by Neels, Betty
The evening was spent pleasantly enough. Dinner was eaten in a sombre room, heavy with dark oak and a great chandelier which somehow didn’t light the room adequately, but if the light was dim, the conversation wasn’t. Mevrouw van der Gulp was a witty old lady with a clever tongue, and both Everard and Benedict played up to her.
They went back to the drawing-room for coffee and presently Everard offered to show Prudence the house. As they crossed the hall he told her: ‘I keep meaning to alter the furnishings and the curtains and so on, but it doesn’t seem worth the trouble, living as I do, by myself. If I were to marry it would be a different matter, of course.’
Prudence stopped in the middle of a small, sombre sitting room. ‘Haven’t you ever wanted to marry?’ she asked.
‘Yes, twice, once when I was very young, just qualified and full of dreams, and the second time... when I met you, Prudence.’
She went a little pale, then red. ‘Oh, my goodness, Everard, you can’t mean that!’
‘But I do. Don’t worry, it won’t make any difference to our being friends. Besides, Benedict and I have known each other for most of our lives. I would never do anything to hurt him—or you.’ He smiled slowly. ‘You know, I thought, just for a little while, that I might have had a chance with you, but of course I soon saw that I hadn’t. You have no idea how happy I am to see the pair of you married, you’re so right for each other.’
She put out a hand and touched his sleeve. ‘Everard, I’m so sorry, I really am. You’ll stay my friend as well as Benedict’s, won’t you? What happened to the other girl?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘She married and went abroad to live. I have no idea where she is now.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Joanne—Joanne Winkeler. She had red hair too.’
‘And you are still in love with her, aren’t you? I look like her...’
She reached up and kissed his cheek, and he caught her hands in his. ‘Yes, green eyes and glorious hair.’ He smiled a little. ‘She had a temper to match!’
‘So have I, Everard. I do things on the spur of the moment.’
‘Like marrying Benedict?’
‘Yes.’ She turned her head at a faint sound from the doorway. Benedict was there, but whether he’d been standing there for any length of time she had no means of knowing. She thought not, for he said in his calm way: ‘There you are. Everard, this room is truly hideous, you really must get it changed. Prudence, Godmother wants to go home, we’ll give her a lift. It will save Everard getting out his car.’ He wandered into the room. ‘Have you told Everard that we are going to England in a few weeks?’
Prudence blinked; something in his voice didn’t sound like him at all. ‘No, I didn’t—I didn’t think of it, and even if I had I wouldn’t have,’ she added with a fine disregard for grammar. ‘Everard, thank you for a lovely evening, we’ll see you at the party perhaps before then—at least, I expect you two see each other most days at the hospital.’
She went to find Mevrouw van der Gulp and presently they left, the old lady stowed carefully on the back seat. If she had been tired she showed no sign of it now, and indeed, when they reached her house and saw her indoors she assured Prudence that she never went to bed before midnight.
‘I love going out in the evenings,’ she went on. ‘And I’m always the last to go.’ She laughed at herself, kissed a puzzled Prudence and went indoors with a laughing remark to Benedict, as he kissed her goodnight.
‘Well, Mevrouw van der Gulp recovered quickly,’ observed Prudence as they drove back home. ‘Was she tired or did she just want to go home?’
‘She wasn’t in the least tired,’ said Benedict coolly. ‘It was I who wanted to leave and she gave me the excuse.’ ‘Oh, I see.’ She didn’t see at all, but she wasn’t going to say so.
‘I expect you’ve got some work to do, and you’re on call after midnight, too.’
If she had hoped that he would agree with her she was to be disappointed. He grunted something she didn’t catch and she started on the safer topic of their evening. ‘That’s a very old-fashioned house,’ she remarked, ‘but it could be made quite a show place. Everard ought to get himself a wife.’ But Benedict didn’t answer that either, so she gave up. It didn’t matter really, being silent; he was close to her and she loved him so much that even sitting beside him was a joy.
It wasn’t late by the time they got in. Prudence went upstairs to make sure that Sibella was sleeping and then went to the drawing room.
‘I asked Ork if we could have coffee. You’d like a cup?’
Benedict was standing by the fire, reading a note which had come by hand for him. He looked up without smiling. ‘Why not? I’ll be out tomorrow. I’ll have to leave early, so explain to Sibella, will you?’
She said steadily: ‘Yes, of course. Will you be back before she goes to bed?’
‘I doubt it.’ He went and sat down and she poured their coffee. ‘Everard suggested that you drove over to the Kroller-Muller Museum. Why don’t you give him a ring and suggest tomorrow afternoon? Sibella’s a bit young for it, but she would enjoy the drive.’
Prudence said without hesitation: ‘Oh, no, I don’t think so—it would bore her to tears. I’ll take my car and we’ll drive somewhere and have tea out. She likes that.’
‘You don’t like Everard?’ The question was casual, and she, her thoughts busy as to why he had to spend the whole day away from home without choosing to tell her why, answered just as casually. ‘Oh, yes, very much—he’s one of the nicest men I’ve ever met.’ She smiled across at him. ‘Isn’t that a good thing? Just suppose I’d disliked him on sight, or him me—how awkward it would have been for you!’
He glanced up from his letter again without speaking, his eyes cold, so that she asked quite sharply: ‘Is something the matter, Benedict—there’s something wrong?’
She must be imagining things. His ‘Of course not’ was uttered with smiling calm.
Sibella was inclined to be upset when Prudence told her at breakfast that they would be spending the day on their own, but she cheered up when Prudence suggested that they should let her choose what they should do. ‘Church first, of course, but we’ll have lunch somewhere if you like, think about it quickly so that I can let Sitska know.’
The Zoo,’ said Sibella after scarcely a moment’s thought. ‘In Rhenen, I went once with Papa, and we ate there too.’
‘Fine, that’s where we’ll go, then. But we’ll come home for tea, just in case Papa gets back early.’
They got out a map when they got back from church, and Prudence was relieved to find that Rhenen wasn’t far—twenty miles or so, and easy enough to get to. They drove off under the fatherly eye of Ork, into a morning which was going, unless she was much mistaken, to turn into a wet afternoon.
She took a quieter road across the centre of the Veluwe, avoiding the towns until she came to Ede and then taking an even smaller road to Wageningen and then on to Rhenen. The Zoo was on the near side of the little town, and she found it easy enough to park the car, buy their tickets and take Sibella straight to the restaurant, pleasantly old-fashioned in an ancient
watch-tower, and she was kept busy answering Sibella’s questions and eating lunch, which prevented her thinking too much about Benedict. And later, walking about the Zoo and the park, with the little girl demanding the names in English of all the animals, she banished him from her mind and joined in the child’s pleasure. They were driving home again when she started to worry once more, although she told herself unendingly that she had no reason to do so, but when Sibella put a small paw on her knee and asked her anxiously why she was sad, she conjured up a very credible laugh. ‘Not a bit of it, darling—was I frowning? I often do when I’m driving. We’ve had a lovely afternoon, haven’t we? Such a pity Papa couldn’t come too.’ I wonder where he is? she added silently, and had her answer within seconds. The Aston Martin with Benedict at the wheel and Myra beside him slid past on the main road they were wai
ting to turn into, and going away from Appeldoorn, too. Sibella hadn’t seen it. Prudence, feeling sick, joined the traffic to Appeldoorn, wishing with all her heart that she could have turned the car in the opposite direction and followed Benedict. A rush of fury shook her. No wonder he hadn’t said where he was going! Just let him wait till he got back home; there were a few questions he could answer...
‘Mama,’ shrilled Sibella, ‘you’ve gone past our road!’
With an effort Prudence pulled herself together, turned the car in the teeth of several indignant drivers and drove carefully to their own doorstep. Ork opened the door before she could get her key out and Henry came tearing from the kitchen to jump all over them. It was easier to think straight in familiar surroundings; Prudence took Sibella upstairs to take off her outdoor things and then went with her to the drawing-room. She had suggested that they should have their tea in the playroom, but the little girl shook her head. ‘Always we have tea in the drawing-room on Sundays, and Papa will come.’
Only he didn’t. Prudence, filling in the gap between tea and Sibella’s supper, played cards, Ludo and Snakes and Ladders, countering her anxious enquiries as to where Papa was by what she hoped were sensible answers. He still was absent as Prudence helped Sibella to bed, and although she stayed for a while, reading to the child, there was no sign of him.
‘I tell you what,’ said Prudence, ‘when Papa comes in, I’ll ask him to come here and kiss you goodnight, even if you’re asleep. How will that do?’
A rather tearful Sibella agreed, and presently she fell asleep and Prudence was free to go downstairs again.
She had her dinner on a tray, eating it hastily and carrying the barely touched contents back to the kitchen, and at Sitska’s surprised concern, inventing a headache. ‘I’ll have a bath and get ready for bed,’ she told Ork, ‘and then come down and read until the doctor gets back. Don’t wait up; if Sitska will leave coffee ready and the rest of the soup, I can make sandwiches if he needs them.’
Ork demurred, but she was firm. ‘We’ll lock up—you always go round the windows and doors anyway, don’t you? If you do that it will only be the front door.’
She took her time getting ready for bed and then, wrapped in the new blue quilted dressing gown she had bought only that week, padded downstairs to sit by the drawing room fire. Ork appeared almost at once with the coffee tray, fidgeted around the room for a minute or two and then asked:
‘Mevrouw will be all right? The doctor would not wish that you are alone.’
Prudence was touched at the old man’s concern. ‘I’ll be fine, Ork, and I promise I’ll call you if I need to.’
‘You will not answer the door, Mevrouw?’
‘No, I promise you, Ork.’
They wished each other goodnight and she heard him going methodically from room to room, making everything secure for the night. Presently the house was quiet save for the tick-tocking of the great Friese clock in the hall and the hurried tripping of the carriage clock on the mantelpiece above her. Now and then the house eased itself gently with gentle creaks and faint whispers, but presently they were drowned by the wind sighing through the trees near the house—all sounds that Prudence found soothing. One of the novels she had bought in Arnhem was on her lap, so was a Dutch dictionary, but presently she closed them both and then her eyes.
The clock was striking one when she woke to the sound of Benedict’s key in the door. She heard him pause in the hall, fling his coat down and then cross the hall. As he came through the door she sat upright.
‘I want a word with you,’ she began, instant temper taking over from sleep.
‘Now?’ asked Benedict mildly. ‘Do you know the time?’
‘You ask me that?’ She was so indignant that she stuttered. ‘And if you want coffee or something to eat you’ll have to get it for yourself. I sent Ork to bed hours ago.’
‘So that you could lie in wait for me?’ he asked silkly.
‘Yes. I saw you this afternoon—with Myra...’
‘I know. I half expected you to come racing after me.’
‘It never entered my head,’ she lied. ‘If you were going to spend the day—and half the night—with her, why couldn’t you have said so?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘My dear Prudence, I don’t think that would have been a very wise thing to do. You might have got all sorts of ideas into that fiery head of yours.’
He had gone to sit down opposite to her, most annoyingly calm. ‘That’s a pretty blue gown. It suits you.’ Prudence all but ground her teeth. ‘Never mind that!’ she snapped. ‘It was a mercy Sibella didn’t see you!’
‘I’m sure you would have found some very good reason for my—er—lapse.’ Benedict smiled at her gently. ‘I had no idea you would be on that road.’
She bounced with rage. ‘You’re insufferable! I wish I’d gone with Everard, and then I wouldn’t have seen you!’
His voice was as gentle as his smile. ‘I did suggest it’ He got up. Tm going to get some coffee. Do you want any? And aren’t you going to ask me why I spent the day—these were your words, Prudence—with Myra?’
‘I have no wish to know.’ Her voice came out rather squeakily for she was on the edge of tears. ‘And I don’t want any coffee.’ She jumped up out of her chair and sailed from the room without looking at him or saying goodnight. It was a great relief to get into bed and cry her eyes out, although she didn’t bother to ask herself just why she was weeping. She only knew that she was unhappier than she had ever been in her
Chapter 8
Morning brought common sense with it. She should have held her tongue and said nothing to Benedict; they were friends, they had married with a very clear idea of what they were doing and friends trusted each other; she had demonstrated very clearly that she didn’t trust him—worse, that she was jealous. She had been a fool, and the only thing to do was to pretend that it had never happened. She went down to breakfast hand in hand with Sibella, greeted Benedict cheerfully, and entered into an unnecessarily long and involved account of their afternoon’s outing. She ground to a halt presently, aware that he was silently laughing at her, although he appeared to be giving her his full attention. She crumbled some toast and asked him briskly if he would be in for lunch, not quite looking him in the eye, and when he said that he would, ask about the invitations for the party. ‘I’ve got the ones from the hospital on your desk,’ she told him, still brisk despite the twinkle in his eyes, ‘but I don’t know what to do with the rest.’
‘I’ll see to them, though you could phone the Brands and the Pennicks—and don’t forget Juffrouw Smit. Godmother too, and of course Everard.’
He left the house soon after, dropping a casual kiss on her cheek as he passed by her chair. So everything was to be just as before; the unpleasant little episode was to be forgotten. Next time, and she felt sure that there would be a next time, she would have to seethe and boil behind a friendly, unnoticing face. She gave an indignant snort at the very idea and Sibella asked her if she had a cold.
There wasn’t anything much for her to do on a Monday morning, as most of the shops were shut anyway. She took Henry for his walk, phoned her invitations and then decided to go into the town and post some letters, and since it was a grey windy day, she stopped for coffee at one of the fashionable little cafes in the main street. She had bought a Dutch paper, and now over her coffee she began to pick out the headlines. It was more interesting than looking up words in a dictionary. She was beginning to say a few words now, thanks to Benedict and Sibella’s help, but the written word was another matter. She was wrestling with the small ads when she heard a voice give a name she had never expected to hear. It was a woman’s voice, and Prudence turned round cautiously and took a look. A woman in her late thirties, pretty still and with hair as red as Prudence’s own. She glanced up, and Prudence wasn’t in the least surprised to see that her eyes were vividly green. Everard’s first love, here, only a mile or so from him! The woman smiled faintly, turned to
her companion and said something and got up to go. As she went past Prudence’s table, Prudence put out an urgent hand.
‘Please, could I speak to you? You are Joanne Winkler, aren’t you? I heard you...’
The woman had stopped. ‘Have we met somewhere?’ she asked pleasantly. ‘You’re English— perhaps in the States?’
‘We’ve not met. Everard Herrisma told me about you.’
The woman went white, said something to her companion, who walked on, then sat down opposite Prudence.
‘He is well? Still working at the hospital, perhaps? I only arrived yesterday, I was going to enquire...’
‘But not going to see him?’ asked Prudence.
‘No. I—we parted many years ago, he will have forgotten me.’
‘He hasn’t. He’s as in love with you now as he always was.’ Prudence made the sweeping statement without hesitation. ‘It’s a miracle, you know, finding you here, right under his nose.’ She hesitated. ‘Forgive me for being nosey, but are you married?’
‘A widow. I came back...’ Joanne shrugged her shoulders. ‘I smashed my dream all that time ago, I don’t expect to pick up the pieces.’
‘But you’d like to see Everard?’
Her companion’s face puckered. ‘Oh, yes, so very much! You see, I made a mistake, and married the wrong Man, but I was too proud to do anything about it. And he never wrote.’
‘No—well, he wouldn’t. Look, I’m not meaning to interfere, but will you let me tell Everard that you’re here—get him used to the idea before you meet?’ Prudence added, a little pink: ‘I’m married to Benedict van Vinke. Did you know him?’
‘Of course I did. Everard’s good friend and mine also.’ A guarded look came over her face. ‘He was married...’ she began uncertainly.
‘Yes, but his wife died. He had a little girl, Sibella.’
Joanne said slowly: ‘They weren’t happy, you know. She was a feather-headed creature. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, should one, but it’s true, and Benedict was a fine doctor even then. They’d only been married—oh, less than a year, when I left, and I could see...’ She smiled. ‘I’m sure you are a very good wife for him.’