bought dull things like tights, toothpaste and shampoos.

‘Do you have lots of parties?’ she asked.

Mevrouw van Eysink’s eyes shone. ‘Indeed, yes— I will tell you…’

‘I’d love to hear. I’ll pop Paul back into his cot and it’s time for your exercises; you can tell me while you’re doing them.’

The unexciting tenor of Hannah’s life changed during the next ten days or so. There was a passport to get, an interview with the paediatrician and a number of instructions to make quite sure about, the best of her uniform to sort out and pack, and by no means least, some clothes to buy. Her wardrobe was small but adequate and she augmented it now with a cotton skirt, a pair of slacks and a couple of cotton tops which would go with either; these were quickly enough chosen from the multiple stores. She took longer over the choice of an evening dress. It had to be something she could wear for several years; plain, yet elegant enough to hold its own among high fashion. She found what she wanted in a small shop tucked away in an unfashionable side street; a silk jersey in a pinky mushroom shade, with a wide neck, swathed belt, and a flowing skirt which was full without being bunchy. It didn’t cost as much as she had reckoned on, which left her free to choose between a pastel voile dress and a leaf green cotton, each so entirely suitable that she bought them both.

She spent as much of her off duty as possible with her mother, and was surprised at that lady’s cheerful acceptance of her absence for a month. True, the companion Doctor van Bertes had undertaken to find was everything which could be wished for, and if their cosy chat was anything to go by when she arrived for an interview, Mrs Lang would have nothing to regret. There had been a bad moment though when she had let slip that Mrs Slocombe’s fees were being paid by the van Eysinks. Hannah had protested at that. ‘They’re paying the hospital for me, and I’m getting my usual salary, Mother, we simply can’t expect them to pay for anything else. We can quite well afford it for a few weeks.’

Mrs Lang had dissolved into tears. ‘You know I rely on your money to pay the bills, Hannah.’ She had darted an angry look at her. ‘And I need every farthing of my pension this month, I simply must have some new clothes. I haven’t had a rag to wear for months…’

Hannah forbore from reminding her that only the previous month she had gone to Harrods of all places, and bought two dresses both expensive enough to swallow up all her pension, and it was as well that she didn’t, because her mother went on: ‘I can’t understand you being so selfish, Hannah—you’ve bought clothes for yourself.’

Unanswerable, even though, if she discounted toothpaste and shampoos and such like necessities, she had had nothing new since Christmas. Hannah had given in without another word. Somehow she would save the money and send it to Mevrouw van Eysink after she returned to England. Meanwhile there had been no point in worrying about it. Baby Paul was still the most important person to consider; he was gaining a little each day now, turning the scales at five pounds; weighing him had become a major highlight of the day.

But it wasn’t only Paul Hannah had to attend, his mother, faced at last with the removal of her hip spica, became a bundle of nerves and it needed all Hannah’s patience and resources to get her through the tiresome but painless undertaking. It was a tremendous relief when everything was finished, to find that contrary to Mevrouw van Eysink’s firm conviction, she looked perfectly normal. Provided she did exactly as she was told, Hannah assured her, she would be as good as new in no time at all. Mevrouw van Eysink eyed her tearfully. ‘Dear Hannah, you are very strong; how could I have endured this without you? It is a sad thing that Paul cannot be with me at such a crisis, and Uncle Valentijn also—they have never allowed me to suffer.’

‘Well, the suffering wasn’t all that bad, was it?’ asked Hannah cheerfully. ‘It was only because you didn’t know what was coming next. Anyway, you can forget it all now and think about going home.’

‘Indeed I will, but I must not forget so soon, it must be told to Paul.’

‘And Uncle Valentijn,’ prompted Hannah.

The departure and journey home was something of a royal progress. Mevrouw van Eysink borne away tenderly in a private ambulance from Holland, and her husband driving a powerful Mercedes with Hannah, holding little Paul in her arms and surrounded by every conceivable necessity for the journey, enthroned on the back seat. They were given a splendid send-off by various of the staff headed by Sister Thorne, and a number of friends of Hannah’s hung from ward windows, giving her the thumbs-up sign and waving as though they would never see her again. And the journey went with incredible smoothness; Hannah, who hadn’t been out of the British Isles, was all eyes at the Hovercraft they boarded at Dover. She had never expected such a treat, nor had she been prepared for the excellent lunch provided for her while Mijnheer Eysink, leaving her comfortably settled with little Paul, joined his wife in the ambulance.

And as for the baby, he behaved splendidly. True, he woke from time to time, howling for attention, to be ministered to and soothed back to sleep once more, so that Hannah didn’t have much leisure to look around her until they had left the Hovercraft far behind and had been driving for some time, and by then they were at the Dutch border. They travelled at speed after that, never leaving the motorway until Mijnheer van Eysink said over his shoulder, ‘That’s Utrecht ahead. We go round the city and take the Hilversum road.’ He sent the car past a slow-moving van. ‘Is Paul all right?’

‘He’s fine, fast asleep, just as he should be. If it isn’t very much further, he can have his next feed at home. He’s been so good, bless him.’

‘Thanks to you, Hannah. I hope he won’t be too upset when we arrive.’

‘Why? We can go straight…’

‘Well, no—you see, there’s such a welcome laid on for them both. When Corinna had her accident everyone was so upset; they felt sure that she wouldn’t get better, probably be a cripple, and certainly that the baby would be lost to us. So you see they want to express their delight…’

‘Yes, of course. Mevrouw van Eysink won’t be too tired?’

Her companion laughed. ‘Very unlikely; she’s been lying quietly for hours and must be spoiling for some excitement. All the same, when we get there I want you to stay in the car with Paul until we’ve got her indoors and in a comfortable chair.’

‘A good idea,’ agreed Hannah, and sat silent as he turned off the motorway at last into a side road, running between trees. She could see water from time to time as the trees thinned and gave way to meadow-land and then crowded down to the side of the road again as they went through an open gateway into a sanded drive. The house was round a curve and Hannah examined it eagerly as it came into sight. It was a villa of a very substantial size, its roof a mass of gables, its windows framed with shutters and balconies sprouting on all sides. Mid-Victorian, she judged, built in the days when servants were easy to come by. But it looked comfortable, its paintwork pristine, the windows sparkling in the late afternoon sun, the gardens around it gay with flowers. Not quite her taste, but she was happy enough to like everything. ‘What a lovely home for little Paul!’ she exclaimed, and earned a delighted glance from Mijnheer Eysink as he brought the car to a halt beside the ambulance. ‘We think so, too,’ he told her. ‘It’s not beautiful or historic, but it’s nice inside.’ He got out. ‘Stay here.’

He went across to the ambulance and Hannah watched as the front door was flung open and Mevrouw van Eysink was borne through it. She could hear excited voices from somewhere inside the house as she sat quietly, the sleeping baby on her lap, waiting until someone should come and tell her to join the party inside. There was a good deal of noise, there must be a lot of people there. She hoped Paul wouldn’t wake, but it was almost certain that he would. Perhaps she would be allowed to take him somewhere quiet once everyone had taken a quick look at him. She smiled down at the small face and at the same time became aware that someone was approaching the car.

Uncle Valentijn.

‘I might have known,’ muttered Hannah, aware that annoyance at seeing him again was strangely mixed with a pleasant feeling of excitement.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE HAD TO ADMIT that Uncle Valentijn was a splendid figure. His enormous size would have ensured a second glance in any case, but his good looks and elegance certainly merited a third look besides. And not only that, he had an air of assurance—a man, she decided, who always knew what he was doing and why.

His greeting was pleasantly indifferent, so that her, ‘Good afternoon, Doctor van Bertes,’ was cool. He opened the car door and stood looking down at her for a moment. ‘I’ll have Paul, while you get out,’ he suggested. ‘Don’t bother about that clutter, someone shall come and collect it and take it up to the nursery.’

She did as she was bid without speaking and then took Paul back into her arms. He stirred a little and she said rather anxiously: ‘I don’t suppose he’ll stay sleeping…’

‘Very unlikely, there’s the devil of a noise going on, but you’ll have to bear with it, I’m afraid.’

He led the way into the house, through a square vestibule into a large hall filled with people. It looked like the finale of a Ruritanian operetta, thought Hannah wildly; Mevrouw van Eysink was enthroned upon a large chair with her husband on one side of her and a formidable matron with a vast bosom on the other. That would be Granny, Hannah decided, and allowed her gaze to range over the other persons there. Family, she supposed; expensive hair-do’s and prosperous-looking men smoking cigars, but mingling in with them were what she supposed were family servants; a thin woman in a black dress and print apron, several younger women in overalls, a young boy and an old man holding a trowel and lastly a rather pompous individual in a dark jacket and a bow tie.

Everyone looked round as she went in, but not to look at her or, for that matter, the doctor; all eyes were on the baby. No one had told her what to do; she made her way carefully to where Mevrouw van Eysink sat, and laid little Paul in his mother’s arms, then retreated with discreet speed to the outer edge of the crowd. There was a chair against one wall, and before she sat down in it she took a quick peep at her patient. He and his mother made a delightful picture. Mevrouw van Eysink had chosen to travel in a delicate blue dressing gown, lavishly trimmed with lace. It set off her prettiness exactly and now, with Paul in her arms, she looked like a glossy advert in one of the classy magazines. And she was undoubtedly happy to be home. Hannah sighed without knowing it as she sat down. Almost immediately one of the women in overalls handed her a glass of champagne from her tray. Just what I need, thought Hannah; it had been a long day.

Someone was making a speech and everyone raised their glasses. Hannah raised hers and then put it down again. Uncle Valentijn, standing across the room and being head and shoulders above everyone else, enjoying a splendid view of her, was staring at her intently. Waiting for her to make a fool of herself, she had no doubt; if she chattered too much after a couple of glasses of claret what was she likely to do after champagne? She gave him a haughty look and turned her shoulder.

‘Not drinking the toast, Hannah?’ His voice was soft in her ear.

She turned to look up at him, her face red, her eyes flashing. ‘Surely that’s an unnecessary question from you, Doctor van Bertes? If claret makes me chatter, the risk of what I might do after a glass of champagne is too great to bear thinking about.’

If she had hoped to see him discomfited, she was disappointed, ‘You were eavesdropping.’

‘No, I was not. You have a clear voice and the door was open.’

‘Then I must ask your pardon.’ Only he didn’t sound as though he meant it, and he didn’t suggest that she should drink the champagne. Hannah, aware that little Paul would probably behave like a cartload of monkeys after his angelic day, could have done with it, better still a large pot of tea…

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