by Betty Neels
She glanced ahead of her. It looked impassable, too, but if Duert could come down with the aplomb of a man descending an easy staircase then she would have to do her best to go up it in the same way.
It wasn’t easy. Despite Duert’s large, firm hand she slipped and slithered, muttering and mumbling in a voice squeaky with fright, but he didn’t pause, holding her firmly in a comforting clasp, and after what seemed an age they were back on the path. She stood panting with his arms around her, her head pressed against his great chest, listening to his steady heartbeats. She could have stayed like that forever, but that really wouldn’t do. She pulled away and he let her go. She said, in a voice stiff with her efforts to get back to their normal manner towards each other, ‘Thank you very much, Duert. It was silly of me to go off like that…’
‘Why did you?’ He put out a hand and tucked her wildly blowing hair behind an ear. ‘Did you want to be alone?’
‘No. No, of course not. I thought you were going to be busy and that you wouldn’t want to be disturbed.’
His rather stern mouth twitched with a faint smile. ‘Sometimes it is pleasant to be disturbed.’ He looked up at the sky. ‘It’s going to rain—do you mind?’
‘Not in the least.’
He kissed her cheek gently and took her hand. ‘In that case, we’ll go back for tea.’
Aunt Millicent was waiting for them in her comfortable, rather old-fashioned drawing-room, looking more like Miss Marple than ever.
‘A pleasant walk, my dears?’ she wanted to know. ‘It is so lovely here, and the walks are a delight—especially for the young and active.’
She poured tea from a very beautiful Georgian silver teapot into paper-thin cups patterned in roses. ‘What plans have you for tomorrow?’
‘We would like to take you out to dinner, Aunt,’ Duert said easily. ‘I’ll take the car and drive round to Salcombe—we might go to the Marine Quay.’
‘Oh, delightful, dear boy. I shall look forward to that. Does Venetia know Salcombe at all?’
‘Not yet. I think we might go over by the ferry tomorrow and spend a few hours. We’ll stay out for lunch, if that fits in with your plans…’
‘Perfectly.’ She smiled across at Venetia. ‘You will like our little town, my dear, and there are one or two very good dress shops—you may see something you fancy. I’m sure Duert is the most generous of husbands.’
‘Oh, yes, he is. I have everything I could possibly want.’ Except love, she added silently, but to be fair, there had never been any question of that.
She fell in love with Salcombe. It was a bright morning with a chilly wind as they got into the ferry, and even well within the estuary the water was choppy as the little boat chugged towards the landing-stage. There were steps to climb when they landed—dozens of them—which brought them on to the main street, more or less empty of tourists at that time of the year. ‘Coffee?’ said Duert, and crossed the road to a small café and urged her inside. Over coffee he suggested what they should do with their day.
‘Presents,’ he remarked. ‘The Todds, Domus and Truus, chocolates for the maids, and Anneta will expect something. And you, Venetia, what would you like?’
‘Me? But I have everything, Duert.’ Well, almost everything, she thought.
He said casually, ‘Oh, well, perhaps we will see something…’
They strolled along. The street was long, running parallel with the water, and it was crammed with shops. Venetia stopped at almost every one, and a surprisingly patient Duert stood while she peered at local pottery, old silver and some rather nice paintings. And when she expressed her liking for some small painted wooden ducks he bought them for her. She thanked him—and meant every word of the thanks. This, she considered, was the first present he had given her that mattered. He had never queried the bills for the clothes she had bought; he had given her his mother’s pearls and her ring, but that was because he’d really had no choice.
She clutched the ducks to her and beamed up at him. ‘Oh, isn’t this fun?’ she cried. ‘But we should be looking for presents—what can we get for Anneta?’
She discovered an antique silver mirror, its price enough to have kept her and her grandmother in comfort for a month, and added it to the ducks. Then she found local pottery for the Todds, and gossamer-fine handkerchiefs for Truus, and as for Domus, since he smoked a pipe when he was off duty, she suggested a pipe, the choosing of which she prudently left to Duert.
They lunched in a pub by the harbour, off crab sandwiches and, in her case, a glass of white wine, leaving Duert to drink beer. They walked to the end of the little town afterwards, and crossed a footpath which took them in a roundabout way back into the town, and since they stopped frequently to admire the view or watch the yachts going to and fro it was time for tea by the time they found themselves back in the main street. They had said that they would be back for tea, and the ferry was waiting. Content with her day, her cheeks nicely pink, her hair a little wild, Venetia went through Aunt Millicent’s gate and paused at the door.
‘That was a lovely day,’ she told Duert. ‘I did enjoy myself, thank you.’
He didn’t speak, only nodded as he opened the door for her.
Aunt Millicent was waiting for them, sitting behind the tea-tray, looking a little vague, but pleased to see them. Not that she was in the least vague; Venetia had listened to her talking to Duert, and knew that her mild countenance hid a sharp brain and a probing eye. Not too probing, she hoped.
They dined out that evening, driving up one side of the estuary and down the other to the Marine Quay Hotel, where they ate deliciously and at leisure at a table overlooking the water and the further bank. Indeed, they had an excellent view of Aunt Millicent’s house. The restaurant was surprisingly full, but not in the least noisy, and there was no piped music, only a man at the piano, gently playing snatches of this and that.
On the whole, content with her day, Venetia slept dreamlessly.
The days went too fast. They walked in all directions, took the ferry over to Salcombe and idled away the hours, sitting in the sun porch, listening to Aunt Millicent’s gentle voice reminiscing about her youth.
On their last morning Venetia got up early and crept through the quiet house and down the track to the cove. It was going to be a bright day and everything was clean and fresh in the morning sun. She took off her tights and shoes and walked barefoot in the sand, dipping cautious toes into the water. It was ice-cold, but delightful. She paddled along towards the outcrop of rocks at the far end of the cove, humming to herself in a breathy little voice, to stop short at the sight of Duert, sitting on a flat rock half-hidden by the trees which grew so close to the sands.
‘Oh, good morning.’ She skipped away from the water, and curled her cold toes in the sand. ‘It’s such a glorious day,’ she explained.
‘Good morning, Venetia. Are you saying goodbye?’
She nodded. She would probably never return to this heavenly spot. She had been careful not to think about the future, but she felt in her bones that, once Anneta had gone, it spelled uncertainty for her.
‘I shall have to come over to St Jude’s in a couple of months’ time—I think that you and Anneta might like to stay in Hampstead. She’s bound to want to shop for America!’ He turned his dark eyes on her. ‘It isn’t so long now, and she must make a round of visits before she goes.’
‘You will miss her?’
‘Heavens, yes.’ He spoke coolly. ‘She is a dear girl, and she has lived with me for some years, and I have become fond of her. All the same, she has been a problem. I have become self-centred, and my work is all-important to me. I resent anything or anyone interfering with it.’
She said, ‘Yes, of course.’ After all, that was his reason for marrying her. And since he fell silent she muttered, ‘Well, I’ll go back. I must dry my feet…’
She hadn’t gone more than a few yards when she found him beside her.
‘I’ve got seats for the Phantom of the Oper
a this evening, I thought you might enjoy it.’
She thanked him gravely, her love bubbling up inside her and threatening to boil over at any minute. Probably after today she would see him only at meals when he was at home, and when they were bidden to some dinner party or other. She summoned up a smile; she would have to make the best of it. And not get bogged down in self-pity, either.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEY left directly after breakfast, and Aunt Millicent bade them a gentle goodbye and added the wish to see them again as soon as it could be arranged. ‘Perhaps when Anneta has left you?’ she suggested, watching Duert reversing the Bentley out of the garage. She laid a hand on Venetia’s arm. ‘Things will be easier then, my dear.’
‘Easier?’
‘You are perfectly matched,’ observed Aunt Millicent, ‘only he hasn’t discovered that yet. No, I am mistaken—he has discovered it, but he is ignoring it. It was unexpected, you see.’
Venetia had gone a bright pink. She said, ‘Yes, it was. I—I love him.’
‘Yes, dear, I know. But you are sensible and patient. Now run along, and come and see me when Anneta has gone to America.’ She patted Venetia’s arm. ‘Both of you, of course.’
It was a two-hundred-mile drive to London; they left soon after nine o’clock, stopped for coffee and then lunch on the way, and got to the Hampstead house by teatime. Once they were past Buckfastleigh and the narrow country lanes, the roads were wide and the traffic sparse. They could have got there much earlier but they had lingered over lunch. Duert had turned off the A303 at South Petherton and taken her to Le Tire Bouchon, and she had enjoyed the delicious food, her worries for the moment forgotten as they mulled over their days at Salcombe. But although Duert had told her how much he had enjoyed their stay there, he made no suggestion that they should return. Indeed, within minutes of their return he went away to his study, remarking as he went, ‘Perhaps you would ask Mrs Todd to let us have dinner early? And warn her that we shall be back in about two or three months’ time—with Anneta of course.’
So Venetia took herself off to the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Todd,’ she explained. ‘The Professor did tell me that we would be going to the theatre this evening; I should have phoned you from Salcombe…’
Mrs Todd regarded her with a motherly eye. ‘Don’t you worry about that, ma’am. It’s a nice fricasseé of chicken, and I can serve it up just as soon as he is ready for it. And if you would let me know a day or two before you come it’d be a help with the shopping. Gentlemen never think about such things, and many’s the time the professor has walked in and me with nothing fit to set before him.’ She beamed at Venetia. ‘But there, they do say that professors are absent-minded, don’t they?’
Venetia agreed. The particular one she had in mind could also be impatient, irritable and bent on getting his own way at all times. He was also the nicest man she had ever met. Such a pity she had had to fall in love with him… She was recalled to her surroundings by Mrs Todd wanting to know if she could serve a freshly made treacle tart after the chicken. ‘Or if you’ll be wanting to get to the theatre, perhaps it had better be something easy—ice-cream?’
‘If we had dinner in really good time there would be no reason why we shouldn’t have the treacle tart, Mrs Todd. It’s one of the professor’s favourites, and yours are so delicious.’
Mrs Todd preened herself. ‘Well, ma’am, I must say they’re well thought of.’
The ladies parted company, and when Todd got back to the kitchen Mrs Todd remarked, ‘A real lady, that’s what she is, thinking of the professor all the time. No beauty, but that’s only skin deep, anyway. I hope that Anneta doesn’t give her too hard a time of it.’
‘From what I hear they get on like a house on fire.’
It seemed a good opportunity to wear the satin blouse and skirt. Venetia dressed with more than usual care, arranged her hair in its french pleat, did her face nicely and went downstairs to find Duert in the drawing-room. There was just time for a drink before Todd appeared to say that dinner was served, and they crossed the hall to the dining-room, carrying on the kind of conversation Venetia was now adept at. General topics uttered politely, and just as politely answered for the benefit of the household. They were half-way through the treacle tart when Todd came to say that the professor was wanted on the telephone, and, saying that he would take it in his study, he left the table with a word of apology.
He was back again within a few minutes. ‘Arthur has phoned,’ he told her. ‘I told him I would be back here this evening.’ He didn’t sit down again. ‘There’s a head case in—he thinks that I might be able to deal with it. I’m sorry that we shall have to miss the theatre—you could go alone…’
‘It doesn’t matter in the least,’ said Venetia, uttering the lie so convincingly that she almost believed it herself. ‘I’m quite tired after that long drive, and we have another journey tomorrow.’ She even managed to smile at him.
He took the tickets from his wallet and put them on the table. ‘Perhaps one of your friends from St Jude’s is free?’ She could hear the impatience in his voice; he might be standing there within feet of her, but his mind was already with his patient.
He bade her goodnight then, and a few minutes later she heard Todd opening the front door. She finished the treacle tart on her plate, drank the coffee Todd brought, and as she left the table picked up the tickets. ‘Todd, the professor told me to do what I liked with these tickets, and I can’t bear to waste them. I’d like you and Mrs Todd to use them.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘If you hurry you’ll just get there in time. You’ve got your car, haven’t you?’
Todd looked taken aback. ‘The dishes, ma’am, the table to be cleared—Mrs Todd will want to wash up.’
‘Just ask her to put everything in the dishwasher, Todd, and I’ll clear the table. It will give me something to do.’ She added to clinch the matter, ‘I’m really quite glad to go to bed early—it’s been a long day.’
‘Well, if you say so, ma’am.’ Todd picked up the tickets. ‘I must say Mrs Todd is partial to a good musical, and this one’s well spoken of.’
They were on the point of leaving when Mrs Todd ventured, ‘The professor, he won’t mind, ma’am?’
‘He’ll be delighted that the tickets haven’t been wasted.’
‘You’ll be alone in the house…’
‘The professor won’t be late, and I’m not nervous. Have a nice evening.’ When they had gone she tidied the dining-room, set the breakfast in the small room beyond the drawing-room and went along to the kitchen. She didn’t understand the dishwasher so she left it to its work and, with one of Mrs Todd’s pinnies over her pretty clothes, made a good job of the saucepans. Then she put the coffeepot on the Aga, locked the kitchen door and windows, and went back to the drawing-room. She drew the curtains, although it wasn’t quite dark yet, and fastened all the doors and windows, and then, with everything done, sat down with her tapestry work. The house seemed very quiet—usually the two maids were there, but they had been given time off as the master wasn’t at home. Venetia went upstairs and spent a long time in the bath, then she washed her hair, did her nails and wandered down to the kitchen to make a warm drink. She was returning through the hall with a mug of cocoa when the front door was opened and Duert came in.
He paused on the threshold when he saw her, his eyebrows raised.
‘Surely Mrs Todd…?’ he began and then, ‘You’re not ill?’
‘Of course not—I’m never ill,’ she added with a touch of defiance. ‘I’ve sent the Todds to the theatre—it seemed such a pity to waste the tickets.’
He put down his case and crossed the hall deliberately until he was within inches of her. ‘And you?’ he wanted to know in what she privately called his nasty voice. ‘You have enjoyed a quiet evening?’
She refused to be intimidated by the edge to his voice. ‘Oh, yes, thank you. I washed my hair and all that kind of thing. Did you operate successfully?’
‘Yes
. Your cocoa is getting cold.’
‘Would you like some? Or there’s coffee on the stove?’
‘Coffee, and I’ll get it. Go into the drawing-room. There’s the last of the fire there, isn’t there?’
He joined her presently, sitting in the big armchair opposite, the mug in his hand, watching her composedly sipping her cocoa, her hair clean and bright from its washing, bare feet thrust into ridiculous pink satin slippers which matched the frivolous dressing-gown she was wearing.
‘I seem to have been missing something,’ he observed blandly.
‘Oh, what?’
‘A home life—domesticity, connubial bliss. Why have I never seen you in a dressing-gown in Delft?’
She chose to treat his remark seriously. ‘Well, I think Anneta would have found it rather strange. Besides, you are always busy after dinner, working in your study.’
‘And you minded?’
‘Even if I had, that would have been no reason to change your evening routine. Besides, we went out a good deal in the evenings.’
‘So we did—and if my memory serves me we seldom had the opportunity to exchange more than half a dozen words.’
She kept her eyes on her cocoa. ‘No—well…’ She gave him a level look from her lovely eyes. ‘That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, that was what I wanted, Venetia.’ He spoke quietly and lapsed into silence. Presently he said, ‘I’m sorry about this evening, we will get tickets for the same show and go when we come over with Anneta.’
‘That would be nice,’ she observed and thought, but not the same as just the two of us on our own. She got up. ‘I’ll go to bed. I expect you want to make an early start in the morning.’
‘Yes, I must look in at Leiden when we get back, but I must go to St Jude’s first thing. Arthur wanted to know when they were going to see you again; they want you to see the baby.’
She paused on her way to the door. She had sent a present when the little boy had been born, but beyond a letter or two she was rather out of touch with Lottie. ‘Oh, I’d love to see him—perhaps when we come over?’