by Betty Neels
It was on her third morning’s ride that she decided to ask for another horse; the mare was a nice beast, but a little slow. Without actually telling any fibs she managed to imply that Fabian had told her that she might make another choice if she wasn’t quite pleased with the mare, and chose a bay, a spirited animal with a rolling eye and a little too big for her. But he went well and now that she had got the lie of the country she knew just where to take him—along the shore of the Leekstermeer, where there were trees and a good deal of undergrowth on either side of the unmade road. It was a dull morning, with the threat of rain—she had put on two sweaters and plaited her hair so that it would be out of the way, not caring at all if she should get wet. She reached the road to the lake and began to pick a way along the path she saw running beside it, looking about her as she did so. It was pretty there—not a patch on her own lake at home, but still charming and peaceful, even though the trees were bare of leaves and the grass was rough. She and the bay ambled along, for there was time enough; she could canter back along the road presently, there would be no traffic to speak of and there was an ample grass verge if he should get restive.
They were on the point of turning to go back when she became aware of horse’s hooves behind her and when she turned to look it was to see Fabian astride a great roan, coming towards her at a canter. He rode well, she noted. He also looked very angry, she noted that too, and pulled in the bay with a resigned sigh.
His ‘good morning’ was icy, so she merely nodded in reply and waited silently for him to speak.
‘I picked out a good little mare for you. Why aren’t you riding her?’ Mary Jane considered him thoughtfully. ‘Well, I’m capable of choosing a mount, for one thing. I’m sick to death of you treating me as though I were a half-witted old maid you can barely bring yourself to be civil to!’ She drew a swelling breath. ‘And another thing, you may be my guardian, but you don’t own me. I’ve a mind of my own.’
‘And a temper, I see,’ he observed dampingly. ‘You forget that I had no notion of how you rode. If I had allowed you to choose for yourself and you could barely sit the beast and had taken a tumble, I should have done less than my duty to you as your guardian.’
‘Oh, pooh!’ she tossed her head and the pigtail swung over her shoulder.
‘You look about ten years old,’ he said unexpectedly, and smiled at her, ‘Shall we cry a temporary truce? I came out to see you; I have those papers ready for you to sign and I wondered if you would like to come to Groningen for an hour or so.’
She eyed him with surprise. ‘You mean you actually want me to go with you to Groningen?’
His voice was tinged with impatience. ‘Yes. You see I’m being civil. We might even manage not to quarrel for a couple of hours.’ He spoke without smiling now, his face turned away.
‘Oh, very well,’ she told him, knowing that her voice sounded ungracious, ‘then I’d better go back.’
They rode back in silence. Only when they reached the stables did Fabian tell her quietly, ‘I was mistaken, Mary Jane. You ride well.’
CHAPTER FOUR
FABIAN HAD COME in the Jaguar, so that Mary Jane, with an eye to the weather, tied a silk scarf over her head in place of the unbecoming hat, wishing she had had the sense to bring her sheepskin jacket with her. It was barely November but already cold, and an open car, although great fun, needed suitable clothes, but once they were on their way, she didn’t feel cold at all; she glowed with excitement and pleasure. An outing would be delightful, especially if they could remain friends for an hour.
Her patient, in a mellow mood, had agreed to his daughter keeping him company for a short time, only begging Mary Jane to return at the earliest possible moment. His daughter had been rather more urgent in her request not to be left for longer than was absolutely necessary with her irascible parent; she had also given Mary Jane a shopping list of things which she declared she urgently needed. It was a miscellany of knitting wool, embroidery silks, Gentlemen’s Relish, chocolate biscuits and a particular brand of bottled peach which could only be obtained at a certain shop in the city. Mary Jane accepted it obligingly, to have it taken from her at once by Fabian, who put it in his pocket with a brisk ‘I’ll see to these,’ and an injunction to hurry herself up. So here she was, sitting snugly beside Fabian, who was making short work of the few miles to Groningen.
She found the city very fine, with its two big squares and its old buildings. Fabian, going slowly through the traffic, pointed out the imposing, towering spire of St Martin’s church before he turned off the main street and into a tree-lined one, bisected by a canal. The houses here were patrician, flat-faced and massive, each of them with its great front door reached by a double flight of steps. The sound of the traffic came faintly down its length so that it was easy to hear the rustle of the wind in the trees’ bare branches.
‘This is beautiful,’ declared Mary Jane with satisfaction.
Fabian stopped before one of the houses. ‘Yes, I think so too. I’m glad you like it.’
‘Is this the lawyer’s house?’ she asked him.
‘No, it’s mine. We’ll go inside and get those papers dealt with.’
She hadn’t thought much about where he lived and when she had, it had been a vague picture of some smallish town house. This mansion took her by surprise, and she was still more surprised when they went inside. The hall was long and narrow and panelled waist high, with rich red carpeting on its floor to cover the black and white of its marble. The wall chandeliers were exquisite and there were flowers on the wall table. She wanted to take a more leisurely look, but an elderly woman appeared from the back of the house, was introduced as Mevrouw Hol and swept her away to an elegantly appointed cloakroom, where she tidied her hair, did things to her face and left her outdoor things before being led to a room close by where Fabian was waiting for her.
She took it to be a study, as it was lined with bookshelves and its main furniture was a massive desk and an equally massive chair, but the chairs by the fire were of a comfortably normal size. Mary Jane took the one offered her and sighed with content; the room was warm and light and airy and quite, quite different from the over-furnished house in which Fabian’s uncle lived.
He sat down at the desk now, saying: ‘You won’t mind having coffee here? We can see to these papers at the same time, they’ll not take long.’
She drank her coffee and then, under his direction, signed the papers, each one of which he carefully explained to her before asking her to do so. When she had finished she said with faint apology, ‘I’m sorry you’ve had all this extra work, but I suppose once it’s seen to, you won’t need to bother, any more.’
‘On the contrary.’ He didn’t smile as he spoke and she felt chilled. ‘If you have finished your coffee perhaps you would like to come with me and get Emma’s shopping—and by the way, I believe that I promised you some money for your own use.’ He opened a drawer in the desk and handed her a little bundle of notes. ‘There are a thousand gulden there. If you need more, please ask me.’
She looked at him round-eyed. ‘Whatever should I want with all that money?’
He smiled faintly. ‘I imagine that you will find things to buy with it.’
She became thoughtful. ‘Well, yes—there are one or two things…’
He went back to his desk and silently handed her a pad and pencil. A few minutes later she looked up. ‘You know,’ she informed him in surprise, ‘I’ve made quite a list.’
‘I thought maybe you would. Would a store suit you or do you want a boutique?’
She shot him a suspicious glance which he countered with a grave detachment. How did he know about boutiques? she wondered, and assured him that a large store would be much easier. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, she assured him.
‘No need—I told Cousin Emma that we shouldn’t be back until after tea. We’ll lunch out and you will have hours of time.’
Mary Jane had forgotten how pleasant it was to go shopping with ple
nty of money to spend. By the time Fabian had worked his way through the list Emma had given them, it was burning a hole in her purse, and when Fabian left her outside a large store, assuring her that most of the assistants spoke English and she had nothing to worry about and that he would be waiting for her in an hour’s time, she could hardly wait to start on a tour of inspection. Fabian had been right, there was no difficulty in making herself understood; everyone seemed to speak English. She bought everything which she had written on her list and a good deal besides, and when, strolling through the hat department, she saw a velvet beret which would go very well with her coat, she bought that too and, a little drunk with the success of her shopping, put it on.
She was only ten minutes late at the store entrance and when she would have apologised to Fabian for keeping him waiting he said to surprise her, ‘Late? Are you? I never expected you back within the hour and a half—we agreed upon an hour, if you remember. We’ll have lunch and if you have anything else to buy you can get it later.’
They lunched at the Hotel Baulig, and as they were both hungry they started the meal with erwtensoep—a thick pea soup enriched with morsels of bacon and ham and sausage, went on to a dish of salmon with asparagus tips and quenelles of sole, and having finished this delicacy, agreed upon fresh fruit salad to round off their lunch. They sat a considerable time over their coffee, for rather to Mary Jane’s surprise, they found plenty to talk about, and although she thought Fabian rather reserved in his manner, at least he was agreeable.
They did a little more shopping after they left the hotel, for it seemed sense to her to buy one or two presents while she had the opportunity. It was when she had declared herself satisfied with her purchases that Fabian remarked, ‘But you have bought nothing for yourself.’
‘Yes, I have, lots of things—and a hat.’ She waited for him to notice the beret and was deeply mortified when he said: ‘Oh, did you? why don’t you wear it, then?’ He glanced at their parcels. ‘It must be a very small one, there’s nothing here which looks like a hat bag.’
She boiled, but silently. She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or if he took so little notice of her that he hadn’t even noticed what she was wearing. Neither of these ideas were very complimentary to herself. She answered with a sweetness which any of her closer friends would have suspected, ‘I know where it is. I think I’ve finished, thank you. I expect you would like to be getting back to Midwoude.’
He gave her a searching look. ‘Why?’
‘Well, you’ve done your good deed for today, haven’t you?’ Her voice was light despite his look.
‘Indeed yes, and it’s made me thirsty. Shall we have tea somewhere?’
She kept her voice light. ‘No, thank you. I think I should like to go back now. I’m most grateful to you…’
His tone was curt. ‘Spare the thanks,’ he begged her coldly, and thereafter sustained an ultra-polite conversation during their short journey back to Midwoude where he handed her and her packages over to Jaap, wished her a distant good evening, got back into his car and drove away, a great deal too fast.
Emma van der Blocq, pouring a late tea in the small room at the back of the house where the two of them sometimes sat, professed surprise as Mary Jane joined her. ‘I didn’t expect you back until much later,’ she declared happily, ‘but surely Fabian could have stayed for tea—even for dinner?’ She interrupted herself. ‘No, perhaps not for dinner—he goes out a good deal, you know. Where did you have lunch, Mary Jane?’
She remembered the name of the hotel and felt rather pleased with herself about it, and Cousin Emma nodded, her interest aroused.
‘A very nice place. Of course he really prefers the Hotel at Warffrum—Borg de Breedenburg—but that is for his more romantic outings.’ She smiled at Mary Jane. ‘He has girl-friends, as you can imagine—I wonder why he didn’t take you there?’
‘I imagine,’ said Mary Jane in a dry little voice, ‘that I don’t qualify for a romantic background.’
‘No, perhaps not,’ agreed her companion with disconcerting directness. ‘Fabian only takes out very pretty girls, you know—and always beautifully dressed, as you can imagine.’ She smiled again, quite oblivious of any feelings Mary Jane might possess. ‘He’s a most observant man.’
‘You surprise me,’ said Mary Jane waspishly, thinking of the lovely velvet beret he hadn’t even noticed. ‘And now I’ll just go up and see how Jonkheer van der Blocq is. Did he have a quiet day?’
Her companion’s face crumpled ominously. ‘Oh, my dear, however did I manage before you came? He was so cross, and he refused to take his pills. Doctor Trouw will be here presently and he will be so annoyed.’ She sounded so upset that Mary Jane paused on her way to the door.
‘He’s far too nice to get cross with you,’ she assured her, ‘and he knows that it isn’t always easy…’
Emma’s face broke into a simper. ‘Oh yes, he is so good… I’ve known him for years, you know, long before he married. His wife died last year. She was a quiet little thing—no looks at all. You remind me of her.’
To which remark Mary Jane could think of no answer at all. She escaped through the door and spent the rest of the evening with the old gentleman, who seemed delighted to see her again and to her great relief made no remarks at all about her face or her lack of looks.
It turned a great deal colder the next day, but Mary Jane went riding just the same, bundled in several sweaters against the wind, and returning to the house with glowing cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Of Fabian there was no sign, but that didn’t surprise her—why should he come anyway? He had only visited the house because he needed some papers signed—it certainly wasn’t for her company. Let him use his leisure escorting the beauties of Groningen to romantic dinners, she thought, her lip curling, and then her mood changed and she fell to thinking how very satisfactory it would be if she could be escorted to this hotel Emma had been so enthusiastic about, wearing the organza dress. She sighed and prodded her mount to quicken his pace. Chance was a fine thing, she told him, as they turned for home.
She had her chance the very next day, as it turned out, for when Doctor Trouw called he brought his son with him. A pleasant young man in his twenties, he had recently qualified and was about to join his father’s practice. Over coffee he remarked, ‘You are stranger here, I don’t suppose you go out very much. I should like to take you out to dinner one evening.’
Mary Jane accepted with alacrity, and when, to her delight, he suggested that he should take her to Hotel Borg de Breedenborg on the following evening, she agreed with flattering speed.
She spent the intervening time imagining herself sweeping into the restaurant while Fabian, already there with some girl, would be bowled over by the sight of her in the organza, prettied up for the evening. The urge to shake him out of his cool, casual attitude towards herself was growing very strong, it caused her to take twice as long as usual in her preparations for the evening, which were so effective that when she went along to see her patient before they left, he was constrained to remark upon her changed appearance, as indeed was Cousin Emma, who rather tactlessly remarked that she hardly recognised Mary Jane in her finery.
Willem was rather nice and she was determined to have a pleasant evening. As they drove to the hotel she set herself to draw him out with a few well-chosen questions about his work. It wasn’t until they reached the hotel that she was struck by the thought that her chance of seeing Fabian was small indeed. Even if he had a host of girl-friends, he surely didn’t dine there every evening. He had his work—presumably that kept him busy, and surely he must spend some of his evenings at home, catching up on his reading, writing, even operating when it was necessary. She left her coat, patted the hair which had taken so long to put up and determinedly dismissed him from her head as she rejoined Willem.
The restaurant was full and she realized with something of a shock that it was already Saturday again—a whole week since she had seen Fabian. She sat down opposi
te her companion, gave him a brilliant smile and glanced around her. Fabian was sitting quite near their table, and the girl he was with was just as lovely as she had imagined she would be. Mary Jane turned the brilliance of her smile into a polite, tight-lipped one as she caught his eye and turned her attention to Willem, who, once they had ordered, launched into an earnest description of his days, hour by hour, almost minute by minute. She strove to keep an interested expression on her face, and when it was possible, laughed gaily, so that Fabian, whom she hadn’t looked at again, would see how much she was enjoying herself. It was a pity that Fabian and his companion should go while they themselves were only half way through dinner. He paused as they passed the table, his hand on the girl’s arm. He said austerely, ‘I’m glad to see that you are enjoying yourself, Mary Jane,’ nodded briefly to Willem and went on his way. Mary Jane watched him smile down at the girl as they went through the door and then wondered briefly where they were going, and then concentrated on Willem, who had started to tell her at great length about a girl he had met at his hospital. She obviously occupied his thoughts to a large extent; by the time he had finished, Mary Jane even knew the size of her shoes.
They went back to the house at a reasonable hour because, as Willem reminded her, his father, who was dining with Cousin Emma and keeping an eye on her father at the same time, needed a good night’s sleep. He took his farewell of her half an hour later with the hope that they might spend another evening together before she returned to England, and Mary Jane, thanking him nicely, wondered how she could possibly have been interested in him, even for such a short time; he was so very worthy, and looking back on their evening she could remember no conversation at all on her part, merely a succession of ‘really’s’ and ‘fancy that’s’ and ‘you don’t say so’s’. When he and his father had gone she gave Cousin Emma a potted version of her evening because she could see that the lady had no intention of allowing her to go to bed until she had done so, and then she went to Jonkheer van der Blocq’s room to see if he had settled for the night. Somehow or other, he had contrived not to take his sleeping tablet, which necessitated her arguing gently with him for the best part of ten minutes, but when he had finally consented to do as she asked and she had turned his pillows and settled him nicely, he enquired after her evening, observing in no uncertain manner that he found Willem a dull fellow, which naturally had the effect of her replying that he had been a very interesting companion, that the dinner had been delicious, and that he had asked her out again.