Paradise for Two. Бетти Нилс

like a degree of meekness in a woman, especially in their wives.”

      “I’ll remember that.” Her eyes, large, brown-flecked with tawny spots, thickly fringed, flashed sudden anger. “I hope you find a suitably meek girl willing to marry you, Walter.”

      He said seriously, “Oh, I have no doubts that I shall.”

      He looked so smug that she itched to throw something at him, especially when he added prosily, “But I doubt if you’ll—what did you say?—find a man to sweep you off your feet. No hard feelings, Prudence?”

      “None at all, Walter.” She watched him go without a pang, but deep inside her she was conscious of panic; she was, after all, twenty-five years old and, although she had never lacked for men friends, she had never wanted to marry any of them. Perhaps she would never meet a man she could love and marry…

      Aunt Maud bustling in to ask if Walter was staying to supper dispelled her thoughts. Prudence wandered across the room and shook up a number of cushions which were perfectly all right as they were. “What would you say if I told you that I’m not going to marry Walter? We’ve parted quite definitely.”

      Aunt Maud said: “Well, dear, since you ask me, I feel bound to say I feel profound relief. Walter is an estimable young man, but in ten years’ time he’ll be pompous and bossy. None the less, he would be a good husband if one considers the material things of life—he would never allow his wife to be shabby, and the children would go to the right schools.” Aunt Maud sighed deeply. “But no romance, and that’s something I think you might not be able to do without.”

      Prudence flung her arms wide. “Oh, you’re so right, Aunt Maud, but where am I to find romance? And for the next few weeks there’ll be no chance to find it at all—Aunt Beatrix is a darling, but she hasn’t any family other than her sister, has she? And I feel in my bones that any doctors I may meet will be elderly and bald.”

      Her aunt agreed placidly and kept her thoughts to herself.

      There was a good deal to do during the next few days; according to Aunt Maud, Prudence’s godmother came from a well-to-do family and her sister lived in some style.

      “Somewhere in Friesland, isn’t it?” asked Prudence, her pretty head on one side, critically examining a dress she wasn’t sure she wanted to take with her. And, before her aunt could reply, “Do you suppose it will be good weather there? I know it’s May, but it’s a good deal farther north actually than it is here.”

      “A knitted suit?” suggested her aunt. “And tops and skirts—you could take a couple of thinner dresses in case it should really warm up.” She added casually, “I should put in a pretty dress for the evening, dear—your Aunt Beatrix knows a number of people there, and you might get asked out to dinner.”

      Prudence thought it unlikely, but her aunt looked wistful, so she packed a slim sheath of corn-coloured silk, deceptively simple and very elegant, and a silk jersey dress with long sleeves, a sweeping skirt and a square neckline cut rather low. It was of indigo blue, an excellent foil for her hair. It would give the balding elderlies a nice change from thermometers and stethoscopes.

      Prudence drove herself up to London in her down-at-heel little Fiat. She had friends at the hospital where she had been working, and one of them, the junior in the team of theatre Sisters, had agreed to garage the car at her flat provided she might have the use of it, a plan which suited Prudence very well. She left the car, took out her luggage from its boot and hailed a taxi to take her to her godmother’s flat. It was in an Edwardian building along the Embankment, very ornate outwardly, but a haven of quiet luxury once past its well-guarded entrance. Prudence left her luggage with the hall porter and took herself up to the first floor, to be admitted by her godmother’s elderly maid, a dour, middle-aged spinster with the unlikely name of Miss Pretty.

      Prudence greeted her cheerfully, knowing that beneath the gloomy face there lurked a loyal, kind heart. “The porter’s bringing up the luggage, Pretty. Is Aunt Beatrix in?”

      “Waiting for you, Miss Prudence, and tea on the table.”

      “Good, I could do with a cup. You are coming with us, Pretty?”

      “Madam couldn’t manage without me,” said Pretty austerely. “Not that I care for foreign parts myself, although it’s quite nice where we’re going.” Her stern features relaxed slightly. “Madam’s that pleased that you’ll be coming with her.”

      “I’m looking forward to it,” declared Prudence, and added, “Shall I go in? The drawing-room?”

      Mrs Wesley offered a cheek to be kissed. “Dear child, how nice you look! Sit down and let’s have tea. I thought a quiet evening? We shall be leaving after breakfast. That good man Best will drive us to Heathrow.” Best carried on a hired car business from the mews behind the flats, and Aunt Beatrix would have no other.

      “And at Schiphol?” prompted Prudence, sinking her splendid teeth into a scone.

      “My sister is sending her car to meet us.” Mrs Wesley sipped her milkless tea and watched her goddaughter make a splendid meal. She said with a trace of envy, “You can eat anything you like? You don’t put on weight?”

      “Not an ounce, and that’s a blessing, since I’m what our Vicar calls a fine figure of a woman, which is a polite way of saying that I’m a big girl.”

      Her godmother glanced down at her own ample proportions. “You’re tall enough to carry it,” she observed, “and I flatter myself that I’m able to do the same.”

      Prudence nodded a cheerful agreement and began on a cucumber sandwich.

      They left the next morning, and Prudence, in the habit of throwing a few things into the back of the Fiat and driving away, was taken aback by her godmother’s elaborate preparations for a journey which would take less than half a day. For a start, the amount of luggage was sufficient for a stay of several months, and comprised a number of old-fashioned and very bulky hatboxes, an awkwardly shaped leather case which Pretty clung to as though her very life depended on doing so, a large trunk which required two men to lift it, and a variety of suitcases. Prudence, with one case and an overnight bag, began to wonder if she had packed enough clothes to compete with such a vast wardrobe. It took some considerable time to hoist everything into the boot, and even then poor Pretty, sitting in front with Best, had a conglomeration of umbrellas, travelling rugs and the awkward box, as well as her own modest luggage. The sum of money to pay on excess baggage would be considerable—something which of course Aunt Beatrix, with a more than adequate supply of the world’s riches, could ignore.

      Prudence admired her almost regal indifference to the hustle and bustle of Heathrow when they reached it; it was left to herself, Pretty and Best to organise porters, find the right desk and settle the question of excess baggage, although to give Aunt Beatrix her due, she paid up without a murmur when asked to do so before making her stately progress towards the departure gate. Prudence, a law-abiding girl, had always thought one should arrive, as asked, one hour before the plane departed, but this was something her godmother had either overlooked or considered unnecessary. They bade Best goodbye and made their way through the security check and into the area set aside for outgoing passengers. It was almost empty and they were among the last on board. First class, of course, and Aunt Beatrix, in the nicest possible way, wanting her seat changed, a cushion for her head and the promise of a glass of brandy as soon as they were airborne. She disliked air travel, she informed the stewardess in a ringing voice, and expressed the hope that the Captain was an experienced man. Having been reassured about this and having had her seat-belt fastened, she gave Prudence, sitting beside her, her handbag to hold, arranged herself comfortably and went to sleep. The stewardess, coming presently with the brandy, gave it to Prudence instead. She drank it, since it was a pity to waste it, and ordered one for Pretty, who sipped it delicately, making it last for almost the whole of their flight.

      Mrs Wesley woke as the plane started its descent to Schiphol, observed that the flight had been a pleasant one, and warned Prudence, who had the tickets, to be sure she didn’t lose them.

      The