by Betty Neels
‘Yes—an unexpected last-minute decision—they have been close friends for years, you know. Paula is a delightful young woman, she will make an excellent wife for a medical man.’
It was an unhappy thought to carry with her through the long day, and the following day too. And it had made it no easier when Paula arrived unexpectedly during the afternoon. She had looked upset, almost tearful, and although she had smiled at Cassandra she had paused only long enough to say that Mijnheer van Tromp was expecting her and could she go straight in?
And on her way out, a long half hour later, she had stopped again and said rapidly, ‘Just as all the plans were made, and now poor Benedict has to face up to it all over again!’
Cassandra murmured suitably. She presumed that Paula was referring to the wedding arrangements and was on the point of making some remark to this effect when she was summoned by Mijnheer van Tromp. She wished Paula a rather hurried good-bye and went along to the consulting room.
If she had hoped to hear something about Paula and Benedict she was disappointed, for the summons was in order to ask her if she would escort a nervous patient to the hospital in Utrecht on the following afternoon. She was to have an intravenous pylogram and had agreed to having it done provided she had a nurse with her the whole time. Cassandra agreed readily enough; she saw no reason to think that an IVP would be done any differently from the usual procedure in England, so probably she would have nothing to do but keep close to the patient and soothe her when necessary.
They went at once to the X-ray department when they reached the hospital, and Cassandra found to her relief that it was the counterpart of her own hospital in London. She stayed with her patient while the diodone was injected and then remained with her while the X-rays were taken, a business lasting half an hour or so, and while they were being developed, the lady becoming restless and bored, insisted upon Cassandra going to the hospital entrance to make sure that the car was ready and waiting. She got lost almost immediately and when she retraced her steps went to the left instead of the right; a passage with doors along one side and a blank wall on the other. She was halfway down it when a door she was passing was flung open and Benedict came out with Mijnheer Viske and the radiologist on his heels. He stopped short when he saw her and his eyes narrowed so that she looked quite guilty and took a couple of steps backwards. He said in a nasty voice, ‘Well, if it isn’t Miss Nosey Parker! What curious coincidence brings you here? Don’t tell me that you have added listening at keyholes to your other talents?’
Cassandra was thunderstruck. ‘Me?’ Her voice rose and became rather loud. ‘You must be out of your mind, or joking! I hadn’t the least idea that you were here, and if I had I certainly shouldn’t have come looking for you. And how,’ she continued furiously, ‘can I listen at keyholes if I can’t understand a word of your language?’ She glared at him, in a fine rage. ‘I’m with a patient, if you must know, and I haven’t the least interest in your activities, Mijnheer van Manfeld.’
Nicely primed with ill-temper, she sailed past him, only to find that the passage came to an end against a blank wall. She would have to turn round and go back, past them all.
‘And where are you going?’ asked Mijnheer van Manfeld in a very quiet voice.
‘To the entrance.’ She was already on her way back, but now he was standing in her path. ‘I came down the wrong passage...’
It was Mijnheer Viske who stepped between them, saying kindly, ‘Such an easy thing to do—I’ll show you, Nurse,’ and walked her back to the main corridor and pointed out the right corner to turn. Still quivering with the strength of her feelings, she found her way easily enough then, delivered her message, and went back to her patient. There was no sign of Benedict this time, only, as she hurried along, she thought she heard his voice through one of the closed doors.
Her patient dozed on the return journey and she had plenty of time to think, so that by the time they had arrived back at her companion’s house and she had seen her safely inside its door, she had quite made up her mind what she was going to do. She would go and see Benedict; just because he was to have his Paula after all was no reason for being so ill-tempered. She suspected that he might be feeling guilty about herself—after all, he had taken her out a good many times—and kissed her; she went vividly pink remembering how willingly she had kissed him in return—she would have to make him understand that she hadn’t taken any of it seriously, that it had been nothing more than a pleasant friendship, she might even invent a mythical boy-friend—John Campbell, for instance; then perhaps they could return to their old friendly footing and at least part on good terms.
It seemed good sense to strike while the iron was hot; she walked round to Benedict’s house, rang the old-fashioned brass bell and was admitted by Jan. She stayed a few minutes to talk to him and then asked:
‘I came to see Mijnheer van Manfeld, Jan. Is he here?’
He nodded, his black eyes without expression. ‘In the library, Miss Cassandra,’ and she had the impression that he wished to say more, but wouldn’t. When he remained silent she went on, ‘Do you suppose I could have a word with him?’
For answer he led the way across the hall and knocked on the door, opened it, murmured something and ushered her in. Benedict was standing with his back to the fire, his face in shadow, for the only light in the room was from a small table lamp in one corner and the flickering fire itself. He said with casual politeness, ‘Hullo, Cassandra—this is an unexpected pleasure,’ his cool tones belying his words so that she had a strong urge to turn tail again. But that would be silly now that she had got so far. She came a little further into the room and began without preamble:
‘It’s a little difficult, but there’s something I want to say—I daresay once I get started it will be all right.’ She paused and eyed him doubtfully and he said, still very polite, ‘Why not sit down? We might as well talk in comfort,’ but she shook her head. He shrugged indifferent shoulders. ‘Of course, I owe you an apology for this afternoon—I had no right to speak as I did,’ his voice was stiff, like a stranger’s. ‘I was extremely—er—put out about something, and seeing you just at that very moment...poor Cassandra.’
She would have preferred him to have shouted at her, to have called her Miss Busybody, even to have sworn at her; it would have seemed more like him. This courteous man, calling her poor Cassandra, didn’t seem like Benedict at all. She tried again.
‘I can quite understand why you are avoiding me, but it’s quite unnecessary, you know. We’ve been friends, after a fashion, but knowing each other hasn’t anything to do with your life here—your personal life, I mean.’ She stopped, because it sounded muddled even in her own ears, but it would have to do. He must surely understand. ‘We only met by chance,’ she reminded him, and looked at him hopefully, because he could help her out if he wished. But all he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, was, ‘Chance? Cassandra by chance?’
She took no notice of this trivial remark, for she was keyed up to say her piece and she was going to say it, come what may. ‘I quite understand that you needed someone to—to talk to when you were so unhappy, but now you and Paula—I’m so glad,’ she added breathlessly. ‘So you see you have no reason to hide away from me and be so angry when you meet me, and I’m going back to England soon anyway...I’d much rather leave as friends.’
He had turned away, so that all she could see of his face was his profile. ‘You really believe that—about Paula and myself?’ he sounded thoughtful. ‘Well, I suppose you might as well believe that as anything.’
Cassandra hardly heard him; she was too occupied in keeping her matter-of-fact manner. ‘Well, that’s all right then; I’ve enjoyed being here—it was quite an experience.’ And I can say that again, she told herself silently, and moved back towards the door. ‘I’ve things to do,’ she informed him brightly. ‘I really must go.’ Her hand sought and foun
d the door knob behind her, and with a vacuous ‘‘Bye for now,’ she made her awkward exit.
Jan was in the hall. She wished him goodnight, the bright smile she had pinned to her white face making it a sorry sight. He shut the steel door behind her and went straight back to the library. He knocked and went in and addressed his master’s back.
‘Miss Cassandra is upset, Mijnheer,’ he stated with the directness of an old friend. ‘Her poor face—it is stiff with unhappiness.’
Benedict turned round to face him. He said savagely, ‘And what am I supposed to do about that, my good Jan? After all this time of patient waiting—and I had to be sure, you will grant me that. Do you really suppose I would ask her to share the life of a blind man? You know what Viske told me this afternoon. No, far better that she goes back to Mull without knowing—she’s got hold of some cock-and-bull story about Paula and myself—let her believe it.’ He took his dark glasses out of his pocket and put them on impatiently. ‘And not a word to her, Jan—I have your promise.’
‘You have, Mijnheer, and I understand how you feel. I also understand that Miss Cassandra’s heart will break...’
Benedict said something explosive. ‘Get out, my old friend,’ he advised, ‘before I do you an injury.’
Cassandra walked briskly back to Mevrouw Schat’s house, temporarily uplifted by her action, but by the time she was seated in the little parlour, the uplift had gone, leaving her feeling cold and sick inside so that her landlady’s hutspot, just right for a cold winter’s evening, congealed on her plate. She pleaded a headache presently and went to her room and had a good cry, which while not improving the situation one jot, at least relieved her feelings.
She was, to all appearances, her own self in the morning, and if she didn’t laugh quite as readily as usual at Mijnheer van Tromp’s little jokes, he didn’t appear to notice, and when at the end of the morning he called her into his consulting room and told her that the new nurse would be coming in two days’ time, Cassandra was able to receive the news with equanimity, agreeing to his suggestion that she should leave on the evening of her successor’s arrival, telling herself that it was a very good thing considering the awkwardness of her relationship with Benedict.
Mijnheer van Tromp intended to take her to Schipol himself; she would go to London and spend a couple of days there, shopping and getting used to a world which no longer held Benedict. Time enough to telephone Rachel when she was in England. She would go and say good-bye to him, but not until the last minute, and there was plenty to keep her busy for the next day. It was fortunate that the afternoon was booked solid and she had no time to think about herself at all, and the next day she had to pack and get everything in apple-pie order for the new nurse.
It was evening when she went round to Benedict’s house for the last time. Jan opened the door and ushered her inside with his usual fatherly manner and offered to take her coat.
She looked round a little nervously. It was far worse than a visit to the dentist; she wondered if she had been wise to come after all. Supposing she were to burst into tears or say something for which she would be sorry later? She said hastily: ‘No, thank you, Jan. I only came to say good-bye.’
He inclined his head sadly. ‘We had heard, Miss Cassandra, and very sorry we are to hear it.’
‘I’m sorry to go, Jan, it’s nice of you to mind too...I just wanted to say good-bye to Mijnheer van Manfeld. He’s home?’
His black eyes were blank. ‘No, miss, he’s been away for the last two days, and I can’t say when he will be back.’
‘Away?’ She hadn’t thought of that, now she wouldn’t see him again. She swallowed the tears crowding her throat. ‘I’m sorry. May I see Mevrouw van Manfeld?’
The old lady was in the sitting-room, the cat on her knee. ‘He misses Benedict,’ she explained, ‘and so do I, but I daresay he will be back shortly. Very urgent business, he told me, my dear, and I didn’t ask him about it, for he was in one of his black moods.’
Cassandra had stooped to tickle the cat’s chin; she straightened suddenly. ‘His glasses,’ she said urgently, ‘was he wearing his glasses again?’
The old lady looked a little startled. ‘Why, no, my dear, because I asked him if he had forgotten them and he said something quite regrettable about spectacles and his dark ones in particular. He begged my pardon at once.’ She peered at Cassandra, who was prowling round the room, quite unable to sit down. ‘Why do you ask, Cassandra?’
‘It was only an idea—that his eyes might be bad again, but if he wasn’t wearing his dark glasses it couldn’t be that.’ She came to a halt before Mevrouw van Manfeld. ‘I came to say good-bye.’
Tante Beatrix said gently, ‘Yes, dear, I knew about it. I shall miss you and I’m sorry to see you go. You have been good for Benedict; not silly and selfish like all those other girls who used to come and see him. He would take them out to dinner and they would bore him stiff—so he told me—pleasant enough company, but only after him for his money. You aren’t afraid of him either, nor do you care when he loses his temper.’
Cassandra could think of nothing suitable to say in reply. She smiled and nodded and kissed the old lady’s cheek, then went to find Miep and Jan. As he was seeing her to the door she said, ‘You will take care of him, Jan? And when he comes back will you wish him good-bye from me, and all the happiness in the world?’
Jan stared at her, on the point of saying something, but when he nodded silently she turned away, to stop as he asked, ‘You’ll be writing when you get back to Mull, Miss Cassandra?’
‘I don’t think so, Jan—perhaps, later.’ She went back to him and kissed his leathery cheek. ‘Bless you, Jan. I’m going to miss you.’
‘And Mijnheer?’
‘All the rest of my life, Jan.’
CHAPTER NINE
THE DRIVE BACK to Schipol took rather longer than Cassandra had expected, for the snow, although it had been cleared from the main roads, hampered the car’s progress on the by-ways which Mijnheer van Tromp had decided to take so that she might see a little more of Holland. That the flat white expanse around them offered no view of anything at all, seemed to have escaped him, and for her it couldn’t have mattered less, for while she maintained a comfortably desultory conversation with her companion she endeavoured to get her thoughts into some kind of order.
She was fairly satisfied that she had left her job in a fit state for the new nurse, a pleasant girl who, she felt sure, was going to do the work far better than she herself had done. She had said good-bye to everyone; Mevrouw Schat, the secretary who worked for Mijnheer van Tromp, everyone, in fact, save Benedict, who had apparently disappeared and left no clue as to his whereabouts. And yet when she had asked her employer if he had mentioned her departure to his partner she had been told that yes, certainly he had informed him, but something in Mijnheer van Tromp’s face had warned her not to ask any more questions. She sat pondering Benedict’s behaviour, consoling herself that at least he had never discovered that she loved him, and even if he did, it didn’t matter any more.
The airport was busy; its lights blazed in the early evening dark, a constant stream of people going to and fro, clutching children, parcels intended for Christmas, and extra coats and wraps, gave the whole place an air of excited expectancy. She wished Mijnheer van Tromp good-bye, uttered a few empty phrases about seeing him again, put her case on the conveyor belt and walked towards the reception desk; the quicker she got over the leaving part the better. It was at the passport check that the pleasant young man behind the desk asked her with smiling politeness if she would be so good as to step on one side. She did so, wondering why and voicing uncertainty as to her luggage. The young man made a soothing reply, nodded to a fellow Customs officer to take his place, and ushered her through a door behind the desk. It opened on to a long dreary passage which apparently led nowhere and Cassandra came to a hal
t.
‘I should like to know what I’ve done or what has happened before I go any further,’ she stated positively, ‘and you’ve got my passport.’
He handed it back to her with a word of apology. ‘There is nothing wrong,’ he told her in slow English. ‘If you would just come with me—not far.’ He smiled encouragingly and Cassandra started walking again, a little reluctantly. After a minute she said, ‘But what about my luggage? And my flight goes in less than ten minutes.’
‘Rest assured that everything is OK, miss.’ His voice was friendly. ‘Through this door, if you would be so good...’
He opened the heavy wooden door as he spoke and she found herself outside in a narrow road leading, she supposed, to some sort of car park. She looked inquiringly at her companion and then turned in time to see the Aston Martin creep to a halt before her. She was staring at it open-mouthed when Benedict got out, said something to the young man and walked towards her, and when the young man wished her good-bye and offered a hand to be shaken, she did so mechanically and she didn’t see him go. Only the door shutting with a click recalled her to where she was. ‘There’s been some mistake,’ she mumbled. ‘My luggage—the plane...’
Benedict was standing close to her. ‘Of course there has been a mistake,’ he agreed genially. ‘There have been several mistakes—all mine—but this, my dearest darling, is no mistake.’
Cassandra was in his arms and being kissed. It went on for some time and when he at last loosened his hold, just a little, she said desperately:
‘You must explain—I don’t understand...’
‘My darling. I’ll explain as we go, and all you have to understand is that I love you.’ He opened the door of the car and she found herself getting in. ‘My luggage?’ she asked weakly.
‘We’ll buy a toothbrush,’ he promised her, and got in beside her and started to drive away.