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187 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published November 1, 1979

"He was speaking now, his voice, with its faint Dutch accent, very clear, although not loud. ‘Good lord, Harry, am I to be fobbed off with that prim miss? Surely there’s another nurse...?’ He sounded annoyed.
Mr Spencer put up a hand to rub the bald patch. ‘Sorry, sir— she’s first class at her job...’
‘I take your word for that— we are talking about the same girl, I suppose? A small, plump creature who merges into the background from whatever angle one looks at her.’
Mr Spencer chuckled. ‘That’s our Emily— a splendid worker and marvellous with children. You’ll find that she grows on you, sir.’
"She stopped on the way home that evening and bought some paper chains and ornaments for the tree she intended to have; the twins would notice them and so, for that matter, would she. One made Christmas, even for two babies."![]()
Emily began to sit up but he pushed her head gently against his shoulder. ‘We must make a few plans, my love; we’ll marry just as soon as I can arrange it.’
‘But what about Mary and George— and the twins...?’
‘If you think that I am prepared to wait until the twins are old enough to be your bridal attendants, then you are grossly mistaken, Emily. Now sit still, dearest, while I tell you what a beautiful girl you are.’
Emily sighed blissfully into his shoulder. It seemed likely that she was going to be rushed down the nearest aisle without so much as a new hat on her head, but somehow it didn’t matter at all. She said in a happy voice: ‘I’m listening, Renier.’


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‘Good lord, Harry, am I to be fobbed off with that prim miss? Surely there’s another nurse...?’ He sounded annoyed.
Mr Spencer put up a hand to rub the bald patch. ‘Sorry, sir—she’s first class at her job...’
‘I take your word for that—we are talking about the same girl, I suppose? A small, plump creature who merges into the background from whatever angle one looks at her.’
Mr Spencer chuckled. ‘That’s our Emily—a splendid worker and marvelous with children. You’ll find that she grows on you, sir.’
‘Heaven forbid! The only females who grow on me are beautiful blondes who don’t go beetroot red every time I look at them.’
She wrote the last name without undue haste and looked up at the Professor, towering over her. He looked cross, but then he often did; perhaps he had a gastric ulcer...
‘You’re looking at me as though I were the patient,’ he said blandly.
She said hastily that she really hadn’t been looking at him, ‘Only into the background,’ she added, just as blandly, and saw his eyebrows go up. ‘And that will give you something to think about,’ she told him silently.