When a voice over the intercom told everyone to rejoin their car she picked up her bag and opened the door. The professor was outside, leaning against the wall. He gave her an icily courteous good morning, told her to follow him, took her bag and strode off. In the car presently, waiting to disembark, there was too much noise to talk, and presently going through the routine of landing there was no need to say more than a word or two, but once on the road to London the professor broke his silence.

‘Rather a rough crossing,’ he remarked pleasantly. ‘I hope you weren’t too disturbed?’

All she could think of to say was: ‘Not at all, thank you,’ but the baldness of this reply didn’t deter him from keeping up a steady flow of small talk. It lasted right through Colchester and down the A12 and around the northern perimeter of London until they eventually joined the M3 at the Chertsey roundabout. Jake turned off again almost at once, remarking that she would probably like a cup of coffee, and drove the few miles to Chobham where he drew up before the Four Seasons restaurant and invited her to get out. Britannia shivered as she did so, for it was a chilly morning and she was tired and empty, but the coffee put new heart into her and she got into the car feeling more able to cope with the situation, until it struck her forcibly that very shortly she would be home now and her parents would expect some explanation. It was only too likely that they would dash forward with cries of welcome for their supposedly future son-in-law. Just as though he had read her mind, Jake said silkily: ‘Have you got your speech ready? Do say anything you wish—don’t mind me.’ He added: ‘I have broad shoulders.’

She blinked back tears, stupidly wanting to weep her eyes red because he had broad shoulders and large, clever hands and a handsome face, and very soon now she wouldn’t see them again. She mumbled: ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say,’ and cried pettishly: ‘Oh, can’t you see? I’m not doing or saying any of the things I want to…words are being put in my mouth. I’m forced to come home, there’s so much I want to say and you haven’t the patience to listen—what am I to do?’

‘My dear girl, surely I am the last person to ask?’

She kept quiet after that while the Rolls swallowed the miles in its well-bred way until he turned off at Ringwood, went through the little town and travelled on to Ibsley where they lunched at The Old Beams. It was a well-known restaurant and the food was delicious, but Britannia ate what was put before her without noticing what it was, making a great effort to match her companion’s relaxed manner and failing, did she but know it, miserably. They didn’t linger over the meal, but drove on, back on to the A31, through Wimborne Minster and Bere Regis, to turn off on to a side road and then turn off again to Moreton. An early dusk was falling by now, and as they approached the cottage, Britannia could see that there were lights already shining cosily from its windows. ‘It’s here,’ she said, and bade an unspoken goodbye to the Rolls as he opened her door and she got out.

Her mother answered the door and after a surprised moment cried: ‘Darling—how lovely, and you’ve brought Jake with you…’ She stopped there because she had seen Britannia’s face, white and rigid, certainly not the look of a happy girl. ‘Come in, both of you,’ she continued, ‘you must be cold.’ She peered over the professor’s broad shoulders and saw the Rolls. ‘Well, probably not, in that car, but I’m sure you could do with a cup of tea.’

She submitted to Britannia’s hug and held out her hand to Jake. ‘I’m so glad to meet you,’ she told him. ‘Come and meet my husband.’

They were all in the sitting room, with Britannia taking off her coat while the two men shook hands and her father, rightly interpreting her mother’s look, forbore from making any of the remarks fathers usually make on such occasions. Instead he asked about their journey, remarked upon the weather, begged his visitor to remove his coat and then embraced his daughter with a cheerful: ‘How nice to have you home, Britannia—for Christmas, I hope?’

He didn’t wait for her answer; even his loving but not very discerning eye could see that she was holding back tears, so he invited the professor to sit down and engaged him in conversation while tea was brought in and sandwiches eaten, and the professor, at his most charming, didn’t look at Britannia at all but said presently: ‘This has been delightful, but I must start back. I intend to catch the night boat.’

Britannia looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s almost five o’clock, you’ll never do it in the time.’

He smiled at her quite nicely. ‘What a pity that we can’t bet on that,’ he told her. ‘As it is, I’m afraid you’ll have to guess whether I do or not.’

He made his farewells quickly, including Britannia in them without actually speaking to her, and to her thanks for bringing her home he murmured: ‘As I have already told you, Britannia, it was the least I could do.’

He didn’t wish her goodbye, only smiled a little thinly at her. Her mother and father saw him to the door, but she stayed where she was, not moving until she heard the last murmur of the Rolls’ engine die away.

Mr and Mrs Smith came back into the room together and Britannia said at once in a high voice: ‘You must be wondering…I told you that I’d found the man I wanted to marry, didn’t I, and it seemed as though I would; everything went right for me—well, most of the time. I—I thought he loved me even though there was this other girl.’ She looked at her mother. ‘Vogue and Harpers and utterly beautiful—you know what I mean.’ She lapsed into silence and her parents waited patiently, not saying a word. ‘She was furious, of course, and she hated me—still does. We didn’t see much of each other, and then the day before yesterday she came to Jake’s house and showed me a letter from him; not all of it, but enough to make me see…’

‘In Dutch or English?’ asked her father quietly.

‘Oh, Dutch, because it was to her, of course, but she translated it for me…’

‘You are sure it was to her?’

Britannia nodded, ‘It began “Lieveling”, that’s darling, and it was his writing and his name at the bottom, and the envelope was addressed to her. She offered to show me the whole letter, but she was so quiet and sad and she couldn’t have invented all of it. She told me she hated me, but she thought that if I married Jake and he still loved her, I would be miserable if I found out, and he would be wretched as soon as he had recovered from his infatuation, tied to me and loving her…’

‘He brought you home,’ observed her mother softly.

‘He’s the kind of man who does his duty,’ said Britannia bitterly.

Her mother asked: ‘And did Jake mind very much when you told him you weren’t going to marry him?’

‘He wouldn’t even discuss it, he—he was furiously angry; he has a very nasty temper.’

Her mother nodded. ‘But I don’t quite see why he should have been so angry. After all, if he loved this girl all the time and was only passing the time of day with you, he should have been glad that you had found out about it—it saved him having to tell you, didn’t it?’

Britannia sniffed. ‘He likes to do things his way— I expect he’d got it all planned how he wanted it. It’s over now, anyway.’ She began to collect the tea things on to the tray. ‘May I use the telephone? I thought I’d ring the hospital and start straight away—I’ve ten days to work still, then if I may I’ll come home for Christmas and find another job.’

‘Of course, dear. Your father will help me with the washing-up; you telephone now and get it fixed up.’ Her mother picked up the tray. ‘Your ankle will stand up to it?’

‘Well, I think so, I thought I’d ask if I could work somewhere where there’s not such a rush.’

‘Geriatrics,’ she was told by the Senior Nursing Officer. The ward Sister there had gone off sick and Britannia’s return was providential, and could she report for duty as soon as possible?