The Convenient Wife

by Betty Neels

  ‘No. Mrs Todd has got such a splendid meal for us, I thought I would wait a while…’

  ‘That was thoughtful of you.’ He spoke pleasantly, but evinced no pleasure at the idea of her company, although he carried on an easygoing conversation as they ate. But as soon as she had poured their coffee he excused himself once more with the plea of paperwork, wished her goodnight and went away to his study, leaving her puzzled. He had seemed pleased at the idea of their holiday—even hinted at getting to know her better—but she had to admit that he showed no urge to substantiate either.

  And yet, at the back of her mind the idea was forming that he was changing his opinion of her. ‘It must be the clothes,’ she told the empty room, and went to bed.

  They set off directly after breakfast the following day under grey skies which threatened rain, but it was, after all, April now, and the weather could change from hour to hour. Which it did before they were half-way to Salcombe. They stopped for coffee just before Honiton, and then drove on until they reached Buckfastleigh and took the road to Totnes. There was a nice old pub just off the road and Duert slowed the car.

  ‘This looks all right for lunch.’ He turned to look at her. ‘And it’s not raining. You’re not tired?’

  ‘Not a bit.’ She skipped out of the car with the sudden feeling that they were at last on holiday, and, now she came to think of it, they hadn’t been out together since she had stayed with Lottie.

  They had no need to hurry over their meal. Salcombe wasn’t all that far now, and the Bentley ate up the miles effortlessly and at speed. They drove through Totnes and on to Kingsbridge, and finally along the narrow road alongside the estuary.

  Salcombe came into view on the far bank, a small town straggling along the water’s edge, its cottages and villas interspersed with a few hotels, huddled cosily together, the town church on the hill above them, and yachts anchored in and around its small harbour.

  ‘There’s a ferry,’ explained Duert, ‘otherwise it means driving up to Kingsbridge and then back on the other side. My aunt’s house is at the end of this lane.’

  They were passing substantial houses, some old, some not so old, their backs to the lane, their gardens running down to the wide, smooth sands beyond, but presently they gave way to a rocky coastline, still with wide stretches of sand. The sea was ahead now, not far off, the tide coming in with a flurry of waves, tossing the lobster boats on their way to the harbour. And at the end of the lane, where it petered out to a track leading down between the rocks to the sands below, Duert stopped. There was a double garage built into the stone wall beside the lane, and a small gate beside it. He opened it and ushered her through on to a path which led to a porch and an inner door.

  As they reached it it was flung open and a small round body bounced out. ‘There you are!’ she declared. ‘And the tea just this minute made.’

  She beamed at the professor, who drew Venetia forward. ‘How nice to see you again, Meg. Venetia, this is Meg who looks after Aunt Millicent.’

  Venetia shook hands and was studied by a pair of very shrewd blue eyes. ‘Well, now,’ said Meg comfortably, ‘isn’t that nice? Come on in, your aunt’s in the drawing-room.’

  The house faced the estuary, its garden falling down to a fence protecting it from the rocks and the beach beyond. The room they were shown into at the back of the house had a magnificent view of Salcombe on the further side of the estuary as well as a wide view of the open sea. There was an enclosed patio beyond the room, and someone was sitting there. Aunt Millicent. Venetia had tried to imagine her from the sparse facts Duert had supplied, but the reality wasn’t anything like her imaginings. Aunt Millicent was Miss Marple in the flesh, small and grey-haired, dressed at least thirty years behind current fashion, and presenting a mild, almost self-effacing appearance with a presence which Venetia found totally disarming.

  She came to meet them as they went in. ‘How delightful, my dears. Duert, it is a long time since you have visited me, and now you have brought me your wife.’ She bent forward to kiss Venetia. ‘I am so delighted to meet you, dear.’ She smiled gently at Venetia, who smiled back rather shyly. ‘And so exactly right for Duert. His father was a marvellous man, you know, but he needed managing, and his mother did that very well, just as I’m sure you will.’

  Venetia murmured and avoided Duert’s eye, suspecting that he was secretly amused.

  ‘Meg shall take you up to your room, and then we will have tea. I like to sit here at this time of the day—such a lovely view.’ She called to Meg, who was hovering in the doorway. ‘Meg, take Mevrouw ter Laan-Luitinga up to her room, will you? And we’ll have tea in ten minutes.’

  The room Venetia was led to overlooked the estuary, its windows opening on to a wide balcony; it was well furnished with rather heavy Victorian furniture, and the walls were papered with a large rose pattern. The bathroom beyond was old-fashioned, too, but had everything one could wish for, and when Meg opened a door in the far wall there was a smaller room, rather severe. ‘Mister Duert’s dressing-room, ma’am. Mrs Reynolds thought you might like to have these rooms because of the view.’

  ‘They’re lovely,’ declared Venetia, ‘and so comfortable.’ She went back to the bedroom and peered at her reflection in the massive looking-glass. She didn’t look too bad; she powdered her nose and used some lipstick and, since Meg had gone downstairs, spent five minutes exploring the room. She was going to be happy here, she could feel it in her bones.

  Downstairs she found her hostess and Duert standing at the open french windows, watching the lobster boats chugging towards the harbour. The afternoon had cleared and a watery blue sky had turned the sea to a dim blue, too.

  ‘A good day tomorrow,’ said Duert, turning to look at her as she joined them. ‘We will be able to walk over the headland, if you would like that, or perhaps you would rather go over to Salcombe and explore the town?’

  Venetia had joined them at the window. ‘Well, if it’s going to be a nice day a walk would be heavenly. We can always go to Salcombe if it rains.’

  Meg brought in the tea and they sat over it, the conversation undemanding and then presently, from Venetia’s point of view, interesting, as Aunt Millicent began to reminisce about her youth, Duert’s mother and father, and Duert’s boyhood.

  ‘I saw a good deal of you in those days,’ said Aunt Millicent, ‘and we came over to Holland frequently. I haven’t been for years…’

  ‘Would you visit us?’ asked Venetia, and looked at Duert in case she had said the wrong thing. But she hadn’t; he looked very pleased.

  ‘Why not?’ he joined in. ‘I’ll come for you in the car and bring you back.’

  ‘That would be delightful. But I should prefer to come after Anneta has gone to her aunt. A dear child, but so lively!’

  ‘Then that’s settled—some time after the beginning of September.’

  Aunt Millicent nodded gently. ‘Yes, dears. Now go for a stroll; it is such a perfect evening now, and we don’t dine until eight o’clock.’

  ‘I’ll fetch the bags in first.’

  Duert went away and Aunt Millicent said, ‘Such a dear man, my dear. I’m sure you must be very happy.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Venetia, ‘I am,’ and found to her surprise that it wasn’t a polite social lie, but the truth. And when Duert came back she said, ‘I’d better change my shoes.’ She went upstairs again and got out her sensible low-heeled lace-ups, still feeling happy. When she had the time to think she would find out why, in the meantime she mustn’t keep Duert waiting.

  He glanced down at her shoes as they went through the gate into the lane. ‘Ah, good—I shan’t need to lift you over the rocks.’ He spoke casually and she took instant umbrage, although she was careful to murmur a nothing in reply. Why, she pondered, had he bothered to bring her with him if that was how he felt about her?

  They started down the wide track at the end of the lane and he broke a silence stiff with her hidden resentment. ‘I did put that badly, didn’
t I? Rest assured that I am willing at any time to carry you any distance necessary—or unnecessary, for that matter.’

  He tucked an arm in hers. ‘I’m feeling very much in a holiday mood. I hope you are, too?’

  ‘Well, yes, I am.’ Everything was all right again, and she looked up at him and smiled widely. ‘It’s absolutely heaven here, isn’t it?’

  His dark eyes stared down at her grey ones very thoughtfully. ‘I do believe that you are right.’

  They had reached the sandy beach and cove at the bottom of the track, and they crossed the sand to stand at the water’s edge. Although it was a clear evening, lights were already showing on the opposite bank and the little town looked cheerful.

  Venetia took a deep breath. ‘Oh, doesn’t it smell gorgeous? All salty and clean. I feel quite different…’

  ‘And so do I,’ said Duert and, very much to her surprise, kissed her. He took his time about it, too, and then stood with his arm around her, saying nothing, and indeed she was content for it to be so; for the life of her she could think of no suitable remark to make.

  Presently he said, ‘We had better go back. Aunt Millicent is a stickler for punctuality.’ He spoke in his usual rather cool manner, and Venetia, still devoid of a conversational gambit, nodded without speaking.

  If the professor had been feeling different on the shore, he showed no sign of being so that evening. She went down to dinner in the pretty dress to find her hostess and Duert in the drawing-room, and, although he got up and fetched her a drink, he had become his usual detached self—politely so, but detached, nevertheless. She went to bed after a pleasant evening, feeling vaguely unhappy about it, although the last thing she thought about before she went to sleep was the way he had kissed her. She smiled at the memory as she dropped off.

  They set off after breakfast the next morning, and, since it was a blustery day and rain threatened, she was wearing one of her skirts, with a sweater, and on top her oiled cotton jacket. Her head she left bare, and instead of the elegant french pleat she had become accustomed to she let her hair fall on to her shoulders. The wind would toss it around whatever she did with it, and she thought it unlikely that Duert would notice. She was sure that whenever he had complimented her on her appearance it had been for Anneta’s benefit and not hers, and the occasions had always been when she had been dressed up to go to an evening party or dinner.

  They went down the track again and across the cove, and took the narrow path winding through the trees which came down almost to the water’s edge. They followed it, still close to the water, to Gara Rock and on to Prawle Point, where they stayed for a while, the wind buffeting them and the sea foaming on the rocks below.

  Venetia lifted her face to the rather wintry sun. ‘Oh, this is heaven.’ She closed her eyes and then opened them again to look at Duert, leaning against a rock close by. He looked different, she decided; perhaps it was the clothes he was wearing, trousers and a sweater over an open-necked shirt. He was very good-looking—even when he was in one of his testy moods he was a handsome man, and he had no conceit…

  He turned to look at her, not smiling, not indifferent either, just thoughtful. She stared back at him, hoping that nothing of her sudden surge of feeling showed in her face. To fall in love with him had never entered her head, but she had, with a suddenness which was, to say the least, inconvenient. And not so sudden, she reflected, he had never been far from her thoughts for weeks now.

  He was frowning now. ‘What is going on behind that quiet face, Venetia?’ he wanted to know.

  That would be the very last thing she told him. So far they had managed very well; a model married life when Anneta was around or when they went out, but never a hint of anything more. Indeed, when they had been alone he had invariably excused himself on the plea of work to be done. And the kiss yesterday? Well—there hadn’t been anyone else about, had there?

  ‘Nothing,’ she told him airily. ‘Just a nice muddle of thoughts—this sea air has gone to my head.’

  ‘Yes? And only the first day.’ He smiled a little. ‘You’re not too tired to go back through East Prawle? We can get coffee there—there’s a pub.’

  ‘I’m not a bit tired, but coffee would be lovely.’ She smiled, too, intent on behaving as she always did, friendly and undemanding.

  What was she going to do? she wondered, following his broad back along the narrow path. Unthinkable to tell him, and there were still more than four months to go before Anneta left for good. Carry on, she supposed, and when Anneta had gone, she could tackle the problem.

  She jumped guiltily when Duert said, ‘I’ve said the same thing twice, Venetia, and you haven’t heard a word.’ He stopped suddenly so that she cannoned into him and needed an arm to keep her on her feet.

  ‘So sorry,’ she said, very conscious of the arm and wishing it would stay forever. ‘I was thinking,’ she cudgelled her brains for a suitable subject to think about. ‘Anneta,’ she said, in such a relieved voice that he frowned again. ‘You know—wondering how she’s getting on. She’s such an attractive girl. She’ll love America, don’t you think? I do hope…’

  She peeped at him. He was smiling, but not nicely. ‘Oh, dear, what have I said to make you smile that way?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, you smile like that when you lecture the nurses and one of them makes a silly reply to a question.’ She paused. ‘Ready to pounce.’

  He roared with laughter. ‘Am I such an ogre? Do you think I am an ogre, Venetia?’

  It would be best not to tell him what she thought of him. ‘No,’ she told him sedately. ‘I’ve never thought that, you’ve always been kind to me.’ She added, suddenly bold, ‘When you’ve remembered that I’m here.’

  He said blandly, ‘Oh, but I’ve never forgotten that.’ A remark which left her puzzled, and hunting for a suitable reply.

  They had coffee at East Prowle, and presently went on their way. Inland now, but high enough to get a splendid view of the sea and the estuary. The path was wider now, so they walked side by side, carrying on a desultory conversation which never once verged on the personal. And in between their spurts of talk Venetia brooded on how much she loved him. A difficult man to love, she reflected and, suddenly assailed by a desire to know more about him, asked, ‘Have you ever been in love, Duert?’

  He turned a bland face to her. ‘Well, well! And what has that to do with the lobster boats we were discussing? Yes, of course I have—a dozen times.’

  ‘But you didn’t marry any of them?’

  His voice was silky and rather cold. ‘Only you, Venetia.’

  ‘Yes, but I’m different, aren’t I?’

  ‘Most decidedly.’

  She said in an uncertain way, ‘And do you suppose you’ll ever fall in love again?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, it would complicate things, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Most decidedly. But I fancy I have settled my future…’

  ‘Oh, you’ve met someone you love?’

  ‘You are most remarkably persistent. Yes, I think you might say that.’

  ‘But you can’t do anything about that until Anneta goes to America?’

  ‘That is correct.’ He sounded unconcerned, and she walked on, making rather absent-minded replies to his gentle flow of talk. Anneta would be going in September—the very beginning of the month—and it was already April, only four months away, so what chance had she against this unknown girl who had stolen his heart? She sighed. None at all.

  They were back in good time for lunch. Venetia went away to tidy herself and get into a thinner sweater, and when she got down to the drawing-room Aunt Millicent and Duert were discussing the right time of year in which to prune the roses. He got up to get her a drink and eased her into the conversation. His manners were faultless, even though, at times, glacial.

  Aunt Millicent retired for a nap after lunch, and Duert, with a word of apology, went into the small library to telephone. Which left Venetia
by herself. It was still blustery, with little spurts of rain, but Venetia felt that to sit still and think was an impossibility. She got her jacket again, put on her sensible shoes once more and let herself out of the house.

  The tide was coming in, although there were still yards of beach. She wandered through the garden, through the little gate and down the path to the sands, and started walking towards the open sea, across the cove, and on to the rocks beyond. The path they had taken that morning was higher up, and she supposed that it could be easily reached from the rocks. She would go back that way. It was fun scrambling over the slippery rocks, but tiring, too. She was almost at the mouth of the estuary when she realised that the tide had come in much more rapidly than she had expected. She stopped and looked behind her, and saw that the rocks she had clambered over were already veiled in spray from the waves the wind was whipping up. She looked around and decided that she would have to go on for a bit until the rocks were easier to climb. She went on slowly now, stepping carefully from one slippery rock to the next, looking for an easier place to climb to the path above. Only there didn’t seem to be one, and the tide was rising…

  She stood still, and when, from a long way off, she heard Duert’s bellow, ‘Stay where you are and don’t move!’ she did that, not sure if she were more frightened of his cold annoyance or the advancing sea.

  He was coming down from the path, going lightly from rock to rock, making nonsense of his sixteen stones. He fetched up beside her, breathing rather fast, his frown so fierce that she braced herself against it.

  ‘The tide comes in very fast,’ he said pleasantly. ‘I should have warned you. Do you think you can manage to climb up to the path if I give you a hand?’

  She stared at him and he stood patiently, faintly smiling. At last she said, ‘I thought you’d be furious with me…’ she heaved a sigh ‘…you looked quite ferocious.’ When she saw his smile widen she smiled, too, and added, ‘Yes, of course I can climb up there—well, I think I can.’

  He took her hand. ‘Keep at my heels, and don’t leave go of my hand. It’s slippery and steep.’