Going to work the next morning, she thought that perhaps she would tell him of the unexpected change in her life.
However, he didn't give her the chance. Beyond an austere good morning he had nothing to say to her, and later, when he left the hospital, he had a colleague with him.
Oh, well, said Emmy to herself, I can always tell him tomorrow.'
Only he wasn't there in the morning; it wasn't until the day was half-done that she heard that he had gone to Holland.
She told herself that it didn't matter at all, that there was no reason to expect him to be interested in her future. She had already given in her notice and would not tell anyone about it.
Back home that evening, she found her mother already busy, turning out drawers and cupboards. 'Your father's arranged for Mr Stokes to collect the furniture in three days' time.' She beamed at Emmy. 'Oh, darling, it's all so wonderful. I don't believe it. Your father is so happy; so am I. It is a great pity that you can't come with us. I hate the idea of you being here on your own.'
Emmy, wrapping up the best china in newspaper and stowing it carefully in a tea chest, paused to say, 'Don't worry Mother. I'll be working all day, and by the time I get back here and have a meal it'll be time to go to bed-the days will fly by. Won't it be lovely having Christmas away from here?'
Her mother paused in stacking books. 'You've hated it here, haven't you, darling? So have I-so has your father. But we can forget all this once we're at Littleton Mangate. Just think, too, when we've sold this house there'll be some money to spend. Enough for you to go to a school of embroidery or whatever else you want to do. You'll meet people of your own age, too.'
Emmy nodded and smiled and, much against her will, thought about the professor.
He, too, was thinking about her, not wishing to but unable to prevent his thoughts going their own way. It was easier to put her to the back of his head while he was at the various hospitals-Leiden, the Hague, Amsterdam, Rotterdam. There were patients for him in all of these, and he was able to dismiss any thoughts other than those to do with his work while he was in the hospitals consulting, examining, deciding on treatment, seeing, in some cases, anxious relations and reassuring patients.
His days were long and busy but when he drove himself home each evening he had time to think. Anneliese was in France, but she would be back soon and he would spend his leisure with her. But in the meantime his time was his own.
Each evening he turned into the drive leading to his house and sighed with content at the sight of it. It was on the edge of a village, a stately old house behind the dunes, the North sea stretching away to the horizon, magnificent stretch of sand sweeping into the distance, north and south. The house had been built by his great- great-grandfather, and was a solid edifice, secure against the bitter winter winds, its rooms large, the windows tall and narrow, and the front door solid enough to withstand a seige.
Ruerd had been born there, and between schools, universities and hospital appointments went back to it as often as he could. His two sisters and younger brother-the former married, the latter still at medical school-were free to come and go as they wished, but the house was his now that his father, a retired surgeon, and his mother, lived in den Haag.
He had had a tiring day in Rotterdam, and the lighted windows welcomed him as he got out of the car. They were not the only welcome either-the door was opened and the dogs dashed out to greet him, the wolfhound and the Jack Russell pushing and jostling to get near their master. They all went into the house together, into the large square hall with its black and white marble floor, its plain plastered walls hung with paintings in ornate gilded frames.
They were halfway across it when they were joined by an elderly man, small and rotund, who trotted ahead of them to open double doors to one side of the hall.
The room the professor entered was large and high-ceilinged, with a great hooded fireplace on either side of which were vast sofas with a Regency mahogany centre table between them. There were two tub wing armchairs with a walnut card table between them, and a couple of Dutch mahogany and marquetry armchairs on either side of a Georgian breakfast table set between two of the long windows overlooking the grounds at the back of the house.
Against the walls there were walnut display cabinets, their shelves filled with silver and porcelain, reflecting the light from the cut-glass chandelier and the ormolu wall lights. It was a beautiful room, and magnificent; it was also lived in. There were bowls of flowers here and there, a pile of newspapers and magazines on one of the tables, a dog basket to the side of the fireplace.
The professor settled his vast frame in one of the armchairs, allowed the Jack Russell to scramble onto his knee and the wolfhound to drape himself over his feet, and poured himself a drink from the tray on the table beside him. A quiet evening, he thought with satisfaction, and, since he wasn't due anywhere until the following afternoon, a long walk with the dogs in the morning.
He was disturbed by his manservant, who came bearing letters on a salver, looking apologetic.
The professor picked them up idly. 'No phone calls, Cokker?'
'Juffrouw van Moule telephoned, to remind you that you will be dining with her family tomorrow evening.'
'Oh, Lord, I had forgotten…thank you, Cokker.'
'Anna wishes to know if half an hour is sufficient for you before dinner,
'As soon as she likes, Cokker. It's good to be home…'
'And good to have you here,' said Cokker. They smiled at each other, for Cokker had been with the family when the professor had been born and now, a sprightly sixty-year-old, had become part and parcel of it.
The professor took the dogs for a walk after dinner, across several acres of his own grounds and into the country lane beyond. It was a chilly night, but there was a moon and stars and later there would be a frost.
He strolled along, thinking about Ermentrude. By now her father would know if he had the post he had collocated. No doubt Ermentrude would tell him all about it when he got back to St Luke's. She would give in her notice, of course, and go to Dorset with her parents and he wouldn't see her again. Which was just as well. It was, he told himself, merely a passing attraction-not even that. All he had done was to take the opportunity to improve her life.
'She will be quite happy in the country again,' he told Solly, the wolfhound. He stooped to pick up Tip, who was getting tired, and tucked the little dog under one arm. He turned for home, dismissed Ermentrude from his mind and steered his thoughts to his future bride.
Later, lying in his great four-poster bed, Ermentrude was there again, buried beneath his thoughts and contriving to upset them.
'The girl's a nuisance,' said the professor to the empty room. 'I hope that by the time I get back to St Luke's she will be gone.'
His well-ordered life, he reflected, was being torn in shreds by a plain-faced girl who made no bones about letting him see that she had no interest in him. He slept badly and awoke in an ill humour which he had difficulty in shaking off during the day.
It was only that evening, sitting beside Anneliese at her parents' dining table, joining in the talk with the other guests, aware that Anneliese was looking particularly beautiful, that he managed to dismiss Ermentrude from his mind.
Anneliese was at her best. She knew that she looked delightful, and she exerted all her charm. She was intelligent, asking him all the right questions about his work at the hospitals he was visiting, talking knowledgeably about the health service in Holland, listening with apparent interest when he outlined the same service in England.
'Such a pity you have to go back there before Christmas. But of course you'll be back here then, won't you? Mother and I will come and stay for a while; we can discuss the wedding.'
She was clever enough not to say more than that, but went on lightly, 'Do you see any more of that funny little
