He stood up, as in a dream, and she followed him.
‘Yes, I suppose they do,’ she said, with little conviction.
‘One forgets,’ he continued in the same dull tone, ‘and so it can easily happen, after a time, that one meets someone else, someone one can love and who will make one happy. It happens all the time. That’s life.’
‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ she said, and he was reminded of something Eline had said in her letter: ‘then you will find a girl who is worthy of you, and who will make you happy.’
‘So don’t you go thinking I am pining with romantic love!’ he concluded, with a strained smile. ‘I’m not that far gone, you know.’
She fell silent, saddened by his response. He was like Mathilda, too proud to share his grief with anyone, preferring to maintain a certain stoic, outward composure. She did not let him notice that she was undeceived by his pose, and they walked on for a while, saying little. All at once they caught the sound of animated chatter some way off. It was Marianne, ensconced among the lilies of the valley, relating the story of Ein Gebet to Frédérique.
‘It’s a bit melodramatic, but so lovely, so moving! You see, Raoul is doing penance for his mother, who was a tremendous sinner, apparently, although I cannot imagine she could have done anything really wicked. He enters the priesthood and chastises himself. I didn’t sleep a wink after I’d read the bit about him blessing the marriage of Rassillo and Editha. Editha is ever so soft-hearted and sweet, and Raoul has always loved her. Berthalda, though, is incredibly passionate, oh, exaggeratedly so! Anyway, as I was telling you, Berthalda put poison on the wafer, and so, when Raoul gives Editha the wafer she collapses, and instead of repeating the marriage vows, she cries out “Raoul!” and dies. Sad, isn’t it? I couldn’t stop crying! Berthalda does penance too; she enters a convent, a subterranean one where the sun never shines, and Raoul’s hair turns white overnight.’
Otto and Suzanne, who had been hiding behind some trees to eavesdrop, went on their way again.
‘Look at my hair, Suzanne!’ said Otto with the same strained smile: ‘It didn’t turn white overnight! I am not a bit like Raoul, you see!’
She said nothing, trying to smile as she clung to his arm, swinging her honeysuckle posy with her free hand, and to end the silence she hummed a tune.
…
At De Horze life continued at a steady, unhurried pace. Otto had left for Elzen, and Etienne was extraordinarily diligent, taking off straight after breakfast to study in his room upstairs and disappearing again after lunch for more work. In the evening he joined the rest of the company for a little entertainment, such as leapfrogging over Van Stralenburg and throwing mock punches at him, but when everybody retired he went back to his desk to put in a few more hours of study. He had a veritable craze for his books, in Madame van Erlevoort’s opinion, and seemed not to be deterred by any anxious looks or complaints about his pallor from her or anyone else.
One day Etienne received a letter from Paul, telling him of his plan to visit De Horze in the near future, after which he would travel on to Germany or Italy for an extended tour. Theodore responded somewhat scoffingly to this news, fearing that Paul would lure Etienne away from his books and even try to persuade him to accompany him on his travels. Madame van Erlevoort, however, was very pleased, for she thought Paul’s presence would do Etienne a world of good – the boy was working far too hard, all that zealous studying was bound to make him ill.
Frédérique had given a radiant smile when she heard of Paul’s intended visit, but had said nothing. She wore the same radiant smile when she studied her rosy reflection in the glass on the morning of his arrival. With her brown eyes sparkling like dark gems, her thick, chestnut hair curling silkily about her milk-white neck, she could not help thinking how pretty she looked in her simple dress of pink cotton, lithe and strong, smiling in that regal, munificent, way. Yes indeed, she was quite exhilarated!
Was it because of the sun lighting up her eyes and the peachy glow on her cheeks? Or was it because the person she could not get out of her mind was about to arrive? As she surveyed her appearance, lost in conjecture, she forgot her sense of pride, she forgot all about wanting Paul to be different in certain ways; she found herself being swept away on a wave of emotion that she was powerless to resist, and she was thrilled by her own weakness before the sublime effervescence invading her soul.
He arrived, and when she shook his hand she had the sensation that she had never seen him before. How tall he was, and how handsome, with his cheerful blue-grey eyes, his bushy moustache and his white teeth! How infectious his laughter, hearty and full, and so disarming! She returned his laugh with her own, uttered some pleasantries, and was struck by his manner towards her: it was not a bit like the way he laughed and joked with Françoise, Ange, or Léonie, or with any of the other girls for that matter. There was a gentle intimacy in his gaze, as there was in his tone of voice, from which every trace of cynicism or forwardness had vanished.
Was it the country air that made him look so attractive, so fresh-faced and sincere? Theodore at any rate was pleased to see Paul in such good form, and promptly pressed him to stay with them for a few days, on condition that he should not distract Etienne too much from his books. Paul gave his solemn promise and accepted the invitation with gratitude. When they were all gathered together on the veranda to enjoy a light May wine, Frédérique could not help noticing how he held everyone’s attention. No, he wasn’t half as vain and frivolous as she had thought, and she – well, she found him very engaging, to say the least.
It was a clear, starry evening, and the boat on the lake beckoned. Paul and Arnold van Stralenburg took the oars, Marianne and Etienne teased one another, and Freddie, holding the tiller, hummed a song which carried softly over the water in the violet dusk. Suddenly Paul broke in with a snatch of the duet he used to sing with Eline.
Ah! Viens, la nuit est belle!
Viens, le ciel est d’azur!
Freddie was delighted to hear him sing. The scene was so simple and so delightfully familiar: Paul’s song, the lake they were drifting on, the illuminated veranda with Mama, Mathilda, Suzanne and Theodore sitting together, the looming dark-green mass of the trees and the twinkling stars above. How extraordinary that she had never realised how poetic it all was! Paul concluded his barcarole with a soft, drawn-out high C in falsetto, and she fancied she heard nightingales in the jasmine-scented air, like a silvery vibration in her heart.
…
How would he comport himself with Marianne, she wondered. Marianne had a pretty face with soulful eyes, and a pert, slightly coquettish demeanour. But he showed no inclination to flirt with her, by which Frédérique was both surprised and gratified.
Since that first day, however, she had recovered herself. She had been too forgiving, she believed; she had seen him the way she wished to see him – which might even have been the way he temporarily happened to be by some extraordinary coincidence. But had she then forgotten what he had been like in The Hague, dancing attendance on all those girls, inconsiderate to his mother, hanging around with those socalled friends of his who were nothing but spongers? By what stroke of magic could he have ceased to be frivolous and vain, egotistic and weak?
Whatever the case, now that he was away from all the girls, away from his mother and from his friends, he made a decidedly better impression. She vowed not to voice any criticism she might have, in case he took a permanent dislike to her. Nor would it be hard to keep her vow, for Paul was making things remarkably easy: for the moment he gave no cause for criticism of any kind.
It had rained for several days, and the morning was clear, with a well-rinsed brightness to the sky. Klaas had saddled the two riding horses, one of which was a sorrel; the other, fitted with a side saddle, had a blaze down its forehead. Paul was checking the horses’ tackles when Freddie emerged from the veranda with the train of her riding costume over her arm and a small top hat with a white veil on her head. She buttoned her gloves a
nd smiled.
‘All set!’ said Paul, turning to face her.
He gave Freddie a leg up to her blazed horse; once seated, she leant forward to pat its gleaming neck. Paul mounted the sorrel and together they ambled off under the watchful eye of Klaas, who thought them a fine-looking pair, both of them healthy and strong, bright-eyed and rosy-cheeked. He noted that Freddie sat ramrod-straight on her side saddle, and deemed her companion to be a full-bodied young fellow. He approved of full-bodied men.
Paul and Freddie rode to the front of the big house, chatting happily.
‘Hullo there! Where are you off to?’ a voice called from above.
Looking up, they saw Etienne leaning out of his upstairs window, looking rather unkempt in his shirtsleeves and with tousled hair, which made Freddie laugh.
‘Well, you two! Where are you off to?’ demanded Etienne, with a hint of envy in his tone.
‘We haven’t decided yet!’
‘Why isn’t Marianne with you?’
‘Marianne said she was quite happy reading Carmen Sylva’s Ein Gebet all over again! Don’t you trust us?’
‘Well, yes, but did you have to pass under my window? Couldn’t you have taken another route?’
‘You’re the last person we were thinking of!’ Paul cried mercilessly.
‘I’m not surprised!’ spluttered Etienne. ‘You think of no one but yourselves, going off for a nice ride while I’m stuck indoors with my books. Well, bad luck to both of you, you heartless creatures!’
‘Merci bien, my charitable brother!’ exclaimed Freddie, waving her whip in his direction. ‘Here’s hoping you’ll be more favourably disposed when we return. Au revoir!’
‘Enjoy your books! Au revoir!’ rejoined Paul, and with that they rode off at a leisurely pace, down the long oak-lined avenue. Reaching the country lane, where the blazing sunshine swathed the oats and barley on either side with gold, they urged their horses to a canter.
‘Why don’t we go to the White Hollow? We could take the long way round and ride through the pine wood,’ suggested Freddie.
‘Yes, let’s do that,’ said Paul.
They reined in their horses as they approached the farmstead, which stood in the shade of some chestnut trees. The farmer’s dogs, recognising them, sprang up and ran to the ends of their chains, barking enthusiastically, at which the farmer’s wife appeared at the door to wave. Then they entered the wood beyond, relieved to exchange the scorching sun for cooling, deep-green shade, where the horses’ hooves sounded muffled on the carpet of pine needles.
It was the first time since Paul’s arrival at De Horze that Freddie found herself alone with him, and she felt strangely nervous, as if this was the first time ever, yet she had often gone riding with him in previous summers, and there had also been plenty of occasions in the past when they had been alone together, talking quite confidentially. So why did she barely dare to look at him, if she were afraid of what his appearance might reveal?
She mustered her courage and looked him in the eye as he chatted on. She would not allow herself to be swayed by sentimental emotions; she would show him that she was the same girl she had always been, someone who had no qualms about speaking her mind. She would not say anything against him if she could help it, but neither would she flinch from his blue-grey gaze – that would be too much!
A challenging glint came into her eyes at that thought, but what was there to challenge? He was being neither sarcastic nor flippant, nor was he being pompous, indeed he was conversing with marked indulgence about all sorts of people she had known him to disparage on previous occasions.
‘Take Georges and Lili,’ he said, and she was astonished by the genial tone of his voice as he uttered those two names. ‘It’s so amusing to see them together! They’re so wrapped up in each other that they’re quite blind to what goes on in the world. They think everything revolves around them! And it’s not that they are arrogant, they are just naive! Try telling them they aren’t the only two people in the world to be madly in love with each other and they’ll shake their heads in disbelief. They’re Adam and Eve all over again – everything starts from them.’
Frédérique smiled, curiously moved by his words.
‘I think they are quite delightful together,’ continued Paul, ‘but you must admit that they’re rather superficial souls, when it comes down to it. Neither of them has much depth, really. Yes, Georges is a good, sensible young man, but apart from that–’
‘Good and sensible; well, that’s a start anyway!’ she said musingly.
‘Yes it is, but I don’t believe Georges has ever found himself confronted by any kind of mental struggle. Until now his life has been a smooth path, which is how it will always be for him.’
‘Well, what about you? Have you experienced mental struggles?’ she asked lightly.
‘More than Georges!’ he responded. ‘I thought I was an artist, but then I found out that I wasn’t. And it takes quite a struggle to admit to yourself that you’ve made that kind of mistake, don’t you see?’
‘Yes I do. It must have taken a lot of energy, too, I imagine.’
Her remark sounded a trifle snide, and she instantly regretted it. Why hint at his failure to pursue his artistic ambition if he was lacking in genius anyway? But he did not seem to have heard.
‘Do you know what I find so strange?’ he pursued. ‘That Georges and Lili knew that they were made for each other almost from the moment they first met. And then there are all those other people who have known each other for ages and think nothing of it, until one day they wake up, and then – they see the light–’
She could feel her heart beating and the blood rising to her cheeks. Keeping her head down to hide her colour, she affected deep concentration as she smoothed the folds of her riding costume with her whip.
‘Don’t you agree?’ he asked.
‘I – I don’t know,’ she stammered. ‘I have never thought about it, really.’
Neither spoke for a moment.
‘How oppressive it is here, under the trees!’ she murmured at length, blinking her eyes. ‘I can barely breathe! Let’s take this turning, shall we? It will take us back to the road, and then we can have a fine gallop to the White Hollow.’
She felt very strange – she, who never suffered from the heat, was overcome with a sense of dizziness; she felt suffocated by the tight bodice of her riding habit, and her hands holding the reins began to shake. With faint vision, she veered into the narrow overgrown path and spurred on her horse. She heard a warning shout from Paul, and before she knew it her hat had been knocked off her head and her hair was violently pulled, causing a searing pain on her scalp.
‘Ouch,’ she cried out, drawing up her horse, which halted, quivering.
She had not noticed the limb of a pine tree reaching out across the path; it had grazed her forehead and now her hair was caught in the branch. She leant back to avoid pulling it further.
‘Oh! Oh!’ she whimpered.
Paul rode up beside her, took her reins and patted both horses on the withers.
‘I tried to warn you about that tree!’ he lamented. ‘Here, lean on my shoulder, and I’ll untangle your hair.’
He flung down his whip, pulled off his gloves and carefully set about freeing her snarled, dark-brown locks, scattering hairpins in the process.
‘Does it hurt?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she moaned. ‘Ouch, ouch!’
‘Is this better?’
‘Yes – oh, yes – that’s better.’
He tried to be as deft as possible, and the tenderness of his movements made her forget the pain. When he was done at last she remained leaning against his shoulder, their two horses quivering side by side. She was spellbound by his smile, which reminded her of some extraordinarily beautiful young god. She closed her eyes, and everything sank away …
Suddenly she became conscious of his breath near her face, then she felt the hot pressure of his lips on hers. As if she had received an electri
c shock, she sat bolt upright and stared at him with flashing eyes.
‘Paul!’ she cried.
She was at a loss for what to say or what to do. He continued to hold her eyes, half bashfully, half beseechingly, still wearing that winsome smile. Then, without warning, she slid down from her mount, retrieved her hat, clapped it on her dishevelled hair, picked up her whip and swung herself up to the saddle, at which her horse reared and sped off along the narrow path, beneath the overhanging pine branches.
She charged ahead without once looking back, filled with impotent fury, as though his kiss had stung her like a bee. Turning onto the country road, she urged her horse to go faster, and on she galloped between the fields of burnished gold, her hair and white veil streaming behind her, her skirt flapping wildly, causing the farmhands to pause in their labours and stare. Gradually she took possession of herself; her hands became steady again and she slowed the horse to a trot as she traversed the oak wood. At the sandy hollow she dismounted, tethered the horse to a beech sapling and, lifting the train of her habit with one hand, picked her way down the slope. The sand shifted beneath her tread, setting off small avalanches that left tree roots exposed on a layer of reddish earth. At the deepest point she halted and stood quite still a moment, with her eyes closed. Then she sighed, threw off her top hat and subsided on to the cool, shady ground. Burying her face in her arms, she began softly to cry.
Paul’s kiss had shocked her, and she was annoyed with herself for having fled instead of telling him off for his effrontery. Of course, it was not the first time he had chased her in fun and stolen a kiss, but they had only been children then – well, she had been a child, anyway. This time had been different; there had been a warm urgency in his kiss, a sensation that was new to her, and frightening, too. Why, oh why had he done it? That kiss had turned everything upside down, throwing into utter confusion what she had thought of as a gentle, budding friendship.
Eline Vere Page 43