Roses Have Thorns. Betty Neels
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who ignored both her and her case, and finally into the vast hall filled with passengers hurrying to and fro, coming and going with a confidence which made her feel suddenly a little scared. Supposing no one met her? The Professor had failed to give her a description of whoever it would be—indeed, now she came to think about it, she wasn’t quite sure just where she was to go. There had been nothing about that in the envelope, although he had muttered some unintelligible name when she had asked him. She stood where she had been instructed to stand, by the enquiries desk, and tried to look as though she knew what she would be doing next.
The man who stopped in front of her was short and stout, with a round face under a peaked cap. It was a nice face, friendly and solid, and his little blue eyes twinkled. ‘Miss Fletcher? I am Mevrouw Nauta’s chauffeur, and if you will come with me I will drive you to her house.’
He offered a hand and she shook it. ‘Oh, you speak English, I was wondering what I would do if no one understood me.’
‘English is spoken freely in Holland, Miss Fletcher. If you will come?’ He picked up her case and led her outside to where an old-fashioned Daimler, beautifully kept, was parked.
‘May I sit with you?’ asked Sarah. ‘And will you tell me your name?’
‘Hans, miss.’ He settled her in the front seat and got in beside her. ‘It is quite a long drive. I am instructed to stop on the way so that you may have coffee.’
He was driving away from the airport, and Sarah said, ‘I’m not quite sure where it is—where I am to go. Professor Nauta told me, but it sounded a strange name and I didn’t like to ask him again…’
‘In the north, miss, just south of Leeuwarden—that is in Friesland.’
He had turned on to the motorway. ‘We shall travel on the motorway for almost the whole way so that you will see little of Holland, and that is a pity, but perhaps before you go again you will have a chance.’
‘You speak English very well.’
‘I have lived in England, and I drive Mevrouw Nauta to see the Professor frequently.’
‘Mevrouw Nauta is English?’ She glanced at him. ‘Please don’t mind my asking questions; it would help me if I knew something of the people I am to work for.’
‘She is English, miss, married to Mijnheer Nauta. He is also a physician, like his son, but now he works only at times. It is his mother whom you are to be with, I am told… An old lady, very old and very ill also. It is expected that she will die within a very short time, and she wished to be with her family.’
‘The house—is it in the country?’
‘Yes, by a small village, very quiet.’ He sent the car speeding ahead. ‘We circle Amsterdam, and travel north and across the dyke of the Ijsselmeer, but we will stop for coffee before we cross to Friesland.’
Sarah watched the outskirts of Amsterdam slip past. She didn’t like to ask any more questions, but at least she knew where she was going. She settled down to enjoy the ride, although just for the moment there wasn’t a great deal to see. But presently they left the city behind them, went through Purmerend and started on the stretch of motorway to Hoorn and the dyke, and Hans took care to point out everything which he thought might interest her as they went. They stopped at a pleasant restaurant only a few miles from the great sluice gates leading to the Afsluitdijk. Sarah asked Hans to have his coffee with her, and they spent a pleasant twenty minutes while he told her about his life in England, although he had nothing more to say about his employers.
On the dijk Sarah felt a pleasant excitement. She could see the land ahead of them, and in another half-hour or so they would be there. Supposing they didn’t like her? Supposing Mevrouw Nauta’s sudden wish to employ her had undergone a change? Supposing the old lady didn’t like her? And that would be worse.
On land again, Hans cast her a sidelong look. ‘No need to be nervous, miss. It is a happy family, and kind.’
Sarah, unable to imagine the Professor either particularly happy or kind, had her doubts.
They reached Franeker, and Hans turned off the road on to a narrow country road leading into a vista of flat green fields and small canals. Here and there villages, each with its vast church, were planted, screened by trees. He drove for several miles and the country changed, became more wooded, and in places there were glimpses of water.
‘There are many lakes,’ said Hans. ‘These are very small, and beyond Sneek they are large and lead one to the other.’
They were nearing another village, its red roofs surrounding the church and ringed around by trees. ‘Baardwerd,’ said Hans. ‘We have arrived.’
He drove through the tiny place and turned in through open gates and along a short drive. The house at the end of it was painted white, its many windows shuttered, and a double stairway led to its front door. Its roof was steep, with a clock over the wrought-iron balcony above the door. Sarah hadn’t known what to expect; she had imagined several likely houses: red brick villas, a comfortable country house like her own home had been, even a narrow town house with a gabled roof. None of them as grand as this. She got out of the car, her heart beating rather too quickly from nerves.
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