by Betty Neels
Presently he broke the silence. ‘We’ll stop for tea at Oakley. Is there any need for you to do anything at the flat?’
‘No. If you’re in a hurry there’s no need for us to go there.’
‘Not as hurried as all that. We’ll just check that everything is all right there, and we’ll have a meal at my flat; we don’t need to get to Harwich until round about ten o’clock.’
She was a little puzzled; he sounded friendly enough, but somehow remote. Perhaps he was regretting his invitation. She was a level-headed girl but given to impulsive acts upon occasion. ‘If you’re having second thoughts, do say so,’ she begged him. ‘You can drop me off at the flat and I can catch a train in the morning.’
He gave a crack of laughter. ‘Claribel, you’re letting your imagination run riot again. Here we are at the end of a most successful campaign to shake off Irma and you suddenly choose to behave like a teenager who doesn’t know her own mind.’ He added bracingly, ‘You, a grown woman of twenty-eight, with a mind of your own.’
‘There’s no need to bring my age into it,’ said Claribel crossly. ‘I only wondered.’
Just for a moment he put a hand over hers. ‘Just remember that I’m glad to have you with me.’
Which was reassuring. On the other hand, of course he was glad; she was a necessary buffer between him and the wretched Irma. If the girl got her claws into him, he would get what he deserved. She was ashamed of the thought the moment it had flitted through her head, and she frowned, trying to understand why she thought of him in such a muddled way. They had started off on the wrong foot, of course…
Meadow Road looked dingier than ever in the afternoon sunshine, and her flat, even with its brave show of flowers in the tubs and its cheerfully painted door, looked shabby. They went inside together, checking that everything was as it should be, and as they left, a few minutes later, Claribel wondered how she would feel when she returned to it. London, that part of London anyway, seemed at that moment the worst possible place in which to live.
That couldn’t be applied to Marc’s flat, she admitted to herself as he ushered her through its dignified entrance. No neighbours peered through grubby net curtains as they went in and, with the door shut, no noise from the street spoilt the quiet.
Tilly had been on the look out for them. She had the door open as they reached it. ‘’Ere you are then,’ she exclaimed cheerfully. ‘I got a nice tasty meal all ready. Just you tidy yerselves up, the pair of yer, while I dishes up.’ She turned away to go back to the kitchen, saying as she went, ‘An I’ve packed yer things like you asked, an’ that young woman ’oo’s always pestering you, she rang up, wanted to know where you were.’
‘What did you tell her?’ asked Mr van Borsele.
‘Like yer says—out of town and leaving for ’olland this evening.’
‘Good girl. What a treasure you are, Tilly.’
‘Go on with yer.’ She gave him a wide smile and went.
Sipping her sherry in his beautiful sitting-room, Claribel observed, ‘Well, that’s the last of Irma. I don’t really need…’ She caught his eye. ‘Oh, well, I suppose just to be on the safe side.’ She frowned. ‘But do you have to tell her so much?’
‘Dear girl, just think for a moment. Do you not remember as a child being forbidden something you wanted very much and for that very reason wanting it all the more, and if by some chance it was available to you, you lost all interest? The same idea applies very roughly to the tiresome Irma.’
They dined deliciously with Tilly trotting in and out, making sure that they ate what she put before them. As she put a magnificent Bavarian cream on the table by way of dessert she admonished them to eat it up. ‘For it’s something I don’t fancy, meself, not with me figure being what it is. But it’ll do you good, the pair of yer; yer need to keep plenty of flesh on them big bones of yours, sir, and as for you, miss, another ounce, or so won’t ’urt them nice curves.’ A speech which caused Mr van Borsele to smile and Claribel to blush.
He had timed their journey very well; the bulk of the passengers were already on board and the queue of cars waiting was a short one. Mr van Borsele sat back in his seat, his eyes half closed, so it was all the more surprising when he said in a tone of satisfaction, ‘I have been hoping that she would come.’
Claribel sat up straight. ‘Irma—she’s here? She’s not going to Holland, too?’
‘Ah, no, I think not. Merely making sure that we are, together. Try and look a little loving if you can, Claribel.’
Claribel arranged her features into what she hoped was a suitably moony rapturous expression, and just in time. Irma rapped on the window and Marc lowered it. There were two men with her, both looking sheepish, as well they might, thought Claribel, beaming with false sweetness at Irma’s face peering at them both.
‘You meant it,’ she cried. ‘You really are going away. You’re not married?’
‘Not yet.’ Mr van Borsele sounded patiently civil. ‘But take my word for it, it won’t be very long now.’ He smiled at Claribel, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘Just as soon as arrangements can be made. Isn’t that so, darling?’
Just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, thought Claribel and heard her voice, revoltingly gushing, ‘Yes, dear.’ She turned the gush on Irma. ‘You would be so surprised at what a lot there is to do even for a quiet wedding.’
Irma said huffily, ‘I shall have a big wedding with bridemaids and a train and dozens of presents.’
‘Why, of course,’ agreed Claribel sweetly, ‘but Marc and I aren’t exactly young, you know, we’re rather past all that.’ She looked ahead and exclaimed, ‘Oh, look, we’re going aboard at last. Goodbye, Irma. When you marry do let us know; you’ll make a lovely bride.’
Mr van Borsele turned a snorting chuckle into a cough. ‘Yes, do do that,’ he urged and started the car. ‘Enjoy your drive back. London or Bath?’
‘Oh, London now, but I suppose I might as well go home tomorrow.’
He swept the car onto the ship’s car deck and Claribel took the smirk off her face. ‘Now that is the last time,’ she declared.
‘I hope so. I must say you were superb, Claribel. Had you ever thought of going on to the stage? You know, just for a moment I quite believed that you were looking forward to our wedding…’
It was a pity that the business of parking the car and getting out of it interrupted the white-hot remark ready on her tongue. When they met in the bar later after going to their cabins he silenced her with a bland, ‘I do think you were rather severe about our approaching middle age, Claribel. Maybe you feel your years, but I can’t say that I feel all that elderly.’ He sat her down at a table. ‘A drink before we part for the night? I hear it’s quite choppy out at sea; a brandy might be a good idea for you.’
She said strongly, ‘What a perfectly horrid thing to say. And I hate brandy.’
‘If I apologise handsomely, will you please have the brandy?’
He could be charming when he wanted. She said rather ungraciously, ‘Oh, well, all right,’ and, when her glass had been put before her, sipped at it. It warmed her nicely and she sat back and look around her.
The ferry was fairly full. There were a good many people milling around laughing and talking and she asked, ‘Do you always come this way?’
‘Usually; it gives me a night’s sleep. Sometimes I fly, but that means I haven’t got the car and have to rent one. I use the hovercraft occasionally.’
‘Don’t you want to stay in one place—your home?’
‘Frequently.’
It was obvious that she wasn’t going to make much progress in that direction. She realised that she didn’t know where he lived. In the morning she would ask him, but not now. She tried a different approach. ‘How did you find Tilly? She is a dear, but not a bit like a housekeeper.’
‘She was a patient of mine some years ago. I had just bought the flat and she told me one day that she hadn’t got a job, her husband had died and she ha
d no family, no one who mattered at any rate. So she has been housekeeping for me ever since. You like her?’
‘Very much. I expect she looks after you beautifully.’
‘Indeed she does. Are you sleepy, Claribel?’
‘No, not in the least.’
‘You’ve never asked me where I live. Are you not interested? I have of course told your mother and father. Either you are very naïve or you have a touching trust in me.’
She said gravely, ‘Well, I do trust you, and you said you lived in the north somewhere. But I don’t know much about you, do I? I know that you have a sister…’
‘Three sisters—the other two are married and live in Holland; they’re all a good deal younger than I. There are aunts and uncles and cousins, too, scattered around but my grandmother is the only member of the family I see frequently. She lives in Leeuwarden but I live in a small village to the south of the city. The motorway to the south is close enough to be able to drive down to Amsterdam, about ninety miles away—I go there once a week to operate. I go to The Hague, too—that is a hundred and twenty miles—but I do most of the work in Leeuwarden and Groningen. I have beds in the hospitals there, and consulting rooms.’
‘You aren’t at home very often. Do—do you live alone?’
He didn’t smile but his eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Yes. I have a housekeeper and her husband sees to the garden and the odd jobs and in fact looks after things when I’m away.’ He did smile then. ‘Now you know all about me, Claribel.’
‘Yes. Thank you for telling me.’
‘You are entitled to know. Are we not friends?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll go to bed, I think. Where do we meet in the morning?’
‘I’ve asked the stewardess to bring you tea and toast when she wakes you—we’ll stop for breakfast on the way. I’ll knock on your door just before we get in.’
She got to her feet and he got up with her. ‘Goodnight, Marc.’ She was taken by surprise when he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘So hard to break a habit,’ he murmured.
She had been remarkably silly, she thought drowsily. She had agreed to everything he had suggested without finding out how long she was to stay with his grandmother. A few days? A week? Longer? As far as she could see there was no reason why she shouldn’t go back to England within a day or so. Irma, having seen them actually board the ferry, would most certainly have gone back to Bath, and she would be able to go back home until the hospital had got something sorted out… Her thoughts became more and more muddled and she fell asleep in the middle of them.
She slept all night; if the crossing had been rough the brandy must have acted as a splendid soporific. As she ate her toast and drank her tea she hurried to dress, and she was just ready when Mr van Borsele knocked on the door.
She called him to come in, wished him a friendly good morning and collected up her gloves and handbag. ‘Are we there?’
‘About ten minutes to go. Come on deck and take a look.’
It was a fine morning, but cool. The Hook lay before them, surprisingly busy for that early hour, and Claribel looked around her with interest. It looked, rather to her disappointment, rather like any English port but there wasn’t much time to inspect it for car owners were asked to rejoin their cars.
Going ashore proved both brisk and easy; they were waved past the last official and Mr van Borsele took the road north. They were on the main road almost immediately, bypassing Delft, racing along until they were almost at Amsterdam and then changing to the Alkmaar road. Half-way there, Marc pulled in to a petrol station.
‘We can get breakfast here,’ he told her and left the car to be filled up as they crossed to a small café, with flagpoles before it and neat gingham curtains. It was just as neat inside, with tablecloths to match the curtains and a great many pot plants on the windowsills. They sat at a window and the café owner brought them coffee and a basket of rolls and croissants, thinly sliced cheese and ham, boiled eggs and small pots of jam in a dish.
Claribel, who was famished by now, enjoyed every morsel and presently, much refreshed, they got back into the Rolls.
‘Is it much further?’ she asked.
‘Over the dyke and then about twenty-five miles.’
‘Where’s the dyke?’
‘A good thirty miles from here and then the dyke—that is about sixteen miles. We shall be at my grandmother’s in about an hour.’
He had been a pleasant companion as they drove, pointing out anything which he thought might interest her, answering her questions patiently, and now, on a cross-country road, he was at pains to tell her something about Leeuwarden. Not a very big city, he assured her, but with some beautiful old houses and any number of peaceful little streets if one knew how to find them.
They reached the Afsluitdijk, the high sea dyke on one side of the wide road, the Ijsselmeer on the other, and raced across it, and presently Claribel could see the land ahead of her: Friesland, Marc’s home.
On the mainland they joined the main road again although when they reached Franeker Marc turned off and drove quite slowly through the town so that she might glimpse the narrow gabled houses by the canal and take a quick look at the Gementehuis—Dutch Renaissance at its best, he pointed out. ‘And the Planetarium is close by. Perhaps you will have the chance to come and see it while you are here; it is unique: the man who built it, Eise Eisinga, worked each evening by candlelight—it took him seven years.’
‘I wish I understood Dutch,’ sighed Claribel, suddenly apprehensive.
‘No need—almost everyone speaks or understands a little English. Besides, we speak Fries among ourselves.’
‘Oh—like the Welsh speak Welsh?’
‘Exactly. Here is Leeuwarden.’
The outskins were sober middle-class red-brick houses, each with a small garden, but soon they gave way to shops and old houses leaning against each other in a mass of small streets.
Marc had turned away from the heart of the city and presently joined a street lined with large houses set behind high walls or glimpsed through gardens, well away from the street. Half-way along he drove between gateposts and along a short semi-circle of gravel, and stopped before a fair-sized house with a flattened gable, a very large front door reached by a double pair of steps, and three rows of large windows. There were trees encircling it and formal flower beds cut into a pattern, which extended as far as the high wall shielding it from the street.
Mr van Borsele got out to open Claribel’s door and they reached the steps just as the door was opened and a white-haired man greeted them.
‘Domus—Granny’s butler; been with her man and boy, and runs the place.’ Mr van Borsele clapped the old man on the back very gently. ‘Domus, this is Miss Claribel Brown.’
Claribel shook hands and smiled and was ushered into the hall, long and narrow and lofty, its walls almost covered by paintings and with an outsize chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Mr van Borsele had a firm grip on her arm and Domus went ahead of them to open arched double doors.
It was a very large room with enormous windows draped in red velvet and a good deal of large furniture, too. The lady who came to meet them across the polished floor suited her surroundings very well: she was tall and rather stout, with a very straight back; Claribel was reminded of Queen Mary, King George the Fifth’s wife. The hairstyle was the same, too, and the rather severe expression…her heart sank. But only for a moment. Marc’s hand slid from her elbow to take her hand in his while he flung the other arm round the old lady. ‘Grandmother, my dear…’ He bent to kiss her. ‘Here is Claribel, as I promised.’ He pulled Claribel gently forward. ‘Claribel, this is my grandmother, Baroness van Borsele.’
Claribel and the old lady shook hands; they were of a similar height and surveyed each other gravely, each liking what she saw. ‘Dear child,’ murmured the baroness, ‘such a pretty name and such a pretty girl. I am so delighted to have you here. I lead a very quiet life, you know, but we will contrive to give you some amusement
and it will be delightful for me to practise my English.’
Claribel murmured something; the old lady’s English was every bit as good as her own; there was only the hint of an accent, just as Marc had.
‘Let us sit down and drink our coffee. Marc, you will stay to lunch?’
‘Thank you, Grandmother, but I must go home this afternoon, there’s a good deal of work waiting for me.’
‘Of course, my dear.’ His grandmother had seated herself in a tall chair by one of the wide windows. ‘Such a pity that we shan’t see more of you, but to have a glimpse of you is delightful. I only hope that you don’t work too hard.’
He said casually, ‘I enjoy my work, my dear.’ He had seated himself opposite Claribel. ‘You will actually have a peaceful time here, Claribel, with no patients to worry about and no one to remind you of Jerome’s.’
She said doubtfully. ‘Don’t you come here? To operate in the hospital, I mean?’
‘Indeed I do. I shall be in Leeuwarden tomorrow, but I shall be too busy to come here. A good thing,’ he added blandly. ‘As I have just said, there will be no one to remind you of Jerome’s.’
She was nonplussed. ‘Oh, yes, of course, and naturally you have your friends to see.’ There was a faint waspishness about her voice.
‘That, too, but don’t worry, I’ll let you know when we’re going back, and you can always phone me. The hospital has this address so that you will be in touch with them.’
She took a sip of coffee, feeling that she needed it badly. She hadn’t expected to see him every day but she had supposed that they would have spent some time together; now she realised that he had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He had indeed told her when he had first suggested the whole thing that she wouldn’t have to see much of him, but she hadn’t taken him seriously; now she saw that she should have done. He had invited her to Holland for exactly the reason he had told her in the first place: to get rid of Irma once and for all. As usual, he had arranged things to suit himself. She gave him a charming smile while her eyes flashed green temper at him. ‘How nicely you have arranged everything. I’m sure I’m going to love being here.’ She turned to her hostess. ‘It is so kind of you to invite me, Baroness.’
