by Betty Neels
‘You won’t see much of me for a few days,’ he told her. ‘I’ll have a backlog of work, but that will give you time to get used to the house and do some shopping. I should warn you that the nearer we get to Christmas the more social life there will be. Which will give you a chance to meet my friends.’
‘Oh, do you have a lot of friends and go out a great deal?’
‘Plenty of friends, yes. And I do have a social life, but a very moderate one.’
They were on the A303, driving into worsening weather. As they approached Middle Wallop Roele said, ‘We will stop for lunch.’ He turned to smile at her. ‘Breakfast seems a long time ago. There’s rather a nice place where we can get a meal.’
He took a side-turning and stopped before a handsome manor house on the edge of a village. After the gloomy skies and heavy rain its comfortable warmth was welcoming. Emma, led away by a pleasant waitress, returned to find that Roele was sitting at the bar.
‘I hope you’re hungry; I am.’ The bartender put two champagne cocktails before them. ‘To our future together, Emma.’
It was probably the champagne which gave her such a pleasurable feeling of excitement.
They lunched on sautéed mushrooms, duckling and orange sauce and bread and butter pudding and a pot of delicious coffee. Looking out at the wild weather, Emma felt very reluctant to leave.
‘I’ll phone from the car,’ Roele told her. ‘I doubt if the Harwich Ferry will be running in this weather. If that’s the case, we’ll make for Dover.’
It was the case; the Harwich Ferry was cancelled. But the Dover ferries were still running, so the doctor drove on to the M25 and presently took the Dover road.
It was well into the afternoon now, and already getting dark with no sign of the weather improving. Emma, sitting in the car, waiting to go on board the ferry, looked at the rough seas and hoped for the best.
On board, she drank the tea she was offered and opened the magazine Roele had bought her. They should be home by midnight, he assured her. It was a long drive to Amsterdam, but the roads were good and fast and Kulk would be waiting for them. She smiled and nodded and tried not to notice the heaving deck. They were halfway across when she put the magazine down.
‘I’m going to be sick,’ said Emma.
The doctor took a quick look at her white face, heaved her gently to her feet and led her away. And she, feeling truly awful, wouldn’t have cared if he had thrown her overboard.
Instead he dealt with things with an impersonal kindness which made it less awful than it was, finally gently washing her face and settling her in her seat again with an arm round her. He made her drink the brandy the steward brought, then tucked her head onto his shoulder. ‘Go to sleep,’ he told her, ‘we are nearly there. Once we’re on land you’ll be quite yourself again. My poor girl, I should never have brought you—we should have stayed until tomorrow.’
Emma mumbled into his coat, feeling better already. ‘That wouldn’t have done; you told me that you had an appointment tomorrow.’ She hiccoughed as a result of the brandy, and closed her eyes. She was quite safe with Roele’s arm around her, and not only safe but happy.
He was right, of course, once on dry land she was quite herself again. It was dark night now, the rain lashing down, blown hither and thither by the wind, but the road was good and almost empty of traffic. Roele drove fast, relaxed behind the wheel of the big car, not saying much, only telling her from time to time where they were—along the coast to Ostend and then inland onto the E40. He turned off again onto the motorway to Antwerp, and then over the border into Holland to Utrecht and finally the outskirts of Amsterdam.
But before they reached the city the doctor turned off to go to his home, driving slowly now along the narrow road until he reached the village and a moment later drew up before his front door. There were lights shining out from the downstairs windows and the front door opened wide to reveal more light, with Kulk and Mevrouw Kulk standing there.
The doctor got out, opened Emma’s door and swept her into the house through the rain and wind, to be greeted by handshaking and beaming smiles and a rush of excited talk. She was borne away by Mevrouw Kulk to have her coat taken, and ushered into the cloakroom at the back of the hall. She was tired and very hungry, and the prospect of bed was enticing, but she washed her face to wake herself up, tidied her hair and went back in to the hall.
Kulk was bringing in their luggage and Roele had gone out again to put the car in the garage. She stood for a moment, feeling uncertain. But only for a moment, for Mevrouw Kulk appeared through a door behind the staircase. With her was Percy, and close on his heels Prince.
Emma was kneeling on the floor, her arms round the two dogs, when the doctor came back. He threw his coat onto a chair, received the lavish affection offered by Prince and Percy and helped her to her feet.
‘Welcome home, Emma. Mevrouw Kulk has a meal ready. You must be hungry—and longing for your bed. Sleep for as long as you like in the morning; I shall be away all day until early evening, forgive me for that, but the Kulks will look after you.’
He took her hand and led her through an arched double door into a room with a high-plastered ceiling and long windows. The walls were white and hung with paintings in heavy gilt frames, and the furniture matched the room—a rectangular mahogany table ringed by ribband-backed chairs, a massive sideboard bearing a display of silver, and a wide fireplace surmounted by an elaborate chimneypiece.
‘This is a beautiful room,’ said Emma, forgetting her tiredness for a moment as Roele sat her down at the table, where two places had been laid. Despite the lateness of the hour, she noted, silver and crystal gleamed on the lace tablemats and there were fresh flowers in a Delft blue bowl. And their supper, when it came, was delicious: beef bouillon, a creamy golden soufflé and finally a fruit tart, the pastry light as a feather.
‘And, since it is our wedding day, champagne is obligatory,’ said the doctor. He smiled at her across the table. ‘You were a beautiful bride, Emma.’
She gaped at him. ‘In last year’s suit and the only hat I could find in the town?’
‘And still a beautiful bride. An unusual wedding day, perhaps, but I have enjoyed every minute of it.’
‘Really? Well, yes, I suppose I have too—not the ferry, though!’
‘I’m sorry about that too, but at least you will never forget your wedding day.’ He studied her tired face. ‘You would like to go to bed, wouldn’t you? No coffee; it might keep you awake. Mevrouw Kulk shall take you to your room.’ He got up and walked to the door with her, and bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Sleep well, Emma.’ After a pause, he added, ‘I’ll see to Percy.’
Already half asleep, she followed Mevrouw Kulk up the wide staircase, along a gallery and into a softly lit bedroom.
‘I must explore it in the morning,’ muttered Emma as Mevrouw Kulk drew curtains and opened doors and cupboards, switched on another bedside light and patted the turned-down coverlet before beaming with a ‘wel te rusten’ as she went away.
Emma cleaned her teeth, washed her face, tore off her clothes and got into bed—to fall asleep instantly.
When she woke there was a sturdy young girl drawing back the curtains to reveal a dull morning. She sat up in bed and ventured a ‘Goeden morgen’ with such success that the girl answered with a flood of Dutch.
Emma tried again. ‘I don’t understand’ had been one of first useful phrases she had learnt. The girl smiled, picked up the tray she had set on the table under the window and brought it to the bed. Emma, struggling to find the words she wanted, was relieved to see a note propped up against the teapot. Roele in an almost unreadable scrawl, wished her good morning, recommended that she ate a good breakfast and then took the dogs for a walk, and said he would be home at about six o’clock.
Emma drank her tea, read the note again and got up. The bathroom held every incentive to linger, with its deep bath and shelves loaded with towels, soap and everything else she could possibly want, but s
he resisted its luxury after a pleasurable time lying in a scented bath and dressed once more in the suit. Nicely made up, and with her hair in its usual topknot, she went downstairs.
Kulk was hovering in the hall to wish her good morning and lead her to the small room where she had breakfasted on her earlier visit. The table had been drawn near the brisk fire and Prince and Percy were waiting for her.
This was her home, she reflected as Kulk set a coffee pot down before her, moved the toast rack a little nearer and asked her if she would prefer bacon and eggs, scrambled eggs, or perhaps an omelette…
And I actually belong here, thought Emma, devouring the scrambled eggs with appetite and deciding that toast and marmalade would be nice, with another cup of coffee. She handed out morsels of toast to both dogs, and when Kulk came to see if there was anything else she would like she asked, ‘The doctor, did he leave very early?’
His English was good, although the accent was pronounced. ‘At half past seven, mevrouw. I understand he has a number of patients to see before going to the hospital, where he has a clinic and ward rounds.’
‘You have been with the doctor for a long time?’
‘I taught him to ride a bicycle, mevrouw, when I was a houseman at his parents’ home. When they retired to a quiet life I came as his houseman and my wife as his cook.’
Emma set down her coffee cup. ‘Kulk, this is all strange to me. I would be glad if you will help me…’
‘With the greatest pleasure, mevrouw. Katje and I will do everything to assist you in any way. If you have finished your breakfast you might like to come to the kitchen and we will explain the running of the household to you. Katje speaks no English but I will translate, for you will wish to order the meals and inspect the linen and cutlery as well as the stores she keeps.’
‘Thank you, Kulk. I should like to know as much as possible, but I have no intention of taking over.’ She hesitated; Kulk was an old family servant and to be trusted. She said carefully, ‘You see, Kulk, the doctor and I married without waiting for an engagement. I have recently lost my mother and I had no reason to stay in England.’
‘Katje and I are happy that the doctor is happily married, mevrouw. For a long time we have wished that, and now we are delighted to welcome you and serve you as we serve him.’
That sounded incredibly old-fashioned, but she had no doubt that it was spoken in all sincerity. ‘Thank you—and Katje. May I call her that? I know that I—we are going to be very happy here. I’ll come with you now, shall I? May Prince and Percy come, too?’
‘Of course, mevrouw.’
He led the way into the hall, through a door beside the staircase and along a short passage which led to the kitchen. This was a large room, with windows overlooking the grounds behind the house. It was old-fashioned at first glance, but as well as the vast wooden dresser against one wall and the scrubbed table at its centre there was an Aga flanked by glass-fronted cupboards and shelves gleaming with shining saucepans. There was a deep butler’s sink under one window and a dishwasher beside it, and on either side of the Aga were two Windsor armchairs, each with a cat curled up on its cushion.
‘The cats!’ exclaimed Kulk. ‘Perhaps you do not care for them…?’
‘Oh, but I do—and what a lovely kitchen.’
Mevrouw Kulk wasn’t there, but she had heard them for she called something to Kulk from an open door in one wall. She came a moment later, holding a bowl of eggs. She put them down, wished Emma good day and offered a chair.
Emma sat at the table, listening to Kulk talking to his wife, trying to understand what was being said. But presently she gave up. As soon as possible she would take lessons; her smattering of the language wouldn’t be of much use if she were to join in Roele’s social life. Besides, she would want to shop; he had never mentioned her clothes, but she was quite sure that as his wife she would be expected to dress with some style.
Mevrouw Kulk interrupted her thoughts, standing beside her with a pad and a pencil.
‘Dinner for tonight,’ said Kulk. ‘Is there something you would wish for? Katje has it planned, but perhaps you would wish for other things.’
‘No, no, of course not. But I’d like to know what we are to have…’
She left the kitchen after an hour with a good idea of the day’s routine kept by the Kulks. There was a girl to help—she who had brought her early-morning tea, Bridgette—and a gardener, and once or twice a year local women came in from the village to help with the bi-annual cleaning of the house. ‘If there is to be a social occasion,’ explained Kulk, ‘then we get extra help.’
Obviously it was a well-run house which needed no help from her.
She put on a coat and went into the grounds with the dogs. There was a terrace behind the house, with steps leading down to a formal garden, and beyond that a great stretch of lovingly laid out shrubs and ornamental trees, and narrow stone paths with unexpected rustic seats and stone statues round every corner. Whoever had planned it had done it with meticulous attention to detail. She wandered round for some time, with Percy and Prince chasing imaginary rabbits and racing back to see if she was still there. It was a beautiful place even on a wintry morning; in summer it would be somewhere where one would want to sit and do nothing.
She went back indoors then and had the coffee Kulk had ready.
If mevrouw wished, he suggested, he would show her round the house. But perhaps she would prefer to wait for the doctor?
She thanked him. ‘I would rather wait for the doctor to come home, and then we can go round it together, Kulk.’
‘Quite right and proper, too,’ said Kulk to Katje later, ‘and them newlyweds and having plans and so forth. Such a nice young lady he’s found for himself. Used to nice living, I can see that, but it must be very strange for her. A bit of help from us from time to time won’t come amiss.’
There were books in the small sitting room, as well as newspapers in both Dutch and English. Besides that there was a television, discreetly tucked away in a corner. Emma, not easily bored, had plenty to keep her occupied, but after lunch she sat down by the fire, hemmed in by the dogs, and allowed her thoughts free rein.
It was apparent that Roele was more than just very well off, he had what her old schoolmistress had always referred to as ‘background’—a background which, she suspected, stretched back for generations. She must ask him about that—but she must also remember not to plague him with endless questions for the time being. Having worked at his consulting rooms, she was aware of the number of patients he saw each day and the length of his visits to the hospital—more than one hospital, Juffrouw Smit had told her. Only when he had the leisure to talk to her would she question him.
There was a great deal unsaid between them, but she had expected that; they might have married, but they didn’t know each other well. At least, she didn’t know Roele, and she supposed that he didn’t know her as a person. That they liked each other was a solid fact and that they would, in time, have a happy life together was something she didn’t doubt. Until then she would be content…
She went upstairs to change into the jersey dress after tea, and when she came downstairs Roele was taking off his coat in the hall, fending off the dogs’ delighted greeting. When he saw her he came to the bottom of the stairs and held out a hand.
‘How nice to find you here, have you been bored or lonely?’
‘Neither. It would be impossible to be lonely with the dogs, and I could never be bored in this house.’
‘You have explored?’
‘No.’
He was quick to see her hesitate. ‘You waited for me? Splendid. We will go round now, and while we are having a drink before dinner you can tell me what you think of it.’
He put an arm round her shoulders and turned her smartly towards the big arched doorway on one side of the hall.
‘The drawing room,’ he said, and opened the door.
It was a large room, with walls hung with pale green silk between white-
painted panels. There were brass sconces between the pillars and a cut-glass chandelier hung from the strapwork ceiling. The three tall windows were curtained in old-rose velvet and the floor was covered by a dark green Aubusson carpet with a floral design at its centre. Above the fireplace was an elaborate Rococo chimneypiece with an enormous mirror.
It was a very grand room, and its furniture reflected its grandeur: William and Mary settees on either side of the fireplace, two Georgian winged armchairs with a Pembroke table between them, a group of armchairs around a veneered rosewood tripod table and a scattering of small tables, each with its own lamp. There were two walnut display cabinets, filled with porcelain and silver, and a long-case clock facing the windows.
Emma stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in. ‘What a wonderful room!’ She caught sight of the pile of magazines and an open book lying on one of the tables. ‘Do you use it often?’
‘Oh, yes. It’s remarkably cosy with a good fire burning in the winter. Tea round the fire on a Sunday afternoon with a good book and the right music. And for social occasions, of course.’
He crossed to the door and opened it. There was a conservatory beyond, and Emma lingered among the wealth of plants and shrubs before he ushered her through a further door and back into the hall. ‘We’ve seen the dining room, now here is my study.’ This proved to be another panelled room, its walls lined with bookshelves and a vast desk under its window.
Emma gazed around, wondering if she would be welcome in it. Probably not, she thought.
‘You know the morning room,’ said Roele, ‘but there’s one more room here.’ He crossed the hall again and opened a door onto a quite small room, with two easy chairs by a small steel grate and a sofa table standing behind a big sofa under the window. ‘My mother always used this room. She wrote her letters here and sat in that chair, knitting and working at her tapestry. I do hope you will make it your own, Emma.’