The Final Touch

by Betty Neels

  Jolly was holding the door open. ‘What’s the betting he’s at the airport to see me off with a bunch of red roses?’ she asked as she went through the door.

  Charity summoned up a mocking little laugh. All the same, when the car had gone she went back into the small sitting-room, picked up the phone and asked if Professor van der Brons was in the clinic.

  He was and she sighed with relief, only to remember then that Eunice’s plane didn’t go until half-past one and it was only a little after ten o’clock. He would have all the time in the world if he left the hospital at twelve-thirty.

  She went upstairs to sit with Letizia and the minutes dragged themselves round to an hour—two hours…at half-past twelve she would ring the hospital again. She hated herself for doing it, going behind his back, spying on him, suspecting him of she knew not what, but she would have no rest until she knew.

  At a little after noon Tyco came home. Charity heard his key in the lock and went down to the hall to meet him. ‘If you’ve come to take Eunice to the airport, she’s already gone. She left just after ten o’clock; I told her to go and if you’re annoyed about that it’s just too bad. If you’re quick you’ll have half an hour with her before she goes on board.’

  Tyco was standing quite still, his eyes bright in his placid face. ‘Well, well, what have I here? A termagant—and I wonder why?’

  ‘I am not a terma—whatever that is.’ Strive as she might to keep her voice steady and quiet, it had become shrill. All her bottled-up feelings came pouring out, despite the fact that she had vowed not to say a word; indeed, she had thought up any number of innocent reasons why Eunice had left early. ‘Coming home at one o’clock in the morning—’

  ‘You were awake?’

  ‘Of course I was awake. And I heard Eunice, saying—saying all those things about me, and don’t look like that, I had the door open,’ she said furiously, ‘and if you just wanted a governess for the children why didn’t you get one? There was no need to marry me; now you’re tied, tied to me, and you’re such a successful surgeon you could go wherever you liked in the world and if you made a mistake marrying me then it’s your own silly fault.’ She drew a heaving breath. ‘And what am I going to do if you leave me with the children and how could you ever think of leaving them—leaving me is another matter—but to leave them…?’

  ‘Dear, oh, dear, could we go somewhere and get to the bottom of this?’

  She gave a sniff. ‘No.’ She glanced at him and saw the little smile and the brightness of his eyes. ‘And don’t you dare laugh…’

  ‘You are so cross I think that we had better leave things as they are for the moment, don’t you? Perhaps this evening when you’re feeling better we can talk?’

  ‘I don’t need to feel better, I feel fine.’

  ‘You are cross—very cross.’ He bent suddenly and kissed her gently but she stepped away from him.

  ‘Don’t do that,’ she said, adding with perfect truth, ‘I can’t bear it.’

  ‘I must bear that in mind.’ He sounded coldly polite. ‘I’m going to see Letizia.’

  He went past her and up the staircase and left her standing in the hall, appalled at all the things she had said, most of which she hadn’t meant.

  He would never love her now; she had behaved like a fishwife and she had no right to do so. If she had been his wife—his real wife—then there might have been some excuse, but they had never been any more than good friends and he had never pretended otherwise or given her the idea that he wasn’t quite content the way they were.

  She went into the dining-room and sat down at the table; Jolly would be bringing their lunch at any moment now.

  Jolly was in the kitchen, recounting the scene in the hall. ‘For I was passing through the back hall and the baize door was a little open,’ he explained to Mrs Jolly and Nel, ‘and there she was, bless her, hauling him over the coals and him not knowing why. All on account of that Miss Pearson saying nasty things before she went.’ He was speaking in Dutch and his wife answered him in the same language.

  ‘It will clear the air,’ she said comfortably. ‘Made for each other, they are.’

  Teile came dancing in from school presently. When Tyco joined them a little later his manner was exactly as usual and the meal passed off in what appeared to be a most convivial atmosphere. Tyco took Teile back to school as he went, bidding Charity a pleasant goodbye as he left the house.

  She would have liked to have gone somewhere quiet and had a good cry but Letizia demanded her company. Charity brought her down for tea in the drawing-room and when Teile came back with Nel the three of them sat around the fire, eating peanut butter sandwiches and Mrs Jolly’s chocolate sponge cake.

  When Tyco got home the awkwardness Charity felt was lost in the children’s chatter and the business of getting them to their beds.

  However, that couldn’t last forever; she had to go down to the drawing-room at last, to find Tyco, pleasantly casual, waiting with their drinks.

  She hadn’t known what she had expected but certainly not this placid small talk over dinner, a steady flow of conversation and never a word about Eunice. Their quarrel was to be forgotten, she supposed.

  She supposed wrong. She sat down by the small rent table and lifted the coffee-pot and Tyco asked mildly, ‘Shall we have our talk?’

  She put down the coffee-pot and eyed him stonily. There wasn’t much use in pretending that she didn’t know what he was talking about. Instead of making some suitable and calm reply she burst out, ‘When are you going to London?’

  He had gone to lean against the massive carved chimney piece.

  ‘Did Eunice tell you that as well?’ He was sounding mildly interested.

  She nodded, and he studied the nails of one hand, not looking at her. ‘And you believed her?’

  She muttered, ‘I didn’t want to…’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well—I didn’t think you’d do something like that, not without telling me. You’re not like Cor…’

  ‘I am very relieved to hear that. Did Eunice tell you what we were going to do in London?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She heaved a great seething sigh. ‘You are going out on the town…’

  ‘You believed that too, even although you didn’t want to?’

  ‘Yes. I think I did, but I don’t blame you; it’s such a pity you didn’t meet her before me, if you see what I mean…’

  ‘No. I don’t see what you mean, all I see is that you no longer trust me.’ His voice became icy and she suddenly saw that he was in a towering rage, all the more alarming since it was being held in check by an iron hand. ‘I had thought…but no matter.’

  Her own temper had died beneath his cool politeness. She said urgently, ‘Tyco, do listen. I knew when I married you that I wasn’t the kind of wife you needed. I’m plain, you’re blind if you can’t see that, and I’m not clever or witty, or—or fashionable—no one would turn round and look at me if we went into a restaurant—it must be nice for a man to have a wife whose friends are envious of him. Someone who can dance all night and make you laugh.’ Her voice petered out because he was laughing. Real laughter too, a great bellow of mirth.

  ‘My dear girl, will you listen to me?’

  ‘No. Please, Tyco, I don’t want to talk any more. I’m sorry I listened to Eunice, I suppose it serves me right that I heard what she said—listeners never hear any good of themselves, do they?’ She lifted the coffee-pot and put it down again. ‘The coffee’s cold. I’m sorry, I’ll get Jolly to bring some fresh.’

  ‘Not on my account, Charity. I have some work to do still; I’ll say goodnight.’

  He had gone before she could utter a word and she sat there, her hands in her lap, looking into the fire and wondering what to do next. She couldn’t go away, not
yet, because of the children; she didn’t want to hurt them, and they were so happy. Besides, she loved him—to go away and never see him again was past bearing. Better to stay; at least she would see him each day. She would apologise when he was no longer angry and do her best to be the kind of wife he wanted. Having made this decision she took herself off to bed and cried herself to sleep.

  Letizia was well enough to get up in the morning although it was decided to keep her at home for just one more day. The weather was bad; a raw wind and an icy rain falling from a grey sky.

  ‘I’ll take Teile with me,’ said Tyco at breakfast. ‘I shan’t be home for lunch but if the weather is still as bad as it is now Jolly can take the Rover and fetch her at noon. I leave that for you to decide, Charity.’

  ‘Yes, Tyco.’ She tried to speak cheerfully. ‘Perhaps it will clear later.’

  ‘Possibly. Now, Teile, I am leaving in five minutes…’ That was a signal for the child and Charity to get up from the table to fetch coat, hat and school books, and to find gloves. In the flurry of leaving the house, no one noticed that Tyco didn’t bid Charity goodbye, only gave her a brief unsmiling nod with the remark that he hoped to be home around five o’clock.

  It was unfortunate that Eunice telephoned that morning. Letizia was in the kitchen helping Mrs Jolly to make fairy cakes for tea and Charity was worrying her way through the household books, a task Mrs Jolly seemed to think she should deal with even though the accounts and bills were in Dutch and she needed to use a dictionary more often than not. She picked up the receiver, head full of Dutch groceries.

  ‘Mevrouw van der Brons…’

  Eunice sniggered. ‘Still there, are you? Have you said anything to Tyco? I bet you haven’t had the pluck to ask him if he gave me red roses. I’m going to ring the hospital now and have a little chat with him. Have you got rid of the family yet?’ And when Charity didn’t answer, she asked, ‘Has the cat got your tongue?’ Charity put down the phone.

  Tyco came home at five o’clock, to all intents and purposes his usual calm self. He didn’t kiss her, but then she had already told him in no uncertain terms not to do so, hadn’t she? The evening passed as usual: spending the time with the children, seeing them to their beds and then dining together, carrying on a conversation about nothing at all while she did her best to eat the delicious food Mrs Jolly had prepared. It was rather like acting in a play, she reflected when Tyco said pleasantly that he had work to do and took himself off to his study, leaving her to knit the last of the ducks. She had to unpick it the next day, for she hadn’t been concentrating, only rehearsing a variety of apologies, none of which sounded quite right.

  Several days went by and Charity sought in vain for a chance to speak to Tyco, but his pleasant coolness held her at arm’s length and somehow she was unable to find the right moment. Life went on much as usual; they dined out with friends, she held long telephone conversations with various members of his family, saw to the house, painstakingly conned housekeeping bills and discussed, in her halting Dutch, each day’s food.

  The weather had improved and the children grumbled a good deal because, despite the cold, the ice wasn’t safe for skating. Charity took them for brisk walks instead when they were free from school, gaping happily with them at the massive street organ in the Dam Square, spending their half-holidays at the zoo and the aquarium. Her days were filled even if they weren’t happy, but they couldn’t go on like this, she thought sadly; something would have to be done.

  The children had had half-term and she accepted an invitation to have coffee with the directrice. Charity, who hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be a nurse, was a little in awe, for she met the lady several times but she discovered that being Mevrouw van der Brons was quite a different thing from Zuster Pearson. It seemed strange to sit in the directrice’s sitting-room, exchanging small talk while they drank their coffee. She spent a pleasant hour there and then, mindful of fetching the children from school, bade her hostess goodbye and began on the lengthy walk through the hospital to the entrance.

  She was very nearly there when Cor van Kamp came out of one of the doors lining the corridor. He stopped in front of her, preventing her from passing him.

  ‘Well, well, Mevrouw van der Brons. I must say you look very smart, not quite up to the standard of an eminent surgeon’s wife, but passable—quite passable. Been keeping an eye on him?’

  She had nothing to say to that, pausing only long enough to look him in the eye with contempt before walking on.

  Tyco, turning on to the far end of the corridor, was in time to see the pair of them standing together. He barely paused in what he was saying to Wim who was with him. ‘I think that is all,’ he concluded with his usual calm. ‘I shall be at home, if I’m wanted. Dag, Wim.’

  Wim, who had intended going to his car with him, and had seen Charity too, said, ‘Dag, Prof,’ and hurried away.

  Charity had also seen Tyco; she hurried towards him—there was no one about, perhaps now would be the time…

  ‘What was young van Kamp doing?’ demanded Tyco coldly. ‘Surely there are more suitable places in which to meet?’

  ‘Meet, him and me? You’re joking…’ She paused to look at him and saw that he wasn’t. ‘I’ve been having coffee with the directrice. I was on my way home and Cor came out of a door.’ She was suddenly indignant. ‘I didn’t even speak to him.’

  She studied his face: a polite mask, giving nothing away. ‘Did you really think that I’d talk to him? Meet him on the sly? Well, I wouldn’t, which is more than I can say for you with your red roses and telephone calls.’

  Astonishment swept over Tyco’s handsome features.

  ‘Red roses, telephone calls? What do you mean? What are you talking about?’

  ‘At Schiphol, of course; you gave her red roses, she said so, and she telephoned a few days ago and said she was going to phone you at the hospital and you never said a word when you came home.’ Her voice had risen; she had a fine colour, and if there had been something handy she would have thrown it at him. So clever and so unable to see the nose on his face. Now the tiresome man was smiling. She stamped a well-shod foot and said, ‘Oh, pooh!’ and, quite light-headed with misery and the hopelessness of the whole situation, stood on tiptoe and kissed his chin. She couldn’t reach higher.

  She was almost at the entrance door when he caught up with her, took her by the arm, said something to the porter on duty and bustled her out to the car, shoved her into it, got in beside her and drove off, all without a word.

  At the house he chivvied her gently indoors and, when Jolly came into the hall, said, ‘Ask Nel to fetch the children, will you, Jolly? And we don’t want to be disturbed.’

  He took off her gloves, her coat and hat, tossed them on to a chair and said mildly, ‘The drawing-room?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We have more than half an hour—plenty of time…’

  ‘What for?’ asked Charity, who, until that moment, had been unable to think of anything to say. ‘Why do we want plenty of time?’

  She was standing in the middle of the room and Samson had pranced to meet them. She bent to pat his head because she didn’t want to look at Tyco. She must have have been mad to kiss him, whatever must he be thinking.

  ‘Very little time is needed in which to say I love you,’ said Tyco, ‘but I dare say we can enlarge upon that to our mutual satisfaction.’

  He had been standing by the door; now he crossed the room and stood within inches of her. ‘My dearest darling, you kissed me.’

  She said in a whisper, ‘I didn’t mean to—it, it just popped out before I could stop it.’ She peeped at him and found him smiling. ‘You said, “Dearest, darling”.’

  ‘So I did, my dearest darling, because that is what you have become. And I suppose you have always been that, only I didn’t know it. I am not sure when I knew that
, I only know that life without you is unthinkable.’

  ‘You could have said—’

  ‘My love, my very dear love, I am almost seventeen years older than you and there was young van Kamp.’

  ‘Oh, pooh,’ said Charity strongly, ‘being in love isn’t at all the same as infatuation. When you’re infatuated you bother about being smartly dressed and amusing and your hair being just so, but being in love is quite different. It doesn’t matter because it’s you, not clothes or how you look or even if you’ve got a cold in the head.’ She added wildly, ‘Oh, do you see what I mean, Tyco?’

  ‘You have put it most plainly, my love.’

  ‘Yes, well. What about Mevrouw de Groot and Eunice…?’

  ‘Let me put your mind at rest. I have never given either of them red roses. I—er—dangled them before you in the hope of arousing your interest in me as a man—as your husband.’

  ‘I’ve always been interested in you,’ she added recklessly, ‘and I’ve been in love with you for weeks and even if you were ninety and on crutches it wouldn’t make any difference. But I’m glad you’re only forty.’

  He wrapped his great arms around her and drew her close. ‘I’m glad too.’

  He bent to kiss her and kiss her again and she stood within his arms, so suddenly happy that she thought she would never believe it.

  The door was opened cautiously and Teile’s head poked round it.

  ‘Jolly said not to come in, but we knew you’d want us.’

  She opened the door a little wider and Letizia came in too and the pair of them stood surveying them thoughtfully. ‘We wanted to ask you something. We’d very much like a baby brother…’ She smiled widely. ‘If you wouldn’t mind?’

  Charity felt Tyco’s arms tighten around her ribs—they would break at any moment, but she didn’t care. She looked up at him and met his gaze steadily.