quickly.
She was going to stay awake, she thought, lying in a scented bath. There were a great many problems to mull over-and the most important one was how to forget the professor as quickly as possible. If it's only infatuation, she thought, I can get over it once I've stopped seeing him.
She got into bed and lay admiring her surroundings before putting out the bedside light, prepared to lie awake and worry. She had reckoned without the comfort of the bed and the long day behind her. With a last dreamy thought of the professor, she slept.
CHAPTER SEVEN
EMMY was wakened in the morning by a sturdy young girl in a coloured pinafore, bearing a tray of tea. She beamed at Emmy, drew the curtains back, giggled cheerfully and went away.
Emmy drank her tea and hopped out of bed intent on looking out of the window. She opened it and stepped cautiously onto the balcony. The tiles were icy and her toes curled under with the cold, but the air was fresh and smelled of the sea.
She took great gulping breaths and peered down to the garden below. It was more than a garden; it stretched away towards what looked like rough grass, and beyond that she could glimpse the sea. She took her fill of the view and then looked down again. Directly under the balcony the professor was standing, looking up at her, the dogs beside him.
He wished her good morning. 'And go and put some clothes on, Ermentrude, and come outside.' He laughed then.
She said haughtily, 'Good morning, Professor. I think not, thank you. I'm cold.'
'Well, of course you are with only a nightie on. Get dressed and come on down. You need the exercise.'
Emmy felt light-headed at the sight of him, standing there, laughing at her.
She said, 'All right, ten minutes,' and whisked herself back into her room, leaving the professor wondering why the sight of her in a sensible nightdress with her hair hanging untidily in a cloud around her shoulders, should so disturb him in a way which Anneliese, even in the most exquisite gown, never had. He reminded himself that Anneliese would be coming to dinner that evening, and regretted the impulse to invite Emmy to join him.
She came through the side door to meet him, wrapped in her coat, a scarf over her hair, sensible shoes on her feet. Tip and Solly made much of her, and she said, 'Oh, what a pity that Charlie isn't here, too.'
'I think that Beaker might not like that. Charlie is his darling, as much loved as Humphrey.'
They had begun to walk down the length of the garden, and at its end he opened a wicket gate and led the way over rough grass until they reached the edge of the dunes with the sea beyond. There was a strong wind blowing, whipping the waves high, turning the water to a tumultuous steel-grey.
The professor put an arm round Emmy's shoulders to steady her. 'Like it?'
'Oh, yes, it's heavenly! And so quiet-I mean, no people, no cars…'
'Just us,' said the professor.
It wasn't full daylight, but she could see the wide sand stretching away on either side of them, disappearing into the early-morning gloom.
'You could walk for miles,' said Emmy. 'How far?'
'All the way to den Helder in the north and to the Hoek in the south.'
'You must think of this when you are in London…'
'Yes. I suppose that one day I'll come to live here permanently.'
'I expect you will want to do that when you're married and have a family,' said Emmy, and felt the pain which the words were giving her. Would Anneliese stand here with him, watching the stormy sea and blown by the wind? And his children? She pictured a whole clutch of them and dismissed the thought. Anneliese would have one child- two, perhaps-but no more than that.
She felt tears well under her eyelids. Ruerd would be a splendid father and his home was large enough to accommodate a whole bunch of children, but that would never happen.
'You're crying,' said the professor. 'Why?'
'It's the wind; it makes my eyes water. The air is like sucking ice cubes from the fridge, isn't it?'
He smiled then. 'An apt description. Let us go back and have breakfast before we decorate the tree-a morning's work. We will come again-whatever the weather, it is always a splendid view.
Breakfast was a cheerful meal; her parents had slept well and the talk was wholly of Christmas and the forthcoming gaiety.
'My sisters will come later today, my brother tomorrow. Anneliese-my fiancйe-will be coming this evening to dinner.'
'We look forward to meeting her,' said Mrs Foster, politely untruthful. Maternal instinct warned her that Anneliese wasn't going to like finding them at Ruerd's house. Although from all accounts she had nothing to fear from Emmy, thought Mrs Foster sadly. A darling girl, but with no looks. A man as handsome as Ruerd would surely choose a beautiful woman for his wife.
They decorated the tree after breakfast, hanging it with glass baubles, tinsel, little china angels and a great many fairy lights. On top, of course, there was a fairy doll-given after Christmas to the youngest of his nieces, the professor told them.
'You have several nieces?' asked Mrs Foster.
'Three so far, and four nephews. I do hope you like children…'
'Indeed I do. Ruerd, we feel terrible at not having any presents to give.'
'Please don't worry about that. They have so many gifts that they lose count as to whom they are from.'
Emmy, making paper chains for the nursery, found him beside her.
'After lunch we'll go over the house, if you would like that, but, in the meantime, will you bring those upstairs and we'll hang them before the children get here?'
The nursery was at the back of the house behind a baize door. There was a night nursery, too, and a bedroom for nanny, a small kitchenette and a splendidly equipped bathroom.
'The children sleep here, but they go where they like in the house. Children should be with their parents as much as possible, don't you agree?'
'Well, of course. Otherwise they're not a family, are they?' She stood there, handing him the chains as he fastened them in festoons between the walls. 'Did you sleep here, too?'
'Oh, yes. Until I was eight years old. On our eighth birthdays we were given our own bedrooms.'
He hung the chains, and turned to stare at her. 'You like my home, Ermentrude?'
'Yes, indeed I do. I think you must be very happy here.'
She walked to the door, uneasy under his look. 'At what time do your sisters arrive?'
His voice was reassuringly casual again. 'Very shortly after lunch. It will be chaos for the rest of the afternoon, I expect. Several friends will be coming to dinner.'
She paused as they reached the stairs. 'You have been so kind to us, Professor, but that doesn't mean you have to include us in your family gatherings.' She saw his quick frown. 'I've put that badly, but you know quite well what I mean, don't you? Mother and Father and I would be quite happy if you would like us to dine alone. I mean, you weren' t expecting us…'
She had made him angry. She started down the staircase and wished that she had held her tongue, but she had had to say it. Perhaps if she hadn't fallen in love with him she wouldn't have felt the urge to make it clear to him that they were on sufferance, even if it was a kindly sufferance.
He put out a hand and stopped her, turned her round to face him, and when he spoke it was in a rigidly
