She gave him a sweet smile and shooed the boys ahead of her up the stairs.
‘Is Uncle Marcus cross?’ asked Paul.
‘No, no, of course not. You heard what he said—we may make as much noise as we like in the nursery. There’s a piano there, isn’t there? We’ll have a concert after tea…’
The boys liked the sound of that, only Peter said slowly, ‘He must have been a bit cross because he called you Miss Pomfrey.’
‘Oh, he just forgot, I expect. Now, let’s wash hands for tea and go down to the nursery. I dare say we shall have it there if your uncle is working.’
The doctor had indeed gone back to his study, but he didn’t immediately return to his reading. He was remembering Araminta’s words with a feeing of annoyance. She had implied that he was elderly, or at least middle-aged. Thirty-six wasn’t old, not even middle-aged, and her remark had rankled. True, he was fair enough to concede, he hadn’t the lifestyle of other men of his age, and since he wasn’t married he was free to spend as much time doing his work as he wished.
As a professor of endocrinology he had an enviable reputation in his profession already, and he was perfectly content with his life. He had friends and acquaintances, his sister, of whom he was fond, and his nephews; his social life was pleasant, and from time to time he thought of marriage, but he had never met a woman with whom he wanted to share the rest of his life.
Sooner or later, he supposed, he would have to settle for second best and marry; he had choice enough. A man of no conceit, he was still aware that there were several women of his acquaintance who would be only too delighted to marry him.
He read for a time and then got up and walked through the house to the kitchen, where he told Bas to put the tea things in the small sitting room. ‘And please tell Miss Pomfrey and the boys that I expect them there for tea in ten minutes.’
After tea, he reflected, they would play the noisiest game he could think of!
He smiled then, amused that the tiresome girl should have annoyed him. She hadn’t meant to annoy him; he was aware of that. He had seen enough of her to know that she was a kind girl, though perhaps given to uttering thoughts best kept to herself.
Araminta, rather surprised at his message, went downstairs with the boys to find him already sitting in the chair by the open window, Humphrey at his feet. He got up as they went in and said easily, ‘I thought we might as well have tea together round the table. I believe Jet has been making cakes and some of those pofferjes which really have to be eaten from a plate, don’t they?’
He drew out a chair and said pleasantly. ‘Do sit down, Miss Pomfrey.’
‘Mintie,’ Peter reminded him.
‘Mintie,’ said his uncle meekly, and Araminta gave him a wide smile, relieved that he wasn’t annoyed.
Tea poured and Jet’s botorkeok cut and served, he asked, ‘Well, what have you done all day? Was school all right?’
The boys were never at a loss for words, so there was little need for Araminta to say anything, merely to agree to something when appealed to. Doubtless over dinner he would question her more closely. She would be careful to be extra polite, she thought; he was a good-natured man, and his manners were beautiful, but she suspected that he expected life to be as he arranged it and wouldn’t tolerate interference. She really must remember that she was merely the governess in his employ—and in a temporary capacity. She would have to remember that, too.
They played Monopoly after tea, sitting at the table after Bas had taken the tea things away. The boys were surprisingly good at it, and with a little help and a lot of hints Peter won with Paul a close second. The doctor had taken care to make mistakes and had even cheated, although Araminta had been the only one to see that. As for her, she would never, as he had mildly pointed out, be a financial wizard.
She began to tidy up while the boys said a protracted goodnight to their uncle. ‘You’ll come up and say goodnight again?’ they begged.
When he agreed they went willingly enough to their baths, their warm milk drinks with the little sugar biscuits, and bed. Araminta, rather flushed and untidy, was tucking them in when the doctor came upstairs. He had changed for the evening and she silently admired him. Black tie suited him and his clothes had been cut by a masterly hand. The blue crêpe would be quite inadequate…
He bade the boys goodnight and then turned to her. ‘I shall be out for dinner, Miss Pomfrey,’ he told her with a formal politeness which she found chilling. ‘Bas will look after you. Dinner will be at the usual time, otherwise do feel free to do whatever you wish.’
She suppressed an instant wish to go with him. To some grand house where there would be guests? More likely he was taking some exquisitely gowned girl to one of those restaurants where there were little pink-shaded table lamps and the menus were the size of a ground map…
And she was right, for Paul asked sleepily, ‘Are you going out with a pretty lady, Uncle Marcus?’
The doctor smiled. ‘Indeed I am, Paul. Tomorrow I’ll tell you what we had for dinner.’
He nodded to Araminta and went away, and she waited, sitting quietly by the window, until she judged that he had left the house. Of course, there was no reason for him to stay at home to dine with her; she had been a fool to imagine that he would do so. Good manners had obliged him to do so yesterday, since it had been her first evening there, but it wasn’t as if she was an interesting person to be with. Her mother had pointed out kindly and rather too frequently that she lacked wit and sparkle, and that since she wasn’t a clever girl, able to converse upon interesting subjects, then she must be content to be a good listener.
Araminta had taken this advice in good part, knowing that her mother was unaware that she was trampling on her daughter’s feelings. Araminta made allowances for her, though; people with brilliant brains were quite often careless of other people’s feelings. And it was all quite true. She knew herself to be just what her mother had so succinctly described. And she had taught herself to be a good listener…
She might have had to dine alone, but Bas treated her as though she was an honoured guest and the food was delicious.
‘I will put coffee in the drawing room, miss,’ said Bas, so she went and sat there, with Humphrey for comfort and companionship, and presently wandered about the room, looking at the portraits on its walls and the silver and china displayed in the cabinet. It was still early—too early to go to bed. She slipped upstairs to make sure that the boys were sleeping and then went back to the drawing room and leafed through the magazines on the sofa table. But she put those down after a few minutes and curled up on one of the sofas and allowed her thoughts to wander.
The day had, on the whole, gone well. The boys liked her and she liked them, the house was beautiful and her room lacked nothing in the way of comfort. Bas and Jet were kindness itself, and Utrecht was undoubtedly a most interesting city. There was one niggling doubt: despite his concern for her comfort and civil manner towards her, she had the uneasy feeling that the doctor didn’t like her. And, of course, she had made it worse, answering him back. She must keep a civil tongue in her head and remember that she was there to look after the boys. He was paying her for that, wasn’t he?
‘And don’t forget that, my girl,’ said Araminta in a voice loud enough to rouse Humphrey from his snooze.
She went off to bed then, after going to the kitchen to wish Bas and Jet goodnight, suddenly anxious not to be downstairs when the doctor came home.
He wasn’t at breakfast the next morning; Bas told them that he had gone early to Amsterdam but hoped to be back in the late afternoon. The boys were disappointed and so, to her