by Betty Neels
Celine shot one fulminating look at Oliver, who returned it with a calm stare, and pinned a smile to her flushed face as she greeted Daphne and nodded with what she hoped was friendly nonchalance to Nicky. It helped a lot to see that he had been taken by surprise too, and showed it. Indeed, once she had got over the initial shock, she found she wasn’t minding meeting him again in the least; he just didn’t matter any more. They sat and talked for a while before going in to lunch—a lengthy elaborate meal in a vast, heavily furnished dining-room and when they went back to the conservatory for their coffee, Daphne suggested to Celine that they might walk round the garden. ‘Mother-in-law has a nap,’ she confided, ‘and the men like a talk—usually I’m on my own for an hour, and I never know what to do.’
‘You come every Sunday?’ asked Celine.
‘Mostly. We didn’t for a while—when we decided to get a divorce, you know, but we’re having another go yet again, because of Mandy.’
She took Celine’s arm as they started to stroll across the wide lawn.
‘I don’t suppose it will work, though. Nicky just has to have girl-friends—they don’t mean anything, I suppose, but it’s humiliating.’ She turned her head to smile at Celine. ‘How are you enjoying working for Oliver? He is a pet, isn’t he? Have you been to his house? You must have done—silly of me to ask now you’re engaged.’
‘Yes, I like it very much—we had drinks with some friends of his, the Weatherbys, and I met quite a few people.’
‘He’s very well liked. I can’t think why he hasn’t been snapped up long before this. Not,’ Daphne added hastily, ‘that you…that is, I’m sure the boot was on the other foot; you’re so pretty you could pick and choose… Oliver had some sort of an affair years and years ago; Nicky always swore it put him off women for ever and ever, but he was just biding his time, waiting for you. I’m sure you’ll be happy. When are you going to get married?’
Celine was beginning to wish that she hadn’t come. Daphne was a dear, but getting rather too inquisitive. ‘We haven’t decided,’ she said pleasantly. ‘We’ve only been engaged a little while, and Oliver’s a busy man.’
‘I don’t suppose you see much of him?’
‘Well, most days he comes to the surgery, but of course I’m a kind of general help there and there’s very little time to talk,’ Celine explained.
‘Oh, well, you’ll see plenty of him once you’re married. We’d better go back, I suppose, Nicky wants to call in on some friends on the way home and I’d like to be back to say goodnight to Mandy.’
As they neared the house, Daphne said suddenly with a little laugh: ‘It’s lucky you’re engaged to Oliver; you’re exactly the kind of girl Nicky goes for!’ She bent to smell a rose and Celine had time to compose her face into polite interest.
‘Oh, really?’ she asked, and then, because she had pinkened a little, ‘Isn’t it hot? It will be quite nice to sit in the shade for a while. Do you suppose the men will have finished their talk?’
‘I should think so. Nicky can’t stand Oliver, you know, because Oliver’s successful and he’s not. He’s got an allowance and plays around in Father-in-law’s firm, but he’s bone idle and selfish. Do you think I’m awful talking like this?’ Daphne added. ‘I’m disloyal, aren’t I?’ Her voice was bitter. ‘But he’s been disloyal to me times without number.’
‘I think you’re a very good wife,’ said Celine. ‘If it had been me I should have given up a long time ago. But I expect you love him.’
‘That’s what Oliver always says.’
Nicky and Daphne left presently, and Celine, with Oliver’s hand tucked under her arm, wished them goodbye with just the right amount of friendly warmth. There had been one bad moment when Nicky had contrived to get her alone for a few seconds. ‘Am I supposed to believe that this is a fairytale romance?’ he sneered in a whisper. ‘Anyone less romantic than Oliver I’ve yet to meet.’ He added savagely: ‘You’ll be telling me next that you love him.’
Celine looked into his angry face. ‘Yes, I do, Nicky.’ She spoke quietly and with conviction, and he drew back, nonplussed. A moment later Oliver had taken her arm; she could feel his large firm hand, very reassuring, clasping her elbow. She relaxed at once and then drew a startled breath; perhaps he had heard what she had said… But apparently he hadn’t, for his manner hadn’t changed; he was calmly good natured, just as usual.
They went out to dinner that evening after a lazy tea at his house, with dogs tumbling round them while Oliver went into details about their trip. Celine listened with only half an ear because it was so nice just to sit there and watch his face and listen to his voice.
‘I doubt if you’ve heard a word,’ observed Oliver. ‘What’s on your mind, Celine?’
‘Nothing—nothing, really.’ Her denial was so emphatic that he gave her a searching glance. But he didn’t repeat his question, merely suggested that if they were going out she might like to go upstairs and tidy herself.
He took her to the Savoy Grill Room, and over lobster and salad and strawberries and cream, helped down by champagne, questioned her gently about her home. He did it so well that she was quite unaware of the amount of information she had given him.
Later, as he opened the surgery door for her, she hoped he would kiss her again, but he didn’t, only made a casual remark about the busy day ahead of them tomorrow, and when she thanked him for her day, murmured politely.
Beyond saying hullo to each other, they didn’t speak more than half a dozen words on Monday. Tuesday wasn’t much better, and on Wednesday Oliver didn’t come until after the morning Clinic was over. But then things began to look up. Oliver stopped on his way to his office.
‘Doing anything this evening?’ he wanted to know. ‘The Weatherbys have asked us in for a drink. We could have dinner afterwards—it’ll have to be at home because I’m expecting one or two calls from the hospital.’
Celine changed happily after she had cleared the clinic and made sure that everything was ready for the next day. She had decided on the apricot silk, and surveying herself in the long mirror in the bathroom, she wondered if she would take it to Holland. Would Oliver take her out, she wondered, or would he be busy every minute of each day there? She decided to play safe and take it with her.
She was feeling so happy that it came as a shock when Oliver observed quietly as they drove through London: ‘You’re cured of Nicky, aren’t you, Celine?’ And when she nodded without speaking: ‘All the same, I hope you’ll stay with us for a while, and I suggest we stay engaged for the little bit longer just to throw Nicky off the scent. If either of us wants to tell anyone special about the true state of affairs, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t, as long as it’s for their ears alone.’
Celine was puzzled at that, but there wasn’t really time to think about it, because they had arrived at the house, and a few minutes later, leaving it outside his own front door, they were at the Weatherbys.
There weren’t as many people there this time, although Celine recognised several faces from the previous party. She was handed from one group to the next, a glass in her hand, exchanging lighthearted talk, wishing Oliver was beside her and not at the other end of the room. Mrs Weatherby prised her away presently, though. ‘I’ve been dying to talk to you, and now we’ll have five minutes gossip. Come and sit over here. Since we’re to be neighbours we really must get to know each other. Oliver tells me you live in Dorset in a lovely old manor house; you must find London very different, although we all love it here.’
‘Well, so do I,’ said Celine happily. ‘I think Oliver’s house is super—of course, it’s not very nice in Bethnal Green, but I do like working there.’
‘But you’ll not work once you’re married? I’m sure Oliver wouldn’t want you to do that. You don’t know how delighted we are to see him settled at last. I was beginning to think he really was waiting for Hilary…’
‘Hilary?’ asked Celine, her happiness suddenly uncertain.
‘Our da
ughter—bless the girl, she always declared she would marry Oliver, you know, and he…well, you know how it is, he used to laugh and say she was a bit young for him—they’ve known each other for years, of course, and he’s very fond of her.’ Mrs Weatherby laughed, a nice jolly laugh, quite devoid of malice. ‘I daresay if he hadn’t found you he might have waited. You must meet her when she comes home.’
‘Yes, I’d like to.’ Celine heard her voice, quite normal, to her own surprise. So that was what he’d meant by telling the true state of affairs to someone special. This Hilary—and Celine already hated the girl with a fierce hatred she didn’t know she could be capable of—was waiting quietly somewhere in the wings, not minding that Oliver was engaged because he would have explained that it was all a sham anyway and wouldn’t last much longer. Celine, her fine eyes sparkling, entered into an animated discussion of the new season’s clothes and presently became absorbed into yet another group.
She wasn’t going to say anything to Oliver, she decided as they walked back to his house. Just as soon as she decently could, she would go back home and never, never allow him the faintest inkling of her feelings. She would have to go to Holland, of course—indeed, she would have to behave as though she had never heard of Hilary. Oliver had been kind and helped her when she had needed help so badly, but it had gone no further than that for him, and if she had been fool enough to fall in love with him, that was entirely her own silly business.
She had done well, she considered later that night as she got ready for bed. They had dined together in perfect friendliness, and afterwards Oliver had taken her on a tour of the house, a very thorough one, showing her his study and the cosy little library and the dear little sitting-room tucked behind the imposing drawing-room, and then upstairs to peer into the bedrooms, all delightfully furnished, and higher still, up a corkscrew staircase to the attics, just as beautifully furnished and with their own bathrooms. The house was bigger than it appeared to be, and Celine remarked on that fact. ‘All these rooms and no one in them,’ she commented.
‘Ah, but once the children start growing, they’ll be needed,’ Oliver assured her, and she hadn’t been sure if he was joking or not. It hurt her to think of his children and Hilary sharing his home. ‘So just stop thinking about it, you stupid girl,’ she told herself sharply.
Which did no good at all, of course. She still stayed awake for most of the night, and if she was a little pale the next morning, Sister Griffiths put it down to a late night and probably, she added severely, a little too much to drink. Celine agreed meekly.
David Slater and Peter took the morning clinic, but halfway through the afternoon, Oliver arrived and David went, leaving the two of them to work their way through a fairly small number of patients. But the evening was busy again and it wasn’t until they were clearing up that Oliver had time for a word with Celine. ‘We’ll leave tomorrow evening,’ he told her. ‘David will be here so that we can get away around seven o’clock. You’ll be ready?’
She assured him that she would. Indeed, she had her case packed and only her night bag to fill with the last-minute odds and ends.
They left punctually, and Celine felt guilty leaving Maggie Griffiths and Dorothy behind, although neither of them seemed to mind about that. It seemed natural enough to them that since she was going to marry their chief, she should go with him whenever possible. They told her to have a good time and waved from the door as Oliver drove away.
They had plenty of time, and Oliver drove fast. At Wivenhoe he stopped at the Smugglers and they had dinner at leisure before going on to Harwich. Celine, waiting in the long queue of cars to go on board, was glad of that. It was a warm, dim evening with a hint of thunder and the delay seemed unnecessarily long, but Oliver showed no sign of impatience but kept up a desultory flow of small talk until at last, the car safely in the ship’s garage, they were on deck. Most of the passengers had gone straight to the bar or the dining-rooms, so they had room to stroll around until presently, when the ship sailed, he suggested that they had a drink and that Celine should go to her cabin. Celine would have been happy enough to have stayed up all night with him, but since the thought hadn’t crossed his mind, she agreed cheerfully, accepted her drink and went briskly to bed, smothering the nasty feeling that he had actually been pleased to see her go.
She consoled herself with the thought that probably he had work to do ready for the seminar on Monday; he wouldn’t have much time to prepare for that as he had told her that he had two consultations on the afternoon of their arrival and a visit to one of the hospitals on Sunday morning.
Before she fell asleep she wondered vaguely why he had wanted her to go with him; certainly she wasn’t going to contribute much work. Perhaps it was for the look of the thing? They were, after all, engaged.
She slept dreamlessly and woke to the bustling activity of the Hook of Holland and the advice, brought with her morning tea and toast, that they would be disembarking in half an hour. She was just ready when there was a tap on the door and Oliver put his head round it.
‘Oh, good—you’re ready. We can go down to the car.’ He took her overnight bag and led the way. ‘Did you sleep well?’
Just for the moment, with him close by, the sunshine and all the excitement of arrival, she was happy. ‘Like a top,’ she declared.
Customs were brief, they were on the road north to Leiden within half an hour or so, a road streaming with fast traffic and little to see.
‘Disappointed?’ asked Oliver. ‘This is a motor-way, missing all the villages and small towns. We leave it presently. My friends live outside Leiden in a charming house well tucked away. I think you’ll like it.’
He turned off within minutes and took a narrow land road through flat country. ‘Very Dutch,’ observed Celine, eyeing the black and white cows, the green water-meadows and clumps of small trees, sliding into a distance which looked nearer than it was because of the flatness. ‘At least,’ she amended, ‘it’s exactly how I pictured Holland.’
‘A pity we shan’t have more time to drive round.’ Oliver was going slowly now, the road running beside a narrow lake, swarming with boats. ‘Weekend sailing,’ he explained, ‘a popular sport here.’
The road left the lake presently, only to join another stretch of water on the other side. Here Oliver took a lane leading to a cluster of houses and trees on the side of the lake. ‘Hungry?’ he asked. ‘We’re almost there.’
He drove past the houses and the oversized church towering above their red-tiled roofs, along a lane beside the water still, and turned in at an open gateway. The drive was narrow, overhung with trees and bordered by thickets on either side, and beyond a glimpse of stonework ahead of them there was nothing to see. The house came into view quite suddenly; stone-built, solid, its windows sparkling in the sun, its open front door suddenly full of people and dogs.
The man who came down the steps to meet them was tall and thin and stooped a little; he was nice-looking too, with mild eyes behind thick glasses. The woman with him was small and plump with dark hair and eyes and a delicate beaky nose. Around them swarmed four children and an assortment of dogs.
Oliver got out, opened Celine’s door and turned to greet his friends. He shook Theo’s hand, kissed Mireille, introduced Celine and turned his attention to the children.
Theo shook her hand gravely, welcomed her with warmth and left her with Mireille. ‘You are Celine,’ declared that little lady, ‘of whom we hear so much. Oliver tells me you speak French, for which I am so thankful—I must speak Dutch and English for most of the time, you understand, and I long to speak my own language.’
‘Well, I’m a bit rusty,’ said Celine, and plunged into her best French.
Minutes later, when the two men joined them with the children, Mireille broke off to say: ‘Oliver, I love you for ever—your Celine speaks my own tongue so very well. I shall not stop talking to her all the while you are here.’ She twinkled at him. ‘Where did you find this so lovely girl?’ She gav
e a little laugh. ‘You will not tell, I can see. Come inside and have breakfast and then Celine and I can talk some more while you men plan your day. Children, we go indoors now, and you will not be noisy.’
Considering there were four of them between the ages of ten and five, they weren’t noisy at all; they were polite but not tiresomely so, and they adored Oliver. Celine, tidying herself quickly in the charming room Mireille had taken her to, tried not to think too much about that. When she had first met him, he hadn’t seemed a man to be interested in children or enjoy their company, but he so obviously did both—he would be a splendid father. She crushed the wistful thought and went downstairs to the vast kitchen at the back of the house, where they all sat down at the massive table to drink coffee and eat fresh rolls and cheese and ham and cherry jam. And when they had finished Oliver came round the table to her and took her arm for a moment.
‘You’ll be all right? Theo and I have some talking to do and after lunch I must go into Leiden for a couple of hours. The children will look after you, and Mireille, of course. Theo says he’ll drive you all down to the lake this afternoon for an hour or so.’
‘That will be nice,’ said Celine, dutifully enthusiastic. ‘Isn’t there anything I can do for you?’
‘Nothing.’ His eyes searched her face.
‘Tomorrow there will be time for a walk in the country.’ He added deliberately: ‘The children love that—so do the dogs. If you’re a good girl, I might take you to visit the hospital some time on Monday.’
‘How kind,’ said Celine gently, ‘but I’m sure I’m going to be quite happy to stay here.’
She gave him a wide sweet smile, and he grinned suddenly. ‘Vixen,’ he said softly, and kissed her so swiftly that she hadn’t even suspected he was going to.
And in front of an audience of four children, a gently amused Mireille and Theo and an assortment of dogs!