In this spirit of elation she saw happiness wherever she turned; everyone she knew seemed to her to be kind and considerate, they all seemed to be living in harmony, never flying into passions or showing the least sign of egotism. Scenes with Betsy were a thing of the past, she was sure, for she was now able to respond to her sister’s disparaging remarks with mild good humour, as though there were nothing in the world that could mar her newfound joy. Her nerves were greatly soothed, and she herself was surprised to note her bright, even temper, quite undisturbed by the periodical fits of melancholy and fatigue of the past. Gone were the lowering clouds of grey-and-black gloom, for the very air that she breathed seemed changed; it was azure, flower-scented, shot through with sunbeams.
For several days after his contretemps with Vincent, Henk felt very uneasy. Being uncharitable was quite at odds with the general kindliness of his disposition, and he feared that he had hurt Vere’s feelings – he might simply have been having a run of bad luck, after all. So Henk had called on Vincent to extend him the requested loan. Vincent, however, declined the offer, despite Henk’s entreaties, and instead paid back a considerable portion of what he owed. Where he had procured the funds to do so was a mystery to Henk, as was everything else about Vincent.
Returning home, Henk was berated by his wife for having been tactless with her cousin. Betsy felt vaguely apprehensive about Vere, sensing in him a secret power beside which her own dominating nature paled to insignificance, and she was determined that he should not bear a grudge against her husband. Eline was going away: she had been invited to spend the month of August at De Horze by Theodore, and would travel there with the Van Erlevoorts and the Howards late in July. It would be rather dismal in the big house on Nassauplein, mused Betsy. She did not wish to go on holiday with Henk just now, she preferred a trip to the South of Europe in the winter, after Eline’s wedding, and so it was for reasons of both distraction and diplomacy that Betsy decided to ask Vincent to stay with them for the duration of Eline’s absence. She told him how dreadfully lonely she would feel without Eline and how much she always enjoyed Vincent’s company, what with all those interesting stories he had about his wanderings, so he would be doing her a great favour by coming to stay. Vincent was secretly delighted at the prospect of temporary respite from his aimless, impecunious existence. What luxury! A whole month of peace and quiet, and it would not cost him a penny. So he accepted Betsy’s invitation, concealing his pleasure with a veneer of gracious condescension, as though he were deigning to allow her to make amends for her husband’s heartless behaviour.
XVIII
Lili was very cross; her lips quivered and she was close to tears.
‘I really can’t see why we shouldn’t ask him along,’ she complained to Marie. ‘He calls here often enough.’
‘Oh, Lili, have some sense! Mama already invited him to the house several times this winter, and it’s not as if we know him well enough to take him on a country outing with us. Asking him along would make things stiff.’
‘But he’s not in the least stiff!’
‘No, he’s not. He’s much nicer than I thought at first, but still, we don’t know him half as well as we know Paul and Etienne.’
‘Oh, them! All they do is saunter back and forth between the Witte club and the other one, dropping in at the Bordelaise or the Bodega on the way, and nowadays they’re always with that wretched Vere. We haven’t seen much of them at all lately. I know Paul comes by once in a while, but Etienne has become a myth as far as I’m concerned. Why don’t you ask Vere as well, while you’re about it?’
Marie shrugged.
‘It’s no use getting cross with me, Lili, just because Mama hasn’t asked De Woude. It’s nothing to do with me,’ she said gently.
‘No, of course not. But it’s always the same, whenever I think of something no one will hear of it. Well, I give up. I couldn’t care less about the outing.’
Fighting back her tears, Lili left the drawing room; Marie took up her book with a sigh.
Madame Verstraeten, seated in the conservatory with her husband, had overheard Lili’s angry words, and a look of concern crossed her kind features.
‘Is anything the matter?’ he asked.
‘Oh, it’s just that De Woude,’ whispered Madame, so as not to be heard by Marie. ‘Lili wants me to invite him for the day after tomorrow.’
‘Why don’t you, then? I have nothing against De Woude, although he is a bit of a fop. And he’s rather jolly with the girls.’
‘But Karel, really, I don’t think it would be wise. I always treat him with proper civility when I see him, but there’s no need to encourage him any further, is there? What good would it do? Lili’s still so young, and full of childish notions, too.’
‘Aren’t you getting rather carried away? Why would they think of marrying? It’s only a matter of an invitation, after all.’
‘I suppose you are right. But you never see them together the way I do. If only you’d come with us to Scheveningen some evening!’
‘No, thank you very much.’
‘Then you’d see for yourself. He keeps hovering around our table. He’s discreet enough not to accept every time I offer icecreams, but he always stays until we leave, and hardly talks to anyone else. He takes a turn with Marie now and then, to be polite, but apart from that it’s Lili, Lili, all the time. I don’t think it’s very suitable, as you can imagine.’
‘And do you believe that Lili–?’
‘Yes of course, it’s perfectly clear! Everyone has noticed, and people are beginning to talk. I don’t know quite what to do about it,’ said Madame Verstraeten, again looking concerned.
Mr Verstraeten sat a moment in contemplation, after which he and his wife resumed their discussion, their voices dropping to whispers.
Marie found it impossible to concentrate on her book, so she went upstairs in search of Lili. She found her lying on her bed, sobbing into the pillows.
‘Lili! Whatever’s the matter?’ she called softly.
Lili started at the sound of Marie’s voice.
‘Oh, leave me alone!’ she cried.
But Marie took her hands and forced her to look up.
‘Lili, don’t be absurd! You’re so unreasonable, going off into a huff at the least provocation. Lili! Listen to me!’
‘Oh, please, just leave me alone.’
‘Why make yourself even more miserable by coming up here to cry all alone? Why don’t you just tell me what’s upsetting you? It’s so much better to trust each other, to be open and frank and speak your mind.’
Marie herself dearly wished she could be open and frank, she would have loved to speak her mind to Lili, to Mama, to anyone, but there were some things that were best left unsaid.
Lili sat up and brushed her tousled hair from her tear-stained cheeks.
‘What would you have me say, then? You know everything already. Mama’s always finding fault with Georges, and I hate that.’
‘Come now, you exaggerate. Both Papa and Mama like him well enough.’
‘I know, I know! But when it comes to showing him a bit of courtesy … Anyway, you said so yourself.’
‘What did I say?’
‘You said that taking him along would make things stiff!’
‘If I’d known you cared so much, I wouldn’t have said it. Only I can’t bear to see you getting all upset about nothing, Lili. You carry on as if your whole life is in ruins, just because Mama thinks it better not to invite De Woude for once.’
‘But it’s very awkward for me! I already told him about the outing, and so naturally he now thinks–’
‘Well, you shouldn’t have given him ideas. It’s awkward for Mama, too, with people beginning to gossip about you. Only yesterday Madame Eekhof was saying–’
‘I don’t care a straw about what Madame Eekhof says, since we love each other! Everyone’s against us, it’s not fair.’
‘Indeed, Lili,’ breezed Marie, attempting to hide her own secret emo
tion. ‘It is deeply tragic. You love Georges and Georges loves you, and the whole world is against you, Mama, Madame Eekhof and everyone else, too. Very sad, my dear, very sad indeed! And of course there isn’t a glimmer of hope that anything will ever change. Very sad.’
‘Marie, how could you? Making fun of me while you know how upset I am!’
‘Yes, I’m very cruel, am I not?’ Marie pursued, softening. ‘Come on, Lili, dry your tears and give me a kiss, all right? I didn’t mean to be unkind. Shall I try and get Mama to change her mind?’
‘Oh, if only you would! Mama’s sure to say yes if you ask her.’
‘Ah yes, I’m the one no one can refuse, aren’t I? And you’re the one everybody’s always against, aren’t you? You poor thing!’
Lili had to smile through her tears. ‘Marie, you’re so funny when you talk like that! You’ve made me laugh!’
‘Yes, Lili dear, you can laugh. Let’s all laugh while we may. Bye for now. Why don’t you do up your hair, and I’ll go downstairs and have a word with Mama.’
Marie left the room, feeling a pang of envy for her sister’s ability to unburden herself. And as she descended the stairs she smiled wistfully at the depths of Lili’s despair only a moment ago, and at her infatuation with Georges. Her sister was a mere child as far as she was concerned, crying over the temporary loss of a toy, and she was confident that all would be forgotten within the half-hour. How lucky Lili was! Free to shed tears when she was sad and free to say things like: ‘I don’t care a straw about what Madame Eekhof says, since we love each other!’
…
They were bound for a farmstead that was owned by an old acquaintance of the Verstraetens. The overladen charabanc rolled along Loosduinseweg under a blazing sky, with the occasional steam tram passing them as it came the other way. Madame Verstraeten and Mathilda sat in the back with Nico between them, Marie, Lili and Frédérique sat in the middle facing Paul, Etienne and Georges, and the front bench was occupied by Ernestine, Madeleine and the Verstraeten boys. Johan sat on the box, while the dickey was shared by Cateau van der Stoor and Jan. It was to be a jolly family outing, nothing formal, so everyone could relax and enjoy themselves. Marie dispensed handfuls of cherries from a large basket, and Etienne, between mouthfuls, told them that according to Marguerite van Laren going on an outing in a charabanc was a very bourgeois thing to do.
‘I suppose the Van Larens always go on their outings in a liveried carriage, complete with footmen in powdered wigs!’ said Georges.
‘Naturally! With the ladies wearing great billowing skirts like in the Watteau paintings, and leading little lambs by pink ribbons!’ rejoined Lili, smiling fondly at Georges.
There was much hilarity at this; they were all in high spirits, the womenfolk in their simple cotton frocks as much as the young men in their light summer suits and straw boaters.
‘Do have some cherries, Cateau,’ said Marie, passing her a handful. ‘You can share them with Jan.’
‘Oh yes, we’ll share!’ exclaimed Jan, with a roguish air. ‘Shall I show you a trick, Cateau?’
‘What sort of trick?’
‘See these twin cherries? Well, put one of them in your mouth.’
‘What for?’ asked Cateau, doing as he suggested.
‘Then I’ll have the other one. Look, like this!’ the rascal replied, quickly brushing her lips with his before biting into the second cherry.
‘Jan! Behave yourself!’ scolded Madame.
‘She fell for it! Silly Cateau!’ giggled Freddie.
‘I had no idea what he was going to do!’ protested Cateau. ‘Wretched boy!’
‘Nonsense, you don’t mean that. Of course you knew!’ scoffed Paul.
The charabanc rattled on through a flat landscape of meadows with sleek, grazing cows whose black-and-white coats gleamed like satin, past endless rows of pollard willows unfurling their silvery fans.
‘Willows are such melancholy trees, don’t you agree, Georges?’ asked Lili with feeling.
‘There she goes, waxing poetical again!’ Etienne cried out. ‘Come on then, Lili, let’s hear an ode to the willow.’
‘I can’t say anything these days without everyone poking fun at me, goodness knows why,’ she moaned.
Now it was Lili’s turn to be teased, and they all laughed heartily as they munched their cherries.
The road began to climb towards undulating horizons. Here and there stood a country retreat, lost in the greenery, or a farmhouse surrounded by fields planted with carrot and cauliflower or beanstalks in neat rows, and gardens ablaze with sunflowers, peonies and hollyhocks. A washerwoman wringing out clothes on the bank of a stream drew herself up to smile at them as they passed, and two youngsters ran after the carriage while Jan and Cateau threw them cherries.
…
The road ran between fields of yellow corn and green flax dotted with blue cornflowers and red poppies, rising and falling until finally they reached the farm. The farmer’s wife appeared at the gate, smiling broadly, and the young people sprang down from the charabanc while Madame Verstraten and Mathilda took charge of unloading the cargo of boxes, cloth-covered baskets and hampers.
The coachman unhitched his steaming horses and led them to the stable.
Jan Verstraeten, Cateau and the Van Rijssel foursome made a beeline for the two swings, but not before Jan had assured Madame van Rijssel that he would be very careful and Cateau had promised to pay particular attention to little Nico.
‘They’re just like a married couple with their offspring!’ laughed Marie, following the merry band with her eyes.
‘I’m going to chase them away from the swings shortly, because I want a turn myself!’ declared Etienne, already a little light-headed from the sun and the fresh air. ‘Lili, will you join me on the other swing? If De Woude will let you, that is!’ he whispered, rolling his eyes.
‘De Woude has no say over what I do! But no thanks, I don’t like swings. They always give me a headache.’
‘But I just love swings, Etienne!’ cried Marie. ‘So I’ll be counting on you as a gentleman to push me as high as I can go, really high, do you hear? Up to the clouds!’
‘Let’s go and find a nice spot to sit – over there, by those dunes,’ suggested Paul.
‘He thinks it’s time for a rest, how typical! But my dear Paul, it’s hot in the dunes,’ said Freddie.
‘No, there are some trees, oaks I think, over there, beyond the pavilion.’
‘All right, let’s go. It’s too hot for anything strenuous, anyway. I agree with Paul: I like a lazy outing. Just lying in the cool green shade, watching the clouds drift by overhead – lovely,’ said Lili.
‘How poetic! Trust Lili to turn sheer idleness into a romantic occasion,’ laughed Marie. ‘For goodness’ sake, De Woude, why don’t you say something? Here we are, all chatting away while you’re off in a trance, composing verses in your head, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Georges denied this with good humour, and they all set off, pushing aside the leafy twigs of overhanging bushes on their path. Lili was frightened out of her wits by a spider descending a long silvery thread, and De Woude’s removal of the insect gave rise to fresh bursts of laughter and jokes about Lili being a damsel in distress and Georges a knight in shining armour coming to her rescue.
‘What have we done to deserve all this attention, may I ask?’ said Georges.
‘Never mind, Georges, take no notice!’ said Lili. ‘They think they’re being funny. Oh, Paul, where are you taking us? It’s so hot, and quite slippery underfoot, too. How much further is it to that nice spot of yours? All these tiresome branches – ouch!’
She broke off to inspect her finger, which she had scratched on a thorn.
‘Why don’t you let me walk in front, then,’ offered Georges, and he spoke so softly and slipped ahead of her so quietly that the others, still laughing heartily, did not notice. He and Lili fell behind, with him carefully holding back each intruding twig to clear the way for her.
‘Let them laugh! You don’t mind about them, do you?’ he asked, a faraway, happy look in his eyes.
‘Not in the least!’ she replied calmly. She shook her head, on which she wore a wide sun-hat bedecked with wild flowers, and gave an arch smile. ‘It’s our turn to laugh at them, now. Who’s that shrieking at the top of his voice?’
‘Etienne, of course!’ said Georges.
Paul and Etienne had found a mossy bank beneath a young chestnut tree, from which an attractive panorama was to be seen: a stretch of meadowland, grazing cows, straight lines of water-filled ditches glittering in the bright sunlight, a windmill beyond, and in the distance a line of poplars, slender and tall.
When Lili and Georges caught up with the others they found them in raptures.
‘This is splendid!’ said Paul. ‘Plenty of cool moss to lie on and a fine, sweeping view.’
Everyone agreed, and they plumped themselves down on the ground, weary from their expedition. On the dark, dappled sward lay a scattering of discarded hats and lacy parasols, while stray sunbeams threw patches of shivering light on the crush of light cotton skirts.
‘It’s not so shady here after all. At any rate, I am in the full sun,’ said Lili, putting up her pink parasol. She shot an indignant glance at Paul, who had claimed a spot of deep shade, where he now lay sprawled on his back with a pocket handkerchief over his face.
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