‘Unfair,’ snapped Britannia. ‘If you ask me any more questions I shall invent the answers.’

‘And I shall know if you are fibbing, Britannia. Did Zuster Vinke give you tea?’

‘No—at least she said we would have a cup of coffee when we had finished looking round, but there wasn’t time—you sent a message.’

‘Thoughtless of me.’ They were clear of the town now, racing along the quiet road, passing the cottage where Tinneke lived and then the airfield; they would be at the villa in no time at all. But at the crossroads, instead of keeping straight on, the professor turned down the road Mijnheer Veske had taken when they had gone horse-riding.

‘You’re going the wrong way,’ observed Britannia helpfully.

‘I am going to my house. So that you may have that cup of coffee I so thoughtlessly deprived you of.’ He slowed the car to turn between two stone pillars. ‘Or tea, perhaps—you English drink gallons of tea.’

‘That’s why we’re such nice people. I’d love to see your house.’

‘So you have already said.’ He didn’t sound very enthusiastic, but she didn’t care; she was going to have her wish after all, and he had been almost friendly… ‘This is someone’s park,’ she pointed out. ‘Should we be here?’

‘Of course. It belongs to me.’

She hadn’t thought of that; she peered out of the window, silent for once, her tongue held by surprise. The sanded drive wound through trees, swept round a high grass bank and then, with close-cut lawns on either side of it, made for the house. It was a grey, dull afternoon and would soon be dark, but Britannia could see it clearly enough; its gables and chimneys now wholly visible. And it was just as beautiful as she had imagined it to be when she had first glimpsed it from the other side of the park wall. It wasn’t so very large as large houses go, but its windows were wide and high, giving a hint of the spacious rooms within, and although its front was flat, the windows arranged in neat rows on either side and above its imposing entrance, there were wings on either side, red brick and one storey high. There were trees grouped behind it and great sweeps of lawn on either side, and a little formal garden just visible beyond, a miniature of the large one in front of the house.

‘Well,’ said Britannia at length, ‘you might have told me.’

‘I can see no possible reason for doing so.’

‘But I took you to see it the other day…you were there by the wall, you told me there was a better view…’

‘I still can see no reason for telling you.’ He added silkily: ‘In any case, you being you, you would have discovered it for yourself.’

‘Yes, of course I should, because I very much wanted to know who lived here. But it wasn’t very nice of you—you’ve made me feel like a busybody poking her nose into other people’s business.’

‘If I thought that I shouldn’t be bringing you here for tea, Britannia.’

They had reached the sweep before the house and he had stopped the car and turned to look at her. ‘And what have you to say to that?’

She gave him a long candid look. ‘I’m wondering why you have brought me here to tea,’ she said soberly.

He leaned across her and undid her safety belt, then kissed her hard. ‘Perhaps I want to get to know you better,’ he told her blandly as he got out.

She got out too, trying to look as though she wasn’t wildly happy, excited and completely at sea, and walked beside him to the door. By the time they had mounted the half-dozen shallow steps leading to it, it had been opened by a short stout man with a cheerful face, who answered the professor’s greeting with a beaming smile, then turned the beam on Britannia, and she, still in a delightful haze, beamed back.

The glass-walled lobby gave on to a square hall with a branched staircase at its far end and a number of doors on either side. It was a handsome apartment with a tiled floor spread with fine rugs and furnished with massive side tables bearing great bowls of flowers. Britannia looked about her with frank, unselfconscious interest, wishing her father was with her to admire the fine ormolu clock on a marble-topped commode, the exquisite chandelier above her head, and the William and Mary armchairs set against the walls. She entered the room into which the professor was urging her with a lively anticipation of still more treasures, and she wasn’t disappointed. It was large, lighted by great windows draped in claret-coloured velvet and with a polished floor adorned with still more silky rugs, but she had no time to examine her surroundings; there were two people there, sitting opposite each other beside the cheerful fire burning in the vast marble fireplace; a rather severe-looking lady who might have been in her sixties and the lovely girl who had been with the professor in church.

Britannia’s pleasure ebbed away. Both ladies were eyeing her, the elder with a thoughtful expression, the younger with a smiling contempt, making her very aware of her slacks and anorak and sensible shoes, so that the pleasure was replaced by feminine rage at being caught at a disadvantage and an even greater rage towards the professor for allowing that to happen in the first place. She had time to wonder if he had done it deliberately before he said smoothly: ‘Mama, this is Britannia Smith, without whose help I could not have saved the child I told you of. My mother, Britannia.’

Britannia shook hands and found that the severe features, relaxed in a smile, were rather charming after all; the blue eyes which looked at her so intently were very like the professor’s and she found herself smiling back, conscious that she was approved of. It gave her a little added sparkle as she turned in obedience to the professor’s suave: ‘And this is Madeleine de Venz—you will have seen each other in church, I feel sure.’

They smiled brilliantly at each other; Madeleine’s bright blue eyes were unfriendly as she looked Britannia slowly up and down. She said in a deliberate, sugary sweet voice: ‘Of course, you were sitting with a pretty girl with curly hair.’

Britannia felt a surge of dislike. Several biting remarks crossed her mind and she longed to utter them. Her calm: ‘Isn’t she lovely? She’s been a friend of mine for years,’ was a masterpiece of forbearance. But the look she gave the professor was enough to freeze his bones, although he didn’t appear to notice it.

His: ‘We’ve come back for tea, Mama—I asked for it to be brought in here,’ was uttered in exactly the right tones of a thoughtful host, as was his gentle urging that she should remove her anorak.

It was a pity that she happened to be wearing a blue guernsey, a garment which she had had for a number of years and wore solely for warmth during the winter at home. She had packed it at her mother’s instigation and now silently blamed her parent for persuading her; it was a vast, loose sweater and seemed even bigger and looser than it was in contrast to Madeleine’s slimly cut cashmere outfit, although, thought Britannia waspishly, the girl had a figure like a lead pencil, an opinion borne out when tea was brought in, for Madeleine drank only a small cup of milkless tea and ate nothing at all, while Britannia, telling herself sensibly that since she had been asked to tea she might as well enjoy it, ate the tiny sandwiches, the delicate cakes and the little sweet biscuits her host pressed upon her, carrying on a pleasant, desultory conversation with his mother while she did so, and when the professor chose to address her, answering him with cool politeness. Madeleine ignored her almost completely, addressing herself exclusively to the professor and speaking her own language until he interrupted her with a gentle: ‘Should we not talk in English, Madeleine? You can hardly expect Britannia to understand Dutch after only a few days.’

Madeleine laughed, and she had a very pretty laugh,

‘Darling Jake, I’m so sorry, you know I would do anything to please you.’