by Betty Neels
‘No, though everyone hereabouts knows that I’m always available if I’m home. I have a room in one of the cottages in the village and go there three times a week, but my consulting rooms are in Nijmegen. I go there every day, but not today.’
‘You work in the hospital there as well?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He had slowed his stride and taken her arm. ‘I’ve beds at the hospitals in Appeldorn and Arnhem, and a couple in Utrecht.’
‘But you can have very little leisure.’ Somehow she had never suspected that he was so wrapped up in his work.
‘I like it that way.’ Something in his voice stopped her asking any more questions, so she said instead: ‘Willy’s a wonderful dog,’ and whistled to him so that he came tearing across the grass towards her. She bent to scratch his ears. ‘Does he go everywhere with you?’
‘Yes. He sits under my desk during surgery hours and guards the car while I’m on my visits.’
‘He must miss you very much when you’re away from home.’
‘He does, though my mother dotes on him.’ They had come to another wall, with a little wicket gate in it which he opened. ‘We can go through here and walk round to the other end and come in through the front drive,’ he told her. ‘And now tell me, what are your plans?’
‘Plans? I haven’t any. I’ll go back to St Anne’s, to my job on Men’s Medical, as soon as Professor Wyllie is well enough—that will be within a few days, I suppose.’
‘Eager to get back?’ His voice was blandly enquiring and she made haste to say: ‘Of course not,’ and then, in case he began to ask awkward questions: ‘Is it colder here than in England during the winter?’
His mouth twitched very slightly. ‘Yes, on the whole I think it is,’ and he launched into a lengthy discourse about atmospheric pressures, isobars and meteorologist’s forecasts which set her head reeling. It lasted until they were walking up the drive, and only ceased as they reached the bend in the drive where the house came so magnificently into view. ‘Like it?’ he asked her.
‘It’s super. When I saw it for the first time, it took my breath. It must be wonderful to live here—to make it your home.’
‘It is.’ He whistled to Willy, who joined them at once, walking soberly at his master’s heels. ‘We’ll go in through the kitchen entrance so that Willy can be dried off.’
She went with him round to the back of the house and across a cobbled courtyard to a low wooden door, and then along a brick-floored passage and so to the kitchen, a large room with a great many doors and occupied by a number of people bustling about. Cat and the kittens were in their basket before the Aga stove and Willy, barely giving Hub time to rub him down, went to settle himself beside her. Eliza said good morning to the watching faces and saw them all smiling, and when Christian said something to them in Dutch they answered him cheerfully. They looked happy and contented and were obviously on good terms with him. It would be nice, she mused, to own a house such as this one and have these cheerful people to work for you in it.
They were back in the hall, climbing the staircase, when she observed:
‘You have a lot of people working here.’
He said casually: ‘Oh, yes—they live here too; it is their home.’
And she remembered how, when she had first known him, she had thought him to be arrogant and ill-tempered and uncaring of other people. He wasn’t; he minded about these people who so obviously liked and respected him; probably they loved the place as much as he did.
They parted on the landing, richly carpeted and hung with portraits on its silk-panelled walls. ‘Breakfast in half an hour,’ he told her with a friendly smile, and opened Professor Wyllie’s door for her.
It surprised her to find everyone in the breakfast room when she at last found it; no one had mentioned that there was such a place and she had gone to the dining room and found it deserted, its table, its mahogany gleaming, devoid of cloth and cutlery. She went back into the hall, supposing that she would have to listen at all the doors until she heard voices, when Hub came from the kitchen and with an apology, opened a door for her. It made matters worse to find that those seated at table were already half way through their meal, and Estelle’s gentle good morning, coupled with her swift glance at the clock, was hard to bear.
Eliza sat down and addressed herself to her hostess. ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she explained. ‘I didn’t know that breakfast was in this room, I went to the dining room.’
The dark eyes twinkled kindly. ‘It is I who should be sorry, Eliza, for not telling you. In any case breakfast is eaten when we wish to eat it, there is no strict time for it.’
A remark which put her at her ease, although she could see that Estelle didn’t agree with that at all. Probably when she was mistress of the house, everyone would have to be in their places on the dot. She peeped at Christian, sitting immersed in his post and the newspapers; with all her heart she longed for him to become suddenly poor so that Estelle wouldn’t marry him after all. No, that wouldn’t do, for the girl had money of her own, he had said so. It would have to be the house, taken from him by some dramatic stroke of misfortune—because that was why Estelle had said she would marry him, Eliza guessed; no girl in her senses would miss such an opportunity of becoming its mistress—a thunderbolt, perhaps, or a long-lost heir who returned from the dead to claim his rightful heritage… Her colourful imagination ran riot and was only checked when Christian addressed her. ‘Will ten o’clock suit you, Eliza?’
She said: ‘Yes, Professor,’ in a meek voice and went on with her dreaming. No, he couldn’t give up the house; he loved it, and it was quite unchristian of her to wish that Estelle could drop dead. She sighed, so loudly that several pairs of eyes were turned upon her, and decided that there was nothing for it but this marriage, which would make three of them unhappy for the rest of their lives—no, four; Mevrouw van Duyl didn’t like Estelle either.
The morning passed quickly—too quickly, for Eliza enjoyed herself. The Professor was feeling quite himself again and was in a good mood, sitting cosily in a great armchair not too near the fire, arguing happily about the article they were writing, crossing out a great deal of the notes and filling in whole pages in his terrible spidery writing, and she, sitting at a table hastily set up in one corner of the room, typed what she was given. It was when they paused for coffee that he wanted to know what Estelle was doing.
‘I hope she isn’t annoyed with me, taking you away in this fashion,’ he observed to Christian, looking quite unrepentant.
‘She’s gone out with Peters.’ Christian’s voice was casual. ‘They share a consuming interest in Roman remains—I believe they intend to stay out for lunch.’
‘But, my dear boy, you will see almost nothing of her. You go to your rooms tomorrow, don’t you?’
‘Yes—I’ve several patients lined up, I believe. Which reminds me to ask Eliza if she would like a lift into Nijmegen in the morning. I have to be back here after lunch, for I have a patient coming here to see me in the afternoon.’
‘Of course she’s dying to go,’ said Professor Wyllie, giving her no chance to speak for herself. ‘Besides, she must have off duty and all that.’ He held out his cup for more coffee. ‘I have letters to write and must have peace and quiet.’
Eliza handed him back his filled cup and said indignantly: ‘Well, really, anyone would think I wore army boots and weighed half a ton! And you know quite well,’ she went on, warming to her theme, ‘that when you say you want to be quiet I hardly breathe.’
‘All the more reason why you should go with Christian. You will be allowed to breathe—though to do you justice, girl, you are as light as a fairy on your feet, and twice as pretty.’
She didn’t answer this piece of blatant flattery, but finished her coffee, and avoiding Christian’s eye, went back to her typing.
They had finished the first draft by lunchtime and Eliza went downstairs to eat that meal with Mevrouw van Duyl and Doctor Berrevoets, who was leaving that after
noon, and of course, Christian. It was far nicer without Estelle, she considered, for everyone was lighthearted and talked a little nonsense, and Willy sat beside his master as he usually did. Afterwards she went back to her patient and coaxed him to lie down on his bed for a nap until tea time, when he was to get up and go downstairs for an hour or two. She was free now, she supposed; she was wondering what to do with her time when Nel came upstairs with a note from Mevrouw van Duyl, asking her if she would spend an hour with her in the small sitting room, so Eliza, glad of something to do, repaired downstairs. The room looked bright and welcoming, with its flickering fire and a lamp or two to brighten the gloom of the winter afternoon. She sat down a little shyly opposite her hostess.
‘It was kind of you to ask me to come down,’ she said.
‘But, my dear, I have been wanting to do so, for I have had no chance to talk to you and I am full of curiosity. Perhaps you do not mind if today we talk like this, and later you shall be shown the house.’ She nodded her small, silvery head. ‘I wish to know about you,’ she stated simply, a remark she instantly qualified by asking a string of questions about Eliza’s work, her family and her likes and dislikes. Eliza answered her willingly enough—there was no point in doing otherwise; she had nothing to hide and the elder lady’s interest was kindly. And presently she received her reward for her forbearance, for Mevrouw van Duyl embarked on a monologue about her son.
‘He’s thirty-seven,’ she confided, ‘and I have wished for years that he would marry, for I am not so young as I was and there is a good deal to do here, and it seems that I am to have my wish.’ She paused to sigh and Eliza felt sorry for her because her wish had turned sour on her. ‘Christian works too hard,’ she went on presently, ‘for he has a great number of patients as well as work in the hospitals. He is very good at his work, you understand, my dear, and he loves it, just as he loves his home.’ She sighed and Eliza said quickly: ‘I suppose he’s at his surgery this afternoon?’
‘Oh, no, my dear. He went down to the village to see some of the old people there—those without families to help them, you know. He arranges for them to have help when that is the case and goes regularly to visit them. Willy has gone with him, and that means that they will go for a walk on the heath before they come home.’
‘I love Willy—he must be a wonderful companion.’
‘He is, we’re excellent friends, he and I. Christian told me about Cat and how you found her—such a dear little creature and such pretty kittens. They will have a good home here, of that you may be sure. Christian will see to that.’ She glanced at Eliza, who waited for her to go on, for it seemed as though she had more to say on the subject, but after a brief pause she went on to talk of other things and no more was said about her son. Eliza, listening to her hostess rambling on gently about this and that, thought what a dear little lady she was; Estelle couldn’t know what a marvellous mother-in-law she was getting.
Half an hour later she got up to go, for the Professor would have to be wakened, tidied for his tea and shepherded downstairs. In the hall she met Estelle and Doctor Peters, returned from their outing. They were standing hand in hand and when they saw her, sprang guiltily apart, although to her eye they both seemed in high spirits; that was, as high-spirited as they were able to be. Eliza eyed them with some puzzlement—she quite liked Doctor Peters, although they had seldom had much to say to each other. He was what she described to herself as a worthy man and boring, but perhaps he and Estelle, both bores, didn’t bore each other? It was an interesting point. She called a casual hullo to them as she went upstairs, then forgot about them because Professor Wyllie was ringing his bell.
She cast a professional eye over him, handed him his hairbrushes, found him a clean handkerchief and escorted him downstairs, where the rest of the party were assembled for their tea. Christian was there too, with Willy sitting very close to his master’s chair. Eliza patted the noble animal’s head as she slipped past to sit a little apart, happy to see the interest focused on Professor Wyllie, who, now that he felt almost well again, was showing the better side of his nature—indeed, he cornered the conversation, making Mevrouw van Duyl laugh a good deal. Everyone else laughed too, of course, but Eliza couldn’t help noticing that Doctor Peters and Estelle were a little distrait, and Christian said almost nothing at all, although his eyes seldom left his fiancée’s face.
She was on the point of uttering some polite excuse and slipping away to her room when Estelle suddenly suggested that they should go to the Rijn Hotel that evening. ‘Such a lovely view of the river while we dine,’ she pointed out with more animation than she had hitherto shown, ‘and we can dance afterwards—besides, I have that new organza dress I’m longing to wear.’
She smiled round at everyone, sure that they would fall in with her wishes, and when her eyes lighted on Eliza, she added with exactly the right degree of politeness: ‘And you too, of course, Eliza.’
Gathered into the general invitation with casual good manners, Eliza swallowed resentment and then stifled regret as she refused. There was nothing approximating to an evening dress amongst her few clothes hanging in the vast wall closet in her bedroom. She made polite excuses rather vaguely and went back to her room, saying that she had some typing to finish. She didn’t see Christian again until several hours later, when she bumped into him in the long passage running from the conservatory to the front of the house. He looked splendid in his dinner jacket, but she didn’t pause to take a better look, only murmured something or other and made to slip past him. Instead of which she found herself halted within an inch or so of his white shirt front, while a large hand clamped her shoulder fast.
‘So—Eliza Proudfoot doesn’t care to come out for the evening.’ His voice was silky. ‘Are we too frivolous for you, or is it that you don’t care for our company?’
She studied the immaculate expanse of white before her eyes. ‘Neither, Professor, it’s just that I have the rest of the article to type, and besides that,’ she hurried on, aware that he would dismiss that as a flimsy excuse, ‘I have notes to write up and letters…if you don’t mind, I should like to catch up on them. After all, I’m here to work.’
She took a cautious step backwards as she spoke and he stood on one side to let her pass with the casual courtesy which he might have accorded a stranger. Eliza made herself smile in his direction as she went past, and being an honest girl, spent the greater part of her lonely evening carefully typing what was left to be done, making out the charts Professor Wyllie had wanted and writing a number of quite unnecessary letters. And all the time she was doing this, a small, persistent portion of her mind was dwelling on the delights of the evening she was missing. But she couldn’t have gone; she had glimpsed Estelle before they had all left, eye-catching in a lovely stained glass window dress which must have cost a small fortune. Even if she had had the pink skirt and the Marks and Spencer’s top with her, she couldn’t have completed with pure silk organza cut by an expert.
She told herself, once more, that the less she saw of Christian the better, quite forgetting that she was going to Nijmegen with him in the morning. Here, in this great house with its costly furnishing, he was different—no, not different, just unapproachable, someone who treated her with kindness and consideration but who was nevertheless dead set on marrying a wife who would be entirely suitable. Her fretful mind glossed over his strange whispered conversation of the previous evening, though she went on, talking out loud, because there was no fear of anyone hearing her. ‘He’s not in love with her at all, only she’s the kind of wife he took it for granted he would marry.’ She sighed, put away her writing case, and went to bed.
She prevailed on Professor Wyllie to remain in bed for his breakfast on the following morning, for although he was delighted with himself after his evening out, he was still tired. His pulse was up a little too; it would make a splendid excuse not to go with Christian, but in this she was forestalled by Professor Wyllie, who, when she mentioned the fact mildly,
instantly commanded her to go, reminding her cunningly that he was far more likely to have a bad turn if he were crossed in his wishes. Eliza went down to her own breakfast torn between pleasure at the thought of spending some time with Christian, and a wish to carry out her resolution not to see so much of him. She was a little late for breakfast, loitering down the great staircase while she pondered about it.
Everyone was already seated at table; Mevrouw van Duyl, reading her post and drinking coffee, looked up to wish her a friendly good morning. Estelle was smoking a cigarette in a long holder and listening to a low-voiced monologue from Doctor Peters, and the master of the house sat at the head of the table, making inroads into his toast and marmalade and looking as black as thunder. He barely glanced at her as she sat down, and the atmosphere at his end of the table was so frosty that she made haste to drink some coffee, crumble a piece of toast and take herself off again.
Mevrouw waited until Eliza had left the room for some moments before remarking: ‘Eliza looks tired.’
‘Probably she got carried away with her typing and stayed up too late. She should have come with us,’ ground out her son savagely.
Estelle put down her coffee cup with a little laugh. ‘How ridiculously blind men can be,’ she said with tolerant kindness. ‘I daresay she did no work at all, poor little thing. How could she have come with us? She had no suitable clothes.’
He looked thunderstruck, then: ‘Why didn’t you lend her something of yours—heaven knows you’ve enough and to spare.’
She turned a mildly annoyed face to his. ‘My dear Christian, lend her something of mine? You must be even more blind than I imagined. Eliza is small and just a little plump and, forgive me, not very distinguished. She would have looked ridiculous in any one of my gowns.’
She bridled smilingly under the dark eyes which raked her, ignoring his ferocious look. ‘After all, she is the nurse, isn’t she, not one of our guests. She would hardly bring evening clothes with her even if she had them. In any case, I don’t suppose she knew anything about your way of life.’