The Little Dragon. Betty Neels

go to Canada or New Zealand.’

      ‘Your family don’t mind?’ he asked.

      ‘I haven’t a family. I can only just remember my parents. An aunt brought me up; she died a year or two ago. There isn’t anyone else.’

      ‘No boy-friend?’

      ‘No.’

      He leaned back in his chair and looked at her thoughtfully. ‘I’m surprised. Don’t you approve of us?’

      She had to laugh. ‘Of course I do, only I’ve never met anyone I wanted to marry. I expect I shall one day.’

      ‘I expect you will, too. In the meantime you have Mrs Dowling to contend with.’ He took a pipe from his pocket. ‘Would you mind if I smoked?’

      ‘Not a bit.’ She savoured the last crumbs of her cake. ‘I should be going.’

      ‘You have a half day—surely you can stay out as long as you wish?’

      ‘Oh, yes, of course. I wasn’t going back to Mrs Dowling. There’s an organ recital at the Walloon church—I thought I’d go.’

      ‘And until then?’ he prompted.

      ‘Well, I want to look at the shops and learn my way about the town.’ She picked up her gloves and began to put them on. ‘I have enjoyed my afternoon. Thank you very much, Doctor van der Giessen.’

      She stifled quick disappointment at his noncommittal, ‘That sounds very pleasant,’ and when she got up he rose to his feet too with no sign of reluctance—and there was no reason why he should do otherwise, she told herself sensibly.

      All the same, the rest of her half day seemed flat. Constantia had faced loneliness for several years now, quite cheerfully, too, but now she felt lonely. As she prepared for bed later she decided it was because she hadn’t met anyone—any man—with whom she had felt so relaxed. Probably she would see him again from time to time, but she would have to take care not to go out of her way to do so. He had been kind because she was a stranger in Delft and he had wanted her to see something of it. He would be a very good friend, she thought sleepily; impersonal friendliness among the young men she had known had been a rarity…

      She closed her eyes, content with her day, and then opened them again as Mrs Dowling’s bell pinged in her ear. Constantia stifled a yawn, put on her dressing gown and slippers, and went along to the large room at the front of the house. Mrs Dowling always rang when she had had a half day; probably to make her pay for her free time. Constantia made a charmingly naughty face and opened the door.

      ‘There you are,’ declared her patient, quite unnecessarily. ‘I can’t sleep—I’ll have a cup of tea. What did you do with yourself?’

      ‘Oh, I had a delightful afternoon,’ Constantia told her happily, and went away to make the tea.

      CHAPTER TWO

      CONSTANTIA SAW Doctor van der Giessen three days later, on a rather bleak Sunday afternoon, because Mrs Dowling had decided that it suited her to allow Constantia to have her half day then…that there would be very little for her to do hadn’t entered her patient’s head. She was having friends in for tea and bridge, and there would be no need for her company.

      So Constantia wrapped herself up in her winter coat once more and went for a walk. The Hotel Central would be open, she would have tea there and then go back and write letters and perhaps spend an hour conning the Dutch phrase book she had purchased; and if the walk palled, there were two museums which would be open until five o’clock. She had been saving them for a wet day, but they would pass a pleasant hour.

      She was making her way towards the Nieuwe Plantage when she saw the doctor coming towards her. He wasn’t alone; there were three small children skipping around him and two magnificent long-haired Alsatian dogs were at his heels, and trotting along on a lead, a small black and white dog of no known parentage.

      ‘Another half day?’ asked the doctor as they drew level with her and came to a halt.

      ‘Yes. Mrs Dowling is playing bridge this afternoon.’

      ‘We were just saying that we would like something nice to happen—and here you are.’

      ‘Well,’ began Constantia, ‘you’re very kind to say so.’

      ‘Paul,’ he introduced the elder of the two boys, ‘and Pieter, seven and nine years old, and Elisabeth—she’s five.’

      The children shook hands and smiled at her. They were nice-looking and very clean and neat; she wondered how the doctor managed that.

      ‘And the dogs—Solly and Sheba, and this…’ He indicated the nondescript animal now worrying his shoes, ‘is Prince.’

      Constantia stroked three silky heads and said ‘Hullo,’ and the doctor observed: ‘Good, now you know everyone. We’re on our way back from the usual Sunday afternoon walk.’ He paused and went on smoothly: ‘We mustn’t keep you—your free time is precious.’

      Constantia’s tongue almost tripped over itself in her hurry to agree. Not for the world would she have admitted, even to herself, that she would have welcomed a few minutes spent in the doctor’s company, not to mention the children and the dogs. She bade them all a cheerful goodbye and walked off in a purposeful fashion as though she really had somewhere to go. She longed to look round and watch them on their way home, but if one of them happened to look round at the same time, they might think that she was being nosey.

      She walked on, not seeing her surroundings at all; they would be home by now—a small, shabby house, probably, if the car was anything to go by, but it would be cosy inside and they would have tea round the fire and do jigsaw puzzles and draw, and the doctor would sit in his chair and admire the children’s efforts and catch up on his reading when he wasn’t called upon to help with the jigsaw puzzle… She made herself think about something else; it was only because she felt a little lonely that she was allowing her imagination to run away with her, and she had better hurry back to the town’s centre or the museums would be closed. There might be a café open where she could get a cup of tea.

      She couldn’t find a caf, but she did discover the Hofje van Elisabeth Pauw, a cluster of almshouses round a courtyard, old and peaceful and delightful to see even on a cold March afternoon. And as the Hofje van Gratie was close by it seemed a shame not to take a look at it while she was in that part of the town. By the time she had found her way back to the Markt square, it was too late to visit a museum; she went instead to the Hotel Central and had coffee in its dim warmth. There were a lot of people there, sitting in family groups or couples with their heads close together; it gave her the illusion that she was one of them, so that she settled quite happily to writing the postcards she bought at the bar and presently ordered more coffee and a ham broodje to go with it. Nel would have kept some supper for her—soup and something cold which she was expected to take to her room on a tray.

      The house was quiet as she went in an hour later. Constantia started gingerly up the stairs, intent on gaining her room without Mrs Dowling knowing that she was back. A half day was a half day, after all, although her patient seemed to think that once she was in the house, she could resume her duties at the drop of a hat. She had gained the landing when Mrs Dowling’s harsh voice called: ‘Is that you, Nurse? Come in here.’

      Constantia sighed and turned her steps to the front of the house where Mrs Dowling spent so much of her day. That lady looked up from her book as she went in with a peevish: ‘I can’t think what you find to do, Nurse—you might just as well stay in the house.’

      ‘I find exploring Delft very interesting, Mrs Dowling.’

      ‘Huh—and who do you meet on the sly?’ Mrs Dowling suddenly smiled rather nastily. ‘So you do meet someone—I can see it in your face.’

      ‘No, Mrs Dowling, I don’t, not an arranged meeting, and that’s what you’re hinting at. I did meet someone this afternoon—we said good afternoon and that was all.’