him into the hall. She would have liked a second cup of coffee…
Bas was waiting for her and took her to the kitchen, a semi-basement room at the back of the house. It was nice to be greeted by cheerful shouts from the boys and Jet’s kind smile and the offer of another cup of coffee. She sat down at the old-fashioned scrubbed table while Bas told her that he would serve their lunch at midday and that when they came back from their walk he would have an English afternoon tea waiting for her.
His kind old face crinkled into a smile as he told her, ‘And if you should wish to telephone your family, you are to do so—mijnheer’s orders.’
‘Oh, may I? I’ll do that now, before I go to my room…’
Her mother answered the phone, expressed relief that Araminta had arrived safely and observed that there were some interesting burial mounds in the north of Holland if she should have the opportunity to see them. ‘And enjoy yourself, dear,’ said her parent.
Araminta, not sure whether it was the burial mounds or her job which was to give her enjoyment, assured her mother that she would do so and went in search of the boys.
Led upstairs by Jet, with the boys running ahead, she found herself in a charming room on the second floor. It overlooked the street below and was charmingly furnished, with a narrow canopied bed, a dressing table under its window and two small easy chairs flanking a small round table. The colour scheme was a mixture of pastel colours and the furniture was of some pale wood she didn’t recognise. There was a large cupboard and a little door led to a bathroom. The house might be old, she thought, but the plumbing was ultra-modern. It had everything one could wish for…
The boys’ room was across the narrow passage, with another bathroom, and at the end of the passage was a room which she supposed had been a nursery, for it had a low table and small chairs round it and shelves full of toys.
She was right. The boys, both talking at once, eager to show her everything, told her that some of the toys had belonged to their uncle and his father; even his grandfather.
‘We have to be careful of them,’ said Paul, ‘but Uncle Marcus lets us play with them when we’re here.’
‘Do you come here often?’ asked Araminta.
‘Every year with Mummy and Daddy.’
Bas came to tell them that lunch was ready, so they all trooped downstairs and, since breakfast seemed a long time ago, made an excellent meal.
The boys were still excited, and Araminta judged it a good idea to take them for the walk. She could unpack later, when they had tired themselves out.
Advised by Bas and urged on by them, she got her own jacket, buttoned them into light jackets and went out into the street. The park was five minutes’ walk away, small and beautifully kept, a green haven in the centre of the city. There was a small pond, with goldfish and seats under the trees, but the boys had no intention of sitting down. When they had tired of the goldfish they insisted on showing her some of the surrounding streets.
‘And we’ll go to the Dom Tower,’ they assured her. ‘It’s ever so high, and the Domkerk—that’s a cathedral—and perhaps Uncle will take us to the university.’
They were all quite tired by the time they got back to the house, and Araminta was glad of the tea Bas brought to them in a small room behind the drawing room.
‘Mijnheer will be home very shortly,’ he told her, ‘and will be free to have the boys with him for a while whilst you unpack. They are to have their supper at half past six.’
Which reminded her that she should have some kind of plan ready for him to approve that evening.
‘It’s all go,’ said Araminta crossly, alone for a few moments while the boys were in the kitchen, admiring Miep—the kitchen cat—and her kittens.
She had gone to the window to look out onto the narrow garden behind the house. It was a pretty place, with narrow brick paths and small flowerbeds and a high brick wall surrounding it.
‘I trust you do not find the job too tiresome for you?’ asked the doctor gently.
She spun round. He was standing quite close to her, looking amused.
She said tartly, ‘I was talking to myself, doctor, unaware that anyone was listening. And I do not find the boys tiresome but it has been a long day.
‘Indeed it has.’ He didn’t offer sympathy, merely agreed with her in a civil voice which still held the thread of amusement.
He glanced at his watch. ‘I dare say you wish to unpack for the boys and yourself. I’ll have them with me until half past six.’
He gave her a little nod and held the door open for her.
In her room, she put away her clothes, reflecting that she must remember not to voice her thoughts out loud. He could have been nasty about it—he could also have offered a modicum of sympathy…
She still wasn’t sure why she had accepted this job. True, she was to be paid a generous salary, and she supposed that she had felt sorry for him.
Upon reflection she thought that being sorry for him was a waste of time; it was apparent that he lived in some comfort, surrounded by people devoted to him. She supposed, too, that he was a busy man, although she had no idea what he did. A GP, perhaps? But his lifestyle was a bit grand for that. A consultant in one of the hospitals? Or one of those unseen men who specialised in obscure illnesses? She would find out.
She went to the boys’ room and unpacked, put everything ready for bedtime and then got out pen and paper and wrote out the rough outline of a routine for the boys’ day. Probably the doctor wouldn’t approve of it, in which case he could make his own suggestions.
At half past six she went downstairs and found the boys in the small room where they had their tea earlier. The doctor was there, too, and they were all on the floor playing a noisy game of cards. There was a dog there too, a black Labrador, sitting beside his master, watching the cards being flung down and picked up.
They all looked up as she went in and the doctor said, ‘Five minutes, Miss Pomfrey.’ When the dog got to its feet and came towards her, he added, ‘This is Humphrey. You like dogs?’
‘Yes.’ She offered a fist and then stroked the great head. ‘He’s lovely.’
She sat down until the game came to an end, with Peter declared the winner.
‘Supper?’ asked Araminta mildly.
The doctor got on to his feet, towering over them. ‘Come and say goodnight when you’re ready for bed. Off you go, there’s good fellows.’
Bas was waiting in the hall. ‘Supper is to be in the day nursery on the first floor,’ he explained. ‘You know the way, miss.’ And they all went upstairs and into the large room, so comfortably furnished with an eye to a child’s comfort.
‘Uncle Marcus used to have his supper here,’ Paul told her, ‘and he says one day, when he’s got some boys of his own, they’ll have their supper here, too.’
Was the doctor about to marry? Araminta wondered. He wasn’t all that young—well into his thirties, she supposed. It was high time he settled down. It would be a pity to waste this lovely old house and this cosy nursery…
Bas came in with a tray followed by a strapping girl with a round face and fair hair who grinned at them and set the table. Supper was quickly eaten, milk was drunk and Araminta whisked the boys upstairs, for they were tired now and suddenly a little unhappy.
‘Are Mummy and Daddy going a long way away?’ asked Peter as she bathed them.
‘Well, it would be a long way if you had to walk there,’ said Araminta, ‘but in an aeroplane it takes no time at all to get there and get back again. Shall we buy postcards tomorrow and write to them?’
She talked cheerfully as she popped them into their pyjamas and dressing