by Betty Neels
‘I shall enjoy that.’ He turned to look at Amelia. ‘I’m sure you’d like to go to your room; Tyske will bring tea in about ten minutes if that suits you.’
He pulled on a faded bell rope and a young girl with red cheeks and very blue eyes answered it. ‘This is Mien, one of the housemaids, she’ll take you upstairs.’ He said something to the girl, who smiled and nodded and waited by the door and when Amelia had joined her, led the way up the staircase and along the gallery and down a little passage, up three steps and then opened a very solid door. The room was in the turret, its rounded side lighted by four narrow windows. There was a bright fire burning in a small steel grate in the opposite wall casting a warm glow on the plain white walls. The bed was a small canopied one, hung with toile de Jouy in pink and white, and the curtains were of the same material and the same pink was used for the silk quilt on the bed. There was a spindle-legged table with a triple mirror under the windows and a high-backed armchair. It was a very pretty room, and Amelia, examining it with interest, wished she were staying more than one night in it.
She remarked upon it when she went downstairs and Gideon said carelessly: ‘It is rather charming, isn’t it? It was my youngest sister’s until she married.’
‘How many sisters have you?’ She hadn’t thought of him as having a family and he had never mentioned them.
‘Three, all younger than I and all married. I have a young brother too, Reinier, he’s studying medicine at Utrecht.’ He smiled lazily at her. ‘My mother lives outside Soest, which isn’t far away from here; she didn’t want to live here after my father died.’
Amelia longed to ask questions, but she didn’t dare, not in the face of his bland offer of information—indeed, she went a little red because she had been inquisitive and he had known it. Instead, she seated herself by the rosewood tea table and poured tea for them all, and listened to him and her father discussing their holiday. Somehow it all seemed a long way away.
They dined presently in a richly sombre room with a circular table to seat a dozen or more and a vast sideboard. It was restful too, its thick carpet a silver grey to offset the yew of the furniture, its curtains dark olive green velvet, matching the upholstery of the chairs. Amelia wished heartily that she had rather more variety to her wardrobe. Her silk blouse with its little waistcoat and skirt were all very well, but they hardly did justice to her surroundings.
They sat round the fire after a dinner which would have earned itself at least four stars in a glossy magazine, the men with cognac glasses, Amelia contenting herself with coffee, and presently she excused herself on the pretext that she was very tired, and went upstairs to her pretty room.
She wasn’t tired at all, she had never felt so wide awake. She toured her room again, admired the bathroom once more, went to look out of the windows and was surprised to see Gideon with two long-haired Alsatians, walking below. He looked up as he passed and waved. She half lifted her hand to wave back and then thought better of it; the unspoken thought that Tom might not like it crossed her mind as she turned away and let the curtains fall.
Winter had followed hard on their heels, it seemed. Amelia woke early and nipped from her warm bed to pull back the curtains and enjoy the view. The sun was beginning to warm the sky, although it still wasn’t visible, turning the cold blue to a pale pink which in turn lent colour to the frost-covered world. She stood entranced until a knock on the door sent her flying back to bed.
It was her morning tea, and when the maid had gone Amelia got out of bed again, put on her dressing gown and went back to the window, curling up on the window seat with her cup in her hand. The outside world was too good to miss and tomorrow she would be in London and see nothing but grey streets and rows of houses. And Tom, of course, she reminded herself. She was enjoying her second cup when Gideon with his two dogs came into her view, and this time, carried away by some impulse she didn’t try to understand, she opened the casement and called good morning.
He stopped and looked up. ‘Good morning, Amelia. Put on some clothes and come down. A walk’ll do you good. You can have five minutes.’
She managed it somehow, bundled into slacks and a sweater and her quilted jacket on top. She cleaned her teeth, but there was no time for her hair or face; the latter was rosy with sleep and her head a dark tangled curtain as she raced downstairs to meet him.
His quiet: ‘Lord, what a lovely girl you are, Amelia,’ brought her up short. She had wanted to be with him, so much that she hadn’t cared what she looked like, and the sudden knowledge of that shocked her into a frozen silence. She stood in front of him, her face a stiff little mask of bewilderment and embarrassment.
He studied her slowly, his head on one side. ‘Oh, dear—why have you gone all frosty?’ he wanted to know, ‘just when I thought...well, never mind what I thought. You remind me of a winter’s frost waiting for a silver thaw, Amelia.’
‘A silver thaw? What’s that?’
‘Something only to be found in Oregon, I believe; after a frost when the thaw sets in, it turns to silver in the warmth of the sun. It is reputed to be beautiful, just as you are beautiful—only you haven’t found the right warmth to thaw you yet, have you, my dear?’
She whispered: ‘You mustn’t say things like that. Tom...’
Gideon smiled mockingly at her, took her arm and whistled to the dogs. ‘Do you like dogs? I imagine so. This is Nel and this one is Prince—they’re still quite young. I had their mother for years. They love this weather.’
Amelia was beginning to feel normal again in the light of his casual friendliness. ‘It’s a lovely day and Holland is so pretty—I somehow thought of it as quite flat with no trees at all. It’s very rural, isn’t it?’
‘For a few miles each way, yes.’ He took her across the back of the castle and along a flagged path leading to a wicket gate which he opened. It led to a water meadow, striped with narrow canals, iced over and on the further side, a line of trees.
‘Is this your field?’ asked Amelia, determined to make normal conversation.
‘Yes, and the next one too, down as far as the river. I keep a boat there, for it’s no distance to the Loosdrechtse Plassen—they’re a series of lakes.’ He talked on, putting her at her ease, so that by the time they reached the house again she was almost ready to forget her awkward moment and went happily indoors to have a shower and dress for breakfast.
Her father joined them at breakfast and they all three walked across the fields to take a look at the river, making its sedate way between the frosty meadows. It was on the way back that Mr Crosbie remembered that he hadn’t told Badger the exact time of their arrival and went on ahead to telephone him, leaving Gideon to show Amelia round the hot house. She was admiring a magnificent display of azaleas when he asked suddenly: ‘You intend marrying Tom soon?’
She took a quick look at his face and saw that he was wearing a bland look again and for some reason she felt wary of it. ‘I did tell you, at least I think I did—we’re going to wait until he’s well established.’
‘Of course, I’d forgotten—stupid of me.’ His voice was very smooth. ‘I imagined that perhaps your week together...?’
He left the question hanging in the air.
‘Made no difference at all,’ she snapped. She hadn’t meant to say that, and she had no idea why she had. She was so vexed with herself that she could have cried.
He had strolled to the other side of the bench so that he could see her face and unless she turned her back on him there was no way of preventing him from doing it. ‘Why not marry me?’ he asked her quietly.
Amelia jerked her head up in amazement, the whole of her suddenly intent on getting the conversation back on to a rational footing. ‘Why on earth should I want to marry you?’ she asked haughtily.
He said mildly: ‘Oh, I don’t know—I’ve a large and comfortable home to offer you.’
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br /> ‘I already have a large and comfortable home, thank you.’
‘So much the better—you would have two. And think of the children.’
She gasped: ‘I haven’t got any children!’
He answered her with an amused patience which made her grit her splendid teeth. ‘Of course not, dear girl; that takes time, but a family of, say, three would need room in which to grow, don’t you agree? What could be a pleasanter childhood for them? And when we’re old and helpless...’
He was joking, and she didn’t know whether to be sorry or glad about it. Her fierce frown smoothed itself and she chuckled. ‘You’re absurd! You may get old, but you’ll never be helpless.’
‘Ah, now that’s a sound argument. I shall be able to look after you and cherish you until my last breath.’
He was smiling, but he was staring at her too, with a look in his eyes which set her heart thumping, stilling the chuckle. Surely it was a joke?
‘I’m going to marry Tom,’ she said in a voice which try as she might held a note of uncertainty.
The heavy lids had dropped over his eyes once again, and his voice was placid.
‘Ah, well, there was no harm in trying,’ he observed. ‘Now, you really must look at the grapes—we’re very proud of them. Through this door.’
There was a very thin, very old man bending over a tray of seedlings in the neighbouring hothouse. He straightened up slowly as they approached and Gideon went to peer at the contents of the tray. ‘This is Jaap, he’s eighty-one and has no intention of retiring—he’s a wizard with everything that grows.’
Amelia murmured a reply. She was feeling quite out of her depth, uncertain of Gideon and of herself, and now here he was expecting her to enthuse about a box of seeds! But the old man was a dear, his leathery face lighted by the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He smiled at her with the innocence of a child and she found herself smiling back; in the end she carried on quite a long conversation with him with Gideon standing between them, translating.
They went back to the castle presently and Amelia carried on a highly artificial conversation, repeating herself continuously and rushing on to another topic whenever there was a silence of more than a few seconds. Gideon answered her gravely, his mouth twitching uncontrollably at its corners. For a man who had had his proposal of marriage turned down in no uncertain manner he looked singularly undisturbed.
They had coffee in a small room which took up the base of the tower, directly under her bedroom. It was full of light and the chintz curtains and covers were cheerful against its panelled walls. Amelia, sitting by the fire warming her cold toes, sipped her delicious coffee and took care not to meet Gideon’s eyes, while she talked animatedly about nothing in particular. Her father gave her an odd look once or twice, for she was normally a restful girl, not given to idle chatter.
It was while he was taking them round his home that she asked Gideon where he worked. ‘You haven’t a surgery here?’ she wanted to know.
‘No—I’ve rooms in Utrecht and I go there each day. I have beds in the hospital there, and in Amsterdam, and I go to The Hague.’
She was examining a marquetry cabinet, very ornate, and didn’t look at him. ‘You specialise?’ she persisted.
‘Anaesthetics. Don’t you find this quite meaningless? All these porcelain plaques and gilt bronze. I long to send it to the attics, but Tyske won’t hear of it.’
Mr Crosbie, who had been looking at the pictures, joined them. ‘We’ve something very similar at home, can’t stand the thing myself. Nasty showy piece. That’s a splendid bit of marquetry on that writing table, though—eighteenth century, isn’t it?’ He bent to examine it. ‘You’ve some fine pieces here, Gideon. I’d like you to visit us and have a look round our place. We can’t boast a castle, though.’
‘It sounds delightful.’ Gideon’s voice was very smooth. ‘There’s nothing I should like better, but for the immediate future I’m rather heavily booked up.’
‘Got plenty of friends, I’ll be bound.’
‘Well, yes, that among other things.’
Amelia, her ears stretched to hear every word, longed to ask what things. It was a good thing, she told herself, that she was going home that very afternoon and would never set eyes on Gideon again. And if he ever decided to pay them a visit, then she would take good care not to be at home.
They lunched presently, a delicious meal of prawns in aspic, lamb cutlets and tangerine syllabub. Amelia, who usually enjoyed her food, hardly noticed what she ate and the sherry she had had before they sat down, reinforced by a vintage claret, merely served to make her feel hazy and strangely unhappy. Because the holiday was over, she decided silently, and made even greater efforts at bright conversation.
They had their coffee in the drawing room, sitting comfortably by the great hearth, surrounded by all its grandeur, and far too soon for her Jorrit came to say that their suitcases had been put in the car and they should prepare to leave in ten minutes.
Amelia got up at once to go to her room and put on her coat and Gideon got up with her. ‘Such a pity I can’t drive you myself,’ he apologised, ‘but I’ve a couple of patients to see this afternoon. Jorrit will see you safely away, though.’
And a good thing too, thought Amelia as she put on her outdoor things; enough is enough. Quite what she meant by this remark she had no idea, but it comforted her a little and she presented a bright face to the two gentlemen waiting for her in the drawing room. Her father shook hands with Gideon, said all that was polite and went to the door, and she made to follow him. But somehow Gideon got between her and her father, who walked out of the room and shut the door behind him, leaving her standing awkwardly within inches of her host.
‘Goodbye, Amelia.’ His voice was quiet and unhurried. ‘Oh, we shall probably meet again some time, it is, as they say a very small world, but even if we do it is still goodbye. You understand that, don’t you?’
She nodded without looking higher than his waistcoat. Unexplained desolation left her hollow, and even if she understood how she felt she couldn’t have found the words to tell him.
‘Amelia?’ His voice was so gentle and compelling that she looked up to meet his steady gaze, and once she had done that she was lost; she was unable to take her eyes away from his face. The thought that she would remember every line of it for the rest of her days crossed her unhappy mind, but she swept it away. ‘I’m going to marry Tom, we’ve known each other for a very long time. I—I met you three weeks ago.’
A little smile touched his mouth. ‘Yes, I hadn’t forgotten.’ He bent his head before she could move back and kissed her hard and then again, gently this time, then went quickly to the door and opened it for her. She could see her father in the hall, talking to Jorrit and Tyske as she went past him. She didn’t say anything—indeed, her throat had closed over with a quite unexpected rush of tears. She swallowed them back, smiled at Tyske and followed Jorrit and her father to the car. It cost her a great effort not to look back as they drove away.
Their flight back was uneventful, and with Badger waiting for them at Heathrow, there was nothing to do but follow the rest of the passengers out of the airport. Amelia walked between her father and Badger and listened to their talk; nice, everyday talk about the plumbers coming to fit a new sink in the flower room and having the sweep and the vicar having ’flu. Badger had asked her if she had enjoyed her holiday and she had said yes, very much, thank you and fallen silent again, just as silent as she had been sitting beside her father in the plane.
Badger was to drive them to St Ansell’s first and then go on home with Mr Crosbie. The late afternoon rush hour was just starting and it took some time to cross London; it was a relief when they reached the hospital and she was able to bid her parent and Badger goodbye. ‘And I’ll let you know when I’m coming home for days off,’ she told them. ‘I’ll phone one eve
ning.’
She kissed her father and he took her hand for a moment. ‘You enjoyed your holiday, my dear? You’re not tired? You’ve been very quiet.’
‘It was lovely, Father, and thank you very much for taking me. I’ve been thinking about it all the way home.’ Which was true enough.
There was a note from Tom in the porter’s lodge. He had duty until midnight so he would see her sometime in the morning; he hoped she’d had a pleasant trip back. She hadn’t realised, until she read it, how she had been banking on seeing him that evening. She went over to her room, looking up those of her friends who were off duty, and went down to supper with them, answering their questions with a rather feverish gaiety and avoiding any mention of Gideon; somehow she didn’t want to tell anyone about him. Perhaps, she told herself, if she did that, the memory of him would fade. Anyway, when she saw Tom, she would forget all about Gideon; it was a passing episode and had assumed greater proportions than it deserved simply because there had been no one and nothing else of interest while she had been in Norway.
She argued with herself half the night and went down to breakfast a little edgy, which would never do: it was Mr Thomley-Jones’ list and from what she had heard his temper had been decidedly nasty since his return from holiday. She decided that she didn’t mind if it was; it would give her something to think about.
She was right. She was kept busy all day, licking her team back into shape, adjusting to Mr Thomley-Jones’ humours, giving covert assistance to the new surgical houseman who, while quite happy with the simple appendices and hernias, was completely out of his depth when a stabbed man was rushed into theatre and had several hours spent on him while every inch of his gut was scrutinised and if necessary stitched. All in all, it was the kind of day Amelia could have done without, and when at last she got off duty it was to discover that Tom was doing an extra duty because the other registrar had fallen sick. She went to bed early, decidedly peevish.