by Betty Neels
‘Me? No, why should he? I’m sure he’s far too busy to write to anyone except his nearest and dearest.’
Helene pouted. ‘Well, I think it is too bad of him to go off like this.’
Mevrouw der Huizma said quietly, ‘But that is what you must expect if you are a medical man’s wife, Helene.’
‘Oh, I’m sure I shall be able to alter that once we are married. Jules has suggested that we marry soon, but there is no hurry. After all, I shall be spending the rest of my life as a housewife…’
Daisy wondered if she had any idea of how to be a housewife. True, she would know how to give orders to servants, but would she be a good wife and mother? It seemed unlikely. Daisy thought of the cold, unloving future lying in wait for Jules. Only perhaps he wouldn’t notice that if he loved Helene.
She accepted a cup of tea from Mevrouw der Huizma and made polite conversation, reminding herself that loving Jules gave her no right to wish him to give up Helene. Thinking about it made her feel a little sick.
Helene showed no signs of leaving, and Daisy wondered if she should suggest that she herself should go back to Heer Friske’s shop. But before she could think up a suitable excuse Mevrouw der Huizma observed, ‘Daisy and I will be busy this evening. We are going to study the history of this house. There are any number of books, and diaries over a long period. Some of the invoices and bills are most interesting. They are housed in the attics and I dare say we shall get very dusty and chilly.’She smiled at Helene. ‘Would you like to join us?’
‘No—no, thank you. I’m going out to dinner and I must be leaving. If Daisy had been going back I could have offered her a lift…’
She made her farewells presently, and Mevrouw der Huizma said, ‘Let me know if you have news of Jules…’
‘Oh, I don’t expect to. And I’m sure he won’t have time to read letters from me.’
She glanced at Daisy, and Daisy held out a hand which was ignored.
When Helene was gone Mevrouw der Huizma said gently, ‘I am sorry that Helene was rude, Daisy. Let us go upstairs to the attics and look around. I believe you may be interested.’
‘I should go back…’
‘Unless you wish to return to Heer Friske, I had hoped that you would have supper with me.’
‘Oh. I’d like that very much. I thought that you said that about the attics…you know…’ Daisy stopped and went red.
Mevrouw der Huizma laughed. ‘In order that Helene might go away? Well, yes, but I had intended asking you to stay, my dear, so please do so. Joop shall drive you back after supper.’
They spent a delightful hour or so up under the gabled roof of the house, looking through the books and papers arranged on shelves in one of the larger attics.
‘I seldom come up here now,’ said Mevrouw der Huizma, ‘but when my husband was alive we would spend hours up here.’
‘It’s fascinating,’ said Daisy. ‘Here’s an invoice for a hundred-piece dinner service. There must have been a great deal of entertaining.’
‘Undoubtedly. You must come again, Daisy, and look your fill. Now we will go downstairs for our supper.’
Mevrouw der Huizma dusted down her fine wool dress and led the way down.
Later that evening Joop drove Daisy back. It had been a lovely day; she had told her hostess so and had been warmly kissed.
‘And we must repeat it,’ Mevrouw der Huizma had said.
When Daisy had gone she sat down at her desk and wrote a letter to Jules, with Bouncer at her feet and the ginger cat sitting on her knee. As she wrote she wondered if Helene would write to him too; it seemed unlikely. Mevrouw der Huizma nibbled the end of her pen, frowning.
Helene had had no intention of writing to Jules; he had written briefly to her but she saw no point in answering his letter. She had no wish to know about his work, and the social life she so much enjoyed wouldn’t interest him. He had tolerated her way of life, expecting her to change when they married—something which she’d had no intention of doing. But now, since her visit to his mother, she felt a faint doubt creeping into her complacency. Daisy, that dull girl, had wormed her way into Mevrouw der Huizma’s graces, and was probably scheming to attract Jules. Of course, the idea was laughable, but one couldn’t be too careful. Helene had no wish to marry him yet, life was pleasant as it was, but she must make sure that she held his interest…
So she wrote a long letter to Jules, with almost no mention of her own activities but containing an embellished version of her visit to his mother. Daisy, she wrote, had been there—such a sweet girl and so clever about antiques. She would be going back to England very shortly, and did Jules know that she was hoping to marry later in the year?
Helene was clever enough to write no more about Daisy; she had said just enough to make him forget the girl. She posted the letter and then made her plans. A little chat with Daisy would do no harm.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HALFWAY through the week Daisy was surprised to have a phone call from Helene, proposing that she should call for Daisy on Sunday and drive her to the sea. ‘We can have lunch somewhere,’ said Helene, ‘and come back here for tea. Since you will be going back to England shortly, you must see as much as possible of Holland before then.’
Daisy was too taken aback to say anything for the moment. She didn’t want to spend the day with Helene, but how could she refuse without seeming rude? Excuses flew through her head; none of them would hold water. She said finally, ‘That would be delightful. Thank you, I’d like to come…’
‘I’ll call for you at eleven o’clock,’ said Helene. ‘Don’t bother to dress up; we’ll take pot luck.’
Since I’ve nothing to dress up in, thought Daisy, that need not worry me. I wonder why she is so friendly? Perhaps Jules had written to her and suggested it. But why would he do that? And surely Helene had a better way of spending her Sunday than driving her around, sightseeing? Especially as Daisy was only too well aware that Helene didn’t like her. Or perhaps I’ve misjudged her, thought Daisy, and felt guilty because of her dislike of the woman…
Helene arrived a little after eleven o’clock, driving a bright red sports car, wearing a white leather jacket over a red trouser suit. She looked lovely, and Daisy, getting into the car beside her, could quite see why Jules was in love with her. She hadn’t got out of the car and had ignored Heer Friske and his wife waving from their living room window. Daisy looked up and waved as they sped away and hoped that they hadn’t felt offended at Helene’s indifference. But Helene was disposed to be friendly. ‘Did Jules take you to Scheveningen? We’ll go to Zandvoort first; we can have coffee there and then drive up the coast.’
Daisy, a little bewildered by this sudden show of friendliness, told herself that she had misjudged Helene, and readily answered her casually put questions.
‘How fortunate that Jules was there to pull you out of the canal,’ said Helene, ‘and what a coincidence that you had already met. Did you see much of him in England?’
And Daisy, her doubts lulled by Helene’s friendly manner, told her about their meeting, and the walk they had had along the shore. ‘It was such a pleasant surprise to meet him again,’she said, and something in her voice made Helene look at her sharply. ‘He has been very kind to me while I’ve been here.’She gave a little laugh. ‘It’s funny how we kept on meeting without meaning to.’
Helene, putting in a word here and there, encouraged her to talk. The girl was in love with Jules, that was obvious, and probably he had been flattered by that. Something which must be nipped in the bud before he got back to Amsterdam.
She had driven up the coast after they had had their coffee and presently stopped at Egmond-aan-Zee. She had deliberately chosen a rather splendid hotel, much frequented by the well-to-do and young, leisured men and women—something Daisy realised as they entered the restaurant. Her clothes were all wrong; she saw the faintly amused glances cast at her tweed jacket and skirt—adequate for Amsterdam, even if a bit wintry now, but here, amongst
so many smartly dressed people, she stuck out like a sore thumb. She wished that Helene had chosen somewhere more modest as they were ushered to a table in the centre of the room, but Helene appeared not to see her unease.
‘The menu is in French,’ she said rather too loudly. ‘Shall I translate for you?’
Daisy, whose French was more than adequate, felt a faint prickle of annoyance. Helene had seemed friendly, but now she was patronising her…
‘I think I can manage,’ Daisy said, and gave her order in nicely pronounced French, adding, ‘We learn French in school, you know. I don’t know why it should be French in preference to any other language.’
‘I suppose it’s considered necessary in a basic education.’A remark which Daisy told herself hadn’t been intended unkindly.
She enjoyed her lunch. There was no point in allowing her surroundings to ruin her appetite.
They turned inland after leaving the hotel, to go through Alkmaar and cross to the other side of the country.
‘You must see Vollendam,’ said Helene. ‘All the tourists go there; the villagers still wear the national costume. Of course it’s a great attraction. Foreigners like to think of us wearing clogs.’
She stopped the car for a while so that Daisy could look around her and buy a postcard to send home.
‘Of course, you’re a tourist yourself,’ remarked Helene, and laughed. ‘You will have plenty to tell your family when you go back. Do you know when you are going?’
Helene had asked her that at Mevrouw der Huizma’s house only a few days previously, and Daisy wondered why she was so eager to know.
‘I haven’t any idea. A few weeks, I dare say, perhaps longer.’
Helene didn’t say any more, but then started talking about California and the fun she had had there. A conversation which lasted until they were once more back in Amsterdam.
Once in the city, Helene drove away from its heart and Daisy said, ‘I don’t think I’ve been this way before. Is it a short-cut to Heer Friske’s house?’
‘No, no, we’ll have tea at home and then I’ll drive you back. It’s still quite early and I’m sure you’re longing for tea.’
‘Well, that would be nice.’It would be interesting to see where Helene lived. In another lovely old house like Mr der Huizma’s, perhaps.
Helene stopped outside a block of imposing flats in Churchillaan.
‘Here we are.’She swept Daisy through the entrance guarded by a porter and got into the lift. ‘We’re on the second floor.’
The lift stopped and they walked along a wide carpeted corridor. Helene took out a key and opened a door at its end.
It was nothing like Mr der Huizma’s house. There were vast rooms, heavily furnished, thickly carpeted, the windows swathed in vast curtains. Not an antique in sight. Helene led the way, opened double doors and urged her into the room beyond. There were two persons there, an elderly man and a woman somewhat younger. They both looked round as Helene and Daisy went in. Helene said something in Dutch and then added in English, ‘This is Daisy, a girl Jules befriended on one or two occasions.’
She looked at Daisy. ‘My parents, Daisy.’
Neither of them moved towards her. She took a step forward, a hand outstretched, and realised that neither of them intended to take it. She said, ‘How do you do?’ and waited to see who would speak first.
‘Well, sit down,’said Mevrouw van Tromp. ‘I expect you would like some tea. Ring the bell, Helene.’ She stared at Daisy, her face devoid of expression.
‘You are visiting here?’
‘No. I work for Heer Friske, who has an antique shop.’
‘Indeed, and why did you come to Amsterdam to work?’
‘To gain experience…’
Helene had gone out of the room and came back without the leather jacket. ‘Take your coat off, Daisy. It’s getting rather warm for winter clothes. I don’t suppose you have much, though. Do you go out at all?’
Daisy took off her jacket. She said quietly, ‘No. I work all day, and in the evening I learn what I can about Dutch marquetry and china.’
Mevrouw van Tromp’s voice was sharp. ‘Do you work in a shop in England?’
Daisy said ‘Yes, my father deals in antiques.’
‘Indeed?’ There was silence as tea was brought in. Daisy was offered a cup of weak, milkless tea and a small biscuit, and while she nibbled at it she wondered if Mijhneer van Tromp was going to speak to her. Or was a shopgirl beneath his notice?
Mevrouw van Tromp sipped her tea. ‘You have met Mr der Huizma?’
‘Yes, several times, both here and in England.’ Daisy nibbled again and wished she was anywhere other than where she was. Helene’s parents were dreadful; how could Jules contemplate being their son-in-law?And this flat, almost vulgar in its ostentation. She supposed that if you loved someone well enough nothing else mattered…
She refused a second cup of tea and remarked, ‘I’ve had a delightful day, Helene. Thank you for taking me for such a splendid trip. Would you mind taking me back to Heer Friske? We usually play bridge on Sunday evenings—a neighbour comes in and makes a fourth.’
Mevrouw van Tromp asked, ‘You play bridge?’ Her tone implied that shopgirls wouldn’t know how.
Daisy had been holding her temper in check. Another remark like that and she might lose it. So she smiled and got up, and thanked her reluctant hostess for her tea and bade her goodbye. Mijhneer van Tromp still hadn’t spoken, so she nodded to him and followed Helene back to her car.
Walking back to the flat’s entrance, Helene said over her shoulder, ‘I expect it’s all rather overwhelming…’
‘Why should I be overwhelmed?’
‘Such a difference in lifestyle. It must seem like another world to you.’
‘No.’ Daisy choked back the reply she would have liked to have made. ‘I am aware of the difference, but it doesn’t overwhelm me. Why should it?’
Helene said sweetly, ‘Jules was afraid that you might feel awkward…’ And, before Daisy could open her mouth to answer that one, ‘We intend to marry within the next month or two. I did suggest that we might invite you to the wedding, but he is so thoughtful—it would mean a decent outfit—nothing off the peg—and there would be your fare here and a hotel—even the smaller hotels are expensive in Amsterdam.’
They had reached the door and got into the lift. ‘You must think I’m horrid, saying things like this to you— ’ Helene sounded sincere ‘—but neither Jules nor I would want you to feel awkward.’
They were out in the street now. Daisy paused on the pavement. ‘I’d like to walk back…’
‘It’s quite a long way…’
‘But I like walking.’Daisy held out a hand. ‘Such an interesting day,’ she said, in a voice which revealed nothing of the surge of feelings threatening to burst from her person at any moment.
Helene hadn’t expected that; she shook Daisy’s hand and began, ‘Oh, but…’ But Daisy was already walking away. For the moment she was lost, but she looked as though she knew where she was going.
It took her some time to find her way back to Heer Friske’s house. Mevrouw Friske was in the kitchen, arranging little biscuits on a dish. She looked up and smiled as Daisy went in, asked in her mixture of English and Dutch if Daisy had had a pleasant day, and added that there were five people coming presently to spend the evening. ‘My sister and her husband and their three daughters. We shall enjoy a happy evening; there will be young people for you, Daisy.’
After Helene’s barbed remarks, Mevrouw Friske’s cosy voice was soothing. And the evening proved enjoyable too; the three girls, all about her own age, were friendly, their English a good deal better than Daisy’s Dutch, and their skill at the card table was on a par with her own so that the bridge session was light-hearted.
As they wished her goodbye they voiced the hope that they would see more of her. It was Heer Friske who remarked that Daisy would be going back to England shortly. A remark which rather surprised her. She th
ought no more about it, though, but went to bed to go over and over in her mind Helene’s remarks. Daisy knew that there had been no real friendliness on her part. Indeed, it was as if Helene had wanted to impress her with the difference in their lifestyles. She found it hard to believe that Jules had said the things Helene had told her, although she could see no reason for her to have lied about it. Possibly Jules had realised the difference in their way of life, but he would have meant it kindly, and he wouldn’t have taken her to an ultra-smart restaurant if she had pointed out that her clothes were all wrong… Perhaps it was a good thing that he might not be back before she went home. Although to see him just once more was her dearest wish.
Where’s your good sense? ‘You’re a silly girl,’Daisy told herself, ‘to dream of Jules. Forget him and go to sleep.’ Which eventually she did.
She went out in the morning to post her card home and poke around the row of small shops. She would buy presents to take home, but she wasn’t sure what, and there was nothing there which she liked. She would beg a half-day from Heer Friske and go to the Kalverstraat. There was plenty of time to do that…
Only as it turned out there wasn’t. Another week went by, and it was late the following Tuesday, when the last customer had finally gone after half an hour of browsing and buying nothing, that Heer Friske called her into his office.
He offered her a chair. ‘We must have a talk,’ he began. ‘You have done well here, and I believe you have learned a lot. I had intended to ask you to stay until the end of the summer, but now a situation has arisen.’
He peered at her anxiously, but she returned his look placidly although she had a nasty suspicion of what was to come.
‘Mevrouw Friske’s niece—the eldest, Mel—you met her last week—she wishes very much to work for me, to be trained to a good knowledge of antiques. She has an aptitude already. And, as my wife says, it would be a good thing to have a member of the family working here in the shop, perhaps in time taking over when I retire. So, Daisy, she will replace you as soon as you wish to return to England. We have liked having you here with us, but you have a good home and a career before you. You must not think that we are turning you out; make your arrangements to suit yourself. We shall miss you; you have done well. I will write you an excellent recommendation. You do not mind that I say all this?’
