Sun and Candlelight

by Betty Neels

  He was at the door when she cried: ‘But it’s so drastic!’

  ‘Yes? But surely better than staying here for ever, eating your heart out while you preserve an indifference torn in shreds each time you meet Penrose. And you meet half a dozen times a day, do you not?’

  He didn’t wait for her to answer, but went away, shutting the door very quietly behind him. Alethea sat very still after he had gone, staring down at her folded hands. She was still staring at them when Sue came in with the coffee tray.

  ‘You look as though someone has hit you on the head with a hammer,’ observed that young lady. She looked a little anxiously at Alethea. ‘I say, nothing’s wrong, is it? I mean, on the ward?’

  ‘No—everything’s fine.’ Alethea summoned up a smile. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with the ward.’ And Sue forbore from asking any more questions. Sister Thomas was a poppet, but she had an air of reserve, even with those with whom she worked, which prevented prying, and when she broached the subject of the new batch of student nurses expected on the ward the next day, Sue followed her lead and they talked of nothing else.

  Alethea got through her busy day, plagued by the tiresome thought that Mr van Diederijk had left her to think his preposterous idea over and hadn’t said more than that. How long would it be before he turned up again, wanting to know her answer? And did he imagine that it was something she could make up her mind about in an hour or so? Not, she reminded herself peevishly, that she had any intention of even considering such a ridiculous suggestion. She proceeded to consider it for the rest of the day and far into the night and at last fell asleep, declaring that he was either mad or playing some trick upon her. She was aware as she closed her eyes that neither of these suppositions held an atom of truth.

  It seemed that Mr van Diederijk’s idea of leaving her to think it over was a timeless one; she saw nothing of him for the rest of that week, at the end of which she flounced off to her grandmother’s for her days off in a quite nasty temper so that Mrs Bustle took her severely to task for glowering at her and taking no interest in the rhubarb jam-making, declaring that such tantrums belonged to childhood when they would have been suitably punished. And as for Mrs Thomas, she waited patiently for her granddaughter to tell her whatever was on her mind and causing her to be so unlike her usual serene self. And sure enough, when Alethea returned from shopping in the village and found that Mr van Diederijk had telephoned to say that he would be down to drive her back after lunch the next day, she could contain herself no longer; she dumped her basket on the kitchen table and went in search of her grandparent.

  Mrs Thomas was sitting in the back porch, knitting, but she put it down as Alethea joined her and said: ‘Yes dear?’ in an inviting voice.

  ‘Granny,’ began Alethea, ‘I want to talk to you…’

  ‘Yes, my dear, I thought perhaps you did. It’s about Mr van Diederijk, I take it?’

  ‘How did you know? I’ve never said…’

  Mrs Thomas looked smug. ‘Exactly, Alethea. You have my full attention.’

  Her grandmother heard her out without interruption. Only when Alethea had come to an end did she say: ‘I’m sorry, darling,’ and then: ‘You like Mr van Diederijk?’

  Alethea examined her well-kept hands at some length, frowning fiercely, and muttered: ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you are sure in your heart that this—Nick does not love you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m sure of that, Granny.’ Her voice was steady, but try as she might she couldn’t keep the bitterness out of it.

  ‘You must decide for yourself, Alethea, you know that, don’t you?’ She paused. ‘He will expect an answer tomorrow.’

  ‘Probably he will, but since he merely told me that he would leave me to think it over, I don’t see why he should expect an answer just when he wants it.’ She added loftily: ‘After all, it was rather like a business deal.’

  Her grandmother eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Well, my dear, it is just that, is it not? And one which could benefit you both,’ she added matter-of-factly. ‘Companionship in marriage is important, you know, so is mutual respect and liking. It is possible to love someone without any of these things, even to dislike them.’

  And that’s how I feel about Nick, thought Alethea unhappily, for I don’t like him, only I can’t forget him…

  Her grandmother went on, apparently talking to herself: ‘Love, if there is nothing else with it, can be utterly destroyed and leave nothing in its place, but liking and respect can grow into deep affection and even love.’

  ‘You want me to marry Mr van Diederijk,’ said Alethea baldly.

  ‘I have already told you, darling, you must decide for yourself.’ Mrs Thomas paused. ‘Don’t say anything now, child—whatever you do decide is your concern and his. How old is he, by the way?’

  ‘I don’t know, Granny, but if his children are eleven years old be must be in his late thirties—he looks older than that.’

  ‘And you are twenty-seven,’ her grandmother reminded her.

  Alethea nodded. ‘Getting long in the tooth…’

  ‘But don’t let that be a reason for marrying, my dear.’

  ‘Oh, I can promise you that—if I did decide to marry him, and that’s very unlikely, it would be because of Nick. Nothing really matters any more, Granny—I shall forget him in time, shan’t I? But will it be quite fair?’

  Her grandmother forbore from pointing out that if she had no intention of marrying Mr van Diederijk the question wouldn’t arise. ‘Quite fair,’ she observed firmly, ‘because he knows everything there is to know about it.’

  Alethea said: ‘Well, yes…’ in a vague fashion and presently wandered off to lay the table for lunch. The matter wasn’t discussed again that day and Alethea didn’t allow herself to think about it either; she knew that this was a silly thing to do because on the next day she would have to give Mr van Diederijk his answer, but since, as she told herself far more frequently than she realised, she was going to refuse him in any case, there was no point in teasing her already muddled head. All the same, she slept badly and when she wakened after a bad night, her determination was all the stronger. It was a pity that she couldn’t justify her resolution for doing so, especially as the alternative was hardly a pleasant prospect; all the same, she made up her lovely face with more than usual care and arranged her hair with an eye as to its most becoming appearance. True, Mr van Diederijk wasn’t coming until the afternoon, and that would probably mean teatime, but there was no harm in being prepared. Besides, she would have ample time in which to refurbish her person before then.

  She was wrong. She was wiping the dishes Mrs Bustle was washing after their lunch when his vast form blocked the kitchen doorway.

  His, ‘Hullo, Mrs Thomas told me to come in this way,’ was genial without showing any undue eagerness and Alethea was instantly annoyed; there he was, elegant in his casual country clothes, worn with such an air, while she was only too aware that her nose was shining and her carefully arranged hair had come loose in curly tendrils. Why couldn’t Granny have told him to ring the front door bell or even got out of her garden chair and brought him in the right way and not through the kitchen door; it would have given her time to run a comb through her hair…

  Her ‘Hullo,’ was almost drowned by Mrs Bustle’s anxious voice wanting to know if he had had his lunch, and at his quick, ‘Yes, thanks,’ Alethea guessed that he hadn’t; after all, it was only a little after half past one…

  ‘Have you come straight from Theobald’s?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘A busy morning—I’m afraid we’ve filled your ward up for you once more.’

  She polished a spoon with care. ‘So you had no time for lunch, did you?’

  His eyes met hers across the pleasant, rather cluttered kitchen. He said simply: ‘I wanted to see you, Alethea.’

  She blinked with surprise and pinkened a little. ‘Would sandwiches and coffee do? or beer?’

  He smiled then, a friendly grin which she found h
erself answering. ‘Beer, please. And I would love a sandwich.’

  Mrs Bustle snorted her concern. ‘You get the beer, Miss Alethea, and go into the garden. I’ll be out in a brace of shakes with something tasty.’

  Alethea got the beer and took her companion into the garden where Mrs Thomas was quite obviously waiting for them. ‘Come here and sit down,’ she called. ‘Such a lovely day, and you must forgive an old woman for being lazy.’

  She then proceeded to engage him in a conversation which while not exactly excluding Alethea, certainly didn’t give her any chance to say much for herself, and when presently Mrs Bustle came with a tray loaded with sandwiches, one or two of her own pork pies, and a slice of rhubarb pie, well sugared, and arranged this repast on a small table at Mr van Diederijk’s elbow, conversation was kept to a polite minimum while he demolished these dainties.

  He sat back at length. ‘You are a magnificent cook, Mrs Bustle,’ he observed to that lady, who had pounced out upon them several times to make sure that he was eating his fill. He turned to Mrs Thomas. ‘And you, Mrs Thomas, are a delightful hostess. Thank you both.’

  He didn’t say anything to Alethea, which considering she had done very little to entertain him was natural enough—indeed, except for the odd remark during the next half an hour, he had very little to say to her. But presently Mrs Thomas observed: ‘I shall now take a nap. We will have tea at four o’clock, Alethea—out here, I think. Take Sarre for a walk.’

  If Alethea had been an ill-natured girl, she would have muttered her annoyance. As it was she said politely, ‘Very well, Granny, although perhaps Mr van Diederijk would like a rest too…’ She stopped there because she could see that he was laughing silently at her, but all he said was: ‘Sarre, if you could remember. I don’t feel quite so old then.’

  They had taken a few steps when Mrs Thomas asked: ‘If I am not being impertinent, Sarre, how old are you?’

  ‘Thirty-nine, Mrs Thomas, and sometimes I feel twice that age.’

  ‘And sometimes you look the half of it.’ She closed her eyes with a loud sigh. ‘Now run along—when you reach my age it doesn’t matter whether you look young or old; you need a nap after lunch.’

  They laughed gently at her because she expected them to and then started off down the path which led round the rambling little house and down the garden at the back to where a gate opened on to a narrow rutted lane. Here Alethea paused and glanced at her companion’s expensive, well-polished shoes. ‘It’s rather rough,’ she began, and then with sudden vexation: ‘I wanted to tidy my hair…’

  ‘It looks perfectly all right,’ said Mr van Diederijk in a soothing voice, ‘and that is only because you are trying to put off the inevitable.’

  Alethea stared silently at him. It was perfectly true, but when it was voiced out loud in that matter-of-fact way, it sounded a bit silly. He opened the gate and stood aside while she went through. ‘I’ve come for my answer, Alethea.’ He closed the gate. ‘Which is it to be, yes or no?’

  He showed no impatience when she didn’t answer but strolled along beside her, a man to all appearances content with his world. She peeped at his profile—and a handsome one it was too, she had to admit, with its high-bridged nose and firm mouth and chin. He caught her looking before she could turn away, his blue eyes compelling her to speak.

  To her utter astonishment she said ‘Yes,’ when all the time she had intended to say no, and still feeling most strangely that the words were being put into her mouth: ‘At least, I think so.’

  His smile was so kind and understanding that she smiled too.

  ‘It was a difficult decision for you to make,’ he observed, ‘but I think it is the right one and it goes without saying that I am delighted.’ He took her hand and stood looking down at her thoughtfully. ‘I believe that we shall get on extremely well together. All the same, I’ll not hurry you—if you want more time to think it over…?’ His raised brows emphasised the question so that she said: ‘No—no, I don’t,’ not giving herself time to consider the matter. All the same she felt relief when he went on easily: ‘Shall we make a bargain? If at any time during our engagement you feel you don’t want to marry me after all, will you tell me?’

  She returned his look with wide-eyed honesty. ‘Yes, I promise that, but I don’t change my mind, you know.’

  ‘Good. Would you consent to a short engagement? A month—six weeks? During that time I’ll take you over to Holland so that you can meet the children and some of my family. You would like to marry here, I expect?’

  She thought about it. ‘Yes, please and very quietly. Can—may you marry in church? I mean…you’re divorced…’

  ‘There are, I believe, clergy who will marry a divorced person even though it isn’t the usual rule. What about your local vicar?’

  ‘We could ask. Isn’t there a Service of Blessing we could have if we have to go to a registrar’s office?’

  ‘So I’ve heard. Shall I find out and let you know?’

  ‘Please. I’ll have to give in my notice.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning if you could manage that. Must it be a month?’

  They were strolling along now, the sun warm on them and a nice little breeze blowing Alethea’s already untidy hair into still more curls.

  ‘Well, I have two weeks’ holiday due, which means that I could leave in a fortnight…’

  ‘Will you arrange that? I shall be at Theobald’s for the next week, then I have to go back to Holland for a few days. I’ll come over for you when you’re free and you can spend a week there and then return here and I’ll come over for the wedding. Would that suit you?’

  He seemed to have it all planned very nicely. Just for a second she wondered if it would have been like that if it was Nick she were marrying and not this quiet, persistent man beside her. He was being very businesslike about it, but then did she want it otherwise? She sighed without knowing it and he said: ‘Don’t allow your thoughts to wander, Alethea, regretting the past will make it harder to bear.’

  He stopped again and took her gently by the shoulders and turned her round to face him. ‘Could you turn the page?’ he asked softly. ‘It needs courage, but it can be done.’ He bent and kissed her lightly on her cheek. ‘There’s a seal on our friendship.’

  Alethea studied him at length. ‘You’re a very nice person,’ she told him. ‘You’re sure about it? I mean, you’re not getting much of a bargain.’

  ‘I hardly think of you as a bargain, my dear; rest assured that I am getting exactly what I want. And now shall I tell you something of my home?’

  It was in Groningen, he told her, in the very heart of the city, and Alethea instantly conjured up a picture of a red brick town house with square bay windows and ugly plaster work adding an unnecessary decoration.

  ‘There’s a garden,’ went on Sarre, ‘not a large one, though, and a shed or two. The housekeeper and Nanny you know about already, they’re helped by Juffrouw Bril who comes each morning and Nel, who lives in, lastly Al who turns his hand to anything. Then the children, Sarel and Jacomina, they have their own rooms of course and a playroom, but they eat their meals with me and we spend as much time together as I can manage. Oh, and there is my dog, Rough, the children’s puppy, Nero, a couple of cats and a selection of mice, gerbils and Sarel’s white rat.’

  Alethea shuddered inwardly at the idea of the rat but managed a cheerful: ‘Quite a houseful!’

  ‘Yes. I’m away from time to time—sometimes for several days. I hope that you will be able to come with me occasionally.’

  ‘That will be nice. Have you any family?’

  ‘My mother and father are in New Zealand, visiting my young sister. She’s married to a civil engineer who’s on a job there for a year or so.’ He added: ‘I have a grandfather, too, a wonderful old man; he always says exactly what he thinks regardless of the circumstances. And I have a brother, younger than I—Wienand, he’s not married, he lives in Groningen too, he has a big practice and we work closely togethe
r. He is a leading osteopath; we find that we get splendid results. I think you will like him.’

  Alethea said soberly: ‘I expect I shall. I’m a little nervous of meeting Sarel and Jacomina…’

  ‘No need. I’m sure they’ll be delighted to have such a young and beautiful mother.’

  ‘Yes? But I’m not their mother, Sarre.’

  ‘They have never known her,’ his voice was harsh, ‘they believe that she died when they were babies. When they are a little older I shall explain to them, but at present it would be cruel.’

  Greatly daring, Alethea asked: ‘Did you love her very much?’

  He didn’t answer her. ‘Perhaps we should be getting back,’ he said smoothly. ‘Your grandmother said four o’clock, did she not? Would you be ready to leave directly after tea?’

  So she was to marry him, thought Alethea, but she wasn’t going to be allowed to share his life, not that part of it, at any rate. She didn’t mind, she decided, his past was his own concern and indeed she wasn’t interested in it. Now if it had been Nick… Her thoughts were interrupted by her companion’s voice, wanting to know if she would prefer to fly over to Holland or go by sea.

  She wrenched her thoughts back to the present. ‘Oh, I don’t think I mind, I’ve never flown; if Granny and I have gone away on holiday we’ve always gone somewhere like Scotland or Wales or the West Country.’

  ‘Then we’ll fly, it’s very quick and I’ll arrange for Al to fetch us from Schipol.’

  ‘Al?’

  ‘I told you about him. He’s my manservant; he—er—joined us ten years ago and is a devoted friend as well as a splendid worker.’

  ‘Oh—what does he do, exactly?’

  Sarre laughed. ‘Everything and anything that he wants to do. And when I’m away he keeps an eye on the children, manages the finances, mends fuses, baths the dogs, takes the children out for the day if they’re free. I should be lost without him.’

  ‘You have a lot of people in your house, Sarre.’ Alethea spoke doubtfully and wished she knew more about her companion.