Betty Neels - When May Follows

“Oh, no, you don’t resemble any of the girls I know—they’re slim and small and mostly plaintive.”

“I’m not surprised,” she snapped.

He had a nice laugh. “I think we’re going to enjoy getting to know each other, Kate.”

They were in Highgate Village now, close to Uncle Ben’s house, and as he slowed and stopped before its gate she had what she hoped was the last word. “Think what you like, Professor van Tellerinck, but I have no wish to get to know you.”

He only laughed again.

Romance readers around the world were sad to note the passing of Betty Neels in June 2001. Her career spanned thirty years, and she continued to write into her ninetieth year. To her millions of fans, Betty epitomized the romance writer, and yet she began writing almost by accident. She had retired from nursing, but her inquiring mind still sought stimulation. Her new career was born when she heard a lady in her local library bemoaning the lack of good romance novels. Betty’s first book, Sister Peters in Amsterdam, was published in 1969, and she eventually completed 134 books. Her novels offer a reassuring warmth that was very much a part of her own personality. She was a wonderful writer, and she will be greatly missed. Her spirit and genuine talent will live on in all her stories.

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

THE LONG LOW room gleamed in the firelight and the soft light from several lamps, giving a patina to the few pieces of well-polished yew and apple wood and glancing off the beams, blackened with age, which supported the ceiling. The room was full of people; the steady hum of talk and the frequent laughter witness to the success of the gathering.

The two men, latecomers, paused in the doorway to look around them and the elder of them, a short stout man with a fringe of grey hair surrounding a bald head, gave a rich chuckle. ‘Dear Alice, she only gives two parties a year, you know, and everyone for miles around comes to one or both of them.’

He turned to look at his companion, a tall man with broad shoulders but lean nonetheless, elegantly turned out too in a superbly tailored suit, which, while not drawing attention to itself in any way, caused the discerning to realise that it had cost a great deal of money. He was a handsome man too, with a narrow face and a wide forehead, dark hair silvered with grey, an aquiline nose above a firm mouth, and heavily-lidded blue eyes.

He smiled now and said in a rather sleepy voice: ‘It was good of you to bring me—I shall be delighted to meet Mrs Bennett.’

‘And her daughters,’ finished his companion, and waved to someone in the room. ‘Here’s Alice now.’

Mrs Bennett came towards them smiling; she was a small pretty woman in her mid-fifties but looking younger. She planted a kiss on the older man’s cheek and said happily: ‘Ben, how lovely!’ Her eyes took in his companion. ‘And you’ve brought someone with you.’

‘Ah, yes, my dear—may I present Professor Baron van Tellerinck,’ he added simply: ‘His name’s Raf.’

‘Dutch,’ said Mrs Bennett, and beamed at them both. ‘On account of the “van”, you know. I shall call you Raf.’ She shook hands and rambled on: ‘You sound very important—are you?’

‘Not in the least, Mrs Bennett,’ he ignored the other man’s look, ‘and I shall be delighted if you will call me Raf.’

Mrs Bennett tucked a hand into each of their arms. ‘Come and meet a few people,’ she invited. ‘I’ve three daughters and they’re all here. Ah, Ruth…my youngest—she’s just become engaged—so suitably too.’

Her daughter laughed and her mother added: ‘This is Raf, dear, he’s Dutch and says he’s not important, but I don’t believe him.’

Ruth shook hands. She was a pretty girl, on the small side, with brown curly hair and large hazel eyes. She said, ‘Hullo, Raf, nice to meet you.’ She put out a hand and caught hold of a girl on the point of passing them. ‘Here’s Jane.’

They were very alike: Jane had more vivid colouring, perhaps, but they were the same height and size. The Dutchman shook hands and they stood talking for a few minutes until Mrs Bennett said that he must meet more of her friends. ‘Katrina is around somewhere,’ she told him vaguely. ‘That’s my eldest, of course.’

She plunged into a round of introductions, saw that he had a drink and presently left him. She was back within a few minutes a tall, splendidly built girl beside her. ‘Here she is; Katrina, this is Raf, he came with Uncle Ben.’

Katrina offered a cool hand and smiled politely, and then the smile turned into a cheerful grin as she saw the look of faint surprise on his face. ‘I’m the odd one out,’ she told him. ‘Five feet ten inches and what’s known as a large lady, no one ever believes that I’m one of the family. I take after my father, he was a big man and tall, almost as tall as you.’

She waited for him to speak and when he didn’t felt disconcerted.

‘Would you like another drink? I’ll get…’

‘Thank you, no.’ His sleepy eyes were on her face, a pretty face with regular features and dark eyes, heavily fringed with long lashes. It made her feel even more disconcerted, so that she turned to the window and looked out, away from him. Outside the chilly March day was giving way to an even chillier evening; the pretty garden already glistening with a light drizzle. Katrina sighed and the Dutchman said: ‘Your English spring is unpredictable, isn’t it?’

She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Yes, I suppose that’s why it’s so delightful—though I prefer the autumn.’

His thick brows lifted and she went on, talking at random: ‘Bonfires and apples and coming home to tea round the fire. Do you live in the country?’

‘Oh yes, and I must agree about the bonfires and the apples; unfortunately we are not addicted as a nation to taking tea round the fire. I shall have to try it.’

She decided that he was difficult to talk to and sought feverishly for another topic of conversation and failed. ‘I quite like the spring,’ she observed idiotically.

His glance was grave, but she had the strongest suspicion that he was laughing at her. ‘Ah, yes—” Oh, to be in England now that April’s there”. And a much nicer bit about May following…’

“‘And after April, when May follows, and the white-throat builds and all the swallows,’” Katrina quoted.

‘You like Browning?’

‘Well, yes, though I’m not all that keen on poetry.’ She answered warily; if he was going to throw an Anthology of English Verse at her she was sunk. She said quickly: ‘Do you have any Dutch poets?’

‘Several, but none of them are much good at writing about the weather.’

She saw the smile at the corner of his firm mouth and thanked heaven silently as someone called her from across the room. ‘Oh, there’s someone…shall I introduce you to…?’