by Betty Neels
‘Come in and shut the door,’ ordered the ogre in a nasty voice, ‘and be good enough to explain why you deserted me.’
‘I did no such thing!’ said Cassandra indignantly. ‘If you imagine that I was going to stand by, playing gooseberry...’
‘Gooseberry? What is this talk of gooseberry—a distasteful fruit, all skin and pips.’
‘It’s an expression, and with your knowledge of English you must know very well what it means.’
‘Whether I have or not I will leave you to guess.’ He asked suavely, ‘Did you find Juffrouw van der Plas pretty?’
‘She’s beautiful.’
‘Yes, she is. An ornament to society, one might say.’ He beamed at her. ‘I had no idea that you could lie so convincingly,’ he told her with interest.
Cassandra went a delicate pink. ‘I don’t make a habit of it,’ her voice was stiff, ‘but it was in a good cause, at least I hope it was.’
‘Dear girl, I am glad to see that you take your duties so seriously. Come here.’
She advanced with some hesitation until she was standing beside his chair, and when he put out a hand, she placed hers in it. ‘Don’t do that again,’ he begged her, ‘don’t leave me alone; don’t force me to listen to girls tinkling on about the parties I missed.’ He smiled and turned his head towards her and Cassandra, standing very straight before him, longed to throw her arms around his neck and tell him that she would never leave him again, he had only to say the word... ‘You see,’ he went on, ‘it was like meeting someone from another world, one I’ve grown out of. I almost lost my temper, but I saved it to wreak on you. I don’t know about the rest of you, Cassandra, but I’m sure you have broad shoulders.’
‘I don’t mind when you lose your temper,’ she said in a little voice, then caught her breath as he lifted her hand and kissed it gently.
‘No?’ He gave her back the hand and she put it behind her back, out of temptation’s way, and said in as matter-of-fact voice as she could manage, ‘What do you want done with the things you bought?’
He grinned. ‘Curious to know? Jan will see to them. Shall we go out this afternoon? Tante Beatrix likes to rest after lunch and Jan will be busy. You shall drive the car.’
She was appalled. ‘Oh, I couldn’t—it’s on the wrong side of the road, and supposing I bumped into something?’
‘Regrettable, but unlikely; your brother-in-law told me that you were a good driver, so don’t let us have any prissy nonsense. We’ll take the Daimler and go up towards the Veluwe and you can describe the scenery to me as we go. I shall enjoy it.’ He sounded smug.
‘Well, all right, but I don’t suppose I shall.’
‘And wear your uniform, dear girl.’
She looked at him in sheer astonishment. ‘But—but I’ll look silly, driving a car in a cape.’ She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Not silly, rather fetching, I should imagine. And just stop to think, Cassandra Darling. A great many people know me, you understand. It’s one thing to be accompanied by a nurse, quite another if my companion is a young lady.’
Her charming bosom swelled with the strength of her feelings. ‘Well,’ she ejaculated, ‘what a rude thing to say! I suppose you’re thinking of your reputation?’
The dark glasses conveyed amused contempt. ‘Mine? No, young lady, yours.’
She said ‘Oh,’ and nothing else, for there was nothing else to say, and he must have realized this because presently he said, ‘Exactly,’ in a final, satisfied way. He got up. ‘Shall we have a drink? Tante Beatrix will be here in a few minutes; she enjoys a glass of sherry before lunch.’
They started off under a cold grey sky. Jan had brought the car round to the front door and Cassandra, getting behind the wheel in some trepidation, was relieved to find that once she was there, it wasn’t too bad. It was even better when Benedict, beside her, said:
‘I don’t know what you’re getting so excited about. I’m here, aren’t I?’
It was ridiculous to feel quite safe just because he was. After all, what could he do in a moment of crisis? She said severely, ‘You’re not to take your glasses off whatever happens,’ and was rewarded by his bellow of laughter.
She drove cautiously out of the little town, following the not too busy road to Wageringen, and then at her companion’s direction, turning off to go to Ede, and then on to Otterlo in the Hoge Veluwe Park, where, Benedict informed her, there was a splendid collection of paintings which she really would have to visit some time. A mere figure of speech, she decided, for she could envisage no days off during her brief stay in Holland.
She was beginning to enjoy herself; the car was a delight to drive, Benedict an even greater delight to be with. She did her best to describe the country they passed through, and in return he told her titbits of history and anecdotes about the villages and houses they passed. A few miles beyond Otterlo he told her to turn off on to the road to Barneveld.
‘There’s another road back to Rhenen, just as pretty, and a rather good castle,’ he explained, and entertained her with more tales as they drove through the flat peaceful countryside, the dusk already creeping towards them. They reached the castle, paused briefly while he told her a little about it, and drove on again. Soon the lights of Rhenen greeted them again, very gay and festive because in an hour or so Sint Nicolaas with his black attendant, Zwarte Piet, would be visiting every house in Holland, leaving presents for the good children and reading the riot act to the naughty ones. Cassandra, listening to a detailed account of this national event, commented: ‘So no one knows who gives the presents. They all, presumably, come from Sint Nicolaas?’
‘That’s right, and of course no one must tell anyone else who has given what.’
‘It’s for the children?’
‘Of course, but that doesn’t prevent grown-up people giving each other presents. It’s a splendid opportunity, because it’s quite admissible to give gifts and pass it off as coming from Sint Nicolaas.’
‘Oh—I imagine a popular girl gets snowed under.’
‘Naturally. Turn left here and then right at the crossroads and then left again.’
They were home. She drew up outside the house, switched off the engine and opened her door.
‘So you did enjoy it after all?’ He sounded faintly mocking.
‘Yes, very much, and it passed the afternoon for you.’
The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘As you say, Cassandra, the afternoon has been passed. Let us go indoors.’
They had tea with Tante Beatrix, holding a mild conversation which was presently interrupted by the arrival of Mijnheer van Tromp, who refused the offer of a fresh made pot of tea, wished everyone a hearty good day, expressed admiration for Cassandra’s cap, and sat himself down by the fire.
‘It will snow before the week’s out,’ he informed them cheerfully. ‘With luck, Benedict, you may get some skating. Do you skate, Cassandra?’
She had to admit that she didn’t. ‘I haven’t a clue. It looks so easy but I’m sure it’s not.’
‘As easy as walking once you’ve got your balance. An hour between Benedict and me and you’ll be off like a bird, no holding you.’
‘How simple you make it sound! I...’ she came to an abrupt halt because of the thunderous knocking on the front door. She looked at the three faces turned towards her, her mouth open, and before she could speak:
‘Sint Nicolaas,’ Benedict told her quite seriously. ‘It’s about this time he comes. Be good enough to go to the door and see if he has left anything.’
She went obediently, caught up in the childish magic of the legend and not in the least surprised, therefore, to find an enormous sack in the front porch. She was peering at it with excited interest when Jan appeared.
‘Ah, Sint Nicolaas has been,’ he remarked in much the same tones he might have
used to tell her that the postman had been. ‘I’ll carry this in for you, Miss Cassandra.’
Which he did, to be greeted by Benedict’s ‘I told you so,’ his partner’s ‘I wonder what I’ve got this year,’ and Tante Beatrix’s happy twitterings.
It was tremendous fun, for everyone had several gifts, gaily wrapped and extravagantly beribboned and all of them bearing the words: from Sint Nicolaas. It took quite a long time to hand them round, an undertaking Cassandra had been asked to accept, while Miep and Jan, who had joined them, handed round champagne and passed little dishes of nuts and sugared fruit and small cheesy biscuits. But at last she had emptied the sack, to sit back on her heels, like an excited little girl while, one by one, they each opened their presents.
She was a little overwhelmed because her presents were unexpected. She knew now what was in the square boxes she had carried so carefully to the car that morning. Chocolate letters, the initials of the recipients; she had one, like everyone else. She had handkerchiefs too, and a little round fur cap, and a ridiculous china animal which looked vaguely like a kitten. There was French soap too, and chocolates, and an outsize bottle of Dioressence. Cassandra thanked the saint suitably, her eyes on Mijnheer van Manfeld, staring blandly before him into his navy blue space.
They dined, then went back to the sitting-room afterwards and had coffee and more conversation, none of which she remembered later on when she was in bed. But it had been a lovely day; she doubted if there would be another like it; tomorrow, her ogre would be able to see again—she was sure of that, and nothing would be the same after that, because he would take one look at her and, however polite he was, she would see the faint amused smile; much the same look as she had once surprised on the face of the young Registrar she had imagined she was in love with so long ago—in another world, because it hadn’t contained Benedict.
They made an early start in a morning which was both cold and dark. She went, as neat as a new pin, to put the drops in Benedict’s eyes, and because he was silent save for a good morning, Cassandra stayed silent too, knowing how he felt. Over breakfast, though, he carried on a conversation which touched on every subject save one—himself, and she, giving polite answers to his observations, longed to be back in Ogre’s Relish, listening to some tirade or other and feeling justified in answering him back. But not now. It was a relief when they got up from the table and Benedict said, ‘Jan is coming with us.’
Cassandra handed him his stick. ‘Yes, of course. I supposed he would.’
‘Why of course?’ he snapped, ‘or have you already made my arrangements for me?’
He was edgy, but then so would she have been in like circumstances.
‘You know I haven’t, but he’s been with you—looked after you constantly. He has every right to share in your happiness.’
‘Yes. You have a sharp mind, Miss Darling, and a boundless optimism which I hope will be justified before the day is out.’
‘It will, and it’s not optimism, it’s faith.’
They were in the hall by now and Jan and Miep were there, watching them. Mijnheer van Manfeld put out a hand and touched her arm. ‘Whatever it is, will you wish me luck, Cassandra?’ His voice was almost humble.
She didn’t mind Miep and Jan being there. She stretched up and kissed him warmly on the cheek. ‘You know I wish you that,’ she said steadily.
They went in the Aston Martin, with Jan driving, and once they were clear of Rhenen he drove very fast, sensing that it suited his employer’s mood. Benedict didn’t have a great deal to say; he explained a little about the hospital they were going to, but first they would go to the ophthalmologist’s own house for the lengthy examinations, then later to the hospital for the X-rays. Then, with any luck, there might be a cautious opinion and the return home; on the other hand... It would be enough to try the patience of a saint, and Benedict was hardly that. Cassandra put out her hand and tucked it into Benedict’s while the sensible side of her brain told her that she was being a fool to do it. But apparently she wasn’t; his fingers closed round hers with a firm grip and although he said nothing, she saw him smile.
Utrecht seemed vast and bustling and noisy after Rhenen. The specialist lived in the heart of the city, in a narrow house overlooking the Oudegracht. The street teemed with people and traffic, but once they were behind the great front door they seemed to be in another world of peace and quiet and subdued colours. Mijnheer Viske lived there too. His consulting rooms were on the ground floor and they were ushered immediately into the waiting room, where Jan sat down without fuss and Cassandra, uncertain, hovered behind her patient, almost hidden by his broad back. But Mijnheer Viske, small, rotund and jolly, seemed to take it for granted that she would go into the consulting room too. Only when they were in it, with Benedict in a chair facing the enormous desk, did he say:
‘Viske, this is Miss Cassandra Darling, who very kindly came back with me to help me over the journey and settle in. She’s able to cope.’
The little man nodded, smiled and said in English, ‘Hullo, Nurse. We shall begin with a little talk—in Dutch. Please sit until I am ready for you.’
She sat, listening to the little man talking. He had a pleasant voice, quiet and a little monotonous; she suspected that he had trained himself to speak like that; people without sight would be liable to get fussed with too much heartiness. He talked for some time and Benedict, sitting quietly, said nothing at all, but presently she was able to see that the actual examination was beginning, for Mijnheer was asking questions and Benedict was answering them. He did so without haste and with a calm she could sense was quite unforced. After a little while, the specialist said in English, ‘So far, so good. Now we go to the darkroom. Be good enough to follow, Nurse.’
The examination room was behind the desk, through a little door cut in the wall. Cassandra settled Benedict in a chair and at a nod from Mijnheer Viske took up her position at a small table nearby. The ophthalmologist adjusted the slit lamp which he would use later, nodded to her to pass him the ophthalmoscope, and began to examine his patient’s eyes, each in turn, and at great length. He muttered to himself, and sometimes to his patient while he was doing this, but Cassandra, straining her ears, could make no sense of anything he said. At length he finished, had a short conversation with Benedict and proceeded to the second phase; the optical examination for the estimation of refraction errors. This test, it transpired, was entirely satisfactory. The two men murmured together and laughed a little, and Cassandra, eaten up with anxiety, wondered how they could as, at the specialist’s request, she adjusted the Bjerrum screen so that he could examine the field of vision. He was, as befitted one of the finest eye specialists in Europe, a thorough man. He took his time over this too and when he had finished, had quite a lot to say to Benedict, but at last he said, ‘The slit lamp, if you please, Nurse.’
This last and final examination was more complicated by reason of the various attachments he required her to put on and take off from time to time. It was lengthy too, and he whiled away the time with inconsequential chat between his bouts of deep concentration when peering into his patient’s eyes. It seemed an age before he said:
‘So—enough is enough. Now the X-rays, Benedict. They will see to those at once, naturally. I am not going to commit myself—if I did I would quickly lose all my patients, eh?’ he shook with laughter at the very idea, ‘but I believe that your sight is fully restored. Care, of course; tinted glasses; no operating for a week or so, naturally. The drops each morning, too, but these little nuisances can be borne, can they not? Tomorrow, when you come, we will do the estimation of colour vision.’
He caught Benedict’s hand and shook it. ‘I am very happy for you, but I must beg of you to take care, the smallest thing might jeopardize a total cure. No gay life for a little while, a little work if you must, but early nights, a quiet chat—you know what I mean. To drive the car will not hurt as
long as it is done in moderation, but only after we have consulted the X-rays.’
He looked at the silent man beside him. ‘And still a few days before you start work, van Manfeld. You have to get used to using your eyes once more.’
Benedict stirred in his chair. ‘Everything you say, Viske, and many thanks. There is just one thing. I want to look at Cassandra.’
If Mijnheer Viske found this request in any way unusual, he made no sign. ‘Why not? Nurse, will you come over here and I will shine the lamp on you. Not too bright, I think, and only for a very short time.’
She stood miserably, aware that her sharp little nose would look even sharper in the lamp’s rays, and that her mouth was widening into the size of a letterbox. She gazed obediently in front of her, towards the gloom where Benedict sat, and heaved an audible sigh of relief when the lamp was switched off.
‘Not long enough,’ said Benedict softly.
‘Yes, it was.’ She knew her voice sounded waspish. ‘Long enough for you to see that I was right.’
‘Right?’
‘I told you that I was plain.’
‘So you did. The lamp must flatter you. That’s a ridiculous cap.’
She said stiffly, ‘It’s my hospital cap. I’m proud of it.’
He laughed. ‘Never mind, it suits you. I shall take a longer, more critical look when I have my new glasses.’
So her cap was ridiculous and it suited her. Did that mean that he found her ridiculous too? She handed him his stick without a word, and followed the two men back into the waiting room.
There was a brief delay there while Jan was told the news. His strange craggy face was lit by a smile of delight. He wrung Mijnheer van Manfeld’s hand, saying a great deal in Dutch, so that Cassandra couldn’t understand a word, but presently he turned to her and said, ‘A great moment, Miss Cassandra. We must not be too hasty, eh? But what news! I am a happy man.’