The Chain of Destiny by Betty Neels

was only a very small part of Holland. Beyond the big cities there would be villages and trees and lakes. Perhaps she would get a chance to see them before she returned to England; it was such a small country, she would be able to see a good deal in a couple of days. She occupied herself with these pleasant thoughts until the Hague was reached and she turned her attention to her surroundings. It seemed a pleasant city and some of the old buildings looked interesting, but they passed them by and drove to the more modern sector of the city, turning away presently into a wide avenue, tree-lined, with large houses on either side. Into the gates of one of these the chauffeur turned the car, stopping on a sweep so pristine that it must have been combed hourly, and getting out to open the car doors. Suzannah nipped out on her own while he assisted Juffrouw van Dijl to alight, which gave her time to take a look around. She was disappointed: the house, built at the turn of the century, was ugly. It was of red brick, very large and hung around with a great number of balconies, and at each corner of its elaborate roof there were small turrets.
    â€˜Lookout posts?’ Suzannah asked herself, craning her neck. ‘But what is there to see in such a respectable neighbourhood?’
    There was no one to answer her; following Juffrouw van Dijl’s footsteps, she mounted the flight of stairs which swept grandly to the vast mahogany door and wondered what it would be like inside.
    The door, opened by a man who murmured a welcome in a colourless voice, revealed a large hall, papered in crimson and hung with stuffed animals’ heads, arranged in patterns between displays of nasty-looking spears and swords. She averted her eyes and trod across a vast expanse of Turkish carpet at the heels of Juffrouw van Dijl, to enter a room at one side of the hall. It was as overpowering as the hall, only this time the wallpaper was dark green, embossed and almost covered by paintings framed inches-deep in gilt. The furniture was large, solid and beautifully polished and there was too much of it—tables loaded with reading-lamps, silver-framed photos, china figurines and the like.
    The lady who came to greet them was quite dwarfed by her surroundings; she was quite small, although stout, with a sweet expression on her face and an air of timidity. Surely not Juffrouw van Dijl’s mother? wondered Suzannah. But it was; the little lady embraced her daughter with a good deal of emotion, begged her to sit down and not exert herself and looked at Suzannah. ‘You must be the young lady who is to care for my daughter,’ she declared in fluent, accented English. ‘Such a relief to me, for I am not at all sure how much Julie may do. Professor Bowers-Bentinck did explain to me, but I am quite stupid about such things; that is why he suggested that a good, sensible girl might relieve me of worry.’
    Suzannah shook hands and murmured appropriately; so many people had considered her sensible that she was beginning to believe it.
    A maid had come in with a coffee-tray and Mevrouw van Dijl busied herself pouring it out while her daughter sat languidly, making monosyllabic replies to her anxious questions. Presently, with a word of apology, they reverted to Dutch and Suzannah sat drinking her coffee, listening to the meaningless words. She understood none of it, but it was plain then that Juffrouw van Dijl was laying down the law to her mother, who nodded her head meekly and presently turned to Suzannah.
    â€˜Julie is anxious to visit all her friends and continue with her old life,’ she announced worriedly, ‘but I think that is something the professor might not like. Did he say anything…?’
    Suzannah, who had an excellent memory, quoted the parts of the letter which she felt could be mentioned harmlessly. ‘He was most anxious that Juffrouw van Dijl should live quietly for at least two weeks; a few friends, but not any