by Betty Neels
It was nice to know that Wanda wasn’t to be of the party. Florina poured coffee and allowed her thoughts to dwell on the pleasures in store.
The weekend went too quickly. They all went to church on Sunday morning, and in the evening Sir William drove himself into Wilton to a friend’s house for drinks. He had a lot of friends, reflected Florina, concentrating on the making of lemon sauce. In the morning he left early, while Nanny was still in bed. Pauline had come down to say goodbye, but she went back to bed again, leaving Florina to clear away Sir William’s breakfast things and start the day’s chores. He wouldn’t be back until the next weekend, and it seemed a very long time.
Actually, the days passed quickly. Florina needed Pauline’s help to gather together suitable clothes to take with her, there were beds to be made up and the house to be left in apple-pie order for the Jollys’ arrival. There was her own wardrobe to decide upon; she would be able to wear her new clothes, but they would need to be augmented. Sir William phoned most evenings to talk to Pauline but, although he spoke to Nanny once or twice, he evinced no desire to speak to Florina.
He arrived rather late on Friday evening, and Jolly and his wife drove down at the same time in the other car. Pauline, already in bed, came bouncing down to fling her arms around his neck. ‘We’re all ready,’ she assured him excitedly, ‘and Florina is ready too, and she’s filled the fridge with food that means Mrs Jolly won’t have to bother too much. She washed her hair this afternoon and she did mine last night.’
She skipped away to greet the Jollys. ‘There is supper for you and we put flowers in your bedroom.’
‘Bed for you, Pauline,’ said Nanny severely, appearing to greet Sir William and the Jollys. ‘The child is excited,’ she told Sir William.
‘So am I, Nanny,’ He went past her, into the kitchen where Florina was putting the finishing touches to the salad.
‘Busy as usual?’ he observed kindly. ‘All ready for your holiday, Florina? I do wonder what on earth you’ll do with yourself without your cooking stove?’
She smiled politely; she wasn’t a girl to him, just the cook—it was a mortifying thought. She thrust it from her, and said soberly, ‘Well, I haven’t seen my family for some time, Sir William. I expect there will be a lot to talk about.’
That sounded dull enough, she thought crossly. If only he could see her, dressed in her new clothes, being chatted up by some handsome Dutch cousin—only all her cousins were either married or with no looks to speak of; and when would he see her anyway?
She wished that he would go away, not stand there looking at her in that faintly surprised fashion. It disturbed her, although she didn’t know why.
They left very early on Sunday morning, driving through the still-sleeping village, past the pub, her home, the farm opposite the bridge and along the narrow country lane which would lead them to Wilton.
She had spent an afternoon with her father during the week, but he hadn’t been particularly interested in her plans. She could do as she wished, he had observed grumpily, and he hadn’t even expressed the hope that she would enjoy herself. Everyone else had; even Nanny, so sparing in her praise, had told her that she had earned a holiday. ‘And I just hope you meet a nice young man,’ she had added.
Florina, sitting in the back of the car, bubbling over with excitement, hoped that she would too. If she met a nice young man, then perhaps Sir William wouldn’t seem quite so important in her life.
They had an uneventful, very comfortable journey. It made a great difference, she reflected, if you had money. You stopped when you wanted to at good hotels for coffee and lunch, with no need to look at the price list outside to see if you could afford it. Moreover you spoke French in France and when you reached Holland you switched to Dutch, which, while basic, got you what you wanted without any fuss. And you did all that with the calm assurance which was Sir William.
They were crossing the Zeeland Brug by mid-afternoon, glimpsing Zierikzee ahead of them. On dry land once more, Sir William said, over his shoulder, ‘You must tell me where to go, Florina. It’s outside the town, isn’t it?’
She leaned forward, the better to speak to him. ‘Yes, go straight on, don’t turn into Zierikzee, go to the roundabout and take the road to Drieschor; Schudderbeurs is about two miles…’
The road was straight and narrow, snaking away into the distance. The sign to the village was small and anyone going too fast would miss it. Sir William slowed down when she warned him, and turned left down a narrow lane, joining a pleasant, leafy lane with a handful of cottages and villas on either side of it. There was an old-fashioned country house standing well back from the road with a wide sweep before it. As they went past it Sir William said, ‘That looks pleasant; it’s an hotel, too…’
‘Yes. It’s quite well known. I’ve never been there, it’s expensive, but I believe it’s quite super… My aunt lives just along that lane to the right.’
There were a handful of houses ringing the edge of wooded country, not large, but well maintained and with fair-sized gardens.
‘It’s this one.’
Sir William stopped, got out and opened her door. A door in the house opened at the same time and Tante Minna, looking not a day older than when Florina had seen her five years or more ago, came down the garden path. She had begun to talk the moment she had seen them; she was still talking when she opened the gate and hugged Florina, at the same time casting an eye over Sir William and Pauline. Florina disentangled herself gently. ‘Tante Minna, how lovely to see you…’ She had slipped into Dutch without a conscious effort. ‘This is Sir William, I’m his cook, as I told you, and this is his daughter Pauline. They are on their way to Leiden and kindly gave me a lift.’
She had already told Aunt Minna all that in her letter, but she was wishful to bridge an awkward gap.
Tante Minna transferred her twinkling gaze to Sir William. Her English was adequate, about as adequate as his Dutch. They shook hands warmly and Tante Minna turned her attention to Pauline, and then took her by the arm and turned towards the house. ‘You will take tea? It is ready. You will like to see my cat and her five kittens?’
They went into the house, light and airy and comfortably furnished. She said in Dutch to Florina, ‘Will you explain that your Uncle Constantine is in Goes? Marijke and Jan and Pieter are here, though, and Felix Troost—his father is a partner in your uncle’s firm. I believe you met him years ago…’
Florina translated, leaving out the bit about Felix Troost, and they went into the sitting-room where Florina was instantly enveloped in a round of handshaking and kissing, emerging to find Sir William talking easily to Felix, whose English was a good deal better than Sir William’s Dutch. Pauline had disappeared with Florina’s aunt, doubtless in search of the kittens. Indeed, she reappeared a few minutes later with a small fluffy creature tucked under one arm.
Her cousins hadn’t changed much, Florina decided; Marijke, a year or two younger than herself, was plump and fair and pretty, good-natured and easy-going, Jan and Pieter, who had still been at school when she had last seen them, were young men now, towering over her, calling her little Rina and wanting to know why she wasn’t married. But when the tea tray was brought in, the talk became general, while they drank the milkless tea in small porcelain cups and nibbled thin, crisp biscuits. Not very substantial for Sir William’s vast frame, thought Florina, watching him, completely at his ease, discussing their journey with Pieter. He looked up, caught her eye and smiled, and she felt a pleasant glow spreading under her ribs.
He and Pauline left soon, for they still had rather more than an hour’s drive ahead of them across the islands to Rotterdam, and then a further hour on the motorway to Amsterdam. But before they went Sir William sat himself down by Florina. ‘We’ll fetch you next Saturday,’ he reminded her. ‘I’d like to get to Wheel House in the fairly early evening, so we should leave here not later than two o’clock. Will you be ready then?’
‘Yes, of course, Sir William. Wou
ld you like coffee here before we go?’
He shook his head. ‘No time. We can have a quick stop on the way if we must. He stood up. ‘Have a good holiday, Florina. I envy you the peace and quiet here.’
She had forgotten that he was to give lectures for most of the week, and Amsterdam, delightful though it was, was also noisy. She said quietly, ‘Perhaps you will be able to spare the time to spend a few days in the country—somewhere like Schudderbeurs, the hostellerie is quite famous, you know.’
‘Yes, perhaps one day I’ll do that.’ He patted her shoulder and went out to his car with Pieter and Jan, leaving Pauline to say goodbye.
‘I hope I shall like it,’ she said uncertainly. ‘Daddy won’t be there for most of the day…’
‘You’ll have a gorgeous time,’ said Florina cheerfully. ‘We’ll compare notes when we meet next Saturday, and think how nice it is for your father to have you for company.’
Pauline brightened. ‘Yes, he likes me to be with him, that’s why I don’t see why he needs to marry Wanda. She hates quiet places, she likes to dance and go to the shops and theatre and have people to dinner.’
‘Ah, well, perhaps she will change when your father marries her!’ Florina kissed the pretty little face, and then walked out to the car and stood with her aunt and cousins, waving until it was out of sight.
‘A very nice man,’ commented Tante Minna. ‘He is married?’
‘No, but he is going to be—to a very lovely girl called Wanda.’
‘And you do not like her, I think?’ asked her aunt, sharp as a needle.
‘Well, I don’t think she’s right for him. He works very hard and I believe he likes his work; it’s a part of his life, if you know what I mean. She enjoys the bright lights and I think she’s annoyed because he’s just come to live at Wheel House—and you know how quiet the village is, Tante Minna! He has a house in London, too, though I don’t know where it is, but he likes to spend his weekends at Wheel House, if he can.’ She paused, ‘And Pauline doesn’t like her.’
‘It seems that he needs to be rescued,’ observed Tante Minna, and added briskly, ‘Come indoors, child, and tell us all your news—it’s so long…’
Florina made short work of that for, of course, what they really wanted to talk about was the wedding. Marijke took her upstairs to show her her wedding dress, and when they joined the family again she was regaled with the details of the ceremony, Christiaan’s job, the flat they would live in and the furniture they had bought for it. Which reminded Florina to go upstairs to the small bedroom at the back of the house and fetch the present she had brought with her. Place mats, rather nice ones, depicting the English countryside, and received with delight by her cousin. Christiaan came then, and they had their evening meal with Oom Constantine, and when it was finished Felix Troost arrived again. He had been in Goes with Florina’s uncle, he explained, but had had to call on someone on the way home. He was a good-looking young man, with blue eyes, set rather too close together, and a good deal of very fair hair. He was obviously at home there, and he greeted Florina with a slightly overdone charm. They shook hands and exchanged polite greetings, and she decided then and there that she didn’t like him.
A feeling that she became uncertain of as the evening progressed, for he was casually friendly, talking about his work, wanting to know about her life in England. She must have been mistaken in the sudden feeling of dislike that she had had when they met, she reflected as she got ready for bed. Anyway, she would be seeing a good deal of him while she was staying with Tante Minna, and he would be at the wedding and the reception afterwards at the hotel. She allowed her thoughts to dwell on the peach-pink outfit with some satisfaction. It was a pity that Sir William wouldn’t see her in her finery. She wondered what he was doing; dining and dancing probably, with some elegant creature whose dress would make the peach-pink look like something run up by the local little dressmaker. She sighed sadly, not knowing why she was sad.
Everyone was up early the next morning and, although the wedding wasn’t until mid-afternoon, there was a constant coming and going of family and friends. Florina, nicely made up and wearing the peach-pink, greeted aunts and uncles and cousins she hadn’t seen for years, exclaiming over engagements, new babies and the various ailments of the more elderly. She blossomed out under observations that she had grown into quite a presentable young woman, for, as one elderly aunt observed in a ringing voice everyone could hear, ‘A plain child you were, Florina. Your mother despaired of you. Never thought you’d get yourself a husband…engaged, are you?’
Black beady eyes studied her, and she blushed a little and was eternally grateful to Felix, who flung an arm round her shoulders and said, ‘She’s waiting for a good honest Dutchman to ask her, aren’t you, Florina?’ And he kissed her on one cheek. Everyone laughed then, and she decided that she had been mistaken about Felix; he had sounded warmly friendly and he had been kind…
With the prospect of the wedding reception later on in the day, no one ate much of the lunch Aunt Minna provided. Guests were to go straight to the Gemeentehuis, but even the most distant relations who weren’t seen from one year to the next came to the house, so that there was a good deal of good-natured confusion. Deciding who was to go in whose car took considerable time, and presently Florina found herself sitting beside Felix in his BMW with two elderly aunts on the back seat. It was the last to leave in the procession of cars, leaving Marijke, following the time-honoured custom, to wait for her bridegroom to fetch her from her home, bearing the bridal bouquet.
The Gemeentehuis was the centre of interest, and the congestion in the narrow street was making it worse than ever to drive through the little town. The guests trooped up the narrow steps into the ancient building and made their way to the Bride Chamber, a handsome apartment at the top of a broad staircase. Florina was urged into a seat in the front row of chairs, since she was a cousin of the bride, while Felix, being a family friend, found his way to a seat at the back, but not before giving her hand a squeeze and whispering that he would drive her to the church presently. She nodded, not really listening, for Marijke and Christiaan were taking their places in front of the Burgermeester and the short ceremony started.
Florina, watching closely, thought it seemed too businesslike. It certainly wouldn’t do for her. She was glad that Marijke had wanted a church wedding as well, not that she herself was likely to marry, whether in Holland or in England. She didn’t know any men, only Felix, and she didn’t know him at all really, and Sir William, who didn’t count, for he was going to marry Wanda. She fell to day-dreaming of some vague, faceless man who would meet her and fall in love with her at once and they would marry. These musings led, naturally enough, to what she would wear: cream satin, yards of it and a tulle veil. Marijke was wearing a picture hat trimmed with roses, and her dress was white lace. Florina had helped her to dress and had zipped the dress up, only after having urged her cousin to breathe in while she did so, for Marijke was a shade too plump for it. All the same, she looked delightful and her pinched waist had given her a most becoming colour. They were signing the register now, and a few minutes later the whole party followed the bride and groom out to the long line of cars.
The church was barely two minutes’ drive, behind the Apple Market, bordering on the big market square, so that the entire wedding party could park in comfort before filing inside. It was a Hervormdekerk, and the service was sober and the short homily delivered sternly by the Dominee. Florina allowed her attention to wander, stealthily checking on the congregation, refreshing her memory as to who they were. She had forgotten over the years what a very large family her mother had; sitting there in the church she felt more Dutch than English. Her eye, roaming round the church, lighted upon Felix who smiled and nodded. He seemed like an old friend, and she smiled back, stifling the vague feeling of dislike she had for him.
The service ended and the bride and groom got into their flower-decked car and started on their slow tour of the town be
fore driving back to Schudderbeurs, while everyone else went back to the hostellerie.
The wedding party was to be held in the large room built at the back of the hotel. It had been decorated with pot plants and flowers, and a buffet had been nicely arranged on a long table at one end. The afternoon was still warm and sunny, and the doors on to the garden had been opened so that the guests could spill outside. Florina, driven back by Felix, stood taking breaths of fresh air, listening idly to his rather conceited talk about himself and his work. He was doing his best to impress her, but she didn’t feel impressed; indeed, she was shocked to find that she was bored. Suddenly she wanted to be back at Wheel House, busy at the stove while Sir William sat on the kitchen table, polishing off the scones she had made for tea.
She heard Felix say in a cocksure manner, ‘And, of course, I shall be a partner in a year or so.’ He gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘You can’t keep a good man down, you know!’
She murmured politely and was glad that the bridal pair had arrived and everyone could sit down and eat the delicious food the hotel had provided. There was champagne, of course, and speeches. No wedding cake, for that wasn’t the custom in Holland, but little dishes of chocolates and sweetmeats and more champagne. Presently, friends and acquaintances arrived, each with a present or flowers, to wish the bride and groom every happiness, and join in the dancing. It was great fun, reflected Florina, her ordinary face glowing with warmth and excitement, whirling around the floor with cousins and uncles and Felix; Felix more than anyone else, but what with the champagne and the cheerful, noisy party, she was content to dance the night away. She hadn’t enjoyed herself so much for years.
Presently, the newly wedded pair disappeared in the direction of the little white house in the hotel grounds, where they would spend the night before driving to their new flat in Goes on the following day. It was only in recent years that newly marrieds had abandoned the custom of going straight to their new home from the wedding reception. The little white house was much in demand among the young people, some of them coming from miles around.