by Betty Neels
‘What did you see?’ he wanted to know, making short work of a chop. She told him, and watched his eyebrows lift. ‘Why,’ he remarked, ‘you didn’t see the half!’
She would have been content to let it rest at that, but Sieske told him laughingly that Harry had gone off on her own and got herself lost, and would doubtless have missed her tea altogether if it hadn’t been for the good offices of the man in the semi-nautical cap. Harriet sat silently waiting for him to laugh, but instead he looked annoyed, and said in a critical tone which had the effect of infuriating her,
‘You should know better than to wander off on your own like that.’
Her beautiful eyes shone very blue through the narrowed lids, but she said mildly enough, ‘I’m not a child, Dr Eijsinck, and I have a tongue in my head!’
He shot an amused glance across the table. ‘In many ways you are a child,’ he observed, ‘and you forget that the tongue in your head is a foreign one.’
She sat staring at him, longing to pick a quarrel, but with the Van Minnen family laughing and talking around them, it was impossible to do so, and he knew it. Instead she said with false meekness,
‘I daresay it was very stupid of me—I fear my education was sadly lacking, for I can only speak my own language.’
‘Now you have made me out to be a pompous ass,’ he protested, amidst the general laughter—but not quite general, Harriet noted. Taeike frowned and protested too with a look of fury on her pretty face, and as soon as she could make herself heard, begged Friso to help her with her homework.
‘But I’m tired out,’ he said, looking exactly the reverse. ‘I’ve not had a minute to myself since Sunday luncheon.’ He caught Harriet’s eye and grinned wickedly. ‘You’ll bear me out, will you not, Harriet?’
She felt her cheeks grow warm. He had no right to talk to her like that, just because she had known who was lunching with him then, and had seen him taking the girl home—presumably—more than twenty-four hours later. She said in a quiet little voice, despite the tell-tale cheeks,
‘Why, certainly, Doctor Eijsinck. I’m sure you have very little time to yourself, but I daresay you like it like that. Though I can’t say that you look very tired.’
She didn’t smile at him, but at Taeike instead, who, however, didn’t smile back. Harriet wondered why she was upset and then forgot about it as Friso pushed back his chair and spoke laughingly to Mevrouw Van Minnen, then pulled Taeike to her feet. ‘Ten minutes, and not a second more,’ he said as they went towards the door.
He was back in the drawing-room, playing chess with his partner long before Sieske and Harriet had cleared the table and carried the supper dishes into the kitchen for the daily maid to deal with in the morning. The two men sat, wrapped in a companionable silence and a great deal of smoke from their pipes while Mevrouw Van Minnen sat at her pretty little rosewood worktable, stitching at her gros-point. The two girls joined her and fell to discussing their plans for a trip to Amsterdam. There were relatives there, it would be easy to stay a night, even two. It was unthinkable that they should allow Harriet to go home without seeing something of the capital. There were the lesser but nevertheless interesting attractions of Leeuwarden to be sampled too, but Aede would take care of that, said Sieske; he planned to take Harry off for the day when next he was free.
She went away to fetch the coffee and presently returned with the tray; her return coincided with the chess game ending in stalemate, and the reappearance of Maggina and Taeike, very cheerful now that their homework was done. They sat around drinking the delicious coffee, arguing as to what Harriet should and should not see when she went to Amsterdam.
‘And what does Harriet wish to see?’ inquired Dr Eijsinck, who had said very little until that moment.
‘Canals and old houses and flower stalls and one of those street organs,’ she answered promptly, then added hastily for fear of decrying their kindness, ‘and all the other things you have suggested as well.’
Dr Van Minnen laughed. ‘At that rate, you will need to spend the rest of your holiday in Amsterdam, and that we cannot allow.’
Dr Eijsinck didn’t get up to go until the two younger girls had gone up to bed.
‘Will you all come over tomorrow evening?’ He looked at Mevrouw Van Minnen and then turned to his partner. ‘Any calls can be put through for you.’ He had spoken in Dutch and was answered in that language before he turned to Harriet and said with casual friendliness,
‘Everyone is coming over to my place tomorrow evening for dinner—naturally you are included in the invitation, Harriet.’
She thanked him politely, surprised to glimpse a look on his face which belied the formality of the words. She was even more taken aback when he added, ‘Have you done any sailing, Harriet? I’m free after midday tomorrow; I wondered if you would like to come on the Sneekermeer—I’ve a boat there.’
She felt her heart race, which was absurd…he doubtless wanted a crew, and there was no one else available. ‘What sort of boat?’ she asked cautiously.
He looked surprised. ‘A Sturgeon.’ He had answered readily enough; probably he thought she had asked out of politeness. She forbore to mention that her three brothers, when not engrossed in cars, found solace in boats and when there had been no one else around, she had crewed.
‘I’d like that very much,’ she said finally.
He nodded briefly. ‘Good, I’ll fetch you about half past one. Wear something sensible and warm; you can bring a dress and change at my place.’ He nodded again, and a minute later she heard the gentle roar of his car.
She didn’t sleep very well, thinking about him. She had already realized that she was becoming obsessed by Friso Eijsinck; if she wasn’t careful, she would lose her head over him completely, and what, she asked herself bitterly, could be sillier or more useless than that? The knowledge that she was past preventing this sorry state of affairs anyway added to her misery. She lay forlorn in bed and didn’t bother to wipe away the tears trickling down her cheeks. They were still wet when she finally went to sleep.
He came for her at half past one the following day. She had done as she had been told and as well as slacks and a sweater had borrowed a pullover of Sieske’s—its polo neck hugged her ears and the sleeves had to be rolled up, but it would be warm. She had borrowed a pair of the right sort of shoes from Maggina, too. Her hair hung in a shining plait over one shoulder and she hadn’t bothered with make-up, only lipstick. Experience had taught her that men who ask girls to crew don’t particularly mind what they look like, as long as they can handle a tiller and don’t fall overboard. She went out to the car, a silk jersey dress over one arm, and a pair of shoes and a handbag in her hand. Dr Eijsinck, looking, if that were possible, larger than ever in an Aran sweater, took them from her and put them in the back of the car and said with faint surprise, ‘Is this all you have with you?’
It was Harriet’s turn to look surprised. ‘Should I have brought something else?’ she inquired.
He opened the door of the car for her to get in. ‘Hairpins and things,’ he hazarded.
‘In my bag. My hair comes down if there’s much wind, and then it’s a nuisance.’
He had settled himself beside her and started the car. ‘So you have sailed before.’
She glanced sideways at him and he returned her look with a bland one of his own. She said with a little air of apology, ‘I’ve sailed with my brothers during the holidays. Dinghies mostly, and only when there wasn’t anyone else around who could do it better.’
He laughed. ‘Your opinion of yourself is a low one, Harry, yet I imagine that you do most things well.’
They had left the town behind, and were making their way across country towards Sneek. He drove fast but never carelessly and she supposed that he would handle a boat in the same efficient way. She felt absurdly elated by his compliment, although upon reflection it was the sort of remark that one could safely make to a schoolteacher or someone similar…but of course, she was something s
imilar. Nurses and teachers did the same work, the one for the mind, the other for the body. Her spirits, which had begun to rise a little after her bad night, sank to new depths. He said with disconcerting perception, ‘I didn’t mean to make you sound like an elderly schoolteacher.’
She smiled ruefully. ‘All the same, I’m a not so young nurse—that’s much the same sort of thing.’
‘How old are you?’ he asked.
‘Twenty-four.’
‘With a successful career before you, so I hear. Surely it would suit you better to marry?’
The question was thrown at her carelessly; he sounded like the head of the family giving a poor relation some good advice. She lost her temper. ‘Only if I can marry for money,’ she said in a tight little voice. ‘I don’t care what the man’s like just so long as I have a great many clothes and furs and jewels…’ She stopped, appalled at the awful lies she was telling him. Her flash of temper had gone.
He said in a shocked voice, ‘That’s not true, I simply don’t believe you.’ He pulled the car into the side of the road and turned to look at her. ‘Well?’ he asked.
She felt her face redden, but said at once, ‘Of course it wasn’t true. You made me angry.’ She didn’t explain why. ‘I don’t care tuppence if my husband has any money or not. I don’t think money is the most important thing in life…’ Her face flamed anew. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said awkwardly, ‘I forgot. Sieske said you were very rich. I didn’t mean to be rude.’
He laughed with genuine amusement. ‘Yes, I am, and although it’s nice to have most of the things I want, I agree with you, money isn’t important. I should be quite happy without it.’
She smiled. ‘Oh, yes, I know. At least I…’ she faltered, ‘I think you are that kind of person.’
He started the car again. ‘As I said before, Harriet, you aren’t like anybody else.’
He flashed her a smile of such tenderness that her breath forsook her and by the time she had regained it they were approaching the outskirts of Sneek and she was able to plunge into a great many questions about the town, all of which he answered with great patience, not looking at her, so that she was unable to see the laughter in his eyes. But they held no mockery, only the lingering tenderness.
The boat was a beauty. Harriet inspected her with the thoroughness that was part of her nature, and when he asked her, half laughing, if she approved of it, said seriously,
‘She’s beautiful. I hope I shall do all the right things.’
He laughed, tossed her a yellow inflatable waistcoat and said,
‘Put that on for a start, in case I throw you overboard in a fit of rage.’
She did as she was told. ‘Do you have rages?’ she asked.
He was busy with the sail and looked at her over his shoulder.
‘Occasionally,’ he conceded, ‘but don’t worry, I don’t feel one coming on today.’ He was smiling, and she smiled too, feeling suddenly happy. The sky was blue, filling slowly with little puffs of cloud; the boat danced gently under her feet. Why was it, she wondered, that being in a boat was like being in another world?
They went down the waterway to the lake with the wind behind them and set course for the opposite shore, sitting side by side in the cockpit with Harriet at the tiller. There were perhaps half a dozen boats sharing the Sneekermeer with them, and none of those near. They talked about boats and gardens and inevitably, hospital, and then boats again.
‘I love those big curved boats with prows,’ said Harriet, pointing to one.
‘A botter,’ he explained. ‘I’ve got one—it’s in the boatyard being repainted. I don’t go out in her often though, only when there are half a dozen of us—it’s a family boat; very safe, and ideal for children. When I marry I shall pack my entire family on board and sail away for several weeks at a time.’
She looked away from him and said in a quiet voice, ‘That sounds nice,’ and then, to change the subject, ‘Are they seaworthy?’
She got to know quite a lot about him that afternoon. He was not a man to talk much about himself, but by the time they turned for home she had a pretty good idea of his background and likes and dislikes. And she, hardly realizing it, had talked too—about her family and her work and the elderly pony she still rode when she went home. They didn’t talk so much on the way back, for there was more to do and it took longer too; tacking into the wind. They could have used the engine, but Friso told her that he only used it to take the boat in and out or if he was pressed for time. The sky had clouded over; the small clouds that had looked so harmless an hour or so earlier had joined themselves together, swallowing the blue above them. The wind had freshened too, but Harriet wasn’t cold; her cheeks were gloriously pink, and her eyes shone, and although the wind had ruffled her hair, the thick plait still lay neatly over her shoulder. She looked round once to find Friso staring at her, his grey eyes brilliant. She put a hand up to her hair and asked,
‘Is there something the matter?’
His eyes held hers. ‘No,’ he said, his deep voice suddenly harsh. ‘You’re beautiful, Harriet. You must have been told that many times before.’
When she didn’t answer, he went on sharply,
‘You do know you’re beautiful?’
Harriet turned from the contemplation of a pair of swans flying with swift grace towards the reeds at the lake edge.
‘Yes,’ she said composedly. ‘I should be stupid if I didn’t—just as you would be stupid or a hypocrite if you didn’t admit to your own good looks. But you’re neither, and I don’t suppose you give it a thought. Well, neither do I.’ She grinned like a little girl. ‘You should see my sisters; they’re really beautiful.’
He chuckled. ‘You disarm me, Harriet. Tell me about them.’
‘They’re married; Diana has three boys; Rosemary has a girl and a boy.’
He trimmed the sail. ‘Older than you?’
‘Oh yes. I’m in the middle—my brothers are younger than I.’
She altered course a little in obedience to his nod. ‘I was to have been a boy. Henry after my grandfather…’
‘Ah, now I know why you’re called Harry. It couldn’t be a more unsuitable name. You are…very much a girl.’
His steady gaze met hers across the boat. It needed a great effort to look away from him and a still greater effort to control her breath. She swallowed back the wave of excitement which threatened to engulf her and said the first thing which came into her head.
‘I suppose you are much older than your…’ she stopped. ‘I mean, are you the eldest?’ She had gone a little pink and went pinker when he laughed and said, ‘Yes, but I’m not as elderly as your tone implies, although I’m ten years older than you.’ He added outrageously to make her gasp, ‘I prefer my girl-friends to be at least ten years younger than myself.’
She said, ‘But I’m…’ and stopped herself just in time. If she should disclaim any desire to be one of his girl-friends he was quite capable of agreeing with her most readily. After all, she wasn’t; at least… Instead she said, ‘There’s a great deal of cloud. Do you suppose it will rain before we get back?’
His smile was gently mocking. ‘Ah, the weather. Such a safe subject,’ and proceeded to sustain a conversation on the subject which lasted, on and off, until he brought the car to a standstill outside his house door. His knowledge of the elements, in their every aspect, appeared to be a profound one; Harriet’s ears buzzed with facts about cumuli, low pressure and humidity. She had answered suitably when comment had been called for, because she was by nature a nicely mannered girl, but as she got out of the car she gave him a speaking glance and then almost choked when he said silkily, ‘It was you who wanted to talk about the weather, Harriet.’
He walked round the car to where she was standing and threw a massive arm around her shoulders. She stood very still under it, her heart thumping, and was conscious of deep disappointment when all he did was to urge her forward, up the steps to where Wim was waiting at the open door. Insi
de, he released her, saying merely,
‘Letje will take you upstairs. You’ll want to change. The others will be here in half an hour or so.’
She left him standing in the hall and followed the soft-footed, smiling Letje up the stairs; at least she was going to see something of the house.
CHAPTER SIX
THE ROOM she was ushered into was at the side of the house, overlooking the path she had walked along with Friso. She stood at the window looking down at it and sighed without knowing it before turning away to study her surroundings. They were charming. The room was, by her own standards, large, and furnished in the Empire period—the bed, dressing-table and wardrobe were mahogany and vast; they shared a patina of well-cared-for age. In any other, smaller room they might have been overpowering, but here they were exactly right; set off by a skilful scattering of small satin-covered chairs with buttoned backs and elaborately pleated skirts. There was a satinwood writing table under the window and a work-table in Japanese lacquer, very small and dainty. A little round table with piecrust edge stood companionably by one of the chairs, bearing a bowl of spring flowers; they smelled with a faint fragrance and made the room seem lived in, although she guessed that it was seldom used. There were portraits on the walls too—rather austere gentlemen in wigs or high cravats, according to their period; their wives—presumably their wives—looked soberly down at Harriet from heavy frames, their dim rich silks setting off the magnificence of their meticulously painted jewels. She thought she detected a fleeting resemblance to Friso in some of the faces; he had certainly inherited their austerity of looks upon occasion. She realized all at once that she had been wasting time and went into the adjoining bathroom and turned on the taps. She would have to hurry.
She was putting on her lipstick when there was a tap on the door and Sieske came in.