The Language of Love

by Saunders, Jean

  Annette extricated herself from Pieter’s arm as they posed outside for the photographs, thinking this occasion was really going to her head. She had worked so hard to make her part in it perfect, and so it was. All the guests complimented her artistry, and at the reception, Nels proposed an extra toast to their dear friend and matron of honor.

  After the bridal couple had changed into traveling clothes, and sped off to Schiphol Airport, everyone accepted Pieter’s invitation to go back to the Van Ness home to view the wedding presents.

  Luykey always seemed to have a miraculously full coffeepot and teapot, and as if the guests hadn’t had their fill at the magnificent Van Ness Hotel reception, tiny sandwiches and iced cakes appeared and disappeared like magic. It was early evening before the guests began to drift away, with much backslapping and handshaking.

  “When will it be your turn, Pieter?” more than one jovial Dutchman demanded to know.

  “Oh, who knows? It may be sooner than you think.” He would laugh back, repeating the same reply that always gave Annette the same little twist inside. She remembered Helga’s warning that once Elena was married and moved to The Hague with Nels, there would be nothing to stop her and Pieter.

  “You’ve been a bachelor far too long,” one elderly woman commented. “Such a waste!”

  “Well, if you watch the newspapers for long enough, you may see an announcement.” He grinned. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for it if I were you!” As Annette caught the occasional snippet of conversation it always seemed to run on the same lines. Pieter was giving out broad hints that he didn’t intend to keep his bachelor status for very much longer. She was beginning to feel a plunging depression now that the exhilaration of the day was waning, and as the guests began to depart, she also began to feel desperately tired. It had been a very long day. She had been up early, had suffered a little apprehension, and the after-effects were taking their toll. The little girls and their parents were almost the last to go, with Gerda and Lise almost dropping with sleep. Finally there was only herself and Pieter left, with Luykey bringing them more reviving coffee as they sat in the beautiful lounge that resembled something of a battlefield with its glasses and cups and saucers and crumbs on the floor, but which would all be restored to immaculate order by Luykey by morning. And suddenly Annette felt acutely embarrassed at being here like this with Pieter, still in their wedding attire, every bit as though they belonged together. As if he sensed her sudden awareness of the situation, he drained his coffee cup and stood up.

  “I hate to leave you, Annette,” he said regretfully, “but I must go back to the hotel for an hour or so, and anyway, you look as though you’re ready to drop!”

  Disappointment vied with relief at his words. She really was being ridiculous, she told herself shakily. She had worried at the thought of him staying at the house, but now felt piqued because he evidently wanted to get back to the hotel. Back to see Helga, no doubt, she thought suddenly. Of course. Why shouldn’t he? She didn’t expect him to play nursemaid to her now that the wedding was over, did she? She’d made it plain enough to Pieter and to Elena that all she wanted was a few days to relax in Amsterdam after all the excitement, and then she’d be going home.

  “Please don’t worry about me, Pieter.” She spoke quickly. “I intend to have a long leisurely bath and then fall into bed. I shan’t hear another thing till morning!”

  He looked at her steadily, then gave her a small chaste peck on the lips before striding out of the house. Seconds later Annette heard his car start up, and felt such a sense of letdown she wanted to weep. She stood up quickly, slightly woozy with all the champagne she’d drunk, and called out to Luykey that she’d see her in the morning. It was oddly quiet in the house after all the festivities, and odd to think she was alone here, except for the housekeeper. Alone in Pieter’s home...

  As she opened the door of her room, she stood perfectly still, the color rushing to her face. Beside her bed on the bedside table was a beautiful arrangement of red roses, scenting the air with their heady perfume. She moved across and picked up the card with the Gerrit Campen stamp on it, and read the handwritten words on it: “Believe what they tell you. Pieter.”

  Just that and nothing more. Red roses for love. He knew of her romantic linking of flowers to their own special language. The language of love as far as the roses were concerned. Her eyes stabbed with sudden tears. Why did he do this? Why encourage a love that he didn’t feel? It was cruel, though an undeniable glow ran through her at the perfection of the blooms and his thoughtfulness in placing them here.

  She removed the long silk dress and hung it up. She was tired, but she doubted if she would sleep. The leisurely bath she’d promised herself relaxed her a little, but when she slid between the cool sheets the scent of roses still permeated the air, filling her with thoughts of Pieter and summoning up all the sweet images she wanted to forget. She was still too keyed-up with the commotion of Elena’s wedding. She half-slept, imagining a rose-scented world where Pieter’s arms were reaching out for her, wanting her.

  The muted night sounds of the city merged into the darkness. She had left her window uncurtained, and the moonlight threw a shaft of silver light across the bed, darkening the outlines of the roses each time she moved restlessly in her bed. She felt unutterably lonely, and when the small click of her door handle sounded, she held her breath, afraid to move as a tall dark figure came slowly toward her. She swallowed, knowing she should scream or shout or protest, but she did none of those things. She turned her head very slowly, as if this was a film played in slow motion, knowing she would see Pieter standing there. He wore a dressing robe, and below its knee-length she could see that his legs were bare.

  He sat on her bed, his fingers reaching out to touch the fanning of her dark hair as it lay on the pillow. The masculine scent of his toiletries mingled with the roses, and she was breathing very fast as he leaned forward to touch her lips very gently with his own.

  “If you tell me to go, I’ll go.” His voice was richly soft. “But if you ask me to stay...”

  Something stronger than reason spoke the words for her. He’d given her the option, and she had no doubt he’d honor her decision, but there was no option for her really. There was only the longing for fulfillment that only Pieter could give her, and the needless wasting of time when these precious moments ached to be shared. There was no one else in the world, only herself and Pieter.

  Her lips trembled the words of submission. “Please stay...oh, please stay...”

  The dressing robe slid from his shoulders and she glimpsed his magnificent body before he eased himself beneath the covers to take her in his arms. Only the gossamer fabric of her nightgown still kept them apart, and it took no more than a moment for the last obstacle to be removed. And then Pieter’s lips were seeking hers, with an urgency of desire that matched her own, filling her with exquisite pleasure as the sensations that were now sweetly familiar overtook her. He already knew her body as she knew his, and it was merely a continuation of a dream she’d once had, yet in reality the pleasure was infinitely more sensual.

  When the time came, he’d once told her in that seductive way of his, she’d go into his arms so willingly and wantonly, and it was happening exactly as he had predicted. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but the fact that each fulfilled a need in the other more completely than any fantasy.

  “God, how I’ve wanted you, darling.” Pieter’s voice vibrated against her throat as the tiny kisses she remembered began their seductive path over the curves and hollows of her body.

  “And I you!” The words were a soft sigh of admission.

  Her fingers were in the dark springiness of his hair, and he raised his mouth to kiss her on the lips once more, a slow kiss of infinite passion, yet unhurried and erotically sweet. She could taste the slight saltiness of his skin and feel the tautness of his body against her, sending white-hot flames of desire coursing through her limbs. She was no longer Annette Granger
, famed floral artiste of London, and he was no longer Pieter Van Ness, wealthy and respected hotel owner of Amsterdam. They were two lovers, exploring and discovering all the hidden delights of love, with a hunger that surpassed anything that had gone before, yet still resisting the total possession of each other, prolonging the final surrender of consummation to savor to the fullest all the tantalizing preliminaries.

  Time and again he would pause in the silken caresses that inflamed her so rapturously, to murmur against the warmth of her flesh.

  “Does that please you, my beautiful one? And this...?”

  “Oh, yes...” Her voice was breathy, not wanting to break the spell in which he held her so exquisitely. Her heart beat as rapidly as his own. She could feel its strength against her breasts, and gloried in it. Time ceased to have any meaning for her, and his caresses were so dizzying she hardly knew what she was saying.

  “Oh, love me, Pieter. Tell me you love me!”

  “How can you doubt it? Haven’t I been telling you I love you for weeks? Every time I looked at you my eyes must have told you. I find you so irresistible, God knows how I’ve managed to restrain myself from making love to you before now!”

  “You have – or have you forgotten?” she whispered seductively.

  He gave a soft little laugh against the soft swell of her breasts. “Forget? No, my darling, I haven’t forgotten, any more than you have! But then you made that ridiculous condition about my sister’s wedding being ruined if I came near you again, and it’s been sheer hell all these weeks. I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I’ve wanted you.”

  Then the time for preliminaries was over, and above her his face was hidden by shadows as he gathered her up in his arms and molded her to him. She felt the taut strength of his limbs and then the piercing sweetness as he claimed her in the ultimate act of love. A small sigh of pure release escaped her lips as they moved sensuously together, all their senses alive to the joy they shared. Annette’s fingertips made little indentations along the broad length of his back as she held him ever closer, as desire flamed through her. She was the wanton he’d predicted, she thought dizzily, and nothing had ever felt so right...so perfect...and in the final moments of their union, she felt as if her spirit as well as her flesh reached out to meet his so perfectly it sent a thickening of tears to her throat.

  He lay close to her for long moments afterward, still cradling her in his arms, her body warmed by his. Annette felt as if she floated somewhere in space, too exhausted to speak or move, wanting nothing more than to drift off to sleep in the haven of Pieter’s arms. She was aware of his little whispered words of love, and the soft kisses on her cheek and her closed lids. His touch was like soft dark velvet into which she was sinking so smoothly.

  “Deny now that love can come a second time, my dearest one.” Pieter’s voice came to her softly. His fingers traced the delicate curves of her cheeks as she lay with her dark hair spread on the pillow, where he loved to see it, the flush of passion still glowing on her skin, making it luminous and even more beautiful to him. Her eyes remained closed, the long dark lashes making two perfect arcs in the silvery moonlight. He saw her lips move with an effort and leaned nearer to catch the words.

  “I don’t deny it, Pieter. I love you so much...”

  The words faded away as sleep overcame her.

  It was well into Sunday morning when Annette awoke. The city was quiet without the weekday traffic, and Luykey had told her the night before that she would let her sleep late after all the excitement of the wedding and her hard work.

  Annette’s eyes opened slowly as everything came rushing back to her. Her heart began to beat with painful deliberation. In the first seconds of waking, she had still been transported to the magical heights where Pieter had taken her. She had reached out her hand, but the far side of the bed was cold and empty. Suddenly she was sitting up, covering her nakedness with the sheet and feeling the rush of color to her cheeks as she remembered the unabashed passion of the previous night.

  On the other pillow was a folded sheet of paper, and on top of it a single rose, taken from the arrangement on the bedside table. Out of the water, it was beginning to droop, one petal already dislodged, its beauty over. Annette opened the note.

  My dearest Annette,

  I hate to leave you after our wonderful night together, but unfortunately I must. I can’t tell you how much last night meant to me, though now I begin to worry that I took advantage of the emotional day. Since I must be at the hotel to welcome some conference members for the next two days, I think it would be best if I don’t sleep at the house again, as I’m not sure I can trust myself. I had no intention of compromising you while you are a guest in the Van Ness home. Please enjoy all the hospitality of my home, and I will join you for dinner on Monday evening. There is a great deal for us to talk about.

  Until then, my love is yours, Pieter

  Annette reread the note. After the intimacy of the night before, it seemed stilted and far removed from the Pieter who had filled her room with roses and her heart with so much love. She picked up the single rose, and as she did so, the petals fell. Her eyes pricked with tears, for it seemed ominously prophetic.

  No matter how many times she read Pieter’s note, it seemed to point to the same thing: not that he was regretting anything, but that he was feeling slightly remorseful now that it had happened, and thought the easy way out was to avoid seeing her too soon. Surely it wasn’t imperative that he should be available at his hotel because of conference arrivals? He was the boss – as he’d told her often enough – he could pass on responsibility to his staff.

  The one burning thought in Annette’s mind was that perhaps there was another reason for Pieter’s remorse. Had he finally begun thinking of Helga, and remembered whatever commitment he had made to her? In the light of day, did his feeling for Annette amount to no more than a physical need instead of the love she craved so much?

  He had said he loved her, over and over again. But words were easy to say, particularly for an experienced man like Pieter Van Ness, to whom the art of loving seemed as natural as breathing. For a moment the remembered pleasure of their closeness made the room swim in front of her eyes, but she wouldn’t let her mind wander. If he had gone straight from her arms to Helga’s, she thought bitterly, she just didn’t want to know. It was a painful decision to make, now that she had finally discovered the ability to love again – so utterly and completely – but she couldn’t forget Helga’s confident remarks that when Elena was safely married, she and Pieter would follow close behind. Nor Elena’s confided anxiety that she had dreaded for a long time that that very thing would happen. Annette had seen Helga playing up to Pieter with her own eyes, and he’d never shown anything but enjoyment of the fact! Each piece of evidence was too blatant to be ignored, and there was only one way open to Annette.

  She had to get away from Amsterdam, and if Pieter thought she was running away from reality, then let him think it. Maybe he wouldn’t even care, after a moment’s pique. After all, he’d done what he’d set out to do, hadn’t he? He’d waited until after Elena’s wedding before he’d come to her room, when she was at her most vulnerable, her emotions at feverish pitch. She caught her breath on a sob, because last night had been so beautiful, and now the thought of it was like ashes in her mouth.

  She had unconsciously crushed the fallen rose petals in her hand, and their perfume on her skin was still a reminder. She went into her bathroom and scrubbed every bit of the scent away. Then she picked up the phone in her bedroom and telephoned Schiphol Airport.

  Luykey looked at her, distress etched clearly on her homely features as Annette told her what she intended.

  “Oh, Miss Annette, I’d planned such lovely meals for you for the next few days. I thought you’d stay at least another week, and now you tell me you’re going back to London tomorrow!”

  “Dear Luykey, I have a business of my own to run.” Annette felt a lump in her throat, knowing how fond she’d be
come of the old housekeeper. “And I don’t want any fuss made, please. I plan to spend today wandering about Amsterdam on my own, just soaking up the atmosphere, so if Mr. Pieter calls, you’re not to tell him I’m leaving, please. He’s very busy himself now, and it’s best that we get on with our own lives now that the wedding’s over.”

  “The house will be so empty,” Luykey said mournfully, “but I will do as you say, Miss Annette. Though I know Mr. Pieter will be devastated when he comes tomorrow evening and does not find you here!”

  So much the better, Annette thought in a kind of desperation. Why should he expect her to be waiting for him? It wasn’t as if he’d asked her to marry him. The lump threatened to choke her now. If he had just said those words, and meant them, everything would be changed in an instant. But he hadn’t said them, and she couldn’t stay.

  She spent that Sunday strolling along the canal sides and through the parks, wishing the day hadn’t been quite so soft and beautiful, filling her with a sharp regret that she had chosen to leave it. Everywhere she looked she saw lovers, arms entwined, oblivious of anyone but each other, and always it filled her with a poignant longing for Pieter. She sat on the fresh young grass for a while, her head against a tree, and as she closed her eyes, his face was instantly in front of her. She heard another man’s intimate low laughter, and turned her head sharply, expecting to see Pieter walking behind her. She began to feel claustrophobic, despite the freedom of the open spaces, and knew it would be impossible to remain here any longer under the circumstances.

  When she got back to the house in the late afternoon, she received the message that Pieter had called, was disappointed to have missed her, but looked forward to seeing her on Monday evening. Annette put through a call to Margaret in London immediately, telling her to expect her back by midday on Monday. Her hands shook by the time she’d finished trying to avoid explaining her real reasons to Margaret, and enthusing over Elena’s wedding, which by now seemed light-years away instead of only yesterday.