‘Of course—I forgot too—I was to tell you that Mevrouw Veske will be over to see you this afternoon, and Joan has returned as it had been arranged. She will see the Directrice of your hospital and explain what happened. You may be sure that Jake has not overlooked anything.’

Britannia tackled her breakfast with a healthy appetite, her painful ankle notwithstanding, and when Emmie came back presently with her clothes, brushed and neat, she began the business of getting them on cheerfully enough. The problem of washing had been solved by Emmie bringing a basin to the bedside, but dressing didn’t prove quite as easy as she had expected. But somehow she wriggled and twisted her way into her slacks and sweater, pausing for minutes at a time to allow the pain in her ankle to lessen, and the slacks had had to be cut in order to get her swollen foot into the leg. More or less dressed, she surveyed her person carefully and deplored her appearance. Emmie had brushed her hair and tied it back and then fetched a mirror reluctantly enough, and when Britannia saw her face in it she quite understood why; she was a sorry sight, one side of her face swollen and discoloured and a bump on her forehead the size of a billiard ball. Even if the professor had taken a fancy to her, which he hadn’t, it would have needed to have been a very strong fancy. She was still staring at her reflection when he said from the doorway: ‘May I come in?’ and then: ‘You’re going to have a black eye.’

He said something to Emmie, asked: ‘Are you ready?’ and scooped Britannia up and carried her downstairs to the car. He had very much the manner, she considered, of a man removing a misbehaving kitten to the garden; kind, firm and faintly resigned that he had had to do it in the first place.

He stowed her into the front seat beside him while Emmie and Marinus proffered cushions with which to protect her foot. This done to his satisfaction, he got in, asked her in a rather perfunctory manner if she were quite comfortable and drove to Arnhem, wasting no breath in conversation on the way and wasting no time either. Britannia, seeking in vain for a topic of conversation and unable to think of anything at all to say, was relieved when they reached the hospital, where he lifted her from the car and set her in the wheelchair a porter was sent to fetch. She felt at a distinct disadvantage with no make-up, her hair austerely brushed back by Emmie and Mevrouw Veske’s amply cut anorak dragged on anyhow; moreover, there was no vestige of glamour about a wheelchair. Not that it mattered; the professor muttered to the porter, said ‘I’ll see you in a minute,’ and stalked away, leaving her to be trundled to X-ray, past a long line of fractured arms and legs, broken collarbones, barium meals and the like, all waiting patiently for their turn. Presumably this wasn’t to be her lot; she was taken directly into the X-ray room where she was arranged on the table by a pretty nurse who nodded and smiled at her and then melted into the background as a thick-set bearded man and the professor ranged themselves beside her.

‘That is indeed a splendid bruise,’ observed the bearded man cheerfully. ‘Let us hope that there is no hairline fracture beneath it.’ He smiled broadly and held out a hand. ‘Berens—Frans Berens.’ He wrung her hand in a crushing grip and turned to the professor. ‘The skull first, I think, Jake, and then the ankle.’

It was quickly done, but she was told to stay where she was while the plates were developed, and lay, cosily wrapped in a blanket in the half dark, half asleep until the professor’s voice caused her to open her eyes.

‘No bones broken,’ he told her, ‘just a nasty sprain. Bed for a few days and then massage and exercises.’

‘But can’t I go home?’

Doctor Berens rumbled disapprovingly. ‘Indeed you cannot. You have had a nasty fall and you must have time to get over it; besides, that ankle must lose its swelling…’

‘You will return with me, Britannia,’ stated the professor in a no-nonsense voice, ‘and when you are fit, you may return home.’

‘To the Veskes?’

‘I imagine not—they will be going away for St Nikolaas.’

‘But I can’t…’

The porter had returned with the wheelchair and Britannia was whisked into it, had her hand shaken once more by the genial Doctor Berens and was wheeled away while she was still gathering her wits. It wasn’t until she had been settled in the car once more, and the professor was driving through the city, that she said again: ‘I can’t…’

Her companion’s voice was silky. ‘If you do not like the idea of staying under my roof, Britannia, I must point out that the house is large enough to shelter the pair of us with little risk of meeting.’

‘Oh, no—it’s not that at all. But if I stay with you I’m—I’m a continuing source of embarrassment to you.’

His surprise was quite genuine. ‘Why on earth should you be?’ he wanted to know. ‘We shan’t be on our own, you know. It is December—or had you overlooked that? My sisters, their husbands and children, not to mention nursemaids, my mother, an uncle or two and—er—Madeleine will be celebrating St Nikolaas with me.’

Put like that it made her feel lonely. ‘You’re very kind, but won’t I be a nuisance?’

His careless: ‘Lord, no—I’ll get a nurse to look after you,’ was really all she needed to round off a horrid morning, but she wasn’t going to let it show. ‘You will be good enough to let me have the bill for her fees,’ she said haughtily, ‘and I should like to be home—among my friends and family—for Christmas.’

‘Long before that, I hope,’ he assured her with offhand cheerfulness, ‘and it is your fault, if I may say so, Britannia, that you’re not in the bosom of my family for St Nikolaas—but you turned me down, if you care to remember.’

Britannia’s bosom heaved under the ample folds of Mevrouw Veske’s anorak. ‘You’re quite awful!’ she snapped. ‘I didn’t turn you down—at least, it was because…you know why it was.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Couldn’t I please go home?’

‘No. Not unless you don’t mind having giddy fits and falling down and spraining the other ankle.’

They had been travelling fast, now he slowed to turn into the drive. ‘Mevrouw Veske is coming to see you this afternoon, she will bring your things with her. If you can bear to take my advice I suggest that you stay in bed for the rest of today. Emmie will look after you and I’ll bring a nurse back with me this evening.’

Britannia bit her lip; she had no arguments left and now her head was beginning to ache. She said, ‘Thank you, Professor,’ in a meek voice, and when he reminded her: ‘Jake,’ repeated ‘Jake,’ just as meekly.

Mevrouw Veske came after lunch, escorted to Britannia’s room by Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien. She was cosily sympathetic, and full of motherly advice and barely concealed excitement, because here was Britannia, as lovely and sweet a girl as she had ever set eyes on, and moreover, she felt sure, as lovely and sweet a girl as the professor had ever set eyes on too, actually guest in his house, and likely to stay for a few days at least.

She embraced Britannia gingerly with an anxious eye on the bruise, and began to voice her regrets about St Nikolaas: ‘All arranged weeks ago, you understand, my dear,’ she protested, ‘otherwise we would have loved to have had you with us…’

‘Your loss is our gain, mevrouw,’ interposed Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien. ‘We shall be delighted to have Britannia with us.’

‘She will perhaps be confined to her room?’

‘So I understand, but my son is bringing back a nurse this evening.’

Britannia, sitting up in her pretty bed between her two visitors, thought that it was very evident that however merry the celebrations were to be she was to have no part in them. She said a little desperately: ‘Look, surely I could travel? If someone could take me to the plane…’

‘Jake has said that you are to stay here, my dear.’ The two ladies looked at her in a kindly fashion, each of them quite sure in her own way that Jake was right. Britannia gave up, for the time being at least; when the professor returned, she would have another go at him.