An Unlikely Romance

by Betty Neels

  ‘I hired it.’ There was a chorus of giggles. ‘When do you go back to Holland, Trixie?’ someone asked—a change in the talk which she welcomed.

  They trooped away after tea with a chorus of good wishes and the hopes of seeing her again soon. ‘Though I suppose you’ll be going to Vienna with the professor, won’t you?’ asked Jill as they said goodbye. ‘He won’t want to leave you behind even for a few days.’

  That evening Trixie told him of her friends’ visit as they sat waiting for dinner, and then said boldly, ‘Jill told me that you were going to Vienna; when will that be?’

  ‘Towards the end of January—an international conference.’

  ‘Am I—that is, will you take me with you?’

  He spoke pleasantly. ‘In the circumstances, I think you might prefer to remain at Schaakslot, with my family.’

  ‘What circumstances?’

  ‘My dear Beatrice, do we need to go into that?’

  It was a pity that Gladys came in at that moment to tell them dinner was ready, and during the meal she was given no chance to pursue the matter. They had their coffee at the table and the professor excused himself with the plea of notes to write up.

  ‘Haven’t you finished the book yet?’ asked Trixie crossly, abandoning her role of compliant wife.

  He answered her casually so that she felt even crosser. ‘Very soon now. Then we must discuss the situation, must we not?’

  ‘Whatever do you mean?’ but he had gone.

  ‘I shall be home for tea,’ he told her at breakfast the next day, ‘and although I’m going into Timothy’s on Christmas Day I shall be free on Boxing Day.’

  Her ill humour quite forgotten, Trixie said, ‘Oh, splendid! What shall we do?’

  He collected up his letters, preparatory to leaving. ‘Shall we go to the sea and have that lunch at the Ship Inn? I’ve booked a table at the Ritz for dinner in the evening.’

  Her ordinary little face was transformed with pleasure. ‘Oh, Krijn, how lovely, and you will be back for tea?’

  ‘Yes. Do you want to go to the midnight service?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ Her smile lighted up the whole of her face. ‘What a lovely Christmas we are going to have.’

  He didn’t answer that, only touched her lightly on the shoulder as he left the room. They had both been out of temper on the previous evening, she reflected, but now everything was all right again. It seemed as though it was; they had tea round the fire with Caesar sitting contentedly between them and later, when Krijn had taken the little dog for a walk, they dined and then sat in companionable silence while he read the paper and she stitched and watched television. Just like an old married couple, thought Trixie, and heaved an unconscious sigh which didn’t escape Krijn’s hooded eyes.

  They went to the church where they had been married; she hadn’t suggested it and he had said nothing but she felt no surprise when he parked the car in the rather shabby street and they joined the people streaming in. When they got back home again they wished each other goodnight and since it was past midnight by now he bent to kiss her cheek and wish her a happy Christmas.

  ‘You too, Krijn,’ she whispered. She didn’t look at him but ran up the staircase. She longed with her whole being to turn round and run back to him, but she didn’t.

  There were some packages beside her plate in the morning when she got down to breakfast, but before she opened them she gave him her present and watched rather anxiously while he opened it. His ‘Just what I can use each day,’ was exactly what she had hoped to hear. ‘I’m so glad, it’s awfully hard to find something for someone like you.’ Her eyes lighted on several other parcels beside her plate. ‘I wonder who they’re all from?’

  ‘We can look and see.’

  Mies had given her a pair of knitted gloves and Gladys’s packet held fine handkerchiefs. There was a brooch—a lovely mid-Victorian gold circle set with turquoise—from her in-laws, and a long slim case wrapped in gold paper and tied with red ribbon. The case was dark red velvet and inside it was a necklace, a delicate thing of gold entwined with golden leaves and sapphire flowers with pearl centres.

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ breathed Trixie. ‘It’s from you, Krijn? It’s so lovely...’ She touched it with a gentle finger. ‘I never expected...that is, it’s...’ She stopped just in time and swallowed back tears.

  ‘It’s just right for you, Beatrice,’ he finished for her, ‘and I am glad that you like it.’

  She smiled in a wobbly fashion. ‘I’ll wear it to the Ritz.’

  They went to go to the hospital at midday, when Krijn, having carved the festive bird, took her with him on a tour of the wards. It took some time, for she talked to her friends while he spoke to the patients and exchanged polite greetings with the ward sisters. In Sister Snell’s ward, he took her arm for a moment, and she was glad of that, aware that she was being inspected with dislike. She was wearing her wedding outfit and Sister Snell inspected every inch of it while they made polite conversation.

  It was pleasant to be home again and have their tea and then, later, their Christmas dinner, a meal which Mies had cooked to perfection. It had been a lovely day, thought Trixie, curled up in her bed later, and she got out of it to take another look at the necklace. It was such a lovely thing and she was thrilled with it. She would have been even more thrilled, she thought wistfully, if it had been given with love.

  Even if the professor had no love to give her, he had friendship. Boxing Day was a great success; they drove to the east coast and walked where they had walked before and had a snack lunch at the Ship Inn, and that evening they dined and danced at the Ritz. She wore the necklace and the earrings and because she was with Krijn, dancing in his arms, she was happy. Only later, thinking about the day, came the thought that not once had their talk been about anything that mattered. When he wasn’t wrapped in one of his spells of absent-mindedness, Krijn was adept at what she called social talk, and that was all that had passed between them all day. She might have been a casual acquaintance, a seldom-met member of the family, even a patient.

  CHAPTER NINE

  NOTHING HAD BEEN planned for the day after Boxing Day. The professor had done his final round at Timothy’s and seen his last private patients and he wouldn’t be returning until the end of February unless he was needed for consultations. The day would be free, thought Trixie as she got out of bed; the packing wouldn’t take more than half an hour or so, and she would have to have a talk with Mies, but otherwise the day was theirs. She wondered what they would do with it—a day out perhaps? A drive into the country? She went down to breakfast full of expectation.

  Over that meal Krijn observed, ‘Did I tell you that there will be several people coming in for coffee this morning?’

  Trixie put down her cup with rather an unsteady hand. ‘No, you didn’t. Have you any idea how many?’

  He looked vague. ‘Oh, people from Timothy’s to wish us bon voyage.’

  ‘I see. And will there be people coming to tea as well?’

  ‘Oh, very likely...’

  ‘Well, I’ll mention it to Mies. We can’t go out.’

  He shot her a sudden sharp glance. ‘Did you want to?’

  ‘Not in the least, I have any number of things to do before we leave.’

  She went to see Mies after breakfast, arranged for there to be a steady flow of coffee and biscuits if they were needed, warned her that there might be people for tea as well and then settled down to a talk about the running of the house while they were away. The professor had been in the habit of paying a cheque into the bank each month to cover household expenses and the wages while he was absent. ‘More than enough,’ said Mies in her awkward English, ‘but now I am able to send the receipts to you? Then it is not necessary to bother the professor.’

  ‘Yes, do that, Mies, and if you want an
y more money or there is anything worrying you then let me know. It might save bothering the professor.’

  She went to her room then and made sure that her hair and face were fit for visitors; luckily she had put on a pretty blue cashmere top and a matching corduroy skirt that morning, quite suitable for morning coffee. She added the gold chain just to be festive and went to join Krijn in the drawing-room. Just in time; it seemed almost all his colleagues and their wives were bent on coming to wish them a happy New Year in Holland. Trixie, dispensing coffee and small talk, marvelled at the number of friends Krijn had. Since it was the festive season most of them were on their way to visit family or friends so that by midday they were on their own again.

  ‘I’ll take Caesar for a walk,’ said the professor, and wandered away without asking her if she would like to go with them. She went and finished her packing and joined him for lunch, determinedly cheerful.

  There were more visitors for tea and when the last of them had gone Krijn went to his study to clear his desk and although they dined amicably enough he didn’t stay more than half an hour in the drawing-room with her, going back to his study with the plea that he wished to correct the first chapters of his book and return them before they left England. After breakfast the next morning he got into his car and took them to his publisher, returning just in time for an early lunch before they were to drive down to Dover.

  It was hard to leave Mies and Gladys and even harder to say goodbye to Caesar. ‘If you made Holland your real home,’ said Trixie in the car, ‘you could take Caesar there. Couldn’t you just pop over here for a day or two from time to time? I know you do that now, but I mean just for a day or two. Mies and Gladys could come too, couldn’t they?’

  ‘That is, of course, possible,’ he conceded, ‘but when I was unmarried I had no strong urge or reason to have a permanent home.’

  ‘But you are married now,’ Trixie pointed out in a matter-of-fact voice, and added uncertainly, ‘Don’t you want to settle down?’

  ‘Yes, I do, but circumstances may not permit that.’ His tone was dismissive and when she peered sideways at him his mouth was set so grimly that she prudently forbore from asking any more questions. All the same, she spent almost all of the journey to Dover wondering what those circumstances might be.

  It had turned very cold and the afternoon was already darkening. It was quite dark when they landed and began the long drive up to Holland, and when they were almost at Leiden it began to snow.

  ‘Good,’ said Krijn idly. ‘Perhaps we shall get some skating this winter.’ He glanced at her. ‘Do you skate, Beatrice?’

  ‘No, but I dare say I could learn...’

  ‘There will be plenty of people ready to teach you.’ He sounded uninterested and he didn’t speak again until they came to a smooth halt before their own massive door.

  It was flung open at once by Rabo, with Wolke standing beside him and Samson prancing up and down on the steps uttering little yelps of pleasure. He reared up on his hind legs to greet them in turn and Trixie said happily, ‘Oh, it’s good to be home,’ and then shook hands with Wolke and Rabo, not seeing the faint frown on Krijn’s face.

  The old house welcomed them with its soft lights and warmth and when they went into the drawing-room there was Percy, sitting where he always sat, rousing himself sufficiently to murmur at them before curling up once more.

  It was late by now but Wolke had supper for them, set out on a small table in the small sitting-room, and she trotted to and fro with soup and a soufflé, creamed spinach and a dish of poffertjes while Rabo fetched in their cases. All the while she talked; Trixie, struggling to understand, gathered that all had gone well while they had been away and that everything was ready for the New Year.

  ‘When does everyone come?’ asked Trixie of Krijn.

  ‘In two days’ time. Wolke will want to talk to you about the arrangements; perhaps you can find the time tomorrow—Rabo will be there to translate.’

  ‘Yes, of course. But won’t you be at home?’

  ‘I’ve several appointments tomorrow, both at the hospital and at my rooms as well as an outpatients’ clinic. I’m sure you will have plenty to keep you busy. You may have visitors—the family know that we are back.’

  ‘Oh, good. Will you be back before tea?’

  ‘Very unlikely.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It is very late—are you not tired?’

  She thought that she was boring him, although he was far too well mannered to let it show. She got to her feet at once, almost knocking over her chair in her haste. ‘Yes, I am. I’ll go to bed. Goodnight, Krijn.’ She whisked herself out of the room without looking at him. To smile would have been impossible and it would never do to let him see the silly tears she was determined not to shed.

  He had gone in the morning; she breakfasted alone with Percy for company and spent the morning sitting at the kitchen table with Wolke, armed with lists and paper and pencil and with Rabo there, carefully translating for them both, and just now and again Trixie managed a word or two in Dutch which gave them all satisfaction. Refreshments were discussed, meals mulled over, the question of extra help talked about, and would Mevrouw see to the flower arrangements? It was evident that Rabo and Wolke knew exactly what to do and could indeed have managed very well without her; after all, Krijn had been leaving it to them to arrange for a good many years. She beamed at them, awfully grateful that they had accepted her so wholeheartedly. Then she went away to make her own lists and presently drove carefully to Leiden to buy the flowers.

  It was very satisfying to be able to choose the flowers she wanted without thinking of the cost. There were jonquils and lilac, tulips in abundance and freesias and hyacinths. She loaded the back of the Mini and went back to spend the rest of the day arranging them. She was filling a small crystal vase with lily-of-the-valley and grape hyacinths to put on Krijn’s desk when Andre said from the door, ‘What a charming picture, and how delightful it is to see you again, Beatrice.’

  She turned to look at him, annoyance battling with good manners.

  ‘Hello, Andre. I am very busy. Did you want to see Krijn?’

  ‘No. I came to see you.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry but I really can’t spare the time to chat. You’ll be here for New Year, won’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes—there will be the entire family here, but there won’t be a chance to get you alone.’

  ‘But I don’t want to be alone with you, Andre.’ Trixie sounded coolly matter-of-fact. She cast him a cold look. ‘I think you must be a very conceited man and I wish you would go away.’

  When he laughed and didn’t move she picked up the vase, carried it to the study, and, back in the hall, said, ‘I’m going to help Wolke in the kitchen. I’m sorry I can’t offer you tea.’ She gave him a tolerant smile. ‘Goodbye, Andre.’

  The professor had got through his day rather more quickly than he had expected. He made short work of the notes for the various doctors whose patients he had seen, handed them over to Juffrouw Niep to type and got into his car. Tea in the drawing-room with Beatrice sitting opposite him, lamplight shining on her neat mousy head, listening to his day’s work, looking up from time to time and smiling. She had a lovely smile and her eyes sparkled; he had never thought of her as pretty but now, with all the clarity of a man suddenly in love, he knew that she was beautiful. He drove home a little too fast and only slowed as he reached his gates. He was on the sweep before the house when he saw the other car parked before the door and recognised it as Andre’s. He sat looking at it, the engine idling, and then he turned and drove back the way he had come, out of the drive and into the lane, back to Leiden and from there to the coast, to Katwijk-aan-Zee, where he parked the car and got out and walked along the promenade in the teeth of a cruelly cold wind, bringing with it the beginnings of the snow which had been threatening. He walked for an hour or more and then
got back into the car and drove himself home once more.

  The car had gone; he parked the Bentley in the garage and went in through the kitchen door where Trixie was sitting at the kitchen table stuffing olives while Wolke stood at the stove, stirring something which smelled delicious. Trixie saw him first and jumped up. ‘Krijn—I thought you said you’d be home for tea.’ She saw his wet coat and the bleakness of his face. ‘Has something happened? You’re so wet—let me have that coat and Wolke will warm some coffee. We can have dinner earlier if you would like that.’

  He tossed his coat on to a chair and pulled Samson’s ears gently. ‘No need, but coffee would be welcome. Perhaps I might have it in my study? There is some phoning I must do.’

  When the coffee was ready Trixie picked up the tray and went along to the study. The professor was sitting with the great dog beside him. There was a pile of papers before him but he wasn’t looking at them.

  ‘Krijn, what’s worrying you, what’s wrong? Are you all right?’

  He smiled a little. ‘I’ve had a heavy day. I’ll just do the telephoning, then go and change.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve half an hour, at least, haven’t I?’ Whatever it was, she wasn’t to be told. She went quietly from the room and back to the kitchen and then presently upstairs to shower and change into one of her pretty dresses.

  It was during dinner that the professor asked casually, ‘Have you had a pleasant day, Beatrice?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I talked to Wolke and bought the flowers and spent the afternoon arranging them.’ She hesitated. ‘This afternoon Andre called...’

  ‘Oh!’ He sounded only vaguely interested. ‘Can’t he come for New Year?’

  ‘Yes, he’s coming. I—I don’t know why he came...’

  ‘To see you, perhaps?’

  Trixie blushed and looked guilty, which was a pity since she had no reason to be. It was a pity, too, that she couldn’t think of the right answer to that. The professor watched her tell-tale face and sighed gently. He had never, after all, allowed her to be more than a friend; he couldn’t blame her for falling in love with a man, so much younger than he, who sent her roses and wrote her letters. He was entirely to blame; he had married her because it suited him to take a wife and he was being paid back in his own coin. He said mildly, ‘Is everything arranged for New Year?’