Once for All Time by Betty Neels

Author:Betty Neels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2012-08-25T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

THEY WERE well on the way to the ferry when Clotilde said carefully: ‘There’s quite a lot of gossip…’

‘About us? Naturally there would be. You don’t mind? It’s silly enough to be ignored.’

She agreed quickly, a little put out at this matter-of-fact tone. ‘Oh, of course, and it’s only because it’s—it’s so soon after Bruce went away.’

‘You still think of him, Clotilde?’ The question was casual.

‘Sometimes,’ she admitted. ‘But I try not to. That’s all over and done with.’ She wasn’t going to say any more; there was nothing more tiresome than having to listen to someone else’s troubles at the wrong time and in the wrong place, and at the moment it was definitely both. ‘I expect Millie will miss you, and your other dog…’

‘Both in the country with my parents,’ he told her. ‘George spends most of his time there, we go for long walks at the weekends.’

A tiny bit more about his private life, she tucked it away at the back of her mind and stored it with the other sparse titbits about him. She sat silent for a few minutes, trying to think of a leading question which would tell her a little more, but he began to talk about Holland and presently about France and Italy, both of which countries she had visited, the subject kept them pleasantly occupied until they reached Dover.

The crossing was uneventful, extremely so for James, having provided her with a drink and made sure that she had something to read, went to sleep, which surprised her very much at first, but when she studied his face she could see how tired he was, with lines etched deeply on either side of his handsome nose. Undoubtedly he had had little sleep, and when he woke presently she taxed him with it.

‘Were you up all night?’ she wanted to know. ‘Why didn’t you put the trip off until tomorrow? You must be dog tired— I’m going to ask for some coffee for you.’

He sat up, his face magically its bland self once more. ‘Now that’s really kind of you, Clotilde. What a sensible young woman you are! You could be forgiven for flouncing off in a rage.’

She turned from ordering coffee. ‘Why should I do that?’ she asked. ‘And were you up all night?’

‘A good deal of it, yes. Don’t worry— I’m quite able to drive.’

She eyed him calmly. ‘I never supposed you weren’t.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I think you’re able to do anything you want to do.’

He said gravely: ‘A very encouraging remark, Clotilde— I must remember that.’

It was quite dark when they began their journey from Calais to Leyden. James had suggested that they didn’t stop on the way. ‘It’s round about two hundred and fifty miles,’ he explained, ‘and a good road all the way, so we shall, with luck, be there by midnight.’

In actual fact it took less than that. The Bentley, given her head cut though distance like a knife through butter. For most of the

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