by Betty Neels
‘I should never have let you go alone, I must have been mad. My poor girl, what a thoughtless man I am! You see, you are—always have been—so calm and efficient and able to cope, and then last night when I telephoned you, you sounded so tired—I rearranged my work to come and meet you. I remembered this long dark road too, Deborah, and in the Fiat it would be even longer. Forgive me, Deborah.’
She sniffed. His arm, flung along the back of the seat and holding her shoulders lightly, was comforting, and she was rapidly regaining her self-control. Later, she knew, she would be furious with herself for breaking down in this stupid fashion. She said in a voice which was nearly normal: ‘Thank you very much, Gerard. It was only because it was raining and so very dark.’
She felt his arm slide away. ‘I’ve some coffee here—Marijke always regards any journey more than ten miles distant from Amsterdam as being fraught with danger and probable starvation and provides accordingly. Sandwiches, too.’
They ate and drank in a companionable silence and presently Gerard began to talk, soothing nothings about her parents and her home and Smith—perhaps he talked to his more nervous patients like that, she thought sleepily, before he told them that he would have to operate. He took her cup from her presently and said: ‘Go to sleep, Deborah, there’s nothing to look at at this time of night—I’ll wake you when we reach Amsterdam.’
She started to tell him that she wasn’t tired any more, and fell asleep saying it.
She wakened to the touch of his hand on her arm. ‘A few minutes,’ he told her, and she was astonished to see the still lighted, now familiar streets of the city all around them. But the Keizersgracht was only dimly lit, its water gleaming dimly through the bare trees lining the road. It was still raining, but softly now, and there were a few lights from the houses they passed. As they drew up before their own front door, she saw that the great chandelier in the hall was beaming its light through the glass transom over the door and the sitting room was lighted too so that the wet pavement glistened in its glow. Gerard helped her out of the car and took her arm and they crossed the cobbles together as the front door was flung open and Marijke, with a wildly barking Smith, stood framed within it.
Going through the door Deborah knew at that moment just how much she loved the old house; it welcomed her, just as Marijke and Smith were welcoming her, as though she had returned from a long and arduous journey. She smiled a little mistily at Marijke and bent to catch Smith up into her arms. They went into the sitting room and Gerard took her coat, then Marijke was there almost at once with more hot coffee and a plate of paper-thin sandwiches. She talked volubly to Gerard while she set them out on the silver tray and carried it over to put on the table by Deborah’s chair. When she had gone, Deborah asked: ‘What was all that about?’
He came to sit opposite her and now she could see the lines of fatigue on his face, so that before he could answer she asked: ‘Have you had a hard day?’
He smiled faintly. ‘Yes.’
‘You’ve been busy—too busy, lately.’
‘That is no excuse for letting you go all that way alone.’
She said firmly: ‘It was splendid for my driving. I’ll not mind again.’
‘There won’t be an again,’ he told her briefly, ‘and Marijke was talking about you.’
‘Oh—I recognised one word—stomach.’
It was nice to see him laugh like that. ‘She said that you look tired and that beautiful women should never look other than beautiful. She strongly advised nourishment for your—er—stomach so that you would sleep like a rose.’
Deborah said softly: ‘What a charming thing to say, about the rose, I mean. Dear Marijke—she and Wim, they’re like the house, aren’t they?’ And was sorry that she had said it, because he might not understand. But he did; the look he gave her was one of complete understanding. She smiled at him and then couldn’t look away from his intent gaze. ‘You saw me the other afternoon,’ he stated the fact simply. ‘You have been wondering why I couldn’t find the time to take you and Maureen on a promised trip and yet have the leisure to drive around with a very attractive woman—she was attractive, did you not think so?’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t discuss my patients with you, you know that, I think—although I must confess I have frequently wished to do so—but I do not wish you to misunderstand. The patient upon whom I operated the other evening was…’ he named someone and Deborah sat up with a jerk, although she said nothing. ‘Yes, you see why I have been so worried and—secretive. The lady with me was his wife. She had been to Schiphol to meet her daughter, who was breaking her journey on her way home to get news of her father. At the last moment his wife declared that she was unable to tell her and asked me to do it. We were on our way back to the hospital when you saw us. I should have told you sooner. I’m not sure why I didn’t, perhaps I was piqued at the way you ignored the situation. Any other woman—wife—would have asked.’
‘It was none of my business,’ she said stiffly. ‘I didn’t know…’
‘You mean that you suspected me of having a girlfriend?’ He was smiling, but she sensed his controlled anger.
There was no point in being anything but honest with him. ‘Yes, I think I did, but it still wouldn’t be my business, and it shouldn’t matter, should it?’
He hadn’t taken his eyes off her. ‘I believe you said that once before. You think that? But do you not know me well enough to know that I would have been quite honest with you before I married you?’
Her head had begun to ache. ‘Oh, yes, indeed, but that wasn’t what I meant. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve no right to mind, have I?’
Gerard got to his feet and pulled her gently to hers. ‘You have every right in the world,’ he assured her. ‘I don’t think our bargain included that kind of treatment of each other, Deborah. I don’t cheat the people I like.’
She didn’t look at him. ‘No, I know that, truly I do. I’m sorry I was beastly. I think I’m tired.’
They walked together out of the room and in the hall he kissed her cheek. ‘I’ll wait for Wim, he shouldn’t be much longer now. And by the way, I’ve taken some time off. In a couple of days I’ll take you to the house in Friesland, and we might go and see some friends of mine who live close by—she’s English, too.’
Deborah was half way up the stairs. ‘That sounds lovely,’ she told him and then turned round to say: ‘Thank you for coming all that way, it must have been a bind after a hard day’s work.’
He didn’t answer her, but she was conscious of his eyes on her as she climbed the stairs.
CHAPTER SIX
BUT BEFORE they went to Friesland Deborah met some other friends of Gerard’s. She had spent a quiet day after her return, arranging the menu for a dinner party they were to give during the following week, paying a morning visit to her mother-in-law, telephoning her own mother and writing a few letters before taking Smith for a walk. She was back home, waiting for Gerard’s return from the Grotehof after tea, when the telephone rang.
It was a woman’s voice, light and sweet, enquiring if Mijnheer van Doorninck was home. ‘No,’ said Deborah, and wondered who it was, ‘I’m sorry—perhaps I could take a message?’ She spoke in the careful Dutch the professor had taught her, and hoped that the conversation wasn’t going to get too involved.
‘Is that Gerard’s wife?’ asked the voice, in English now, and when Deborah said a little uncertainly: ‘Why, yes—’ went on: ‘Oh, good. I’m Adelaide van Essen. My husband’s paediatrician at the Grotehof and a friend of Gerard. We got back from England last night and Coenraad telephoned me just now and told me about you. You don’t mind me ringing you up?’
‘I’m delighted—I don’t know any English people here yet.’
‘Well, come and meet me—us, for a start. Come this evening. I know it’s short notice, but I told Coenraad to ask Gerard to bring you to dinner—you will come?’
‘I’d love to.’ Deborah paused. ‘I’m n
ot sure about Gerard, he works late quite a lot and often works at home.’
She had the impression that the girl at the other end of the line was concealing surprise. Then: ‘I’m sure he’ll make time. We haven’t seen each other for ages and the men are old friends. We live quite near you, in the Herengracht—is seven o’clock too early? Oh, and here’s our number in case you want to ring back. Till seven, then. I’m so looking forward to meeting you.’
Deborah went back to her chair. The voice had sounded nice, soft and gentle and friendly. She spent the next ten minutes or so in deciding what she should wear and still hadn’t made up her mind when Gerard came in.
His hullo was friendly and after he had enquired about her day, he took a chair near her. ‘I met a friend of mine at the Grotehof this afternoon,’ he told her. ‘Coenraad van Essen—he’s married to an English girl. They’re just back from England and they want us to go round for dinner this evening. Would you like to go? It’s short notice and I don’t know if it will upset any arrangements you may have made?’
She chose a strand of silk and threaded her needle. ‘His wife telephoned a few minutes ago. I’d like to go very much. She suggested seven o’clock, so I had better go and talk to Marijke.’
Marijke hadn’t started the cutlets and the cheese soufflé; Deborah, in her laborious Dutch and helped by a few words here and there from Wim, suggested that they should have them the following day instead and apologised for the short notice. To which Marijke had a whole lot to say in reply, her face all smiles. Deborah turned to Wim. ‘I don’t quite understand…’
‘Marijke is saying that it is good for you to see a lady of your own age and also English. She wishes you a merry evening.’ He beamed at her. ‘Me, I wish the same also, Mevrouw.’
She wore the pink silk jersey dress she had been unable to resist the last time she had visited Metz, the fashionable dress shop within walking distance of the house, and went downstairs to find Gerard waiting for her. ‘I’m not late?’ she asked anxiously as she crossed the hall.
‘No—I wanted a few minutes with you. Shall we go into the sitting room?’
Deborah’s heart dropped to her elegant shoes. What was he going to tell her? That he was going away on one of his teaching trips—that he wouldn’t be able to take her to Friesland after all? She arranged her face into a suitable composure and turned to face him.
‘Did you never wonder why I had not given you a wedding gift?’ he asked her. ‘Not because I had given no thought to it; there were certain alterations I wanted done, and only today are they finished.’
He took a small velvet case from his pocket and opened it. There were earrings inside on its thick satin lining; elaborate pearl drops in a diamond setting. She looked at them with something like awe. ‘My goodness,’ she uttered, ‘they’re—they’re beautiful! I’ve never seen anything like them.’
He had taken them from their box. ‘Try them on,’ he invited her. ‘They’re very old, but the setting was clumsy; I’ve had them re-set to my own design. You are tall enough to take such a style, I think.’
She had gone to the mirror over the sofa table and hooked them in and stood looking at them. They were exquisite, and he was right, they suited her admirably. She turned her lovely head and watched the diamonds take fire. ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ she began. ‘They’re magnificent!’
Thanking him didn’t seem quite enough, so she went to him and rather hesitantly kissed his cheek. ‘Do you suppose I might wear them this evening?’ she asked.
‘Why not?’ He had gone over to the small secretaire by one of the windows and was opening one of its drawers. He returned with another, larger case in his hand. ‘This has been in the family for quite some time too,’ he observed as he gave it to her. ‘I’ve had it re-strung and the clasp re-set to match the earrings.’
Deborah opened the case slowly. There were pearls in it, a double row with a diamond and pearl clasp which followed the exact pattern of the earrings. She stared at it and all she could manage was an ecstatic ‘Oh!’ Gerard took them from her and fastened them round her neck and she went back to the mirror and had another look; they were quite superb. ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ she repeated, quite at a loss for words. ‘It’s the most wonderful wedding present anyone could dream of having.’
He was standing behind her, staring at her reflection. After a moment he smiled faintly. ‘You are my wife,’ he pointed out. ‘You are entitled to them.’ He spoke lightly as he turned away.
He need not have said that, she thought unhappily, looking at her suddenly downcast face in the mirror. It took her a few moments to fix a smile on to it before she turned away and picked up her coat.
‘Do we walk or go in the car?’ she asked brightly.
He helped her into her coat and she could have been his sister, she thought bitterly, for all the impression she made upon him. ‘The car,’ he told her cheerfully. ‘It’s almost seven, perhaps we had better go at once.’
The house in the Herengracht was bigger than Gerard’s but very similar in style. Its vast front door was opened as they reached it and an elderly man greeted them with a ‘Good evening, Mevrouw—Mijnheer.’
Gerard slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Tweedle, how are you? You haven’t called me Mijnheer for many a long day.’ He looked at Deborah, smiling. ‘This is Tweedle, my dear, who has been with Coenraad since he was a toddler. I daresay you will meet Mrs Tweedle presently.’
‘Indeed, she will be delighted,’ Tweedle informed them gravely, adding: ‘The Baron and Baroness are in the small sitting room, Mr Gerard.’
He led the way across the panelled hall and opened a door, announcing them as he did so, and Deborah, with Gerard’s hand under her elbow urging her gently on, went in.
The room was hardly small and she saw at a glance that it was furnished with some magnificent pieces worthy of a museum, yet it was decidedly lived in; there was a mass of knitting cast down carelessly on a small drum table, a pile of magazines were tumbled on to the sofa table behind the big settee before the chimneypiece, and there was a pleasant scent of flowers, tobacco and—very faint—beeswax polish. There were two people in the room, a man as tall as Gerard but somewhat older, his dark hair greying at the temples, horn-rimmed glasses astride his handsome beaky nose. It was a kind face as well as a good-looking one, and Deborah decided then and there that she was going to like Gerard’s friend. The girl who got up with him was small, slim and very pretty, with huge dark eyes and a mass of bright red hair piled high. She was wearing a very simple dress of cream silk and some of the loveliest sapphires Deborah had ever set eyes on. She felt Gerard’s hand on her arm again and went forward to receive the baron’s quiet welcome and the charming enthusiasm of his small wife, who, after kissing Gerard in a sisterly fashion, led her to a small sofa and sat down beside her.
‘You really are a dear to come at a moment’s notice,’ she declared. ‘You didn’t mind?’
Deborah shook her head, smiling. She was going to like this small vivid creature. ‘It was kind of you to ask us. I’m so glad to meet another English girl. Gerard has been so busy and—and we haven’t been married very long. I’ve met a great many of his colleagues, though.’
Her companion glanced at her quickly. ‘Duty dinners,’ she murmured, ‘and the rest of the time they’re immersed in their work. Coenraad says you were Gerard’s Theatre Sister.’
‘Yes. I worked for him for two years while he was at Clare’s.’ She felt she should have been able to say more about it than that, but she could think of nothing. There was a pause before her hostess asked: ‘Do you like Amsterdam? I love it. We’ve a house in Dorset and we go there whenever we can, and to my parents, of course. The children love it.’
She didn’t look old enough to have children. ‘How many have you?’ Deborah asked.
‘Two.’ Adelaide turned to take the drink her husband was offering her and he corrected her smilingly: ‘Two and a half, my love.’
De
borah watched him exchange a loving glance, full of content and happiness, and swallowed envy as she heard her host say: ‘Do you hear that, Gerard? You’re going to be a godfather again—some time in the New Year.’ And when Gerard joined them, he added: ‘We’ll do the same for you, of course.’
Everyone laughed; this was the sort of occasion, Deborah told herself bitterly, that she hadn’t reckoned with. She made haste to ask the children’s names and was at once invited to visit them in their beds.
‘They won’t be asleep,’ their doting mother assured her, ‘at least Champers won’t. Lisa’s only eighteen months old and drops off in seconds. Champers likes to lie and think.’
She led the way up the curving staircase and into the night nursery where an elderly woman was tidying away a pile of clothes. She was introduced as Nanny Best, the family treasure, before she trotted softly away with a bright nod. The two girls went to the cot first; the small girl in it was a miniature of her mother, the same fiery hair and preposterous lashes, the same small nose. She was asleep, her mother dropped a kiss on one fat pink cheek and crossed the room to the small bed against the opposite wall. There was no doubt at all that the small boy in it was the baron’s son. Here was the dark hair, the beaky nose and the calm expression. He grinned widely at his mother, offered a hand to Deborah and after kissing them both good night, declared his intention of going to sleep.
They went back downstairs and were met in the hall by the Labrador dogs. ‘Castor and Pollux,’ Adelaide introduced them, and tucked an arm into Deborah’s. ‘Call me Adelaide,’ she begged in her sweet voice. ‘I’m going to call you Deborah.’ She paused to look at her companion. ‘You’re quite beautiful, you know, no wonder Gerard married you.’ Her eyes lingered on the earrings. ‘I like these,’ she said, touching them with a gentle finger, ‘and the pearls, they suit you. How lucky you are to be tall and curvy, you can wear all the jewels Gerard will doubtless give you, but look at me—one pearl necklace and I’m smothered!’