‘Me? With me? Nothing, a slight headache that’s all,’ she said haltingly, facing him for the first time that afternoon. He gazed into her eyes, and she felt an urge to fling herself into his arms, to hold him very tight and never let him go again …
Instead, she smiled and shook hands first with Madame Eekhof, then with Ange.
‘Is there nothing to be done? Has it gone for ever?’ she thought in despair.
They had a few minutes alone before dinner.
‘Nily, my dearest, are you sure you are all right?’ he asked anxiously. ‘Your hand is so cold.’
‘I feel a little feverish. We went for a drive this afternoon, in the open landau, with Vincent … I can’t imagine why Reijer recommended it. I thought it was cold, freezing cold.’
‘Let’s hope you haven’t caught anything.’
‘No, it will pass, I’m sure.’
She smiled at him weakly, and all at once, in a surge of hopeless anguish, she flung her arms about him.
‘How sweet of you to be so concerned about me,’ she whispered, and her voice broke. ‘You are so good, and … I love you so much. I love you so very, very much …’
…
Vincent did not yet feel well enough to join them for lunch that day. Betsy told Otto about the letter that had arrived with news of a position for Vincent in New York.
‘And when is he thinking of going?’
‘As soon as he is fit again. Thank God we’ll be seeing the back of him.’
Eline could not contain herself.
‘Reijer says he mustn’t even think of travelling for the next several weeks!’ she said sharply, glaring at Betsy. ‘But you–’
‘What?’
‘If it weren’t for the sake of decency you’d turn him out into the street today, ill as he is!’
‘If I could, yes, I certainly would. And let me tell you once and for all: I shall never have him to stay again. I haven’t known anyone to outstay their welcome like this!’
‘But Betsy, he’s practically dying!’ Eline cried out, quivering with rage.
‘Don’t be absurd!’
‘Absurd? Can’t you see how ill he looks?’ she shrieked.
‘Oh please, Eline, let’s not quibble about Vincent. He’s not worth it. You’re being melodramatic; stop making such a fuss.’
‘Ah yes, “Don’t make a fuss” – that’s what you always say when anyone shows the least bit of feeling! But you – you’re just plain heartless!’
‘Eline!’ murmured Otto.
Gerard entered, bearing the meat dish. A painful silence prevailed.
‘You forgot the gravy, Gerard,’ snapped Betsy, and the manservant withdrew.
‘You – why, you’d trample on anyone who happened to be the least bit in your way! You won’t put up with the slightest bother for the sake of anyone else! You’re a downright egotist! You think of no one but yourself, and you don’t even understand that not everyone is as mean as you, and–’
‘Eline!’ remonstrated Otto, glancing at the door as Gerard reentered with a gravy boat.
‘Oh, stop saying Eline, Eline! Qu’est ce que me fait cet homme!’ Eline burst out, switching to French so the servant would not understand. ‘I don’t care what he thinks! Betsy just won’t see it, but I assure you, Vincent is dying. He fell asleep in my room, as white as a sheet, completely worn out by that stupid ride recommended by Dr Reijer; and I won’t have you accusing him of being indiscreet or anything like that. If he hadn’t been so ill I’m quite sure he would never stayed here this long.’
She spoke passionately, eyes aflame, and the words spilled from her lips with haughty, needle-sharp acuity.
Betsy too seethed with rage as she waited for Gerard to withdraw, but she said nothing. Henk gave an involuntary sigh.
‘Nily my darling,’ said Otto, ‘I have nothing against Vincent, and no particular sympathy for him either, but I can’t say I shall be sorry to see him go, because–’
‘Not you too?’ she snapped.
‘May I finish?’ he pursued, clasping her icy hand. ‘I mean that I will be glad to see him go if his presence in this house goes on upsetting you as much as it has today. You don’t know what you’re saying, Nily, or what you sound like.’
His calm words infuriated her.
‘And you – you’re always calm, you never get excited about anything, do you?’ she burst out, almost screaming. She sprang to her feet, throwing her napkin on the table. ‘It’s driving me mad, all that calmness! Oh God, it’s driving me mad! Betsy drives me mad with her egotism, and you with your calmness, yes, your calmness! I – I – can’t stand it any more! You’re suffocating me!’
‘Eline!’ cried Otto.
Springing up in his turn, he seized both her wrists and gazed into her eyes. She had expected some dramatic, dreadful response, that he would throw her to the floor, or smack her, but all he did was shake his head slowly from side to side, and in a tone of profound sorrow he said simply:
‘Eline – for shame!’
‘Oh my God! I – I’m going out of my mind!’ she raged. Then, convulsed with sobs, she tore herself away from his grasp and rushed out of the room, dashing several wine glasses to the floor as she went.
…
Betsy made to run after Eline, but Otto restrained her.
‘I beg you, just let her be!’
Henk too had jumped up, and when Gerard came in again all three of them felt acutely embarrassed about their interrupted dinner and the broken glasses.
‘There’s no need, no need, Gerard,’ said Betsy, almost apologetically. ‘You had better clear the table now.’
They did not know where to look, as the manservant, for all his dignified stoicism, was bound to have guessed there had been a scene.
Meanwhile Eline had rushed upstairs and burst into her boudoir, startled to see Vincent, for she had forgotten he was there. She recoiled and stood in the doorway a moment, somewhat at a loss. Vincent was still dozing; his lunch tray stood untouched on the side table by the couch. The sight of him asleep gave Eline a sense of cruel, romantic satisfaction at having leapt to his defence, at having stood up for him against Betsy, and against Otto … Not wishing to wake him just yet, she slipped into her bedroom, soundlessly closing the door behind her, and threw herself on her bed. Her sobbing had ceased quite suddenly, and, to her consternation, she found herself unable to weep. The solitude and calmness of her room cooled her agitated nerves, and although she could not remember the exact words she had spoken, she knew she had said the most appalling things, especially to Otto. Why? Why had she lashed out at him like that? Had it been because of Vincent? Because of Otto’s infuriating stoicism? She no longer knew the reason; her brain was in complete turmoil, and she tossed her head from side to side on her pillow in an effort to shake off her confusion. Yes, she thought, it must have been because of Vincent, who had no one in the whole world but her and that friend of his, far away in New York. She felt sorry for him, but then, didn’t she feel even more sorry for Otto? Had she actually intended to speak her mind with such vehemence? Had it been her own free will? The same will with which she had tried to force herself to continue loving Otto, because she knew she would make both him and herself miserable otherwise? Back at De Horze – how long ago that seemed! – she had never, ever, had the slightest difference of opinion with Otto, and now this! She had insulted him to his face … dear God, why? Whatever had made her do it? Would Vincent consider this just another inevitable outcome of a whole series of other, interconnected inevitabilities? So then what was life? What was a human being? A helpless puppet, with Fate pulling its strings? She had tried with all her might to change, of that she was certain, but she was simply too weak to go against the fate that ruled her existence, and now, now the realisation dawned on her that it was all over! She had lost, she had no choice but to admit defeat.
Slowly she began to cry, and she was relieved to feel the tears wetting her cheeks; she made herself sob properly, too, althou
gh not too loudly … better not let Vincent notice. It grew dark; ah, she could hear him moving about in the next room, where he had evidently lit the lamp, for she could see a slit of light beneath the door. But she remained as she was, lying supine on her bed, sobbing piteously.
…
Otto was seated in the salon staring at the floor when Henk entered.
Noting the glint of a tear in Otto’s eyes, Henk became agitated.
‘Oh, Van Erlevoort!’ he said, laying his hand on Otto’s shoulder.
Otto raised his head.
‘Van Erlevoort! Come on old chap, be a man! I know it’s not all plain sailing with Sis, but she’s not bad at heart! You mustn’t mind what she said, do you hear? She was only angry with Betsy because she’s rather fond of Vincent, and you accidentally bore the brunt of her anger. You should just ignore it, that will be the best punishment for her.’
Otto did not respond and remained slumped in his seat, too harrowed by doubt to be assuaged by Henk’s solicitude. He thought of the time he had told Eline that she had but one fault, her lack of self-knowledge, and that she had hidden treasures slumbering within her which he would help her to rouse, but now he saw only too clearly that it would not be in his power to do so, that all he was able to rouse in her was irritation … and that he was driving her mad … suffocating her.
‘She can be confoundedly awkward when she gets in a tantrum,’ Henk pursued, inwardly raging as he paced the salon trying to think of comforting things to say. ‘But when she’s with someone she loves and respects she always sees reason in the end, and then … I say, shall I go and have a word with her?’
‘I think she should be left alone,’ replied Otto, with difficulty. ‘She’s bound to come round, given time.’
He tried to imagine himself in her place, to guess what she was feeling at this moment, but found himself too stunned to pursue any logical train of thought. Never had he heard her use that kind of language before, never had he known her to shout or scream, never had he seen her face contorted with such unsightly anger. Try as he might, he was unable to gather his reason owing to the pain lacerating his heart.
Henk could not bear to see him thus, bowed and despairing, and suddenly felt himself spurred into action. He had a high regard for Otto, and it was unforgivable of Eline to treat him with such contempt; no indeed, he would not allow her to get away with it, and with a new vigour he strode out of the salon. Halfway up the stairs he met Betsy, who was on her way down.
‘Where is Eline?’ he asked.
Betsy glanced at him, taken aback by his resolute tone.
‘I don’t know,’ she said drily.
Henk continued up the stairs and entered Eline’s boudoir. Finding no one there, he assumed that Vincent was tired after his first brief spell out of doors and had already retired to bed, oblivious to the scene that had taken place downstairs. Henk knocked on the door to Eline’s bedroom.
‘Eline!’ he called.
There was no answer, and he pushed the door open. In the halflight he saw Eline lying on the floor, her slight form shaking with stifled sobs, her face hidden in her hands. He paused for a moment on the threshold, but she did not move.
‘Do get up, Eline!’ he said firmly, almost commandingly.
At this she drew herself up with a violent jolt.
‘What do you want?’ she screamed. ‘What are you doing in my room? Go away!’
‘Get up.’
‘No I won’t! Just go away, will you? Go away, leave me alone!’
He bent down, flushed with emotion, and grasped her roughly by the wrists, causing her to cry out in pain.
‘Damnation! Get up!’ he hissed, almost beside himself with anger, and grabbed her arms to pull her up by force.
Shocked into submission by hearing him swear, by his high colour, his red face, his flashing eyes and his hoarse voice, she allowed him to raise her to her feet.
‘What do you want?’ she asked again, but more calmly now, and with a touch of hauteur.
‘I’ll tell you what I want. I want you to go down immediately – immediately, do you hear – and ask Van Erlevoort to forgive you. You may not remember all the things you said when you lost your temper, but you offended him deeply, very deeply. Go downstairs at once!’
She stared, open-mouthed, shrinking from his commanding tone and his burly frame looming over her as he pointed her to the door.
‘You’ll find him downstairs in the salon. Go!’
‘No I won’t!’ she cried out, shaken but still defiant.
‘If you won’t I shall drag you downstairs myself and make you go down on your knees to him! I mean it!’ he hissed in her face, articulating each syllable with furious emphasis.
‘Henk!’ she cried, horrified by his vehemence.
‘Well then?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll go, I’ll go, but – oh, Henk! Don’t speak to me like that! Please don’t! You’re only making it worse, and heaven knows I feel bad enough already!’
‘That’s your own fault, all of it is your own fault, and you have no right to make cruel accusations against people, especially not against Van Erlevoort.’
‘Yes, yes, you’re right!’ she said, breaking down into sobs. ‘I shall go, but please, Henk, please come with me!’
Leaning on him for support, she allowed him to conduct her out of the boudoir and down the stairs. Upon entering the salon she gave a start. The room was empty but for Otto, sitting huddled on the sofa with his head in his hands. She caught a glimpse of Betsy in the drawing room, and of Gerard bringing in the tea tray, so she kept silent, waiting for the manservant to leave. Then, under Henk’s compelling gaze, she dared demur no longer, nor did she wish to when she saw Otto’s manifest despair. Falling on her knees before him, she tried to say something, but was too convulsed with sobs to speak – genuine, heartfelt sobs this time, mingling with a flood of tears. She pressed her throbbing, flushed forehead to his knees and groped for his hands in mute desperation.
He too kept silent, gazing into her eyes.
At last she uttered the words, with great effort, while Henk stood like a judge at her side:
‘Forgive me, Otto, forgive me, forgive me.’
He nodded his head slowly, as yet unconsoled by her remorse, for he knew that things would never be as he had once imagined. Nonetheless he leant forwards, drew her close and kissed her brow.
‘Forgive me, Otto, oh please forgive me, say you’ll forgive me!’
He curved his arm gently about her shaking shoulders and pressed her to his chest, screwing up his eyes to stem the tears. Because he knew: this was the end.
He took his leave half an hour later, in low spirits, although Henk patted him on the back several times, urging him in jovial tones to stay a while now that all was well again. He bade Eline goodbye with a pained smile. Afterwards Eline also begged Betsy’s pardon, likewise in Henk’s presence. Betsy’s only response was a brief nod of the head, but her eyes glittered with such apparent hatred that Eline recoiled and ran out of the room. Later, when Henk told Betsy how he had forced Eline to seek out Van Erlevoort, the look in her eye had been one of admiration. She never thought he had it in him – fancy him standing up to Eline when she was having one of her tantrums!
…
Some weeks went by, during which things seemed to settle down much as they had been before. Vincent was feeling reasonably well, and went for frequent drives with the sisters. Betsy, however, ever mindful of Eline’s outburst, continued to harbour a sullen resentment against her. How typical: show a little kindness and the next thing you knew you were no longer mistress of your own home. Here she was, lumbered with an ailing, loathsome cousin who caused all sorts of unpleasantness, and a sister who was becoming more insufferable by the day! The atmosphere in her lovely home was quite ruined by the pair of them – but not for much longer, she vowed. As soon as Eline was married she, Betsy, would not only go on holiday with Henk and Ben, but get rid of Vincent as well, once and for all. Never agai
n would he set foot in her house! Not even if he lay dying on her doorstep would she let him in – yes, Eline was right there, she had to give her that!
Eline for her part felt such profound regret at having railed against Otto that she brought all her charms to bear in an effort to make amends. Since Otto was only too willing to forgive her so that he might hope once more, her efforts met with a measure of success. But the crack that had appeared in their relationship proved impossible to repair. He realised full well that everyone said things in anger which they subsequently regretted, and that Eline had simply lost her temper, only … the actual words she had spoken, now that he turned them over in his mind, were not what he would have expected of her. Had she loved him as he thought she did – granted, with a touch of egotism; not so much for his sake as for her own, and for the peace and happiness she found in him – she would never have used those words. However incensed she might have been, whether on Vincent’s behalf or for any other reason, she would have expressed her feelings differently. He saw it clearly: she no longer even loved him for her own sake, because she no longer found his calm temperament soothing, on the contrary, she found it irritating; nor did she love him for himself, she never had: she forced herself to be kind to him, out of pity! All his pride bristled at the realisation, and for a moment he considered flinging her pity in her face just as she had flung his calmness in his face, but he could not. He could not do this to her, he loved her too much, nor could he do it to himself. So he suffered her contrition in a final bid to recover a fraction of the happiness she had once inspired in him, and yet he knew: it was over.
It was over; he could tell by the mildly detached air with which she greeted him when he visited, once the fervour of making amends had passed; he could tell by the way she allowed him to plant a kiss on her brow, by her alacrity to withdraw from his embrace, by her languishing silences, by everything in her manner. And for the first time he noticed how often she looked at Vincent, and how she was still at his beck and call notwithstanding his full recovery. It was something he did not wish to contemplate; the thought was too distasteful.
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