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“You’re a very nice girl, Prudence. Why aren’t you married?” Haso asked gravely.

It was strange that he should annoy her so much, and within minutes it was forgotten. “Aunt Maud is always asking me that….”

“And what do you tell her?”

She laughed a little. “Why, that I’m waiting to be swept off my feet. I know that’s silly—I’m not the right size or shape for that, but it must be marvelous to be showered with roses and diamonds and champagne. Not that it ever happens outside romantic novels.”

“No? Don’t be too sure of that, Prudence….”

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit lives on in all her stories.

Paradise for Two
Betty Neels

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WERE two people in the room, facing each other across the breakfast-table—a small, elderly lady with iron-grey hair and very blue eyes in a pleasantly wrinkled face, and opposite her a girl with a charming face framed by curling russet hair and large hazel eyes, fringed by long, curling lashes.

“It’s a splendid opportunity,” observed the elderly lady in a coaxing voice, “and you would be doing a kindness—after all, Mrs Wesley is your godmother.”

Her companion frowned, her dark brows drawn together quite fiercely. She said in a no-nonsense way, “Aunt Maud, I’ve only just left one job, and that was because I wanted a change—I’ve set my heart on that Ward Sister’s post in Scotland,” she added as an afterthought. “Besides, there’s Walter…”

“Has he proposed again?” asked her aunt with interest.

“Well, yes…”

“You’ve accepted him?”

The girl smiled at the eagerness in her companion’s voice. “It’s a funny thing, Aunt Maud, but I can’t… Perhaps it’s because we’ve known each other for a long time and the gilt’s worn off the gingerbread, or perhaps it’s because Walter thinks I’m extravagant.”

“Well, you are, dear,” her aunt spoke mildly.

“I like clothes,” said her niece simply. “Besides, it’s difficult to find things to fit me. Everyone except me is size eight or ten.”

She stood up, and indeed she was nowhere near either of those sizes. She was a big girl, tall and splendidly built, her long legs clothed in elderly slacks topped by an outsize jersey.

Her aunt studied her thoughtfully. “You won’t marry Walter?” She sighed. “Prudence, he would make a good husband…”

The girl frowned again. “I don’t want a good husband, I want to be swept off my feet, plied with champagne and roses and jewels—I’d quite like to be serenaded, too.” She glanced down at her magnificent person. “But you can see for yourself, dear Aunt, that it would need a giant of a man with muscles of iron to get me off the ground. Shall I tell Ellen to come in and clear the table? I’m going for that job, I shall apply for it and post the letter this morning.”

Her aunt got up, too. “Very well, dear. At your age I would have been delighted at the chance to travel abroad and see something of the world, but I dare say you know your own mind best. Your godmother will be disappointed.”

Her niece crossed the room and gave her a hug. “Dearest Aunt, I have travelled a bit, you know, when Father and Mother were alive—” She paused a moment, and then went on steadily, “They always took me with them. True, I’ve not been to Holland, but I don’t suppose it’s much different from England. Mrs Wesley will be able to find someone only too eager to go with her.”

Her aunt agreed meekly. It was barely half an hour later, as she sat in the sitting-room making out a shopping list, that Ellen announced a visitor.

Miss Rendell put down her pen and got up with every sign of pleasure. “My dear Beatrix, how providential! I’ve been sitting here wondering if I should telephone you. Dear Prudence is even now applying for a post in Scotland, but perhaps you might dissuade her? She has no real reason for refusing to go with you to Holland, you know—indeed, she’s very fond of you, and a complete change might check her restlessness.” She added vaguely, “She wants to be swept off her feet.”

“And I know the very man to do it,” declared Mrs Wesley. She sat down. “Let me have a try.”

Prudence, nibbling her pen and frowning over her application form, listened to Ellen’s request that she should join her aunt downstairs with some impatience. The Vicar, she supposed, wanting someone to take a stall at the church bazaar, or old Mrs Vine from the Manor bent on getting Prudence to fill a gap at her dinner-table. Prudence, who had made her home with her aunt in the small Somerset village ever since her parents had died in a car crash, knew everyone who lived there, just as they knew her, and when she went to London to train as a nurse she still returned whenever she had leave. She loved the place and liked the people living there, from crusty old Colonel Quist living in solitary state in one wing of the vast house at the end of the village to Mrs Legg, who owned the village stores and ran the Post Office besides. She loved her aunt, too, and the nice old house which had become her home, but she loved her work as well; she had spent the last six years in London, first training as a nurse and then taking over a surgical ward at the hospital where she had trained. It was on her twenty-fifth birthday, a month or so previously, that she had decided she needed a move right away from London before she got into a rut from which so many of her older colleagues either could not or would not escape. Scotland would do nicely; she would be really on her own there and it would be a challenge, finding her feet in a strange hospital and making new friends. She let her thoughts wander as she went downstairs. Perhaps she would meet the man of her dreams—a vague image, but she was sure she would know him if they met.

She hadn’t expected to see her delightful godmother sitting with her aunt. She crossed the room and kissed the proffered cheek. Mrs Wesley was a formidable lady, not very tall but possessed of a well-corseted stoutness, a handsome face and a slightly overbearing manner. Prudence was very fond of her and said warmly, “How nice to see you, Aunt Beatrix. I thought you were in London.”

“I’m staying there, my dear, but I’ve been the guest of Mrs Vine for a day or so, and I thought I’d call and see you both before I go back.”

“Oh—you mean to Holland? But you aren’t going to return there to live, are you?”

“Certainly not, but my sister is ill—did your aunt not tell you? She has had a heart attack and needs great care, so I shall go to her and do what I can. I had hoped…” Mrs Wesley paused and heaved a shuddering sigh. “But I expect we shall manage. In a few weeks I dare say she’ll be stronger. It’s a pity I’ve been told by my own doctor that I must take things quietly for a few months, but at such a time one doesn’t think of oneself.”

“Why, Aunt Beatrix, what’s wrong?” Prudence felt quite shaken; she couldn’t remember her godmother being anything but in the best of health.

“Diabetes, of all silly things, my dear. I spent a few days at a nursing home while they decided what I couldn’t eat and explained that tiresome insulin to me. I’m not yet stabilised, they tell me, but when that’s corrected I need only take tablets.”

“You’re having injections?”

“At the moment, yes. So tiresome, as I have to arrange for someone to come and give them to me—the district nurse here has been most kind…” She gave Prudence a quick look. “That was why I’d suggested that you might like to accompany me to Holland, but of course, you young people must lead your own lives…”

Prudence shifted uneasily in her chair. She was being got at, and since she was a kind-hearted girl she could see nothing for it but to accept her godmother’s invitation; the idea of Aunt Beatrix wandering around suffering from a condition she didn’t fully understand, even in her own native country, wasn’t to be entertained for one moment. She mentally tore up the letter she had just written to the hospital in Scotland, reflecting ruefully that here was one young person who was being thwarted from doing as she wished…

“When do you go?” she asked, and saw the pleased smiles on her companions’ faces. “I had intended to apply for a job in Edinburgh, but I’ll see if they might have a vacancy at a later date.”

“Dear child!” Aunt Maud addressed her magnificently proportioned niece with no awareness of inappropriateness. “Your dear godmother will be safe with you, and I dare say this hospital will be only too glad to offer you a job later on.”

Prudence smiled at her kindly; Aunt Maud, having lived her life in sheltered security, had no idea of the harsh world outside it and there was no point in disillusioning her. No hospital was going to wait while an applicant for a job waltzed off to Europe before taking up her job.

“How long do you intend to stay in Holland?” she asked.

“Oh, well—a month, no longer, by that time my sister should be well again, should she not?” Mrs Wesley added, “She’s in hospital, but if all is well she should be going home very shortly. I thought I might go next week.”

Prudence remembered without much regret that Walter had invited her to an exhibition of paintings on either Tuesday or Wednesday of the following week. He had told her rather importantly that it depended on whether he could get away from his desk; he was a junior executive in a firm of stockbrokers and took his work seriously; he also fancied himself as something of an expert on modern art. Prudence, who liked paintings to look like something she could recognise, had done her best to go along with his views, without much success.

“We shall fly,” observed her godmother, “and naturally we shall be met at Schiphol and driven to Dornwier. Whether we shall remain there or accompany my sister on a holiday in order that she may recuperate from her illness, I don’t as yet know.”

“You’re sure your own doctor has no objections to you travelling, Aunt Beatrix?”

“Oh, yes, he quite saw my point of view.” Which was Aunt Beatrix’s way of saying she had browbeaten the poor man into agreeing with her.

“Do you want me to meet you in London,” asked Prudence, “or at the airport?”

“Perhaps you would come to my flat the day before we leave? Then we can travel to Heathrow together. Shall we say Tuesday of next week—provided I can get a flight then. I dare say you may have one or two things to see to before you leave.”

Clothes, thought Prudence and then, as a guilty afterthought, Walter. He would be annoyed: he didn’t believe in young women being too independent. A woman’s place, he had told Prudence on many occasions, was in the home.

Which was all very well, she had pointed out, but whereabouts in the home? Lying at ease on a chaise longue in the drawing-room, covered in jewels and pure silk, would be nice… Walter had no sense of humour; he had told her, in his measured tones, not to be foolish. It struck her suddenly that she didn’t love him, never had, and that this invitation from her godmother presented her with an opportunity to make Walter understand that once and for all she really did not want to marry him. They had known each other for years now, and she wasn’t sure when they had drifted into the idea of marriage. Certainly he had shown no overwhelming desire to make her his wife; on the other hand, she had been expected to tag along with him whenever she was at home, and in the village at least they were considered to be engaged.

She said now, “If you’ll let me know when you want me to come, Aunt Beatrix, I’ll be there. There’s nothing of importance to keep me here.”

She thought guiltily that Walter would be very annoyed to be designated as nothing of importance.

Ellen came in with coffee and the next half-hour was pleasantly taken up by Aunt Beatrix’s plans; she had obviously got everything organised to suit herself, and Prudence wondered just how she would have reacted if she hadn’t got her way. Aunt Maud was looking pleased with herself, too; Prudence looked at her two elderly companions with real affection, and when her godmother got up to go, bade her a warm goodbye.

“Tot ziens,” said Aunt Beatrix, who occasionally broke into her native tongue.

Prudence replied cheerfully, “And tot ziens to you, Aunt Beatrix, though I’m not quite sure what that means! I must try and learn some Dutch while I’m staying with you.”

Walter called in that evening on his way home from his office in Taunton. His greeting of, “Hello, old girl,” did nothing to make her change her mind about going away.

He sat down in the chair he always used and began at once to go into details about an argument he had had with one of the partners that day. Prudence sat opposite him, listening with half an ear while she took the chance to study him carefully. He was an inch or two shorter than she was and already showing a tendency to put on weight, but he was good-looking and, when he chose, could be an entertaining companion with charming manners. Only, over the years, the charm and the manners weren’t much in evidence—not with her at any rate. She said suddenly, cutting through his monologue, “Walter, when did you last look at me—I mean, really look?”

He gave her stare of astonishment. “Look at you? Well, I see you several times a week when you’re here, don’t I? Why should I look at you? Have you changed your hair-style or lost weight or something?”

“I don’t need to lose weight,” she said coldly. “I sometimes feel, Walter, like your daily newspaper or the old coat you keep behind the back door in case it rains…”

He gave an uneasy laugh. “My dear girl, what’s got into you? You’re talking nonsense. It’s a good thing you’re going to this new job, you’ve been too long at that hospital of yours in London.”

“You’ve asked me to marry you several times.”

“Yes, well—there’s time enough for you to make up your mind about that, in the meantime you need to be occupied.”

“You don’t want to sweep me off my feet? Rush off with me and get married?”

She felt sorry for him, because he was quite out of his depth; stockbrokers didn’t like to be rushed.

“Certainly not; marriage is a serious undertaking.”

Prudence nodded. “Yes, it is. Walter, I don’t want to marry you. I’m sorry if it puts you out—I mean, you expected me to marry you when it was convenient, didn’t you?”

“I say, old girl, that’s a funny way of putting it!”

“But it’s true.” She got up and wandered over to the window. “I’m going to Holland for some weeks to stay with an aunt who’s ill.”

“You haven’t any aunts in Holland.” She heard the tolerant amusement in his voice.

“Courtesy aunts, one of them is my godmother and I’m fond of her. I think it would be a good idea if we parted, Walter—we can stay good friends if you want that, but don’t expect me to change my mind. I really will not marry you.”

He had got to his feet, too. “Suits me. You’re a nice girl, Prudence, but you like your own way too much—men like a degree of meekness in a woman, especially in their wives.”

“I’ll remember that.” Her eyes, large, brown-flecked with tawny spots, thickly fringed, flashed sudden anger. “I hope you find a suitably meek girl willing to marry you, Walter.”

He said seriously, “Oh, I have no doubts that I shall.”

He looked so smug that she itched to throw something at him, especially when he added prosily, “But I doubt if you’ll—what did you say?—find a man to sweep you off your feet. No hard feelings, Prudence?”

“None at all, Walter.” She watched him go without a pang, but deep inside her she was conscious of panic; she was, after all, twenty-five years old and, although she had never lacked for men friends, she had never wanted to marry any of them. Perhaps she would never meet a man she could love and marry…

Aunt Maud bustling in to ask if Walter was staying to supper dispelled her thoughts. Prudence wandered across the room and shook up a number of cushions which were perfectly all right as they were. “What would you say if I told you that I’m not going to marry Walter? We’ve parted quite definitely.”

Aunt Maud said: “Well, dear, since you ask me, I feel bound to say I feel profound relief. Walter is an estimable young man, but in ten years’ time he’ll be pompous and bossy. None the less, he would be a good husband if one considers the material things of life—he would never allow his wife to be shabby, and the children would go to the right schools.” Aunt Maud sighed deeply. “But no romance, and that’s something I think you might not be able to do without.”

Prudence flung her arms wide. “Oh, you’re so right, Aunt Maud, but where am I to find romance? And for the next few weeks there’ll be no chance to find it at all—Aunt Beatrix is a darling, but she hasn’t any family other than her sister, has she? And I feel in my bones that any doctors I may meet will be elderly and bald.”

Her aunt agreed placidly and kept her thoughts to herself.

There was a good deal to do during the next few days; according to Aunt Maud, Prudence’s godmother came from a well-to-do family and her sister lived in some style.

“Somewhere in Friesland, isn’t it?” asked Prudence, her pretty head on one side, critically examining a dress she wasn’t sure she wanted to take with her. And, before her aunt could reply, “Do you suppose it will be good weather there? I know it’s May, but it’s a good deal farther north actually than it is here.”

“A knitted suit?” suggested her aunt. “And tops and skirts—you could take a couple of thinner dresses in case it should really warm up.” She added casually, “I should put in a pretty dress for the evening, dear—your Aunt Beatrix knows a number of people there, and you might get asked out to dinner.”

Prudence thought it unlikely, but her aunt looked wistful, so she packed a slim sheath of corn-coloured silk, deceptively simple and very elegant, and a silk jersey dress with long sleeves, a sweeping skirt and a square neckline cut rather low. It was of indigo blue, an excellent foil for her hair. It would give the balding elderlies a nice change from thermometers and stethoscopes.

Prudence drove herself up to London in her down-at-heel little Fiat. She had friends at the hospital where she had been working, and one of them, the junior in the team of theatre Sisters, had agreed to garage the car at her flat provided she might have the use of it, a plan which suited Prudence very well. She left the car, took out her luggage from its boot and hailed a taxi to take her to her godmother’s flat. It was in an Edwardian building along the Embankment, very ornate outwardly, but a haven of quiet luxury once past its well-guarded entrance. Prudence left her luggage with the hall porter and took herself up to the first floor, to be admitted by her godmother’s elderly maid, a dour, middle-aged spinster with the unlikely name of Miss Pretty.

Prudence greeted her cheerfully, knowing that beneath the gloomy face there lurked a loyal, kind heart. “The porter’s bringing up the luggage, Pretty. Is Aunt Beatrix in?”

“Waiting for you, Miss Prudence, and tea on the table.”

“Good, I could do with a cup. You are coming with us, Pretty?”

“Madam couldn’t manage without me,” said Pretty austerely. “Not that I care for foreign parts myself, although it’s quite nice where we’re going.” Her stern features relaxed slightly. “Madam’s that pleased that you’ll be coming with her.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” declared Prudence, and added, “Shall I go in? The drawing-room?”

Mrs Wesley offered a cheek to be kissed. “Dear child, how nice you look! Sit down and let’s have tea. I thought a quiet evening? We shall be leaving after breakfast. That good man Best will drive us to Heathrow.” Best carried on a hired car business from the mews behind the flats, and Aunt Beatrix would have no other.

“And at Schiphol?” prompted Prudence, sinking her splendid teeth into a scone.

“My sister is sending her car to meet us.” Mrs Wesley sipped her milkless tea and watched her goddaughter make a splendid meal. She said with a trace of envy, “You can eat anything you like? You don’t put on weight?”

“Not an ounce, and that’s a blessing, since I’m what our Vicar calls a fine figure of a woman, which is a polite way of saying that I’m a big girl.”

Her godmother glanced down at her own ample proportions. “You’re tall enough to carry it,” she observed, “and I flatter myself that I’m able to do the same.”

Prudence nodded a cheerful agreement and began on a cucumber sandwich.

They left the next morning, and Prudence, in the habit of throwing a few things into the back of the Fiat and driving away, was taken aback by her godmother’s elaborate preparations for a journey which would take less than half a day. For a start, the amount of luggage was sufficient for a stay of several months, and comprised a number of old-fashioned and very bulky hatboxes, an awkwardly shaped leather case which Pretty clung to as though her very life depended on doing so, a large trunk which required two men to lift it, and a variety of suitcases. Prudence, with one case and an overnight bag, began to wonder if she had packed enough clothes to compete with such a vast wardrobe. It took some considerable time to hoist everything into the boot, and even then poor Pretty, sitting in front with Best, had a conglomeration of umbrellas, travelling rugs and the awkward box, as well as her own modest luggage. The sum of money to pay on excess baggage would be considerable—something which of course Aunt Beatrix, with a more than adequate supply of the world’s riches, could ignore.

Prudence admired her almost regal indifference to the hustle and bustle of Heathrow when they reached it; it was left to herself, Pretty and Best to organise porters, find the right desk and settle the question of excess baggage, although to give Aunt Beatrix her due, she paid up without a murmur when asked to do so before making her stately progress towards the departure gate. Prudence, a law-abiding girl, had always thought one should arrive, as asked, one hour before the plane departed, but this was something her godmother had either overlooked or considered unnecessary. They bade Best goodbye and made their way through the security check and into the area set aside for outgoing passengers. It was almost empty and they were among the last on board. First class, of course, and Aunt Beatrix, in the nicest possible way, wanting her seat changed, a cushion for her head and the promise of a glass of brandy as soon as they were airborne. She disliked air travel, she informed the stewardess in a ringing voice, and expressed the hope that the Captain was an experienced man. Having been reassured about this and having had her seat-belt fastened, she gave Prudence, sitting beside her, her handbag to hold, arranged herself comfortably and went to sleep. The stewardess, coming presently with the brandy, gave it to Prudence instead. She drank it, since it was a pity to waste it, and ordered one for Pretty, who sipped it delicately, making it last for almost the whole of their flight.

Mrs Wesley woke as the plane started its descent to Schiphol, observed that the flight had been a pleasant one, and warned Prudence, who had the tickets, to be sure she didn’t lose them.

The rather slow business of getting from the plane to the airport exit went without a hitch; with the luggage piled high on three trolleys, they arrived in the open air to find a uniformed chauffeur waiting for them.

He greeted Mrs Wesley with great politeness, acknowledged Prudence’s polite good morning with a bowed head and grinned at Pretty. The car waiting for them was a very large Mercedes into which Aunt Beatrix stepped and settled herself comfortably, leaving everyone else to load in the luggage, with Prudence giving advice which only Pretty understood and the porters taking no notice of anyone at all. But at length everything was stowed away to the chauffeur’s satisfaction; he held the door politely for Prudence to get in beside her godmother, saw Pretty into the seat beside him and drove off.

“We go around Amsterdam,” explained Aunt Beatrix, “and join the motorway going north. We shall cross the Afsluitdijk into Friesland, and from there we drive across Friesland very nearly to Groningen Province. I think you’ll find the country pleasant enough; there should be a map in the pocket beside you, dear, so you can see exactly where you are. I shall compose myself and take a nap—I find travelling very fatiguing.”

Prudence somehow choked back a giggle, and presently opened the map.

She hadn’t realised quite how small Holland was. They were on the Afsluitdijk within two hours, speeding towards the distant coastline of Friesland; they must be almost there. Aunt Maud had warned her that she might expect to find her hostess’s home somewhat larger than her own. “I visited there once, a long time ago,” Aunt Maud had said, “and I remember I was rather impressed.”

The car swept on, skirting Franeker and Leeuwarden, racing along the main road towards Groningen. What was more, Prudence had seen very few country houses, but numerous villages, each with its church, offering useful landmarks in the rolling countryside, and any number of large prosperous farms. She was wondering just where they would end up when the chauffeur turned the car on to a narrow brick road, and within minutes they had left the modern world behind them. There were trees ahead of them and a glimpse of red roofs, and, as though Mrs Wesley had secreted an alarm clock about her person, she opened her eyes, sat up straight, and said in a satisfied voice, “Ah, we’re arriving at last,” just as though she had been awake all the time. She said something to the chauffeur in Dutch and he replied at some length as they slowed through a small village; a pretty place surrounded by trees and overseen by a red brick church in its centre. The road was cobbled now and the car slowed to a walking pace as it rounded the centre of the village and took a narrow road on the other side.

“A lake?” asked Prudence. “How delightful!” She was still craning her neck to get a better view when the car was driven between stone pillars and along a curved drive, thickly bordered by shrubs and trees. It was quite short and ended in a wide sweep before a large, square house with a gabled roof, a very large front door reached by double steps and orderly rows of large windows. There was a formal flower garden facing it beyond the sweep, and an assortment of trees in a semicircle around it. Prudence, getting out of the car, decided that it was rather nice in a massive, simple way. It might lack the mellow red brick beauty of Aunt Maud’s home, but it had charm of its own, standing solidly in all the splendour of its white walls in the May sunshine.

The procession, led by Mrs Wesley with Prudence behind her and tailed by Pretty and the chauffeur, carrying the first of the baggage, mounted the steps, to be welcomed by a stout man with cropped white hair and bright blue eyes. He made what Prudence supposed to be a speech of welcome, and stood aside to allow them into a vestibule which in turn opened into an oval entrance hall. Very grand, reflected Prudence, with pillars supporting an elaborate plaster ceiling and some truly hideous large vases arranged in the broad niches around the walls. The floor was black-and-white marble and cold to the feet.

There were numerous doors, and the stout man opened one and ushered them into a large room furnished in the style of the Second Empire, with heavy brocade curtains at its windows and a vast carpet on its polished floor. Aunt Beatrix took off her gloves, asked Pretty to see that the luggage was brought in and taken to their rooms, and sat down in a massive armchair. “Wim will let my sister’s maid know that we have arrived,” she observed, “but first we’ll have coffee. I suggest that while I’m seeing my sister you might like to stroll through the gardens for half an hour.”

Prudence agreed cheerfully. “And when do you take your insulin?” she wanted to know.

“Ah, yes, I mustn’t forget that, must I, my dear? And my diet…”

“You have it with you? Shall I go and see someone about it? It’s very important.”

Her godmother was searching through her handbag. “I have it here, but I shall need to translate it. How many grammes are there in an ounce?”

They worked out a lunch diet while they drank their coffee, and gave the result to Wim, and Mrs Wesley said comfortably, “I shall leave you to arrange dinner for me, dear; if you’ll write it out I can translate it…I dare say you’re clever enough to ring the changes.”