by Betty Neels
So, apparently, had Kieke and Wim. In the vast kitchen she was seated at the scrubbed table and the household books were laid before her. It had been the custom, said Wim, for him to make up the household accounts and present them to his master when he returned home, but now, of course, mevrouw would attend to the matter and Kieke would be happy to discuss menus and the buying of provisions if mevrouw would come each morning to the kitchen.
‘Yes, of course I will—if that is what Mevrouw van Kessel always did. But I know nothing about the running of a large house and I hope that you and Kieke will help me. I’ll learn to speak Dutch as soon as possible. We shall be back in a month or so.’ She smiled at his good-natured face. ‘You and Kieke will forgive me if I get things wrong?’
A remark which earned their entire approval. Here was a young lady who would, under their guidance, become a worthy mistress of the ancestral home.
As teatime approached Margo because increasingly nervous. She had got into the cashmere dress and a pair of the new shoes, done her face and hair with the kind of close attention she rarely bestowed upon them, and now she was in the drawing room, sitting uneasily opposite Gijs. She found it annoying that he could sit there, completely at his ease, with Punch lying across his feet, reading de Haagse Dagblad, for all the world as though it weren’t Christmas Eve with guests arriving at any minute.
‘You don’t need to be nervous,’ he said, without looking up from his reading. ‘You must have faced many a Mothers’ Union meeting and attended untold village gatherings.’ He glanced at her then. ‘You look very nice.’
A crumb of comfort, she supposed. If he had been in love with her, she reflected, he would have said that she was lovely or beautiful, because love was blind, wasn’t it? Looking nice was better than looking dowdy, however, she comforted herself, and sat up very straight at the sound of cars approaching and then a medley of voices.
The professor put down his newspaper, removed his feet from under Punch and stood up. He plucked Margo gently from her chair, put an arm through hers and walked her into the hall.
It was full of people, all talking at once, with children darting here and there and Wim and Diny taking coats and scarves. There was a rush towards them as they came out of the drawing room and Margo found herself embraced in turn by three young women and then three husbands, and last of all by Gijs’s brother, a younger version of him, with his features and blue eyes but not his great height. Margo, with a string of names nicely muddled in her head, bent to greet the children. There were eight of them—four girls and four boys—the youngest a toddler, the eldest rising twelve.
‘You poor dear!’ exclaimed one of the sisters. ‘We are swamping you—it is not good that we should come and stay when you are just married. However, Gijs will not alter the family custom. You do not mind?’ She smiled at Margo. ‘I’m Lise, the eldest. Franz is my husband, and Marcus and Jan and Minna are our children. Did Gijs not tell you our names?’
‘Well, there hasn’t been much time, but it’s lovely meeting you all like this, and I’m so relieved that you all speak English. Even the children...’
‘We have a Scottish nanny—all the children have a small knowledge. You are exactly as Gijs described you. We will be friends—and my sisters also.’
‘I shall like that. Would you like to go to your rooms first or come into the drawing room for tea?’
‘You do not mind if the children are with us?’
‘Of course not. Christmas isn’t Christmas without children, is it?’
‘And you will perhaps have added to them by next Christmas,’ Franz said as he joined them.
Margo went pink and Lise said comfortably, ‘Take no notice of him, Margo; he is a great tease. I think we will go to our rooms, if we may, and then tea.’
Margo led the way upstairs, ushering everyone into their rooms, sorting out the children, making sure that Nanny had all she wanted. Nanny was a quiet little woman who could have been any age between forty and fifty.
‘You’ll come down for tea,’ said Margo. ‘I expect you know the house better than I do, so please do exactly as you’ve always done.’
‘Aye, mevrouw, I’ve been with the family since Minna was born—she’s the eldest of the children.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘I’ll wish you happy, you and the professor; it’s time he was wed.’
Margo went back downstairs and found the men settled by the fire. They all got up as she went in.
‘Oh, please don’t get up. I’ll see about tea.’
She whispered herself out of the room. Gijs had been right; she was on familiar ground. It wasn’t the Mothers’ Union, but she had had years of meeting people and making them feel at home, listening while they talked, seeing that they had food and drink.
* * *
MUCH LATER, GETTING ready for bed, she decided that so far everything had gone well. The house had absorbed their guests into its numerous rooms and she thought the children had behaved beautifully, gathering round the lighted tree before going up to what had once been the nursery to have their supper and go to bed.
There had been a great deal of to-ing and fro-ing, but eventually everyone had gathered in the drawing room for drinks—the men in black tie and the women in long dresses. Margo, in the green velvet and still not sure about the low-cut neck, had nevertheless lost her shyness and apprehension and been the perfect hostess.
Dinner had been leisurely, and it had been late when they’d gone back to the drawing room for coffee.
‘There are a few friends coming in later for a drink,’ Gijs had said. ‘I suggest we put the presents round the tree before they get here.’
There had been a good deal of bustle then, with stealthy creeping upstairs to fetch gaily wrapped gifts and a lot of laughing. She had laid her present for Gijs with the others round the tree and then slipped away to make sure that everyone in the kitchen had had their supper.
Kieke had beamed at her praise for dinner and Wim had assured her that he would be bringing in drinks and canapés in preparation for the visitors who would be calling in presently.
‘A very happy Christmas, mevrouw,’ he had chuckled. ‘Everyone is happy.’
The guests had arrived soon after, and she had been so pleased to see Beatrice and her husband. There hadn’t been time to talk much but they had arranged to try and meet in Utrecht before Margo went back to England. She had enjoyed herself then, going from one to the other with Gijs, shaking hands, being kissed and congratulated.
A dream, she told herself now, curling up in bed—a dream from which she would have to wake up once Christmas was over and Gijs was back in London, wrapped up in his work. She would make a home for him, she promised herself, and be there when he wanted her and make no fuss when he had to go away...
She slept, for it was one o’clock in the morning and tomorrow was Christmas Day and she wanted to be up early.
* * *
IT WAS A day to remember for the rest of her life! The noisy, cheerful breakfast, then church, where she was confident that she looked her best in her new coat and hat and even the carols were sung to familiar tunes, then back to the house for turkey and Christmas pudding.
Just as though we’re in England, she reflected, pulling crackers with the children, unaware that Gijs had gone to a good deal of trouble to see that it was. Presently they gathered round the tree and the presents were handed out by Gijs, starting with the smallest child.
There were parcels for her too—not just one or two but a pile of gaily coloured gifts: a silk scarf from a famous fashion house, an evening bag, gloves, a wide leather belt, chocolates, a leather travelling clock. She went round thanking everyone, and when she got to Gijs he put a long jewellers’ case into her hand. ‘To mark our first Christmas together,’ he told her, and bent to kiss her.
There were pearls inside—a very beautiful necklace wit
h a sapphire and diamond clasp. He fastened them round her neck and she leaned up to kiss him. ‘But I’ve had my presents,’ she reminded him. ‘They are lovely...’
He flung an arm round her shoulder. ‘Now you’re here, I’ll open your present,’ he announced. ‘Just what I wanted,’ he told her moments later. ‘We must have your photo taken...’
He kissed her again, the light, cool kiss she had come to expect from him and must learn to accept. For the time being, she reminded herself. She loved him and surely in time he would learn to love her.
Everyone gathered in the drawing room for tea, and when it had been cleared away the furniture was moved to leave a great space in the centre of the room and they played games with the children—Musical Chairs, Grandmother’s Footsteps, Blind Man’s Bluff. And Margo, caught in Gijs’s great arms with everyone shouting at him to guess who it was, forgot herself so far as to murmur, ‘Oh, Gijs,’ against his vast chest. Heaven knew what she might have added, but, of course, he guessed and released her...
The children, calmed with supper, were put to bed, and everyone else went away to change for the evening. Margo, lying in the bath, decided to wear the taffeta. The pearls would look lovely with it, and it was delightful to dress up...
There was no one else in the drawing room but Gijs when she went down. He was standing in front of the fire, Punch beside him, immaculate in black tie. He and his house suited each other, thought Margo. She said out loud, ‘How can you bear to be away from this house, Gijs?’
He smiled. ‘Come and sit down. How very nice you look. As for going away, I go because my work is important to me—part of my life, something I must do. Now that I’m married I shall return home each time with even greater pleasure.’
‘You like living in England?’
‘Certainly I do. When we go back to London we must set about getting the house furnished as quickly as possible. I dare say you already have some ideas?’
‘Well, no. There have been so many other things to think about. But I will—can’t we do it together?’
She saw the look of faint impatience on his face.
‘Whenever I am free, by all means. There are some rather nice pieces in the attic here. We will have a look at them before we return and I’ll have whatever we think will fit in sent over.’
The first of their guests joined them then, and there was no more chance to talk together that evening. Nor would there be tomorrow, she remembered: Boxing Day—only they called it the Second Christmas Day in Holland—and they were all going to the village to a party for the children there. Another tradition, she supposed, and a nice one.
* * *
THE PARTY WAS fun, with everyone taking part in the games. There was a table laden with soft drinks, cakes and biscuits, oranges and nuts, and in one corner of the village hall a stall serving potat frits, hot and crisp with a dollop of pickles in paper pokes. There was a Christmas tree, of course, and every child there had a present from it.
Margo, helping Gijs hand them out, felt quite at home; she had done the same thing for years at Thinbottom. That evening there were more callers, staying for drinks, so that they dined late.
‘You do have a great many friends,’ said Margo when she had a moment alone with Gijs.
‘They came to see the bride.’
‘Well, I dare say they were surprised that you’d got married. I expect I was a bit of a surprise.’
He agreed blandly and she suspected that he was amused, although she wasn’t sure why. Probably they had expected an elegant beauty; despite the pretty dresses and the careful hairdo she would never be other than herself. Ordinary.
* * *
EVERYONE WENT AWAY after breakfast the next morning, and the house seemed very quiet and empty. Margo had a painstaking session in the kitchen with Kieke then went in search of Gijs. A walk would be nice; it was cold and frosty but now and again there was a glimmer of sunshine. They could talk—get to know each other better...
He was in his study when she poked her head round the door, his handsome nose buried in a pile of papers. He looked up as she went in, but she said, ‘Don’t get up—I can see you’re busy.’
‘A chance to get some work done without the phone ringing every few minutes. I dare say you can amuse yourself until lunchtime?’
She swallowed disappointment and the beginnings of temper. Surely on holiday he could spare time to be with her? She said, a shade too heartily, ‘Oh, yes. Would you like Wim to bring your coffee in here?’
She waited to see if he would suggest that they have it together. His vague, ‘Yes, yes, that would be splendid. Off you go and enjoy yourself,’ made it obvious that he had no such idea.
She went away quietly, conscious that he was hardly aware of her going.
She went to her room, got into the cashmere coat, tied a scarf over her head, found shoes and gloves, and went downstairs to find Wim.
‘I’m going for a walk, Wim. I haven’t seen the gardens properly. Don’t tell the professor—he’s working and mustn’t be disturbed. If you’d take his coffee in presently...?’
‘And you, mevrouw? Your coffee?’
‘I’ll have it when I get back. It’s such a lovely day and I have so much to see.’
She gave his anxious face a reassuring smile and went through the door he held open for her and down the steps.
She explored the garden, which was much larger than she had thought, and then, still feeling put out, went down the drive and out of the gate. She didn’t go to the village—she knew where that was and had had a glimpse of it yesterday—but instead took the other direction along the narrow lane bordered by the high walls of Gijs’s garden and then by straggling bushes which in turn became open fields.
It was cold. She hadn’t realised how cold until she’d started walking in the open country. There were no hills, but flat, orderly meadows bisected by canals, already iced over. There was no one and nothing in sight either, though presently she saw a church steeple and a cluster of cottages. Another village—and she was sure she could see a glimpse of water. Gijs had told her that there were lakes nearby.
She walked on, wishing that she had had coffee before she’d left the house. But away from the house she could think... It was early days, she told herself; she would need a great deal of patience. Gijs was used to being a bachelor. When they got back to London she would set about making a home for them both and at the same time learn to make the best of herself.
A good hairdresser? A visit to a beauty parlour, perhaps? More clothes? And she must find something to keep her occupied so that he need never feel guilty about leaving her alone. A baby crêche, perhaps, or helping at a playschool. At the same time she would learn to be a good hostess and housewife.
Uplifted by these ambitious thoughts, she walked on, and presently, seeing a side-lane and a glint of water beyond, turned down it. There were a few bushes and small trees near the water. There was a small jetty too, and a couple of small boats hauled up on the bank. The water looked cold and grey, and a nasty mean wind was ruffling it.
Margo shivered, and looked around her, suddenly aware that the sky had become dark. She had walked further than she had intended; she glanced at her watch and was surprised to see that in half an hour it would be lunchtime. She started back along the lane as the first soft flakes of snow began to fall. By the time she reached the other lane, it was falling in a thick curtain, turning the surrounding countryside into a formless white blanket.
‘A good thing that it’s a straight road,’ said Margo, her voice sounding loud in the silence. She walked on, her head bent against the blinding snow, unaware that she had gone off the road and that ahead of her were a series of narrow canals, already concealed under the snow...
* * *
IT WAS WIM who began to worry as the snow started. He took a large umbrella and we
nt round the gardens calling her, looking in the various out-houses where she might be sheltering. There was no sign of her, and he went back to the kitchen.
‘There is no sign of mevrouw,’ he told Kieke. ‘Perhaps she came in without saying anything and is in her room...’
It was Diny who spoke. ‘Mevrouw? I saw her go out of the gate with my own eyes not an hour ago.’
Gijs didn’t lift his head from his work as Wim knocked and went in.
‘Mevrouw has gone out, mijnheer, and it is snowing hard.’
The professor was on his feet in an instant. ‘Did she say where she was going?’ He went to look out of the window then strode into the hall, followed by Punch. ‘I’ll go after her—she must have gone to the village. Phone the shop there and ask if anyone has seen her, will you, Wim?’
He was getting into his Barbour jacket and taking off his shoes as he spoke. Kieke, who had come into the hall, went without a word and fetched his rubber boots, then thrust a woollen scarf at him. ‘Put that in your pocket, mijnheer. Mevrouw will be cold.’
Wim reported that no one had seen her in the village although she might be there, visiting, perhaps. It didn’t seem likely. It was a small place where everyone knew everyone else’s business; if she had been there someone would have known about it.
‘If she returns before I’m back,’ said the professor, ‘get her into a warm bath and bed, Kieke.’ He whistled to Punch, nodded to Wim and left his house.
There was only one other way to go, he reasoned, if Margo hadn’t gone to the village, and that was along the lane leading to the next village and the lakes.
Once he had passed his own walls and then the few trees he paused to shout before going on again. He had walked for ten minutes or more, pausing to bellow her name, when there was a lull in the storm and the snow thinned, giving him a chance to look around him. He saw her at once, going slowly across the fields. She had stopped to look around her and he began to run, and when he saw her starting to walk again he shouted, ‘Stand still, Margo. Don’t move.’