Paradise for Two. Бетти Нилс

allowed.

      The Weigh House wasn’t far way; she could see the Daimler parked nearby and approached it with some trepidation; the doctor might be someone she didn’t like, but he was also a man to be reckoned with.

      She braced herself for whatever he was going to say.

      Nothing. He got out of the car, opened her door for her and got back in only then, saying mildly, “We’ll have tea, shall we? I telephoned the aunts—everything is quite all right, so Pretty tells me. We’ll go home—my mother would like to meet you.” He spoilt it all by adding silkily, “And I’m sure you’re dying to know where I live.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      AS FAR AS Prudence could judge, they were going back the same way as they had come, but presently she realised that the narrow brick road they were on was turning north. She looked in vain for landmarks, but the fields all looked alike, with distant clumps of trees, all looking the same as each other.

      “Confusing, isn’t it?” commented the doctor. “We’re only a few kilometres from my aunt’s house—there’s a narrow lane a little farther ahead which leads to it. Those trees ahead of us hide Kollumwoude, where I live.”

      The village proved to be pretty: red-roofed cottages, one or two villa-type houses, a shop or two and, brooding over the lot, a red brick house of some size, encircled by a cobbled street. There were high wrought-iron gates half-way round it, standing open, and the doctor drove through them. “Home,” he observed laconically.

      Very nice, too, decided Prudence, taking in the house before them at the end of the short, straight drive. It was three storeys high, its windows set in three rows of three, with a round tower at each end, both of which had a pointed roof like a gnome’s cap, as had the central building, and added to one side was another smaller wing with yet another tower. The windows were shuttered and the walls here and there were covered by a green creeper of some sort. The whole gave a pleasing appearance reminiscent of a fairytale castle. Only, it wasn’t quite a castle, it looked too lived-in for that: there were curtains at its windows and orange window blinds over them. She said rather foolishly, “Oh, is this where you live?”

      “Yes.” He leaned over and undid her seat-belt, got out and opened the door for her and ushered her towards the door before them. Of solid wood, it had a fanlight above which was a small balcony, supported by two pillars. The door was opened by an elderly man just as they reached it, and when he stood aside for them to enter, the doctor spoke to him and he replied in a creaky voice. The doctor announced, “This is Wigge—and that’s a good old Friesian name—he looks after us all.”