Never Too Late

by Neels, Betty

  ‘I try to be. Look, I’ve just had an idea. We’re having a small party next week, just drinks and talk for an hour or two. Will you come? And I won’t tell Everard you’re here...but perhaps I’d better, someone is sure to do that. Anyway, you could see him there, it might be easier with a lot of people around.’

  ‘Yes? You think so? Perhaps you are right.’ Joanne laughed. ‘We should agree, should we not, with our red hair and green eyes? I will do as you say. What a strange conversation we are having—I don’t even know your name!’

  ‘Prudence. It’s a silly name for someone with red hair, isn’t it?’

  Joanne laughed. ‘I’m glad you weren’t prudent. You might not have talked to me. Is Benedict still living in his nice house near Het Loo?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll see Everard as soon as possible and tell him. I’m sure everything’s going to be all right. I must go, I have to fetch Sibella from school.’ Prudence paid her bill and they left the cafe together and parted on the pavement, and Prudence, walking briskly into the teeth of the wind, reflected that life could be very unexpected. With hindsight she realised that she had been a bit impetuous, buttonholing Joanne like that; she could have been horribly snubbed. ‘Fools walk in,’ she reminded herself, and waved gaily to Sibella, coming out of school.

  The sight of Benedict sitting opposite her at lunch diverted her thoughts, but when he had gone again and she and Sibella and Henry were having their walk, she resolutely put him behind her and concentrated on her plans to get Everard and Joanne together again, and the moment they were back home and Sibella had gone off to the kitchen to help get the tea tray ready, she went to the telephone. Everard wasn’t home; she had half expected that, so she rang the hospital and gave a sigh of relief when a voice told her that he was there.

  Everard was talking to Benedict in the consultants’ room when his bleep stopped him in mid-sentence. He went to the phone in a corner of the room and Benedict said: ‘I’ll see you on the ward, then,’ and went out of the room, only to turn round and come in again because he had forgotten the notes he had been discussing. He was through the open door and his hands were on the notes when he heard Everard say: ‘Prudence, you mean that? Where are we to meet? At your house? I can hardly wait! Don’t tell anyone yet.’

  He had his back to Benedict, who stood for a moment looking at his friend before he turned on his heel and left the room again. He had a round to do and did it, looking and talking in his usual calm manner. Only the elderly Ward Sister in Men’s Medical, who had known him for years, wondered what was the matter with him, and knowing him so well, didn’t ask.

  True to her word, Prudence said nothing to Benedict, although she longed to do so. Instead she talked about food and drink for the guests, the new dress she planned for Sibella, and kept him posted as to those who were coming. Everyone they had invited, in fact. Prudence, allowing Sibella to choose between a rich dark blue and a mulberry red velvet dress, pondered her own dress. Something suitable, she decided. Benedict was well known and well liked and had a large circle of friends, even if not all of them would be at their party. Something dignified, she thought, pearl grey or black—she never wore black, but if Benedict thought it would be the right thing she would do so. To her surprise, when she suggested it, he reacted quite violently. ‘Good God, no—I loathe women in little black dresses. Pale mauve, if you like, or a nice chocolate brown.’

  So she searched the shops for either the one or the other, and came home with a lilac crepe with a demure neckline and a cleverly cut skirt. She bought kid slippers to match and tried them for Sibella’s benefit, with the strict instruction that on no account was her papa to know anything about it.

  On the evening of the party, she dressed Sibella and then herself, and they went downstairs together, red velvet and lilac blending very nicely. They went hand in hand into the drawing room where Benedict was sitting reading by the fire. He got up when they went in and stood studying them both. ‘Delightful,’ he delared. ‘You both look as pretty as pictures. My compliments, Prudence.’

  ‘Sibella chose her own dress,’ volunteered Prudence. ‘It’s pretty, isn’t it?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m proud of my daughter.’ He didn’t say that he was proud of his wife, although Prudence hoped that he would.

  ‘Remember, liefje, you go to bed the moment Mama tells you to.’ He smiled across at Prudence. ‘Everything looks very nice indeed,’ he told her. ‘You must have worked hard.’

  ‘No,’ not really. Ork and Sitska and Betje did most of it. I’m glad you’re pleased.’ She smiled back at him, so disturbed because he was somehow very remote. If Sibella hadn’t been there she would have asked him if there was anything the matter. And anyway, there was no time. The front door bell clanged and she could hear Ork bidding the first of their guests welcome.

  It was surprising the number of friends Benedict had. She went among them with him and Sibella dancing along beside her and they were all smiling and friendly, and since they knew each other, in no time at all everyone was talking at the top of his or her voice. The party was a success.

  ‘This is the first social occasion Benedict has hosted for I don’t know how long,’ a tall stout woman with a loud voice told Prudence. ‘His first wife didn’t like any of us, you know, we bored her stiff, so he gradually stopped asking us round, and when she died he cut himself off from everyone.’ She laughed loudly and quite without malice. ‘Of course he’s been no monk, but you’d hardly expect that, would you? We are all so delighted that he has married again, my dear, and to such a sensible girl too.’

  Prudence answered politely, and presently excused herself as Ork came towards her. He murmured in her ear and her face lit up so that Benedict watching her from the other side of the room, frowned a little. He saw her slip from the room and presently return with Everard, whom she left with a group of friends before rejoining the people she had been talking too. She hadn’t looked in his direction once. Ten minutes later Ork appeared again, and once more she slipped from the room, and this time it was five minutes before she returned. When she came back she had Joanne Winkeler with her. Several of the guests recognised her at once and crowded round to greet her before Benedict could reach her. They stood back a little as he took her hand and kissed her cheek. ‘My dear Joanne, what a delightful surprise! We all thought you were in the States. You know everyone here, don’t you?’ He shot a lightning glance at Prudence. ‘Including Prudence,’ he added blandly. ‘You’ve already met, I take it? Come and meet everyone...’

  People began to talk again and Prudence walked around with Sibella’s hand tucked in hers, saying a bit here and there, all the while wondering how Everard and Joanne would behave when they were actually face to face. She felt cheated, she would have liked to have been there to see, but Benedict had Joanne by the arm still and was steering her gently towards Everard, talking to two elderly ladies. Benedict detached these from his friend with practised ease and left him and Joanne together, pausing to murmur in Everard’s ear as he went. Out of the corner of her eye Prudence saw them go through the half open door to the conservatory beyond; so far, so good.

  The party was getting into its stride now. Benedict was a good host. Groups formed and reformed, all talking at the tops of their voices, while Ork circulated with drinks and Betje handed the food. It was, Prudence discovered reluctantly, time for Sibella to go to bed. She sent the child to say goodnight to her father and then make a round of the guests, shaking hands politely with each one. ‘I haven’t said goodnight to Oom Everard or that pretty lady!’ shrilled Sibella, as Prudence urged her to the door.

  ‘They are very old friends, darling, and they haven’t seen each other for a long time. I’ll say goodnight and goodbye to them both for you.’

  Sibella was still a little excited. The new dress had to be admired before it was taken off, and the delights of the evening discussed, so it was almost half an hour before Prudence went downstairs again. It was Mevrouw van der Gulp who asked her: ‘Whe
re have you been, my dear? Several of us missed you.’

  Tm sorry—Sibella is too small to put herself to bed and she was a little excited.’ Prudence glanced casually round the room and paled a little. Myra was there, talking to Benedict and Dr Brand. As usual, thought Prudence sourly, she looked stunning; her scarlet dress outshone every other woman’s in the room. Prudence instantly felt dowdy. She left Mevrouw van der Gulp with Mevrouw Brand and made her way across the room.

  ‘How nice to see you, Myra, I’m so glad you could come.’ In her own ears her voice sounded falsely bright, but it took Myra by surprise.

  She said a little uncertainly: ‘Oh, hullo, I thought I’d surprise you.’ She put a hand on Benedict’s coat sleeve and glanced up at him through false eyelashes.

  ‘I like surprising people,’ she murmured, and smiled up at him.

  Benedict glanced at her with only polite interest. ‘Yes. You must excuse me, I must have a word with Juffrouw Smit. Prudence, come with me, will you? It’s about your lessons.’

  They paused to talk as they went and when they reached Juffrouw Smit, that formidable lady kept them for several minutes. She confessed herself intrigued at the idea of teaching Prudence Dutch and took her time arranging suitable times for her lessons. ‘You’ll learn quickly enough,’ she decided presently. ‘You’re an intelligent young woman and I believe you really want to learn.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ Prudence assured her. ‘I promise you I’ll work hard if you will teach me.’ Someone joined them and presently she circulated again. It was an hour or more later, when the guests were beginning to go, when she saw Everard and Joanne, and even from the other end of the big room she could see that they looked mightily pleased with themselves. But she couldn’t join them for the moment. She stood beside Benedict, shaking hands and being kissed and then thanked, making promises to go to lunch, tea, coffee, and dinner when Benedict had a free evening. She didn’t remember half of them, she was too conscious of Benedict close by her.

  Mevrouw van der Gulp was among the last to go. She offered a cheek to Benedict, then pecked at Prudence. ‘A lovely party, my dear—what a blessing you are to Benedict! I see that Joanne and Everard are together again. I wonder who arranged that they should meet here?’ She beamed at Prudence. ‘You clever girl!’

  Hard on her heels came Everard and Joanne. They kissed Prudence and Everard said: ‘I can never thank you enough, my dear. We are going to get to know each other again. It’s like a miracle, that you should have heard Joanne in that cafe, Prudence, and done something about it.’

  ‘And kept it a secret,’ interposed Benedict dryly.

  ‘That was because I said I wished it,’ said Joanne quickly, ‘so you do not blame Prudence, please.’ She put on the coat that Everard was holding for her. ‘And now I shall go with Everard and we shall talk.’ She kissed Prudence. ‘I will ring you tomorrow, Prudence.’ They drove away together and Prudence turned away from the door as Benedict closed it. She said carefully: ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Everard and Joanne. She made me promise—she was afraid that Everard wouldn’t want anything to do with her, you see, so I said I’d tell him.’

  She stopped as Benedict laughed. ‘What’s funny?’ she asked.

  ‘You phoned him at the hospital, didn’t you?’ And when she nodded. ‘I overheard, quite by accident, and I thought you and he...’

  Her eyes flashed greenly. ‘You did? You thought we were making a date—or something?’

  He was leaning against a wall table, his hands in his pockets. ‘The thought did cross my mind.’ He sounded amused.

  She stuttered with rage. ‘But I’m married to you— we’ve only been married for a few weeks.. .how could you even think such a thing?’

  He said silkily: ‘Quite easily, my dear, in my present state of mind.’

  Prudence was without words and so indignant that she hardly heard him. ‘And another thing,’ she went on, her voice shrill. ‘Why did you ask Myra to come? You never said you were going to.’

  Benedict was still lounging against the table watching her. ‘I didn’t invite her; I supposed you did. I spent a good part of the evening wondering why.’ And as she opened her mouth once more: ‘No, don’t say anything else, my dear, I daresay you are tired. It was a very successful evening, thanks to your efforts. What time are we dining?’

  ‘Sitska will have a meal ready at nine o’clock.’

  ‘Splendid. Come and have a drink first.’ ‘I do not want a drink,’ said Prudence distinctly, ‘and I do not want dinner either. I’m going to bed.’ She began to climb the wide staircase.

  For such a large man Benedict could move very fast; she was no further than the third tread when he was there beside her. ‘You’re angry with me,’ he said gently. ‘You believe I don’t trust you. I’m sorry, but if you think about it there is another side to it, you know.’

  ‘Oh, pooh!’ Her red hair had got the better of her good sense, she galloped upstairs and into her room, where she flung herself on the bed and burst into tears.

  So much for their sensible marriage based on friendship and trust and all the rest of that nonsense, and so much for falling in love with him too! A lot of good that had done her; he’d actually thought that she was encouraging Everard! ‘And serve him right if I had,’ she mumbled into the pillows, ‘and if that’s all he thinks of me then I’d better go away and he can go back to being a bachelor again, and I hope,’ she added waspishly, ‘that Myra gets her claws into him!’

  Her face was sodden with tears by now, her eyes puffed up and her nose pink, and presently she fell into an exhausted sleep. She woke in the early hours of the morning, very cold, and undressed and got into bed and started to cry all over again.

  She looked terrible in the morning, and explained away her puffy eyes and white cheeks to Sibella with the excuse that she had a cold—a piece of news which Sibella lost no time in conveying to her father when they reached the breakfast table. ‘You must give her medicine, Papa,’ cried the little girl. ‘Mama must be well enough to come to England with us, mustn’t she?’

  Prudence put down her coffee cup. ‘Are we all going?’ she asked, her gaze focused a few inches above Benedict’s head.

  ‘Naturally.’ He was studying her face with interest. ‘I phoned your mother last night, as well as Nancy. They would both like to have Sibella to stay while we are travelling.’

  Prudence took a piece of toast and broke it into a good many small pieces; it gave her something to do. ‘Perhaps I could...’ She got no further.

  ‘No, Prudence, you will be going with me.’ His placid voice held a steely note she had seldom heard.

  Oh, well, she told herself silently, that’s his lookout. I shan’t talk he’ll be so fed up with me by the time the tour is over. The unbidden thought that she would be with him for a whole ten days crossed her mind. At any other time she would have been in the seventh heaven. She could, of course, fall ill... She frowned at her toast, deciding on something suitable; toothache, perhaps migraine, only she’d never had one. A tummy bug? He would pounce on them all and banish them with an antibiotic. She sighed not quite silently, and Benedict observed mildly: ‘It would never do to alter our plans now, would it, Prudence? I wouldn’t like Sibella to be disappointed.’

  She buttered a fragment of toast and put it back on her plate. It was so unfair, he always got the better of her, and that without raising his voice in the very least.

  Joanne telephoned during the morning. She was bubbling over with happiness. ‘It is just as though we’d never been apart,’ she explained. ‘Everard feels just the same as I do. I just can’t believe it, Prudence, and we can’t thank you enough. And since all our friends saw us last night we shan’t have the awful business of explaining to them.’ She giggled. ‘Falling in love is such fun, isn’t it?’

  When Prudence agreed with suitable enthusiasm she said: ‘You’ll both have to come to dinner one evening soon; we’ve such a lot to talk about.’

  Several p
eople phoned to thank her for the party and enough flowers came to keep her busy arranging them for the rest of the day. They all bore little thank you cards, and she read them all carefully and set them on one side so that she could phone their senders later. It was almost time to fetch Sibella when the last flowers were delivered—red roses, and the accompanying card was in Benedict’s handwriting. ‘Thank you for making the evening such a success. Benedict.’

  Prudence looked at them for a long moment, then she crossed the hall to the garden room where the rest of the flowers were waiting to be arranged. There was a bin in one corner; she stuffed the roses into it and smashed down the lid, then went to get ready to fetch Sibella.

  Benedict was already home when they got back. He came out of his study as they went in, remarking that he had taken three phone calls since he’d been in the house and a bunch of flowers from Mevrouw Brand. ‘I’ve put them with the others in the garden room,’ he told her. ‘Did you get my roses?’

  She had felt dreadful ever since she had thrown them into the bin. Now she went quite white while she tried to think what to say. Not that there was any choice. As Sibella danced off to take off her outdoor things, she crossed the hall. ‘Yes, I did. They’re here.’ She led the way back to the garden room and took the lid off the bin. ‘I don’t know why I did it,’ she whispered. ‘At least, I do in a muddled kind of way, but I can’t explain.’

  His voice was harsh. ‘You have no need to do that. It was foolish of me to send them.’

  She peeped up at him and was shaken to see his face—sad, resigned, not angry in the least. Which made it so much worse.

  She turned away and went upstairs and tidied herself for lunch, and when she eventually went downstairs again he and Sibella were on the floor in the sitting room, with Henry between them, looking at a book together.