by Betty Neels
They had arrived that morning—a glorious bouquet of roses and orchids and carnations—and Venetia had thought wistfully that it must be wonderful to be given extravagant bouquets by someone who loved you. It would be even more wonderful to be given even a humble bunch of daisies, if Duert offered them with love…
Duert came home, and over tea the presents were opened and admired and the necklace fastened round Anneta’s youthful neck. She ran to admire it in the looking-glass, turning this way and that. ‘It’s beautiful. Shall you wear your pearls this evening, Venetia?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She didn’t add that she had nothing else worthy of her new gown.
She went downstairs well before the first guests would arrive and, with Digby as escort, did a round of the house to make sure that everything was just as it should be. She ended up in the drawing-room, its furniture arranged around the walls, the wood-block floor cleared for dancing. The older guests might prefer to dance indoors or sit around gossiping. She hoped that she had done everything properly—it was the first big party she had organised, and she was desperately anxious to please Duert.
He had followed her silently and she jumped round as he spoke.
‘Everything seems to be exactly right, Venetia. You have hidden talents I was not well aware of.’ He took her hands and held her arms wide. ‘That is a particularly fetching frock. I hope you persuaded Anneta to buy something just as charming.’
She had gone pink, but she answered prosaically, ‘Well, it was a bit difficult—she had set her heart on very tight black satin—but I think you’ll like her choice. Here she is now.’
Anneta looked quite lovely. The dress suited her, and she had taken great pains with her face and hair. ‘You will take the States by storm,’ Duert assured her gravely, ‘and certainly you will be the belle of your ball.’
‘I do look nice, don’t I?’ said Anneta complacently. ‘What about Venetia? Don’t you think she looks nice, too?’
‘Very nice. I hear the first of our guests…’
It was obvious from the start that the party was going to be a success. The house filled, and then spilled its guests out into the marquee to dance and eat the food Anneta had chosen with such care. The din was deafening, with the band of Anneta’s choice belting out the latest hits, and the younger guests crowding on to the floor to fling themselves around to its beat. It looked great fun, reflected Venetia, going back to the drawing-room to circle the room with a sober colleague of Duert’s.
The band finished the waltz it was playing, and they paused by the open french windows. The gardens had been festooned with coloured lights and Venetia admired them, half listening to her companion’s opinion of the country’s politics, but suddenly she stiffened. Almost at the end of the lawns sweeping away from the house there was a small ornamental fountain, and standing by it were two people. Anneta, and, unless she was mistaken, the man Jan.
Venetia laid an urgent hand on her companion’s arm. ‘Forgive me, there is something I must attend to at once.’
She gave him a smile and he patted her hand. ‘My dear lady, you have performed miracles. I can forgive you anything.’
She sped down the path, and Duert, watching from the other end of the room, excused himself without haste from the elderly cousin he had been talking to and strolled over to the french windows. He said casually, ‘Ah, Cor—I thought I saw my wife with you. I wanted a word with her, the speeches, you know…’
‘A charming girl. You are a lucky man, Duert. Yes, she was with me, but she said that there was something urgent she simply had to attend to—a most efficient woman.’ He nodded towards the gardens. ‘She went towards the fountain, I believe.’
The professor wandered outside. ‘I’ll see if I can find her.’
He went unhurriedly along the path, and then stopped when he saw the three people standing by the fountain. It was quite quiet in the garden, and he could hear them talking easily enough.
Anneta was standing a little apart, and it was Venetia’s voice which came to him so clearly.
‘You promised,’ she was saying, her voice a little shrill either with fright or temper. ‘Why are you here? What is the professor going to say if he finds out—?’
‘A great deal, I should imagine,’ said Duert silkily.
Venetia wheeled round to face him, but it was Anneta who spoke. ‘Duert! Oh, thank heaven you’ve come.’ She ran to him and took his arm. ‘I tried to stop Venetia, truly I did. I didn’t want you to discover them. I told her that you’d be furious. And it’s partly Jan’s fault for coming here when he promised her that he wouldn’t. They’ve been meeting for weeks—even in London.’ She gave a little sob. ‘I love you both so much. You must forgive her. I’m sure it’s just infatuation…’
He gave her his handkerchief. ‘Dry your eyes, Anneta, and go and look after your guests. You, too, Venetia.’ He sounded almost placid, but neither of them disobeyed him. Anneta ran on ahead without looking at Venetia, and she, after one fruitless attempt to speak to him, turned and walked back to the house. Later, when the guests had all gone, she would be able to explain…
The rest of the evening was a confusion of noise and music and people laughing and talking, with the cake being cut and speeches being made. She listened to Duert saying how he would miss Anneta, how she had been like a daughter to him, and how proud he was of her. She remembered then that she had promised Anneta never to tell Duert about Jan. But Anneta had broken her own promise and, worse, she had given Duert a completely false idea about what had happened. She could only suppose that Anneta had lost her head when she saw Duert, and had said the first thing that had entered her head. Venetia prayed silently for the evening to end so that she could explain and Anneta could own up.
There had, of course, been no chance of talking to her. They had stood together while the cake was being cut, but she had avoided Venetia’s eye, and although Duert had behaved impeccably, and he had smiled and said all the right things, his eyes had been dark granite.
When finally the last guest had gone, Anneta had rushed off to her room without a word, and when Venetia had taken her courage in both hands and asked Duert, ‘Could we talk? Just for a moment?’ he had answered her blandly.
‘Surely it’s rather late for that, Venetia? I shan’t be at home tomorrow; I have to go to Groningen.’ He gave her a bleak smile. ‘I must congratulate you upon the success of the party. Don’t let me keep you, you must be tired.’
She studied his stony face—now was the moment to go. It was not the right time to get things sorted out. She said goodnight and went to her room and got ready for bed, and then on an impulse went along to Anneta’s room. But there was no answer to her knock, and the door was locked.
There was no sign of Anneta at breakfast. Everything was quiet after the brisk packing up done by the caterers, and Truus and the maids had already set the house to rights. Venetia went along to the kitchen to talk about the meals and exchange gossip with Truus about the ladies’ dresses and the party.
‘It’ll be quiet without Miss Anneta,’ remarked Truus in her slow, basic Dutch so that Venetia could understand. ‘Tomorrow she goes, doesn’t she? Quite a different life where she’s going to live, I dare say. Shall I send one of the girls up to wake her, mevrouw?’
‘Let her sleep, Truus. I’m going into the garden with Digby.’
She was sitting on a little rustic seat at the very end of the garden when Anneta joined her. Venetia wished her good morning and said did she want her breakfast.
Anneta shook her head. ‘Venetia, I’m so sorry about last night. Truly I am. I really meant to keep my promise, but Jan thought it would be such fun to meet in secret under Duert’s nose and right in the middle of my party. Only when I saw him standing there I lost my head. You see, I do want Duert to remember me as he thinks I am. He would be so angry if he thought I was—fooling around—and he doesn’t like Jan. In fact, he forbade me to see him, oh, years ago now, while I was still at school. But when I saw h
im again in Paris…’
She paused and looked at Venetia, who didn’t say a word. ‘I’ll be gone tomorrow,’ she said in a wheedling voice, ‘and you can explain then.’
‘No, I can’t. I promised I wouldn’t say anything to him, or have you forgotten that as well?’
‘You’re angry with me.’ Anneta sounded on the brink of tears. ‘And just when I’m leaving here, and perhaps we won’t see each other again ever.’
‘It only takes a few hours to fly the Atlantic. I’m quite sure you’ll visit us.’
‘Yes, well, I don’t suppose Duert really minds about you and Jan. After all, he must know that you love him. You do love him? Don’t you?’ Just for a moment she sounded anxious.
‘When you think about it,’ said Venetia soberly, ‘that makes it much worse, doesn’t it? What happened to Jan?—for of course you will have phoned him…’
‘Well, yes, I did. Just to say goodbye—he was fun.’ She gave a nervous giggle. ‘I asked him what Duert had said to him, and he said he didn’t wish to talk about it. Venetia, you won’t say anything to Duert until I’ve gone, and then only if you really have to?’
‘I keep my promises,’ said Venetia, and thought how priggish that sounded.
‘I knew you’d understand. I adore Duert, you know. I know he’s almost old, and not in the least exciting, but he’s been like a father to me, you see. And I’m sure he doesn’t really mind about you and Jan.’
‘But there’s nothing to mind. I’ve not spoken more than half a dozen words to the man.’
‘Well, there you are, then. So there’s nothing to worry about, is there?’
Venetia saw that the conversation was pointless. She got up. ‘Truus will have made the coffee,’ she said tonelessly.
Duert didn’t come back until long after they had gone to bed. Venetia, lying awake, heard his quiet tread as he went to his room. And in the morning they would drive to Schiphol and see Anneta on to the plane. Even if she had wanted to tell him all about it, there was going to be no opportunity.
No one would have known that there was anything wrong the next morning. Anneta talked non-stop, bubbling over with excitement, only every now and then when there was a pause in the talk she would glance anxiously at Venetia and then plunge into more chatter. And as for Duert, he was exactly as he always was, sitting calmly behind the wheel, joking with Anneta and coldly polite to Venetia. Not a word was uttered about the incident at the fountain, but why should it be? she reflected, sitting at the back of the car with Digby. As far as Duert was concerned, there was no need to say another word about it to Anneta, who had, after all, done her best to keep him from knowing about Venetia and Jan. Venetia allowed a number of unkind thoughts to take over, and then dismissed them. The harm had been done.
They waited until they saw the plane airborne. Somehow Venetia had gone through the miserable business of saying goodbye, hoping until the very last minute that Anneta would confess. But she didn’t, and now, sitting beside Duert in the car, going back to Delft, Venetia gave up that hope.
After several miles in silence, she said quite quietly, ‘I should like to talk to you when we get back, Duert.’
‘Ah, yes—you have plans for the future? I’m afraid I must go straight to Leiden, but I’ll be back for dinner. Afterwards, perhaps?’
And that was all they said.
She had no plans, but it seemed that she was expected to have some. To go away for a while, perhaps, a kind of cooling-off period, and afterwards they would be able to talk sensibly. They parted politely in the hall, and when he had gone she ate a few mouthfuls of lunch and went into the garden with Digby. She loved the garden and the house, and she loved the house at Hampstead, too, but without Duert they meant nothing. To go right away seemed the answer, but where should she go? The answer popped into her head, and she said out loud, ‘Of course, how silly of me. Aunt Millicent—if she will have me. And if Duert wants to see me, he’ll know where I am.’
She felt better after that, so that when he got home she was able to greet him with her usual serenity and carry on a conversation during dinner. Only afterwards, sitting with him in the drawing-room, she found it hard to start. Presently she said, ‘Duert, could we have a talk?’
He put down his coffee-cup and sat back in his chair. He said suavely, ‘By all means, Venetia,’ and glanced at his watch. He wasn’t going to help her.
She said tartly, ‘I won’t keep you long.’ She threw him a look of such irritation that he frowned a little. ‘I have never tried to keep you from whatever you wanted to do, and I’m not going to now.’
He was staring at her rather too intently for her peace of mind. ‘I am aware that I have been a neglectful husband—it is only recently that I have realised that.’
‘Well, never mind that now,’ said Venetia, intent on getting matters over and done with. ‘I should like to go away, just for a little while, while we decide—while you decide what you want. Do you think that Aunt Millicent would have me for a few days? I have nowhere else to go.’
‘Certainly you may go if you wish to. But will you not tell me exactly what has been happening these last months? If I have neglected you, then I am sorry, Venetia, although I believe that when we married I made it clear that my work was important to me. But I had begun to hope that things might change between us. I see that I was wrong. This Jan is a young man… Will you tell me about him?’
‘There’s nothing to tell—nothing I want to say…’
‘In that case, we’ll say no more, only he’s not worth a row of pins, my dear, and I would not want to see you hurt.’
She managed not to cry. She hadn’t expected him to say that.
He got to his feet. ‘I’ll arrange for you to travel. Let me see—the day after tomorrow? Wim can drive you to Schiphol. I’m going to Paris tomorrow, and I shall be away for a few days—just as well… I’m sorry this has happened.’ He stopped by her chair. ‘I had begun to hope that you liked me rather more than you used to, and as for me—I’ve fallen in love with you, Venetia.’
He had gone out of the room before she could gather her wits, and even when her first instinct was to run after him she remembered that he still believed that she had been having an affair with Jan. How could she ask him to forgive her for something she hadn’t done?
She went to bed presently, and lay awake until the first early morning light before falling into troubled sleep, to wake with the disturbing thought that she had no idea of how she was to get to Salcombe. She wasn’t sure if she had enough money, and she would need to go to London and take another train to Kingsbridge and a taxi from there, but by the time she went downstairs for her breakfast she had a headache.
She had worried for nothing. There was an envelope by her plate with a thick bundle of notes inside and a brief letter. A late morning flight on the following day had been arranged for her, and Wim would drive her to Schiphol, where she could collect her ticket. Todd would meet her at Heathrow, and she was to spend the night at Hampstead; he would drive her down to Salcombe in the morning. Aunt Millicent was expecting her.
The note was a model of clarity, like instructions concerning a patient, and there was no mention of meeting again. She held back tears with an effort, quite unable to believe that the writer of such an austere missive could possibly be in love with her. She drank her coffee, called Digby and took him for his walk, her thoughts running round inside her head like mice in a cage, so that her headache became unbearable. All the same, she reminded herself, the day had to be got through. She went to the kitchen, made arrangements with Truus, relieved to find that Duert had already told her and Domus that she was going to his aunt’s for a short rest after all the excitement of getting Anneta away. ‘And you’ll soon be back,’ said Truus comfortably. ‘The professor will be lonely. It’s a relief to know that Anneta arrived safely, isn’t it?’
Venetia agreed. She would have phoned Duert, of course. She went to her room and started to pack a few clothes. If she t
ook her time over it, the day might go more quickly…
There was no message from Duert before she left the next day, and she supposed she had been foolish to expect one. As she wished everyone goodbye she wondered when she would see them again, and the sight of Digby, ears drooping, was almost more than she could bear. She turned to wave as Wim drove her away, and Truus waved back.
‘There’s something wrong,’ she said to Domus. ‘I feel it in my bones.’
The journey went smoothly, and since Wim saw her off and Todd met her she had nothing to worry her. She was given a warm welcome by Mrs Todd, and no one asked any questions. Lulled by the Todds’ kindness, she slept all night. They set off early the next day and, since it was a fine morning and there wasn’t a great deal of traffic, they made good time. Todd was a kindly man and a good driver; she sat beside him and carried on an undemanding conversation about the party and Anneta’s departure and her life in Delft. Neither of them mentioned Duert, she because she was trying not to think of him, and he because the professor had warned him that his wife had had an exhausting few weeks and needed a change of scene.
Aunt Millicent, sitting placidly knitting in her drawing-room, appeared not to have moved since Venetia had last seen her, although she had, as a concession to the seasons, changed her blouse and skirt for a twin set and tweeds. Her welcome was warm and unquestioning. Venetia was given tea and Meg’s scones, and told to go and unpack her things. ‘And, as it is still light, you might like a stroll along the sands,’ suggested Aunt Millicent.
Why not? thought Venetia, getting out of her clothes, having a shower and putting on a Marks and Spencer’s skirt and a rather elderly cotton sweater. Todd was to stay the night—she glanced out of the window, and wondered why he hadn’t put the car away…
The professor, with the second of his lectures in Paris cancelled by his own wish, got back home within hours of Venetia’s departure. He had behaved abominably, and now he was reaping his reward. He had allowed his pride and jealousy to swamp common sense and, above all, his love. He came into the house like a whirlwind, told Domus to pack a bag, ate the meal Truus insisted upon setting before him, and booked a passage on a night ferry. Arthur was treated to a terse series of instructions. ‘And I don’t know when I’ll be back,’ said the professor, in a voice which defied his registrar to ask questions.