The Mistletoe Kiss. Бетти Нилс

was small, nicely furnished and very tidy. Emmy was asleep in her bed, her mouth slightly open, her hair all over the pillow. He thought that nothing short of a brass band giving a concert by her bedside would waken her. He went downstairs again and out of the house, shutting the door behind him.

      Driving to Chelsea, he looked at his watch. It would be eleven o’clock before he was home. He was taking Anneliese to lunch with friends, and he suspected that when they returned she would want to make plans for their future. There had been no time so far, and he would be at the hospital for a great deal of the days ahead. He was tired now; Anneliese wasn’t content to dine quietly and spend the evening at home and yesterday his day had been full. A day in the country would be delightful…

      Beaker came to meet him as he opened his front door. His, ‘Good morning, sir,’ held faint reproach. ‘You were detained at the hospital? I prepared breakfast at the usual time. I can have it on the table in ten minutes.’

      ‘No need, Beaker, thanks. I’ve had breakfast. I’ll have a shower and change, and then perhaps a cup of coffee before Juffrouw van Moule gets here.’

      ‘You breakfasted at the hospital, sir?’

      ‘No, no. I boiled an egg and made some toast and had a pot of strong tea. I took someone home. We were both hungry—it seemed a sensible thing to do.’

      Beaker inclined his head gravely. A boiled egg, he reflected—no bacon, mushrooms, scrambled eggs, as only he, Beaker, could cook them—and strong tea… He suppressed a shudder. A small plate of his home made savoury biscuits, he decided, and perhaps a sandwich with Gentlemen’s Relish on the coffee tray.

      It was gratifying to see the professor eating the lot when he came downstairs again. He looked as though he could do with a quiet day, reflected his faithful servant, instead of gallivanting off with that Juffrouw van Moule. Beaker hadn’t taken to her—a haughty piece, and critical of him. He wished his master a pleasant day in a voice which hinted otherwise. He was informed that Juffrouw van Moule would be returning for tea, and would probably stay for dinner.

      Beaker took himself to the kitchen where he unburdened himself to his cat, Humphrey, while he set about making the little queen cakes usually appreciated by the professor’s lady visitors.

      Anneliese looked ravishing, exquisitely made-up, not a hair of her head out of place and wearing a stone-coloured crêpe de chine outfit of deceptive simplicity which screamed money from every seam.

      She greeted the professor with a charming smile, offered a cheek with the warning not to disarrange her hair and settled herself in the car.

      ‘At last we have a day together,’ she observed. ‘I’ll come back with you after lunch. That man of yours will give us a decent tea, I suppose. I might even stay for dinner.’

      She glanced at his profile. ‘We must discuss the future, Ruerd. Where we are to live—we shall have to engage more servants in a larger house, of course, and I suppose you can arrange to give up some of your consultant posts, concentrate on private patients. You have plenty of friends, haven’t you? Influential people?’

      He didn’t look at her. ‘I have a great many friends and even more acquaintances,’ he told her. ‘I have no intention of using them. Indeed, I have no need. Do not expect me to give up my hospital work, though, Anneliese.’

      She put a hand on his knee. ‘Of course not, Ruerd. I promise I won’t say any more about that. But please let us at least discuss finding a larger house where we can entertain. I shall have friends, I hope, and I shall need to return their hospitality.’

      She was wise enough to stop then. ‘These people we are lunching with—they are old friends?’

      ‘Yes. I knew Guy Bowers-Bentinck before he married. We still see a good deal of each other; he has a charming little wife, Suzannah, and twins—five years old—and a baby on the way.’

      ‘Does she live here, in this village—Great Chisbourne? Does she not find it full? I mean, does she not miss theatres and evenings out and meeting people?’

      He said evenly, ‘No. She has a husband who loves her, two beautiful children, a delightful home and countless friends. She is content.’

      Something in his voice made Anneliese say quickly, ‘She sounds delightful; I’m sure I shall like her.’

      Which was unfortunately not true. Beneath their socially pleasant manner, they disliked each other heartily—Anneliese because she considered Suzannah to be not worth bothering about, Suzannah because she saw at once that Anneliese wouldn’t do for Ruerd at all. She would make him unhappy; surely he could see that for himself?

      Lunch was pleasant, Suzannah saw to that—making small talk while the two men discussed some knotty problem about their work. Anneliese showed signs of boredom after a time; she was used to being the centre of attention and she wasn’t getting it. When the men did join in the talk it was about the children eating their meal with them, behaving beautifully.

      ‘Do you have a nursery?’ asked Anneliese.

      ‘Oh, yes, and a marvellous old nanny. But the children eat with us unless we’re entertaining in the evening. We enjoy their company, and they see more of their father.’

      Suzannah smiled across the table at her husband, and Anneliese, looking at him, wondered how such a plain girl could inspire the devoted look he gave her.

      She remarked upon it as they drove back to Chelsea. ‘Quite charming,’ she commented in a voice which lacked sincerity. ‘Guy seems devoted to her.’

      ‘Surely that is to be expected of a husband?’ the professor observed quietly.

      Anneliese gave a little trill of laughter. ‘Oh, I suppose so. Not quite my idea of marriage, though. Children should be in the nursery until they go to school, don’t you agree?’

      He didn’t answer that. ‘They are delightful, aren’t they? And so well behaved.’ He sounded remote.

      He was going fast on the motorway as the October day faded into dusk. In a few days it would be November, and at the end of that month he would go back to Holland for several weeks, where already a formidable list of consultations awaited him. He would see Anneliese again, of course; she would want to plan their wedding.

      When they had first become engaged he had expressed a wish for a quiet wedding and she had agreed. But over the months she had hinted more and more strongly that a big wedding was absolutely necessary: so many friends and family, and she wanted bridesmaids. Besides, a quiet wedding would mean she couldn’t wear the gorgeous wedding dress she fully intended to have.

      Anneliese began to talk then; she could be very amusing and she was intelligent. Ruerd wasn’t giving her his full attention, but she was confident that she could alter that. She embarked on a series of anecdotes about mutual friends in Holland, taking care not to be critical or spiteful, only amusing. She knew how to be a charming companion, and felt smug satisfaction when he responded, unaware that it was only good manners which prompted his replies.

      He was tired, he told himself, and Anneliese’s chatter jarred on his thoughts. To talk to her about his work would have been a relief, to tell her of his busy week at the hospital, the patients he had seen. But the cursory interest she had shown when they’d become engaged had evaporated. Not her fault, of course, but his. He had thought that her interest in his work was a wish to understand it, but it hadn’t been that—her interest was a social one. To be married to a well-known medical man with boundless possibilities for advancement.

      He slowed the car’s speed as they were engulfed in London’s suburbs. She would be a suitable wife—good looks, a charming manner, clever and always beautifully turned out.

      On aiming back he said, ‘We’ll have tea round the fire, shall we? Beaker will have it ready.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Rather on the late side, but there’s no hurry, is there?’

      The sitting room looked warm and welcoming as they went indoors. Humphrey was sitting before the fire,