by Betty Neels
Rather late in the day for another consultation, reflected Trixie, receiving the news with what she hoped was wifely compliance; it must be a patient.
She changed into the brown velvet later and went back to the drawing-room to sit by the fire. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would get some wool or embroidery of some kind. The newspaper lay where he had discarded it, and she picked it up. Of course she couldn’t understand a word; the sooner she got herself a dictionary, and preferably someone to teach her the language, the quicker she would feel at home. She thought fleetingly of her aunt and uncle and her friends at Timothy’s and was surprised that she felt no regret at leaving them. She would have to make new friends in Holland, and, hopefully, Krijn’s family would accept her. Over and above that, she had him. She didn’t mind about anything else.
At half-past seven Rabo came to ask her if the professor had told her that he would be late for dinner, and she had to confess that he hadn’t mentioned that at all, only said that he would have to go to the hospital.
‘The professor,’ said Rabo with faintly critical dignity, ‘is at times absent-minded.’
Trixie agreed. ‘Can Wolke keep dinner back for a while?’ she asked.
‘The soup will not spoil, mevrouw, and the sweet is a creme caramel which will not spoil either.’ He didn’t mention what came in between; something which would be ruined, no doubt.
‘Well, could you ask her to wait a little longer, please? I’m sure the professor will return as soon as he is able to.’
Words she would have choked upon if she could have seen him at that moment, sitting in the consultant’s room, deep in a most interesting discussion about someone’s adrenal glands, quite oblivious of the time.
It was gone half-past eight when he came in and found her sitting by the fire. ‘Ah, there you are,’ he remarked and then stopped short. ‘Good lord, is that the time? I had a most interesting case and quite overlooked dinner. You’ve had yours?’
‘No,’ said Trixie and felt goaded into adding, ‘You see, I had no idea when you would be back.’
He said with perfect good humour, ‘I have allowed myself to become absent-minded. My apologies. I expect Wolke has salvaged something fit for us to eat.’
He poured her a glass of sherry, oblivious of her coolness, then sat down opposite to her to drink his Jenever. ‘This patient I’ve been seeing,’ he began, ‘a most interesting case, I shall most certainly give a detailed account of it. I have the notes with me; I must write them up this evening.’
He smiled at her, an impersonal friendly smile which did nothing to improve her feelings. ‘I promise you I’ll keep to our plans for tomorrow. After lunch, wasn’t it? It is the last of the exams in the morning; we will go to Friesland in two days’ time—I can spare a day or two.’
Rabo announced dinner and they sat down to soup, an elaborate dish of chicken coated in a delicious sauce—a successful effort on Wolke’s part to transform the chicken à la king into something edible—and the creme caramel. The meal was a pleasant one, but the professor showed no urge to sit over it. After a suitable interval in the drawing-room over the coffee-cups he excused himself, wishing her a friendly goodnight as he went.
Trixie went upstairs herself very shortly afterwards. If she spent any more time alone in this lovely room with no one for company save the occasional visit from Samson she would burst into tears.
She was tired, she told herself, getting ready for bed; things would get better. She blew her nose resolutely and forced her thoughts to dwell upon the shopping she would enjoy on the morrow.
CHAPTER FIVE
TRIXIE SPENT THE next morning looking in cupboards with Wolke. It was apparent to her that was what she was expected to do, and the sooner she learnt to be a Dutch housewife the better. She ate a solitary lunch with Percy for company, and was ready and waiting by the time the professor arrived home. She had been pleasantly surprised to see him and had steeled herself to accept his late arrival, or no arrival at all, with the British phlegm so often attributed to her fellow countrywomen, so that her welcoming smile was warm enough for him to look twice at her.
She was wearing the tweed suit and one of the new blouses, and, since she hadn’t a suitable hat, she was bareheaded. Not a suitable outfit for the professor’s wife, she felt, but the best that she could do. She consoled herself with the thought that he wouldn’t pay attention to her appearance anyway. Happily for her peace of mind, she was unaware that his sleepy eyes had taken in every smallest detail of her appearance.
He parked the car in the hospital forecourt and walked her to an arcade of shops—boutiques displaying one or two enticing outfits flung over little gilt chairs with studied carelessness.
‘Your list,’ he prompted her, standing patiently while she browsed to and fro. ‘Something to wear when we go to Friesland? A dress or two...’
Two hours later they made their way back to the car, the professor carrying a number of large boxes and large plastic bags and Trixie, still gulping down the shock of spending so much money in such a short time, trotting beside him, the possessor of a winter coat of unsurpassed elegance, a new and very smart suit, a clutch of blouses, all of pure silk and costing, in her estimation, a small fortune, a jersey two-piece in the very latest style and two quite ravishing dresses which the professor had described as ‘something informal for the evening’. She had paraded in front of him in first one and then the other and wondered what on earth he must have thought of the brown velvet.
He deposited his parcels in the boot and said, ‘Tea, I think, don’t you?’ and walked her back to Lange Voorhout where they had tea at Des Indes Hotel. Over the dainty sandwiches and rich cream cakes he advised her to shop again on the following day. ‘There must be quite a lot more,’ he pointed out, ‘and probably you will prefer to be on your own. I’ve arranged with the bank; I’ve a cheque-book for you and remind me to let you have some money for the small stuff.’
Trixie thanked him rather faintly. She was drunk with the delight of owning the kind of clothes she had until now admired in expensive shop windows. She said now, ‘Thank you very much, Krijn, they’ll last me ages—the things we bought today.’
He looked surprised. ‘Beatrice, I do not expect you to wear your clothes threadbare; you will have an allowance and when you see something you would like to have, you will buy it.’
‘Will I?’ She added, ‘I might be very extravagant; can you afford that?’
‘I believe so. You are a sensible young woman, Beatrice, I do not expect you to bankrupt me.’ He had spoken kindly but with a hint of impatience, so that she made haste to ask him if he still had examinations on the following day.
‘No, only a lecture and a few patients whom I usually like to check up on when I come to Leiden. We will leave for Friesland on the day after tomorrow after breakfast and spend two days with my parents. When we get back I must keep some appointments already made for me and there will be clinics. I may possibly go to Brussels and Paris for brief visits. You will be quite happy here?’ He smiled suddenly. ‘I assume that you will be quite occupied; people will call and I rely upon you to think up good excuses for refusing too many invitations. There are some which are unavoidable but since we are newly married it shouldn’t be too hard to plead a wish for privacy—isn’t that what is expected of us? I’m sure you will know what to say. I do not need to go back to London for several weeks and in that time I shall be able to work quietly at home.’
She would get a lot of knitting done. Perhaps it would be more sensible to work a set of tapestry seats for the dining-room chairs; that should keep her nicely occupied. She swallowed resentment at his single-mindedness of purpose; she had known about that when she agreed to marry him and he had made it clear at the time, hadn’t he—that she was to be his buffer? He was keeping to his side of their bargain, making sure that she had all she wanted an
d more, offering her a friendship which was better than nothing at all, and might indeed turn into something warmer given time.
‘I’ll do my best,’ she assured him. ‘It would help if you could spare time to write a list of your close friends...’
They went back home then to part in the hall, she to go to her room with her parcels and boxes, he to his study.
There was time to really try on and look at everything she had bought before dinner. She wore the simplest of the dresses—a patterned jersey silk which made the most of her pretty figure and was worth every penny of its price. Studying herself in the pier-glass she was moderately satisfied with her appearance; she would never be beautiful but perhaps with the aid of beautiful clothes she might achieve a kind of prettiness. She went downstairs carefully because she was wearing a pair of high-heeled shoes and went into the drawing-room smiling with the anticipation of Krijn’s approval.
He got up as she went in and said cheerfully, ‘Come and sit by the fire—the evenings are getting chilly. Have you been inspecting your purchases? I dare say you are looking forward to wearing them.’
He gave her a drink and went back to his chair and began to talk about the life she could expect to lead in Leiden. ‘We are only a few miles from the town,’ he observed, ‘although there is no bus from the village—it’s too small. You must explore it one day. I’m sure everyone is curious to meet you. Like all villages, the people in it know more about me than I do myself. Although we are so near Leiden it is a very quiet community—the young ones go to work, of course, but the older ones are content to work for the farmers around the village.’
She was a good listener, making the right remark at the right moment while she reflected that she might just as well have cut a hole in a bath towel and stuck her head through it. It was a great pity that he never really looked at her. That was one of the first things she must work on—of course he knew what she looked like, even noticed what she was wearing occasionally, but he never actually saw her.
They dined in the friendliest possible fashion but directly they had had their coffee in the drawing-room he excused himself and went to his study. It seemed unlikely that he would return and he didn’t; Rabo had come to fetch Percy to his cushion in the kitchen and Samson was with his master. She decided to go to bed.
She crossed the hall to the study and tapped on the door, and, at the vague rumble from within, opened the door. ‘Goodnight, Krijn,’ she said quietly, and gave his bowed head a loving look.
He glanced up with impatient courtesy. ‘I dare say you are tired. Goodnight, Beatrice.’ She was closing the door when he added, ‘There was something I had to tell you—I forget. Not now, I expect I shall think of it in the morning.’
She shut the door. If he didn’t remember, she wouldn’t be able to go shopping.
He did remember. When she got down to breakfast in the morning he was already at the table and beside her plate was a cheque-book and by it a bundle of notes. He got up as she went in and enquired after her night, reminded her that he would be leaving in half an hour and picked up his letters again, returning her delighted thanks with an absent-minded smile.
He drove her straight to den Haag, showed her where he would pick her up that afternoon and suggested that if he wasn’t in the Hotel des Indes car park to go into the lounge and have tea. ‘Don’t worry if you aren’t ready; I’ll wait for you.’
He had got out to open her door and now stood, looming over her, looking down at her. ‘That is your new suit,’ he observed, ‘and you were wearing that very pretty dress we bought in La Bonneterie yesterday.’
‘Well,’ said Trixie, ‘I didn’t think you noticed...’
‘You must forgive me, you looked charming. You look very nice now.’
He sounded surprised and she smiled, delighted that just for a few moments he was looking at her as though he hadn’t seen her before. Well, she conceded silently, he hadn’t, had he? She would have to keep it up; buy clothes to catch his eye. She thought with pleasure of the wad of notes in her handbag. He had told her to spend what she wanted and she had a cheque-book with her as well. A glint of pure joy came into her eyes and he said, ‘You must be thinking of something exciting, your eyes sparkle so.’
‘Shopping,’ she told him succinctly. ‘Goodbye, Krijn.’
She had a most satisfactory day. It had been hard to turn her back on some of the more spectacular clothes; she had never had the money or the chance to wear the very latest fashions, but, much though she wished to wear the more outré styles, she was quite sure that as Krijn’s wife she would be expected to maintain decorum and dignity. She comforted herself with the thought that she wasn’t a very modern type of girl and chose instead several outfits and some more dresses, all of which, did she but know it, enhanced her quiet charm. She had more than enough money; she lunched in a quiet little café and spent the afternoon buying undies and more shoes. Krijn had told her to have everything sent to the hotel. ‘They know me there,’ he had said easily. ‘The porter will take them in and we can collect them.’
So she arrived barely ten minutes late, with only a few small parcels, and, since there was no sign of the professor, did as she had been told and went inside to the lounge and ordered tea.
She was eyeing the dish of cream cakes, wondering if it would be greedy to have a second one, when she saw him out of the corner of her eye.
He came straight to her table, nodding to the waiter to bring him tea as he came.
He sat down opposite her. ‘Hello—you’ve had a good day?’
‘Delightful, thank you, and you?’
‘Quite satisfactory. It will be pleasant to have a couple of days in Friesland. I have agreed to go to Brussels in a week’s time, just for a day or so, and I must go over to Timothy’s as soon as I get back from there.’
She poured his tea and handed it to him and passed him the sandwiches.
‘When we get back we have been asked to dine at the university—you will meet a number of people who will scatter invitations like confetti. We have a splendid excuse in refusing them since I shall be away but I have no doubt that you will be called upon. Will you cope?’
‘I expect so,’ she spoke composedly, ‘and I shall have Rabo to advise me.’
He nodded casually. ‘We will spend Christmas in England but I should like to be back here for New Year. It is an important day for us in Holland.’
‘Here or with your family?’
‘Oh, the family, I should suppose. My sisters will come with their husbands and children. It is about the only time in the year when we all meet.’
He ate several sandwiches with an abstracted air, and she wondered if he had had any lunch and voiced her wonder.
‘Lunch? There really wasn’t time. I had coffee on the ward, though, and more coffee and a sandwich after the lecture.’
‘Can you get home for lunch each day?’ she wanted to know, and wished she hadn’t said that at his cool,
‘I’ve worked out a routine for myself over the years, Beatrice, and I don’t feel inclined to alter it.’
She murmured gently. Given the chance she would alter it for him.
They collected her shopping presently and drove back past Leiden, through the quiet village and up to his front door to be greeted by a delighted Samson, who was immediately taken for a walk by his master, leaving Rabo and one of the maids to carry in the packages. There were a great many, thought Trixie guiltily, the guilt presently swallowed up in the delightful anticipation of what to wear that evening.
Silvery grey crêpe de Chine with a wide lace collar and a great many little buttons. Its wide skirt swirled around her in a most satisfying way and the high-heeled slippers gave her height. Delighted with her appearance she got her case from the vast cupboard and began to pack what she would need for their visit to Friesland. She would wear the new
suit, she decided, take a couple of blouses and a sweater, the thick quilted jacket everyone seemed to wear in Holland, a thin wool crêpe dress and the grey one she was wearing. By the time she had filled the case it wanted only a few minutes to dinner; she went down the stairs and in to the drawing-room where Krijn sat in his chair, telephoning, and since he was speaking in Dutch she went and sat down quietly by the fire, picked up a magazine and glanced through it. He put the receiver down presently and offered her a drink and got one for himself. ‘My mother,’ he told her. ‘She refuses to speak to you on the telephone, she wants to meet you in person first, something she is looking forward to.’
When he hadn’t got his head in the clouds, the professor could be an excellent companion; dinner was a cheerful meal while he told her about Holland and the University of Leiden in a most entertaining manner, so that she almost forgave him for not noticing the grey dress. However, pleasant though the meal had been, he showed no signs of wanting to remain with her afterwards. ‘We shall leave about nine o’clock tomorrow,’ he told her as he put his coffee-cup down. ‘I’ve some telephoning to do and then an hour or so of writing, so I’ll say goodnight, Beatrice.’
She had had the forethought to bring a complicated piece of tapestry-work downstairs with her. She threaded a needle carefully and gave him a serene glance. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing Friesland and your family,’ she observed calmly. ‘Goodnight, Krijn.’
She bent her head over the canvas, apparently absorbed in the work, and didn’t see his slight hesitation before he went away. She took a dozen careful stitches and put it down; it made something to hide behind while she was with him but left to herself she discarded it and sat back in her chair to think.
On their way to Friesland the next morning, he told her of his family. His home was north of Leeuwarden—Veenkerk, a small village beside a lake. ‘The family have lived there for a very long time. It is remote but Leeuwarden is easily reached by car, and Dokkum is only ten or twelve miles away. My father has retired and prefers to lead a quiet life.’