by Betty Neels
He smiled a little. ‘It seemed a more suitable car to the occasion than the Aston Martin.’
‘Well, yes—I suppose so, but aren’t you a bit nervous of driving it?’
He sounded amused. ‘Er—no, not in the least. I’ve been driving one for some years now.’
She turned a surprised face to him. ‘It’s not yours?’
‘Yes, it is. You sound disapproving, Laura.’
‘Well, I don’t mean to be.’ She hesitated, watching him steer the big car through the traffic. ‘I know it’s not my business and I don’t mean to pry, but are you very successful?’
‘If by that carefully wrapped up question you want to know if I can afford to run a Rolls, yes, I can. And it is your business.’
Laura frowned. ‘I didn’t wrap up the question,’ she pointed out rather coldly, ‘how very horrid of you to say so. I’m sure I don’t wish to know anything you don’t choose to tell me.’ She glared out of the window, feeling remarkably put out, and then looked at him as his hand covered hers for a moment.
‘It’s quite my fault,’ he observed mildly. ‘I’ve never discussed anything with you, have I? We’ve not had much time, but I’ll tell you anything you want to know while we’re on holiday. And there’s a letter from my father in the pocket beside you—take it out and read it.’
She did as she was told, carefully scrutinising the writing on the envelope before she opened it; it was large and flowing and somehow it reassured her. The letter within wasn’t all that long, but it warmed her heart. Reilof’s father must be a dear. She didn’t know if he had known about Joyce, but even if he had, there was no sign of it in his letter. It welcomed her into the family with a warmth she hadn’t expected, and the writer expressed the hope that they would meet and become friends very soon: ‘For I am sure that Reilof’s wife will be as dear to me as to him,’ it ended. She folded it carefully and put it back in its envelope, feeling almost physical hurt at the words, because of course Reilof’s father would imagine her to be a much loved bride. He couldn’t know about Joyce…
Reilof’s voice cut across her reflections. ‘Father knows about Joyce. I’ve explained the whole to him, for of course I had described her to him and he would have been surprised…’
Laura flushed brightly, went pale and then to her horror felt the tears welling up into her throat. Nothing she could do would stop them, they trickled down her cheeks and she didn’t dare wipe them away, for he might turn and see what she was doing. Better to sit quite still.
Too still, though, for he glanced briefly at her, made a small sound which could have meant anything, and pulled the car into the side of the suburban road along which they were driving.
He stared at her wet cheeks for a few seconds. ‘Something I’ve said?’ he asked gently. ‘You don’t feel well?’
Her charming bosom heaved as she found her voice, rather watery but almost steady. ‘I feel very well. Of course your father would be surprised; he expected a lovely golden-haired young girl, didn’t he? And all he’ll get is me, nudging thirty and as p-plain as a p-pikestaff. But you needn’t have told me—do you really think I don’t know?’
She felt his arm across her shoulders, pulling her comfortably close.
‘Oh, my dear girl, what a clumsy wretch I am, and I had no thought of hurting you—and Father won’t be surprised. I told him about you, but I mentioned neither your looks nor your age, although why that should matter I can’t imagine.’
‘It matters very much,’ she assured him rather peevishly, ‘and if you were a woman you’d understand.’ She sat up straight and blew her nose and managed to smile. ‘Oh dear, I don’t know why I had to behave like a fool. I’m sorry.’
‘Wedding nerves,’ he observed comfortably. ‘I believe all brides are supposed to have them.’
Joyce hadn’t. Perhaps if you were going to marry a man you loved so much that you were prepared to throw over another man with no compunction at all, you were beyond nerves. Laura said with a certainty she didn’t feel: ‘Yes, I expect that’s it, for I’m not usually so silly. I’ll not do it again.’
His smile was kind. ‘Then you will be a very exceptional wife. Esme—we married when she was eighteen—was very nervous at our wedding. It was rather a grand one—she had that sort of mother.’
‘What was she like? Or would you rather not talk about her?’
‘I was twenty-four when we married and she died eleven years ago of leukaemia.’
‘Reilof, I’m sorry, how terrible for you. Perhaps you’d rather not tell me…’
He had started the car again and they were approaching the more open Essex countryside. He said slowly: ‘It’s a long time ago now, and months before she died I knew that I’d married the wrong girl. She hated my work—hospitals, going out at all hours of the day and night, coming home late and leaving early—poor Esme, she was very young. I believe that she had no idea of the life she would lead as a doctor’s wife.’
He was silent for a few moments and then went on quietly: ‘I suppose we were happy for about six months, and then in a year or less I began to suspect that she was ill—she never knew. I took a partner and cut my work to a minimum so that she could enjoy the kind of life she wanted; dining out, dancing, theatres, holidays in the south of France. Shortly after she died my partner went abroad and I was on my own for a few years, but the practice got large and I began to lecture as well. I took a partner last year, Jan van Mijhof, he’s younger than I, a very good sort too and a first-rate doctor. He’s not married and lives close by. I should warn you that I am a busy man, Laura.’
‘Well, I shall have plenty to occupy me—I shall have to learn Dutch, shan’t I?’ She thought for a moment. ‘There’s the little dog, too—I can take him for walks. What do you call him?’
‘Lucky. Oh, yes, he likes his exercise and so does Hovis, my other dog. The country round about the house is very pretty, I think you’ll like it.’ He glanced at her. ‘Do you ride?’
‘I haven’t done for years. I daresay I’d be all right on a very staid kind of horse.’
He laughed. ‘Well, we’ll have to see about that.’
She asked rather wistfully, ‘I suppose you don’t want any help in the surgery?’
‘Er—no. Later on perhaps. I have a surgery nurse and a secretary, and if either of them should be ill I might be glad of your offer.’
His voice sounded friendly enough, but she could hear a note of reserve; he didn’t want her to have anything to do with his work; she would have to remember that. She started to talk about something else and kept the conversation to trivialities until they reached her home.
An hour later, in the kitchen getting supper, Laura found it difficult to believe that she was actually getting married the next day; her father and Uncle Wim had been delighted to see her, but their interest in the forthcoming wedding was only mild. Of course they were delighted that she was to be the bride, but she suspected that they were equally delighted that it was to be such a very quiet affair, necessitating no unnecessary dressing up and no fuss and bother with guests, wedding breakfasts, and the like. And as for Reilof, once he had taken their things up to their rooms, he had settled down with the two older men, to an absorbing discussion of some medical matter. Even Mrs Whittaker, who would have been an interested and highly satisfactory audience, was at home nursing her brood of children through the measles.
It was left to Mittens to be Laura’s confidante, and she only pretended interest while she waited for her supper. Laura, longing to discuss the most important event in her life so far, sighed, and then chided herself for giving way to self-pity. She had made her bed and she was going to lie in it, she assured Mittens as she offered the little cat her evening saucer of milk.
‘And what exactly do you mean by that?’ asked Reilof from the door, and when she turned to look at him he wasn’t smiling.
‘Nothing,’ she told him swiftly. ‘Have you come to see if supper’s ready?’
He seemed con
tent to let his question go unanswered. ‘Your father has opened a bottle of champagne and he wants you to join us.’ He glanced round the kitchen in a vague way. ‘Is there anything I can do?’
She told him no and went with him to her father’s study and smiled at the gentlemen when they toasted her, laughed obligingly at Uncle Wim’s gentle little jokes about weddings in general and hers in particular, and then went back to the kitchen to dish up.
As the evening progressed she found that she had no feelings at all about the next morning’s ceremony, only a kind of hazy acceptance of it; the haziness was probably due to the champagne. Just after ten o’clock she wished the three men good night and went up to her room, where she laid her wedding clothes ready, washed her hair, did her nails and jumped into bed, to fall immediately, contrary to her expectations, into a refreshing sleep disturbed only by her alarm clock sounding off seven o’clock the next morning.
Not quite five hours later she was in her bedroom again, making ready to leave with Reilof. The wedding had been a surprisingly cheerful affair, for despite the lack of guests the church had been filled to capacity by those people in the village who had known her for most of her life. Indeed, she had been astonished when she and her father, after walking the short distance from her home to the church, had been greeted by so many smiling expectant faces, all staring over their shoulders to get a first glimpse of her. She faltered a little, but then she saw Reilof waiting for her, the only person in the church not looking at her. He could have least shown a little interest, she fumed silently as she and her father started down the aisle, and then her ill-feeling vanished, because as she reached his side he looked down at her, not smiling but kind and reassuring, and she felt absurdly happy despite the doubtful future.
She got out of her wedding outfit and packed it carefully before getting into the cotton shirtwaister—a pretty garment patterned in summer flowers on a silvery grey ground—did her face and hair and stood wondering what to do with the elegant little spray of orange-blossom, roses and orchids which Reilof had given her before he had left for the church that morning. It seemed pointless to keep it, for it had been given with a casually friendly, ‘Brides always have flowers—I don’t see why you should be the exception,’ which had robbed the gift of any sentiment, but all the same she wrapped it tenderly in a scrap of tissue paper and slipped it into her overnight bag before going downstairs to inform her three companions that she was ready.
They were sitting around in the study, talking easily just as though the day were the same as any other. Reilof, she saw at once, had changed the beautifully-cut grey suit he had worn in church for an equally well-cut tweed jacket and cavalry twill trousers; the ring she had given him during the ceremony caught her eye, and without knowing that she did it, she touched her own wedding ring beneath the rubies of her engagement ring.
Reilof looked up then and saw her standing in the doorway and got to his feet, saying easily: ‘Ah, here she is—I’ll go and get the car and fetch the bags, shall I, while you say goodbye.’
It was a splendid summer’s day and the Rolls ate up the miles. For the first few of them Laura had nothing to say, but presently, anxious to break the silence, she asked: ‘You don’t think Uncle Wim will mind staying another week with Father? I believe he meant to go back to Holland several weeks ago…’
Reilof swung the car away from Chelmsford, taking a country road which would bring them out on to the London road beyond Ongar. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t mind at all, and probably when we go back for him in a week’s time he’ll find some excuse for staying even longer.’ He added to surprise her, ‘You looked very nice this morning, Laura, and that’s a pretty dress you’re wearing.’
She could think of nothing to say but a murmured thank-you, and presently, to fill the silence, inquired which way they would go.
‘The ring road—we can pick up the motorway at Chertsey, it will take us as far as Cadnam Corner.’
‘Oh—exactly where are we going?’
‘Heavens, did I not tell you? I’ve booked rooms at Corfe Castle. Do you know it?’
‘I’ve been there once or twice, but never to stay. I liked it.’
‘It won’t be very quiet at this time of year, I’m afraid, but I thought we might drive out each day and go where inclination takes us. But if you don’t like the idea, do say so and we’ll try something else.’
‘But I do like it,’ she said positively, ‘and I love exploring.’
The journey passed pleasantly enough, indeed, Laura was hard put to it to remember that she was actually married to the man beside her. It seemed more as though they were two friends out for the day, bent on entertaining each other. Only when they reached Corfe Castle and entered the picturesque old hotel in its little square was the fact of her married status brought home to her when she was addressed as Madam and heard Reilof saying that Mrs van Meerum would like to go to her room as soon as someone could be found to carry up her luggage.
She followed the porter upstairs to the first landing, where she discovered that they were to have two adjoining rooms at the back of the hotel. Very comfortable they were too, each with a bathroom and furnished with old-fashioned comfort. There was no sign of Reilof, so she unpacked her case, tidied her hair, saw to her face and wandered out on to the small balcony, where he presently joined her. It might have been the balcony scene from Private Lives; only their conversation held no hint of romance, for he asked at once if she was hungry and if so, would it not be a good idea for them to dine early and then take a stroll through the little town. ‘I’ll be back in fifteen minutes,’ he suggested as he strolled away to his own room.
She changed her dress, more to please herself than for any other reason; since she had some pretty clothes she might as well wear them, and the round-necked, short-sleeved silk jersey dress in a pleasing shade of honey was certainly pretty. But if Reilof noticed it, he forbore from saying so, merely commending her on her promptitude as they went downstairs to the dining room where they had a leisurely meal at a small table in the window, a circumstance which Laura considered fortunate, for there was plenty to see in the square and it made a happy source of conversation. The dining room was almost full, but no one, she decided, would have any idea that they were newly married.
Indeed, their manner was more that of a couple who had been man and wife for some years, who, while enjoying each other’s company, weren’t excited by it. It was on the tip of her tongue to make some joking remark about it, but perhaps it would be as well to wait until they were on their own, for he might not find it amusing. It was disconcerting when he remarked: ‘We must be the most untypical newly married couple ever heard of.’ He smiled with sudden charm. ‘Perhaps we should have gone to one of those enormous anonymous hotels where they hold dinner dances every night and you’re known by your room number.’
She doubted very much if he had ever been to such a place, but she had followed his train of thought easily enough. ‘No,’ she declared firmly, ‘it’s quiet here and we have to get to know each other—I mean, you never really get to know anyone if you just go out to dinners and dances and theatres with them, do you?’
He agreed gravely and asked quietly, ‘You’re not regretting our marriage, Laura?’
She shook her head. ‘No, but then I haven’t got used to it yet, though I can’t think of any reason why I should regret it, you know. I had a month in which to think about it and I’m not an impulsive girl.’
He raised his brows. ‘Not in general, I think, but surely you were a little impulsive when you agreed to marry me?’
She went pink, although she poured his coffee with a steady hand and handed him the cup. ‘You were impulsive to suggest it,’ she pointed out. ‘I daresay it’s a good thing to do something on the spur of the moment now and again.’ She sugared her coffee. ‘There are a great many questions I should like to ask you during the next few days, so I hope you won’t mind answering them.’
‘I’ll do my best, but sha
ll we leave them until tomorrow? It’s a delightful evening, we might walk round the town if you would like that.’
And it had been very pleasant, Laura decided as she got ready for bed. Strolling along, peering into the small shop windows, discussing where they should go, wandering round the church, reading the memorial tablets on its walls and then back to the hotel for a drink before bed. She yawned hugely, deliberately dwelling on the trivialities of the day; it hadn’t been like a wedding day at all, but she hadn’t expected that it would be, and she had promised herself that she wouldn’t dwell on her love for Reilof but be thankful for what she had got. Not much, she decided sleepily, but the thin end of the wedge, perhaps? Or did she mean half a loaf was better than no bread at all? She wasn’t sure, and she was too sleepy to decide.
Life seemed normal again after a sound night’s sleep, and nothing could have been more prosaic than Reilof’s manner at breakfast. They spent their day in Salisbury because Laura had expressed a wish to see the cathedral again, lunched at the Rose and Crown and then made their way back to Corfe Castle, keeping to the country roads and stopping for tea at a little cottage run by an old lady, very spry despite her grey hair, who served them with strong tea in a brown pot, scones of her own baking and a great dish of clotted cream and strawberry jam besides. Laura made a good tea, quite at ease now with Reilof after a day’s undemanding conversation with him. They hadn’t talked much of his home, although he had given her snippets of information about Holland and the way of life there. Very much the same as in England, she had considered, and wished that he would tell her more about himself and his family—still, there would be all the time in the world to do that when they got back. She polished off the last of the scones, bade the old lady a cheerful goodbye and accompanied Reilof back to the car, where he invited her to get into the driving seat and try her hand.
‘I don’t dare,’ she protested vigorously. ‘Supposing I should smash it up—it’s a Rolls…’