by Betty Neels
He had told Becky that he was bringing a guest to lunch and she had the door open as they reached it, a wide smile on her elderly face while she summed up Olivia with sharp eyes.
‘This is Becky, my housekeeper,’ he said, and ‘Becky, this is Miss Olivia Harding. She works at Nel’s school.’
‘Now isn’t that nice,’ declared Becky. ‘I dare say Miss Harding would like to tidy herself before lunch. I’ll take her to the cloakroom while you look through your post, Mr Haso.’
Olivia, recognising the gentle tyranny of the old family retainer, followed Becky.
Mr van der Eisler was waiting for her in his sitting-room, standing by the open door leading to a small but charming garden. It was a pleasant room, furnished with a nice mixture of antiques and comfortable modern chairs, and wore the air of being well lived-in. Bertie, Becky’s cat, sat washing himself on a small side-table and gave her a searching glance as she went in before continuing his toilet, and Mr van der Eisler put down the letters in his hand and invited her to sit by the window. ‘There’s time for a drink before lunch. Sherry? Or perhaps you would prefer something else?’
‘Sherry, please.’ She looked around her; the walls were almost covered by paintings—portraits as far as she could see. They sat making small-talk for a few minutes until she asked, ‘May I look at your paintings? Are they your family?’
‘Yes, the English side of it. My grandmother was English and left me this flat and its contents. I came here a good deal as a boy, and later when I was at Cambridge, and I feel very much at home.’
She nodded. ‘I’m sure that you must, as you were happy here.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘And to think that Debbie used to worry about you being lonely in London.’
‘A kind-hearted child. Did you worry too, Olivia?’
‘No—well, not worry exactly. I did wonder where you lived in London.’ She added hastily, ‘Just idle curiosity, you know.’
It wasn’t too bad, she reflected, once she had gone into the room and seen him standing there. She had spent her few minutes in the cloakroom giving herself good advice and so far she was managing pretty well. True, the wish to fling herself at him and throw her arms round his neck was a strong one, but she prided herself on her good sense. She began to wander round the room, looking at each portrait—elderly gentlemen with side-whiskers, younger men with determined chins resting on snowy stocks, small, fragile-looking ladies, and several miniatures of children’s heads. There were one or two portraits of younger women too, with beautiful faces and laughing eyes, and she paused before them and found him beside her. ‘My grandmother and my mother. They were so unlike the earlier ladies in the family. As tall and generously built as you, and as beautiful.’
Olivia said, ‘Oh,’ faintly, and wondered if ‘generously built’ meant fat. The women in the portraits didn’t look fat, just well-covered. She gave her own person a surreptitious glance, and went scarlet when he said blandly, ‘No, I don’t mean fat, Olivia. You need have no fears about that. You are exactly the right shape for a woman.’
She didn’t look at him. Really, the conversation was straying from the coolly friendly path she had intended to tread. She said, politely cool even though her face was still pink, ‘You have some charming ancestors.’
‘You should see the Dutch side of the family; they must have spent half their lives being painted.’
‘Were they doctors too?’
‘Almost to a man.’
She faced him then. ‘You must have a great deal of wisdom with such a heritage.’
Just for a moment the heavy lids lifted to show the clear blue of his eyes. ‘What a very perceptive thing to say, Olivia. I do my best to carry on the family tradition.’ He glanced round as the door opened and Becky came in.
‘There’s that naughty Bertie on your table again, and his dinner waiting for him too. If you’ve had your drinks, I’ll serve the soup, Mr Haso.’
The dining-room was on the other side of the hall. Not a large room, it held a circular mahogany table with ribbon-back chairs around it, a side-table holding some massive silver pieces, and a Regency fireplace with a carriage clock on the mantel above it. The curtains were a rich plum velvet and the floor polished wood. A lovely room in which to have a meal, reflected Olivia, sitting down and accepting the soup Becky had set before her.
It was a good soup—watercress with a swirl of cream in its centre—and that was followed by lamb cutlets, new potatoes, and peas with baby carrots. The trifle which followed was perfection itself. Olivia, who had a good appetite and never pretended otherwise, ate every morsel.
They went back to the sitting-room for their coffee and this time she took more leisurely stock of her surroundings. The colour scheme wasn’t so obvious here—the carpet on the polished wood floor was in muted blues and dull greens and pinks, and the long curtains at the windows at both ends of the room were old rose brocade, while the chairs were upholstered in the same dim colours as the carpet. There was a good deal of yew and apple-wood, and a splendid bow-fronted display cabinet with some intricate marquetry. ‘But of course you’ll have a study,’ observed Olivia, speaking her thoughts out loud.
‘Yes, and there is another small room. I don’t use it but Becky tells me that my grandmother used it as her own private place, where she could sew and read and so on. It is quite a big flat. Becky has her own flatlet, and there are three bedrooms and bathrooms as well as the kitchen.’
‘Did your grandmother like living in Holland?’
‘Oh, yes. You see, she and my grandfather were a devoted pair; she would have lived in the middle of the desert if need be, provided she was with him. They came over here a good deal, of course, bringing the children with them, and later their grandchildren too.’
He watched the beautiful face opposite him, alight with interest, and wondered silently why he was telling her all this. Perhaps something of his thoughts showed in his usually impassive face, for Olivia said in a polite visitor’s voice, ‘How interesting—to have two countries, I mean.’ She put her cup down. ‘I expect you have things to do—I’ve enjoyed my lunch, thank you, and it was so kind of you to drive me back. I think I should go.’
He made no demure and after a suitable chat with Becky she followed him out to the car and was driven to Sylvester Crescent. It looked unwelcoming, with all the net curtains covering the windows and the doors tightly shut. Outside her grandmother’s flat Olivia said, ‘Would you like to come in?’ and expected him to say no.
Instead, he said at once, ‘I should like to meet your mother again,’ and got out to help her out of the car and get her luggage from the boot.
By the time they reached the door her mother had it open, smiling widely. ‘Darling, how lovely to see you—it seems such ages.’ She kissed Olivia and held out a hand to Mr van der Eisler. ‘Do please come in, Mr van der Eisler. You brought Olivia back—how kind. Have you had lunch? Or perhaps coffee?’
‘We’ve had lunch, Mother, at Mr van der Eisler’s home…’
‘Then tea—it’s a little early, but tea is always welcome.’
‘I should love a cup,’ he said surprisingly, following Mrs Harding into the drawing-room where Mrs Fitzgibbon sat in her uncomfortable chair.
She held out a hand. ‘How delightful to see you again,’ she said, at her most gracious. ‘Do sit down and tell me what you have been doing. I get so little news here, chained as I am to this flat, and only my daughter for company.’ She offered an indifferent cheek for Olivia’s dutiful kiss. ‘You will find it equally dull, Olivia—six weeks’ holiday, I understand. I’m sure I don’t know what you will do with yourself. Although your mother will be glad of some help around the house, I suppose.’ She added, ‘Well, now you’re here you might make the tea.’
Olivia cooled down in the kitchen. It was a pity that he had chosen to come in; Granny enjoyed belittling her and usually she didn’t allow it to rile her too much, but in front of Mr van der Eisler… He had no interest in her as a woman, she was su
re of that, but to be held up as a tiresome fool by her grandmother might destroy the mild liking he appeared to have for her. What did it matter? she told herself fiercely, spooning tea into the pot. This was the last time they would see each other. She had heard him tell Nel that her mother would bring her back to school for the autumn term so obviously he had no other plans. Besides, that was weeks away; he would have forgotten all about her by then.
Pouring tea and handing round digestive biscuits, she had to admit that his considerable charm was making a good impression upon Granny, who enlarged upon her distant aristocratic connections at some length, much to her and her mother’s discomfort. When he got up to go at last she offered him a hand, thanked him in a cool voice for giving her a lift, and uttered a conventional wish as to his future wellbeing. All without looking any higher than the middle button of his waistcoat.
‘A delightful man,’ observed Mrs Fitzgibbon. ‘Such a pity that you do not attract him, Olivia. I presume that he intends to marry this small girl’s—Nel’s—mother? He spoke of her.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Olivia airily, intent on pulling the wool over her grandparent’s sharp eyes. ‘I don’t know anything about him. He was kind enough to give me a lift, Granny, that is all.’
She caught her mother’s eye and that lady, about to say something, obediently didn’t.
Life was dull in Sylvester Crescent and, after ten days of Mrs Fitzgibbon’s lightly veiled remarks about extra mouths to feed, Olivia went looking for a job. She didn’t have to go far. The Coffee-Pot needed part-time help. Four mornings a week, from ten o’clock until the regular waitress came on at one o’clock. The pay was minimal but she could keep her tips. Olivia went back to her grandmother’s flat, delivered her news, and listened to a harangue from her grandmother about the humbleness of her new job.
‘Honest work for an honest wage,’ said Olivia cheerfully.
It wasn’t all bad. True, her feet ached, and sometimes the customers were rude, but secretly she sympathised with them, for the coffee was abominable. It gave her something to do, though, and put a little money in her pocket, even after paying over a good deal of it towards her keep.
Since her afternoons were free she took her mother out to the parks or to window-shop, leaving her grandmother to play bridge with her few friends.
‘Your granny would be so much happier on her own,’ sighed her mother.
Olivia gave her parent’s arm a sympathetic squeeze. ‘If Miss Cross will take me on permanently next year you shall come and live with me, and you must come and stay next term for just as long as you would like.’
‘Your grandmother might need me…’
‘Pooh,’ said Olivia strongly. ‘She was very content until we went to live with her, and that’s all nonsense about her not being able to afford help in the house.’
‘You’re quite happy, dear?’ her mother wanted to know.
‘Of course I am, love. Haven’t I got everything I want—a job, money in my pocket, a pleasant place in which to work?’ The memory of Mr van der Eisler made nonsense of her cheerful reply; she thought about him all day and every day, despite the fact that she wasn’t likely to see him again. He would be at Jerome’s, she supposed, or back in Holland…
He was in Holland, and very shortly he would return to England bringing with him Nel and her mother. Rita had agreed unwillingly to go over to England and visit her mother-in-law, but only provided that she might leave Nel with her so that she could go to her friends in the South of France. She had found Nel a nuisance, although she had taken advantage of the child being there to see as much of Haso as possible but, although he had been friendly and ready to help in any way, he had evinced no desire to spend his free time with her. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, she told herself; he would be delighted to see her again when she returned.
They were to stay for a couple of days at his flat in London so that Rita could do some shopping, and it was Nel who gave Mr van der Eisler the excuse to go and see Olivia. He had had no intention of going, he told himself, he found her unsettling, and his growing interest in her had been brought about by circumstances and nothing more. All the same, when Nel asked him if they might go and see Olivia, he agreed. ‘We might go while your mother is shopping,’ he suggested.
But Rita said at once, ‘Oh, but I’d love to come too—such a nice girl and so kind to Nel…’
Mrs Harding opened the door to them. ‘Do come in.’ She shook Rita’s hand and smiled at them all. ‘Have you come to see Olivia? I’m afraid she’s not here. She’s got a little job down at the Coffee-Pot…’
‘What could be better?’ exclaimed Rita. ‘We can have our coffee there and talk to her at the same time.’
‘Well,’ said Mrs Harding doubtfully, ‘she will probably be busy.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she will be able to find time to have a chat. Nel’s so looking forward to seeing her.’
Mr van der Eisler said smoothly, ‘I dare say Olivia would rather we didn’t call on her while she’s working.’
However, Rita persisted. ‘We’ve come all this way, and Nel won’t be able to see her now…’
He doubted that her concern was genuine, but undoubtedly Nel was disappointed. He drove them to the Coffee-Pot, parked the car and opened the door.
Olivia had her back to them, serving coffee and buns to four people crowded round one of the little tables. They sat down, the three of them, at the only empty table, and when she turned round she saw them.
She went red and then pale, but she crossed to their table and wished them a composed good morning, smiled at Nel, and asked them if they would like coffee. The look she cast at Mr van der Eisler was reproachful, but it hid delight at seeing him again even if the circumstances were hardly what she would have wished.
‘Your mother told us where you were,’ he explained easily. ‘Nel wanted to see you before she goes to stay with Lady Brennon. You must forgive us for taking you unawares.’
He could see that she wished to go—there were other customers. ‘May we have some coffee, and perhaps a milkshake for Nel?’
She went away and Rita said, ‘What a poky little place. I dare say the coffee’s undrinkable. Still, I suppose if the girl’s hard up it’s better than nothing.’
She gave him a narrow look as she spoke—there had been something about the way he had looked at Olivia which made her uneasy. She was a beautiful girl, there was no doubt about that, but no sparkle. Rita, who had brought sparkling to a fine art, did so now at Olivia, returning with their coffee, and she could see how easily she could make Mr van der Eisler laugh…
The café emptied momentarily, and Olivia spent a minute or two talking to Nel before more customers arrived and she was kept busy, but when she saw Nel’s frantic waving she went back to her.
‘We’re going now,’ said Nel, ‘but you will be at school, won’t you?’
‘Yes, Nel. I’ll be there.’
‘Such hard work it must be,’ said Rita. ‘But anything’s better than this, I should imagine. And the coffee is vile…’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I say, do we leave a tip?’
Put in my place, thought Olivia. Between Granny and her, Mr van der Eisler must think me a complete nonentity. She smiled serenely while she seethed. ‘Goodbye—I must go. But it was nice seeing Nel again.’
The smile took in the three of them as she turned away to take an order. Mr van der Eisler hadn’t said a word. He would very much have liked to utter those which trembled on his tongue, but Olivia’s dignity must be preserved at all costs before a room full of strangers, and the words he wished to utter to Rita were harsh indeed, and liable to cause some interest in those sitting around them. In the car he said blandly, ‘Why were you rude, Rita, and unkind…?’
‘Rude? I didn’t mean to be, Haso. Oh, dear, have I upset the poor girl? My silly tongue, I’m so sorry.’ She looked over her shoulder at Nel. ‘Darling, when you see Olivia next term, do tell her that I didn’t mean to upset her. I was joking
, but we haven’t all got the same sense of humour.’
‘Aren’t you coming to take me back to school, Mummy?’ asked Nel.
‘Sweetie, I’ll try very hard to come, really I will, but if I’m terribly busy I may not be able to. Granny will take you back and I really will come over at the end of term.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’ She turned a smiling face to Mr van der Eisler’s stern profile. ‘You’ll bring me over, won’t you, Haso?’
‘That depends on where I am and what I am doing. You can always fly to Bristol and get a car from there.’
Rita pouted charmingly. ‘You know I hate travelling alone.’
He said nothing, aware that in a few days’ time she would fly—quite alone—down to the South of France to join her friends. He would have liked to tax her with that, but Nel had to be kept happy; she was already getting too bright, too quick not to sense her mother’s impatience with her.
He didn’t stay long at Lady Brennon’s but drove back to London, wishing that he had Olivia sitting beside him. What on earth had possessed the girl to work as a waitress? Was she so desperately hard-up? Was she to go on taking these dead-end jobs for the rest of her life with little or no opportunity of meeting a suitable young man who would marry her? Heaven knew that she was beautiful enough to attract them. He began to turn over in his mind the various young doctors and surgeons he knew at Jerome’s, wondering how to make it possible for her to meet them. A fruitless task which got him nowhere.
He drove straight to the hospital and forgot her, and when he got back to his flat, finally, there were letters to read and answer, phone calls to make and patients’ notes to study. He ate a late supper, clucked over by Becky, and went to bed, and during the next few busy days spared her only the most cursory of thoughts.
He had something of a worldwide reputation in his particular field of surgery and an urgent summons took him to Italy, so that when the time came for Nel to return to school he was out of the country and, since Rita was still in the South of France, Nel was taken back to school by her grandmother.