An Unlikely Romance Read online

  ‘With Mijnheer ter Vange?’

  ‘No, no. She wished to go for a walk; she left a message to say that she had changed her mind. He arrived—oh, perhaps half an hour after she had gone. He was most annoyed, he got into his car and drove away; he said he would return to den Haag.’

  The professor was getting out of his coat and shrugging on a heavy jacket. ‘Which way did she go, Rabo?’

  ‘Not to the village, for I watched her turn away. Perhaps to the lake? She said to Wolke that she would like to walk there one day...’

  ‘Good lord, it’s three miles, and not a house or a farm near the dyke road.’

  He was putting on thick gloves. ‘Keep Samson in, will you? I’ll take the torch and the brandy from the car and go after her. The fog’s thick here, it will be worse towards the lake. Don’t do anything for the moment. She’s a sensible girl and won’t panic, but if we’re not back by six o’clock get a search-party organised.’

  He disappeared into the fog and Rabo shut the door and led a reluctant Samson down to the kitchen, where he informed Wolke that the professor was in a fine taking and hadn’t she better have everything prepared in case Mevrouw came back soaked to the skin and half dead with cold?

  ‘She shouldn’t have gone,’ he observed. ‘It’s my opinion that she didn’t want to go out with Mijnheer ter Vange.’

  ‘Well, of course she didn’t, hasn’t got eyes for anyone but the professor. I’ll set a tea-tray ready for when they get back.’

  * * *

  THE PROFESSOR’S POWERFUL torch allowed him to see a foot or so before him, and besides he knew the country around him—as long as he kept to the brick road he would be all right. He strode ahead until he saw by the light of his torch that he had walked for half an hour—about halfway to the lake. The fog was dense now and he slowed his steps, remembering the narrow path which was a short cut to the water and one which he had taken many times when he had gone fishing. He stood for a moment and shouted and heard his own voice echoing in the silence, and then he walked on, shouting at intervals, but it wasn’t for another twenty minutes or so that he heard a faint answer. He bellowed again and this time he was sure. The path must be very near by now and he spent a few minutes casting round with the torch looking for it and once on it the going became difficult; it was freezing now and the ground was treacherous underfoot. Every few yards he stopped to shout, aware that a fine rage was building up inside him born of the fear he had refused to admit to. He paused once more and shouted in a great voice and then stopped dead when Beatrice said within inches of him, ‘You don’t need to shout, I’m here...’ Her voice was quavery and thick with tears but his strong feelings didn’t allow him to notice that.

  ‘What in the name of heaven are you doing out here? You little fool, you could have frozen solid; as it is I dare say you’ve got pneumonia.’ All the same he had put his arms around her and was hugging her close.

  She was numb with cold—she would never, she thought, get warm again—and she was grateful for his reassuring bulk, but he had spoken harshly and one or two tears dribbled down her cheeks. She had made a fine mess of things...

  ‘You didn’t go with Andre,’ observed Krijn. He was rubbing her hands and arms.

  ‘Well, of course I didn’t. I never meant to.’

  ‘Stamp your feet, we’ve quite a long walk home. So why did you accept his invitation when he phoned?’

  Her voice was very small. ‘I wanted to annoy you.’

  He stopped his rubbing and caught her close again. ‘Will you tell me why, my darling?’ He sighed. ‘I thought that you had fallen in love with him.’

  ‘Well, I hadn’t.’ She took a deep breath, and said through chattering teeth, ‘I’ve fallen in love with you.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the professor, and heaved a deep sigh of contentment. Considerably hampered by the grey fog, his kiss was, none the less, deeply satisfying.

  ‘We’ll go home now,’ he told her. ‘It would, in the light of this most interesting discovery, be foolish of us to remain here and freeze to death.’

  The way back seemed never-ending. Trixie’s legs were numb, she felt as though she were covered in ice despite Krijn’s great arms around her, and her mind was numb too. Krijn didn’t speak except to give her an encouraging word from time to time and when suddenly, as they were almost home, the fog thinned and rolled away and he turned to look at her, she burst into tears.

  He didn’t say anything then either, but picked her up and carried her the rest of the way, to be met in the drive by an anxious Rabo.

  ‘Tell Wolke to run a warm bath and make a pot of tea. No harm done, I think, only very cold.’

  He carried Trixie, still sniffling and gulping, up the staircase and into her room, handed her over to Wolke and went along to his room with Samson crowding at his heels.

  An hour later, nicely warm once more, dressed in a becoming cashmere sweater and skirt, her hair neat and her still pale face nicely made up, Trixie went down to the drawing-room. She peeped round the door but the room was empty and she crossed to the fire and gave a small squeak as Krijn got up from a chair in the window.

  ‘I thought you weren’t here,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I’ll just go and see if Wolke needs...’

  ‘Did you mean it?’ asked the professor, and something in his voice made her smile slowly.

  ‘Yes, I did, oh, I certainly did, Krijn.’

  He had taken her in his arms. ‘I thought that I had lost you, that I would have to let you go. You see, I think I have loved you for weeks, but it wasn’t until you had those flowers from Andre that I knew. But I do know now, my darling. Might we not start again?’

  ‘Yes, oh, yes, but—’

  He kissed her into a rapturous silence. ‘I love you, I am absent-minded and forgetful, but I promise you that I shall never forget you...’

  ‘I shan’t give you the chance,’ said Trixie. She looked up into his face with shining eyes and what she saw there made her very happy. She stood on tiptoe, the better to put her arms around his neck, and kissed him, and Rabo, coming in to say that dinner was served, went away again, to tell Wolke to keep everything hot for the moment.

  ‘It will be ruined—the fricassee—and the asparagus...’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Rabo, and he chuckled. ‘They won’t notice.’

  * * * * *

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  ISBN: 9781459245013

  Copyright © 1992 by Betty Neels

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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