MR VAN DOELEN had spoken in very decisive tones. Serena, still gathering her wits together, gave up asking questions for the moment. Possibly Mr van Doelen knew of some respectable person who let lodgings, and there was no denying the fact that she might have a much better chance of finding work with London on her doorstep than if she had gone to Henry. She began calculating the cost of bed and breakfast—and would it be quicker if she went to an agency? But that meant paying a fee…
Mr van Doelen glanced at her frowning profile and left her in peace to worry until they were threading their way through the outskirts of London.
‘I’m taking you to my old nanny,’ he told her. ‘She lives in a small house in Chelsea.’ He didn’t say that he lived there, too. In fact, it was his house; a mews cottage, his pied-a-terre when he was in London.
‘Oh, she won’t mind? She does bed and breakfast?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Mr van Doelen, omitting to mention that he was the one who had the bed and breakfast. He was aware that he was risking Serena’s trust, but there had been no time to think of anything else. He had swept aside the idea of her returning to her brother’s house and, although she was a sensible girl, she would have found it difficult to find anywhere to live at a moment’s notice. Besides, she obviously had very little money. It was a calculated risk, but one he was prepared to take.
When he stopped the car in a narrow lane behind a terrace of houses, Serena looked carefully around. It wasn’t at all the kind of street she had expected. He opened her door and invited her to get out, and she stood for a moment, not speaking; the houses were small, but elegant, with bay trees at their doors and pristine paintwork.
‘Come along,’ said Mr van Doelen in a no nonsense voice, ‘and meet Nanny.’
He unlocked the door of the nearby cottage and urged her into its tiny hall.
‘Oh, is this a mews cottage?’ asked Serena doubtfully. It was certainly small enough, but it had all the elegance of a smart townhouse.
Before Mr van Doelen could answer her a door opened and an elderly woman came to meet them. She was tall and thin, with a very straight back, a sharp nose in a narrow face and dark eyes. Her hair was almost white, worn in an old-fashioned bun, and when she smiled her whole face lit up.
‘Nanny,’ said Mr van Doelen, ‘I’ve brought a young lady to stay for a day or two. Serena Lightfoot. Serena, this is Miss Glover.’
Serena offered a hand, aware that she was being inspected, and waited for someone to say something. This didn’t look like a bed and breakfast place; it was far too elegant. She turned an enquiring look on Mr van Doelen, who ignored it, merely inviting her to take off her jacket. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be glad of a cup of coffee. I’ll fetch your case and Puss.’
Serena looked at Miss Glover; she appeared quite unsurprised by his remark. Serena said, ‘I don’t understand…’
‘No, no, of course you don’t. Now go with Nanny like a good girl—we will talk presently.’
He went back to the car and Serena followed Miss Glover into the living room, which was low-ceilinged, with windows at both ends and a fireplace opposite the door. It was furnished cosily, with easy chairs and a vast sofa, a scattering of small tables, a drum table under one window and a bow-fronted cabinet holding porcelain and silver against a wall.
‘Just you sit down,’ said Nanny, in a surprisingly gentle voice. ‘A nice cup of coffee’s just what you need, and a biscuit or two. Ivo will be back in a minute—you’ll be needing to talk, no doubt.’
‘Indeed we need to talk,’ said Serena crisply. ‘I trust he will explain.’
Nanny said gently, ‘You may depend on that. A man to listen to is Mr Ivo.’
He came into the room a moment later with Puss in her basket. And Puss, that most placid of little animals, went at once and climbed into Serena’s lap.
‘You must explain,’ said Serena.
‘It’s quite simple.’ He had gone to sit in a chair opposite her. ‘Mrs Webster told me that you were to leave as soon as Timothy went home, and as I had arranged to see him to his arrival there it seemed sense to offer you a lift. You didn’t wish to go to your brother, and you had had no time to make any arrangements, had you? This seems to be the solution. You can’t go traipsing around London looking for a room or a job at a moment’s notice. Nanny will be glad of your company for a few days while you find your feet.’
‘Is this house yours?’
‘Yes. I need somewhere to live when I’m in England, and Nanny needs a home. It suits us both. But if you don’t wish to stay here I’ll drive you to wherever you want to go. Friends, perhaps?’
‘I haven’t any friends in London. I’ll be glad to stay just for the night, if Miss Glover won’t mind. I’m sure I can find somewhere and start looking for a job tomorrow.’
He agreed so casually that she felt, for no reason at all, vaguely put out.
Nanny came with the coffee then, observing comfortably that it would be a pleasure to have someone to stay for a while, and presently Mr van Doelen got up to go. He kissed Nanny’s elderly cheek, remarking that he would see her shortly, a wish which he didn’t repeat to Serena, merely hoping that she would find a job to her liking without too much trouble and offering her hospitality for as long as necessary.
The house seemed empty when he had gone, and Nanny said, ‘He works too hard. Here, there and everywhere from one year’s end to the other. He’ll be back in Leiden operating in the morning, as cool as a cucumber and nothing but a few hours’ sleep on the ferry.’
‘He’s going back to Holland this evening?’
Serena tried to sound casually interested. He might have told her, she thought, but there again there was no reason why he should. He had done her a good turn; he would have done the same for anyone—all the same, she felt hurt. She would leave in the morning, having no wish to be beholden to him. Indeed, she wished strongly that she had never accepted his offer to stay with Nanny. Upon reflection, she conceded that, since she hadn’t known of his plans until they were actually at the door, she hadn’t had the opportunity to do so. Her thoughts were interrupted by Nanny’s voice.
‘What kind of work are you looking for, child?’
Serena improvised wildly. ‘Oh, I’ve always wanted to work in a shop—you see, I’ve lived for years with just my father, in a small village, and met very few people. It would be so nice to be among people.’
‘And your little cat?’
‘I think she’ll settle down quite happily as long as she is with me.’
‘Mr Ivo will want you to stay here until you’ve found somewhere to live. Have you any money, my dear? London is expensive.’
‘My father left me some money, and I have saved my wages while I was at Mrs Webster’s house. I have more than enough.’
Miss Glover nodded. ‘Good. You don’t mind me asking? But I believe you’re new to London.’
‘Well, yes. I don’t plan to stay here, but it is probably the best place to find work. I mean, there’s more choice, isn’t there?’
‘Very likely. Now I’m going to take you to your room and then get our lunch. You have no idea how pleasant it is to have company, Serena.’
After lunch Miss Glover allowed Serena to help with the washing up, and then led the way back to the sitting room.
‘Have you known Mr Ivo long?’ she asked.
Serena shook her head. ‘I really don’t know him at all.’ She went on to explain how they had met, gently egged on by Miss Glover. Presently that lady said, ‘I have some photo albums you might like to see…’
Mr van Doelen as a baby in his pram with Nanny, sitting on his first pony, riding his first bike, in school uniform… Serena turned the pages of his faithfully recorded youth and reached for more formal photos of him in his cap and gown, receiving some award or other from some dignitary, and then several photos cut from newspapers, in some of which he was with pretty girls.
Nanny took the book from her. ‘I’ve a book of cuttings from the papers, too. Famous, he is, but he’s never been one to blow his own trumpet.’
‘You must be proud of him,’ said Serena.
‘That I am. Now I’m going to make a pot of tea. If you’re going job-hunting tomorrow I’d better find that bus timetable for you; you’ll need it. But don’t go doing too much; you’re to stay here until you’ve found something to your liking. There’s plenty of big department stores not too far away; you’d best try your luck with them first.’
Serena, in bed later, tried to sort out her plans. Everything had happened so quickly that she needed a good think. It was a pity that her sensible thoughts should be disrupted by the image of Mr van Doelen, very clear in her mind. She wondered what he would do when he got to Holland. Did he go home to a wife and children? Where was his home? And when would he return to England?
‘I should like to see him again,’ she told Puss, curled up on her feet, ‘and thank him properly.’
She set off with high hopes in the morning, armed with a list of shops which might offer employment and the bus timetable, but as the day progressed she realised that finding work wasn’t easy. And until she had a job she couldn’t look for a room.
Miss Glover, over the nourishing meal she provided that evening, assured her that she would find something before long. ‘And until you do, you are more than welcome to stay here, my dear. Now, tomorrow, why don’t you go further afield?’ She mentioned several big stores in the less fashionable shopping streets.
So Serena set off again in the morning, once more optimistic. And once more she was to be disappointed. She told herself not to worry; something would turn up; there must be work in such a vast city for the inexperienced. This time, armed with a newspaper’s ‘jobs vacant’ page, she began on the restaurants. It seemed that others had had the same idea. Either the jobs had been filled or she was asked what experience she had had…
She stopped for coffee and a sandwich, then began the long walk back to the businesses of Oxford Street, and it was on her way that her luck changed.
The supermarket was vast, brightly lighted and crowded, and in one of its windows there was a placard. Shelf-fillers were wanted, it seemed; early-morning and evening work, enquire within.
Serena enquired. The manager looked up as she went into his office. ‘Shelf-filler? Strong, are you? Willing to work late in the evening as well as early mornings. Any experience?’
Serena said, no, she didn’t. ‘But I’m strong, and I don’t mind working early and late.’ She added, ‘I’ve references…’
He glanced through Dr Bowring’s letter and Mrs Webster’s brief note with raised eyebrows. ‘This isn’t quite your cup of tea,’ he said.
‘No, but I need work, any kind of work.’
‘OK. Start day after tomorrow. Live close by?’
‘No. I shall look for a room.’
‘Better try Mrs Keane, number ten Smith Street, round the corner from here. Several of our girls are there. Clean and as cheap as you’ll get round here. You’ll be paid weekly.’
He mentioned her wages—hardly generous, but she supposed fair enough.
She thanked him and went in search of Mrs Keane.
The house was one in a row of redbrick villas, shabby, but the curtains were clean. Serena rang the bell and was admitted by a harassed woman who said at once, ‘I don’t buy anything at the door…’
‘The manager of the supermarket told me to come here and ask if you had a room to let?’
‘Oh, he did, did he? As a matter of fact, I have. Upstairs back bedroom, or there’s the basement. A bit dark, but there’s a door into the garden.’
‘If I might see it?’
Serena was led down the basement steps and through the door below street level. The room was dark, and smelled vaguely damp, but there was a door into the neglected garden at the back of the house. There was a small out-of-date gas fire, two gas rings on a shelf in a corner, and a sink beside it. The furniture was sparse—a divan bed against one wall, a couple of elderly chairs, a table under the window and a curtained-off corner, presumably for clothes. It was hardly ideal, but the rent, when she asked, was affordable and it would do until she found something better.
‘You can use the bathroom on the first floor,’ said Mrs Keane. ‘Twenty-five pence and don’t stay longer than twenty minutes.’ She eyed Serena. ‘On your own, are you?’
‘Yes. But I have a cat…’
Mrs Keane shrugged. ‘S’all right, so long as it doesn’t come into the house.’
Serena paid a week’s rent and began her journey back to Mr van Doelen’s house. Neither her job nor her room were ideal, but at least she would be independent. She could start looking for a better job and find another place to live…
A truthful girl, she found it hard to bend the truth to Nanny. She had got a job, she told her, in a large store.
‘Not serving at one of those tills?’ asked Nanny sternly.
‘No, no. It has nothing to do with the customers,’ said Serena, which was true enough. ‘And the manager kindly told me of someone living quite close by who lets rooms. I’ve a nice room opening onto the garden.’
‘Hot water, I hope, and heating, and proper cooking facilities?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Serena, ‘all that.’ That was true, too, for there was hot water if she boiled a kettle, and two gas rings.
‘And when are you starting this job?’ asked Nanny sharply.
‘The day after tomorrow. I thought I’d go tomorrow to Mrs Keane’s to settle in and be ready to start work the next morning. Miss Glover, you have been so kind to me and Puss, and I’m very grateful. I hope one day I shall be able to repay you for your kindness.’
Miss Glover said something which sounded like ‘pish’ or ‘tush’. ‘I’m sorry you are going, child. I’m sure Mr Ivo will want to know that you are settled in a good job with a future. You must write to me.’
Serena said that she would. And she meant it. Only she wouldn’t give her address…!
She was going to miss the comfort of the little house, unobtrusively filled with understated luxury. She was going to miss Miss Glover, too, and most of all she was going to miss the chance of seeing Mr van Doelen again.
She packed her bag once more and set off in the taxi Nanny had insisted that Mr van Doelen had said she was to have, with Puss and her meagre wardrobe once more packed.
Now, at the last minute, she had fearful doubts; supposing she was sacked before she had had the time to save some money? Supposing Mrs Keane gave her notice and she had nowhere to go? It would have been so easy to have stayed in the delightful little house with Nanny.
‘You’re a faint-hearted fool,’ Serena muttered. ‘This is a chance to be independent.’
The room looked depressing, but that was because the windows hadn’t been opened for some time, she told herself. The door into the garden hadn’t been opened for a long time either; there was a key in the rusty lock, and she turned it and went into the garden with Puss under one arm.
It was covered in weeds, but she was relieved to see that there were no broken bottles or empty tins lying around, and the fences were high. At least Puss could roam if she so wished.
There was a cupboard in the room housing a broom and a bucket. The place needed a good clean, Serena decided. Besides, if she had something to do she wouldn’t have time to think about anything else… She put Puss back in her basket, locked the door and went shopping.
She came back presently, laden with scouring powder and furniture polish, soap, dishcloths, teatowels and bath towels, a kettle and a saucepan and cutlery. Even bought from the local household store they had made a hole in her money, and there was still food…
She went out again, this time to the supermarket, and laid out more money prudently on groceries, and then went back to make a pot of tea in her new teapot and eat bread and cheese for her lunch while Puss toyed with a snack.
By the late afternoon Serena had swept and scrubbed and polished so that the room had lost its shabby air, and with her few photos and small ornaments arranged round it, and a cheap vase of flowers on the table, it looked much more like a home. Pleased with her efforts, Serena found her way up the steps and into the house, and thence to the bathroom for her twenty-five pence worth of hot water. But first she scrubbed the bath, trying not to think of the luxurious bathroom she had used in Mr van Doelen’s house.
The first few days of work in the supermarket were a nightmare. Serena had plenty of good sense, but the work was mind-numbing; endless unpacking of tins and packets and jars, setting them in rows on the shelves, trying to remember what went where. And it all had to be done at speed. The mornings weren’t so bad, but the evening shift! There were just a few of them in the vast empty place, something she disliked, and she dreaded walking back to her room. She wasn’t a nervous girl, but at night the streets took on a sinister gloom, and there were always groups of youths with nothing better to do, roaming around. But beggars can’t be choosers, she reminded herself, and her pay packet at the end of the first week was more than welcome.
After another week or two, after she had bought a few cushions, a colourful tablecloth and new curtains, the room took on a more cheerful look. Besides, she had food in the cupboard by the sink now, and Puss didn’t have to go short… I have much to be thankful for, Serena told herself.
After the first few weeks, she wrote to Miss Glover. She gave no address, and described her job and her room in glowing terms, not exactly fibbing but embellishing the truth. It was a letter which should set Nanny’s mind at rest, she decided, popping it into the nearest letterbox. She had the unbidden thought that it would set Mr van Doelen’s mind at rest, too, only she was afraid that he hadn’t given her a second thought.
In this she was mistaken. He had returned to London for a brief visit some weeks after she had left, and before Nanny had received her letter. He had listened to Nanny’s rather worried account of Serena’s departure, and although he had told her not to worry, that Serena was a young woman quite able to take care of herself, he was himself worried.
He had to admit that he had thought about her a good deal. Until he had met her his work had been the predominant thing in his life. He would marry, he had told himself, in due course, if and when he met a woman he could love. But the years had passed and there had been no sign of her—until Serena. And now she had disappeared. He had been a fool to think that she would stay with Nanny, that it would take her some time to find work…
He went back to Holland to his clinics and operating and patients, and it was another three weeks before he returned to his little house and Nanny. She handed the letter to him this time, and he read it carefully and then studied the postmark.
‘Not a very pleasant part of London,’ he observed. ‘But at least we know roughly where she is.’ He frowned down at Serena’s polite missive. ‘She may have posted it quite near where she is living or working. If I could find out the exact area—the post office should be able to help.’
‘I should never have let her go,’ said Nanny.
‘Don’t blame yourself, Nanny. You could not have stopped her, whatever you said; she is a grown woman, and a sensible one. She must have known what she wanted to do.’
‘But you’ll find her?’
He smiled at her. ‘I shall do my best, Nanny. I can spare a few days; I haven’t a great deal to do at the hospital this time.’
It took time and patience to discover someone at the post office headquarters who could help him.
That particular area of London wasn’t large. He rummaged around in his study and found a street map of London, and carefully ringed the district. The following day, his clinic over, he drove through the city to the busy crowded streets and rows of small shops, so near the elegant shopping centres and quiet streets of town houses and yet so different in lifestyle. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Probably, he thought ruefully, he would have to visit every shop in order to find Serena. There were few clues in her letter, but she had told Nanny that she was working in a large store.
Mr van Doelen began his patient search along the main shopping street, crowded by late shoppers and people going home after a long day. It took time; enquiries meant waiting while someone went to find someone else who might know, ending up with the manager with a list of employees. Each time he drew a blank. It was after nine o’clock by now. He was tired and hungry, and even the smaller shops were shut. Tomorrow, he promised himself, and turned down a side street so that he could reverse the car.
He would have overlooked the supermarket, since it was off the main street, but it was brightly lighted still. He got out of the car and tried one of the big glass doors. They were locked, so he went round the side of the building, along a narrow alley, at the end of which there were a couple of men loading trolleys from a small van. The door was open, and Mr van Doelen, bidding them a cheerful good evening, went through it.
It was a very large building, with wide aisles between the towering shelves of food. There were people in the aisles, replacing out-of-date groceries with fresh tins and packets, and halfway down the third aisle he saw Serena. She was on her knees, the better to arrange the lowest rung of tinned peas, and she was unaware of his approach, her mind on her work—she still wasn’t as quick as the others.
He stood for a moment watching her, knowing that now that he had found her again he had no intention of losing her.
When he was close to her he said, ‘Hello, Serena.’
She turned her head and he saw the instant delight on her face, so rapidly wiped away that he thought he had imagined it.
She got to her feet. ‘Mr van Doelen—how ever did you get here? And should you be here? I mean, we are closed.’
‘I walked in and no one stopped me. Why did you run away, Serena?’
She flushed. ‘I didn’t run away. I told you that I would find work…’
‘But you didn’t say where. Did you forget to put the address on your letter to Nanny?’
‘No, I didn’t forget,’ she said seriously. ‘How did you know that I was here?’
‘A process of elimination. When do you finish work, Serena?’
She glanced at her watch. ‘In half an hour.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll be back…’
Serena, loading apricots onto a top shelf, tried to keep her mind on her work. There were a great many tins, and they had to be in position before the place shut down for the night. She couldn’t deny that she was overjoyed to see Mr van Doelen, but she must make it quite clear to him that meeting him again would make no difference to her life.
The last tin was in place just as the lights were lowered and everyone got ready to leave. Serena took off her nylon apron, went to the cloakroom for her jacket and made for the entrance opening onto the alley. To get away before Mr van Doelen came looking for her seemed important to Serena, although he might have changed his mind and already gone home.
He was waiting for her by the door. ‘Ah, I was afraid that you might have escaped me,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ve seen the manager—a most sympathetic man. Considering the circumstances, you can leave as of now…’
Serena gaped at him. ‘I can what? But this is my job. No one said that I was going to be sacked. What have I done? Why didn’t someone tell me?’
They were out in the alley now, with everyone streaming past on their way home.
Mr van Doelen took her arm. ‘You live nearby? Shall we go there and I’ll explain.’
‘No,’ said Serena. ‘We won’t go anywhere. I don’t know why you’re here, Mr van Doelen, but just go away. I’m going home.’
‘Yes, a good idea. We can talk there.’
‘What about?’
He didn’t answer, only took her arm and shoved her tidily into the car. ‘Where do we go?’ he said mildly, and she, her wits gathering wool, gave him the address.
He didn’t say anything as she led the way down the steps and unlocked her door. He stretched an arm and switched on the light, and when they were inside, he shut the door behind him. When he still didn’t speak, she said, ‘I’m very comfortable here, and Puss has the garden…’
Puss came to meet them, pausing only a moment to rub herself against Serena’s legs before making for Mr van Doelen with every appearance of pleasure. Serena turned to look at him.
‘I don’t know what you want to say, but if you’d say it and go—I don’t want to seem inhospitable, but I go to work at half past seven in the morning.’
‘Not any more, Serena.’ He pulled out a chair. ‘Shall we sit down? I want to talk to you.’
She sat down, and he drew up the other chair and sat down too, looking perfectly at home in the shabby room, stroking Puss, who had climbed without loss of time onto his knee.
‘I had the devil of a job finding you,’ said Mr van Doelen mildly, and reflected that he was about to embark on a future full of uncertainty. Somehow he would find ways and means to make Serena his wife—indeed, he already had a very good idea how to set about that—but would his love be sufficient for both of them? She was no young girl with a head full of romantic nonsense. He wasn’t sure that she even liked him… Perhaps he should adopt a friendly, businesslike approach…
‘First of all, will you give me an honest answer? Are you happy here, and does the job satisfy you?’
‘It’s a start, and I have to start somewhere.’
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
‘Well, it isn’t quite what I had hoped for.’ She saw that he was still waiting. ‘No, I’m not happy, but I shan’t stay here for ever, you know. There are other jobs.’
‘You are wondering why I have been searching for you. We don’t know each other, do we, Serena? And yet I feel that we could be friends, enjoy each other’s company. I have for some time now considered taking a wife, someone who feels, as I do, that companionship and genuine liking for each other are of more importance than the romantic aspect. I have fallen in and out of love several times, but never once have I wished to marry. But a wife is necessary for a man in my profession. Someone to deal with the social side of life, entertain my guests, accompany me on necessary trips abroad. Above all, someone who will allow me to get on with my work and not make too many calls upon my time. In fact, a business arrangement.’
He had spoken quietly, his eyes on her face. ‘I believe that we might deal very comfortably together. I need a wife and you need a future. Will you marry me, Serena?’
She said slowly, ‘Supposing I fell in love with someone? Suppose you fell in love with another woman? You may not have met her yet…’
‘I am thirty-seven, Serena. I have had ample time in which to meet a girl I wished to marry—the risk is slight. And you?’
‘Me? Well, I’ve haven’t met many men. You can’t count Gregory, can you? I mean, he wasn’t marrying me for love.’ She sighed. ‘I’m not sure that I believe in love.’
‘But you do believe in liking, in friendship, in sharing your life with someone who shares your interests and enjoys your company?’
She said slowly, ‘Yes, I do believe in that. And I do like you. I don’t know anything about you, but I liked you when we first met. Sometimes one meets someone and one feels at home with them at once—like old friends…’
‘Indeed, and that is how I feel with you, Serena. Comfortable.’
He smiled at her then, and she smiled back, feeling, for the first time in weeks, secure.
‘Will you come back to my house and Nanny now?’ he asked.
‘I’ve just paid the rent—in advance, you know…’
‘I’ll go to see the landlady while you pack your things.’
He got up and put Puss down gently.
Serena said, ‘Am I doing the right thing? Allowing you to arrange everything. I wish I had someone to advise me.’
‘Try me,’ said Mr van Doelen. ‘Start packing, there’s a dear girl. I have to return to Holland tomorrow, and we must discuss plans.’ At her questioning look, he added, ‘Our wedding.’
‘I haven’t said…’ began Serena, but he had already gone.
She started to pack at once, and Puss got into her basket and waited patiently. She had been moved around quite a lot lately, and this basement room had been worse than the house at Yeovil. Her whiskers twitched at the memory of the dainty morsels Nanny had provided in her warm, comfortable kitchen. She hoped that she would be going back there.
Serena, her suitcase open half-filled on the divan, had stopped her packing and gone to stand by the window overlooking the dismal little garden. It must have been the surprise at seeing Mr van Doelen again which had caused her to lose her wits. Of course she wouldn’t marry him. Of all the preposterous ideas. She would go to the supermarket in the morning and ask for her job back and explain to Mrs Keane that it had all been a mistake…
Mr van Doelen had come back. He saw the half-packed case and said cheerfully, ‘Having second thoughts?’
‘Second thoughts?’ said Serena peevishly. ‘How can I possibly think? I don’t know whether I’m coming or going.’
He crossed the room and began to pack the small pile of clothes into the case. ‘You’re coming with me and we’re going to be married.’ He added in a soothing voice, ‘A business arrangement between friends.’
He folded a dress carefully. ‘Is there anything else to go in this case?’
She collected up the few photographs, one or two small figurines she had brought from home and her dressing gown, hanging behind the curtained-off corner of the room. She was suddenly tired; she would go with Mr van Doelen, and after a night’s sleep she would be herself again, refuse his proposal in a few well-measured words, and go in search of another job. She put the last odds and ends into her case and got her jacket, closed Puss’s basket and then told him gently that she was ready to go.
‘But please understand that this is just for tonight.’
‘No, no, dear girl. Let us be quite clear about it. I have asked you to marry me, and if you have any sense in your head you will accept me. I promise you I shan’t think that you’re marrying me for my money. I have offered you a bargain. If you will keep your side of it, I shall keep mine. I really do need a wife, and you are so exactly what I had in mind. Now come along. I don’t know about you, but I need my supper.’
He gave her a friendly smile. ‘If you take Puss, I’ll bring the luggage.’