by Betty Neels
Franny thanked him and in a little while, obedient to the conductor’s nod, got off the tram. It was a main street, she was relieved to see, and the conductor pointed ahead of her and waved an arm. All she needed to do was walk until she saw the hospital. This was a different part of den Haag entirely, with dark buildings on either side of the street and a great many people going home from work. It became darker and busier as she walked. Factories, she supposed, or offices, which were empty now, their lights extinguished. She stopped a woman coming towards her, and held out her paper. ‘The hospital?’
The woman glanced at the paper. She waved an arm behind her and hurried on so Franny set off again. It couldn’t be all that far away—at least the girl had known the place. But it took another fifteen minutes before she saw the hospital looming ahead of her.
She crossed the forecourt, went through the entrance into the vast reception hall and saw Marc at once. He came to meet her, his face impassive although he glanced at his watch. He said, ‘I was starting to worry—what held you up?’
Franny wished very much to fling herself on his massive chest and have a good cry, but instead she said in a matter-of-fact voice, ‘Lack of money.’
‘Lack of...’ The look of consternation on his face made her feel better. ‘My dear girl—good God! I left you to spend the day without a gulden. How you must hate me... Had you no money at all?’
‘I had ten pounds, which I changed into gulden, and I don’t hate you. I quite often forget things myself; it’s quite a normal thing to happen to anyone. And you had a good deal to think about, I dare say.’
‘Franny, don’t heap coals of fire on my head. I am sorry.’ He caught her arm. ‘Come with me. You shall have a cup of tea and tell me how you managed.’
He led her away from the reception desks and down a passage to a small room, where he picked up a house phone from the table. A tray of tea came within minutes. The professor sat her down in one of the vast leather chairs and handed her a cup.
‘I’ll see my bank manager tomorrow and get you a chequebook.’ He took her handbag from the table and stuffed a bundle of notes inside. ‘And that must do to go on with. Forgive me, Franny?’
‘Of course I forgive you...’
‘Then tell me how you managed all day with—what was it?—ten pounds—good Lord, that’s barely enough for a cup of coffee in this town.’
‘Yes, it’s expensive, isn’t it? But the shops are lovely.’
She told him how she had spent her day, and when she had finished he said, ‘I promise you this will never happen again, Franny. Tell me, did you not think of telephoning here and asking for me?’
‘Yes, of course I did. But for all I knew you were in Theatre or doing a ward round,’ she said earnestly. ‘If it had been really important, like breaking a leg, then I would have let you know.’
He looked at her unassuming features, which were quite cheerful now. He had always known that she was someone who would face up to difficulties; she had common sense and a matter-of-fact approach to any obstacle, and she didn’t burst into tears when something went wrong. He was, he admitted to himself, getting quite fond of her.
He went to hospital again the following morning, but returned for lunch and then drove Franny to den Haag to meet his eldest sister. She lived with her husband and three small children in an old, gabled house in a quiet street close to the town’s heart. She was a tall girl with her brother’s blue eyes and high-bridged nose. She welcomed them warmly while the children milled around with Biddy and his sister’s two dogs. It was a roomy house, beautifully furnished, and Elsa, his sister, took Franny on a tour of it.
‘We are all so delighted Marc has married,’ she told Franny. ‘He’s such a splendid man—but you know that already—and he loves children.’ She didn’t see Franny’s pink cheeks. ‘We’re all coming to dinner on Saturday. It’s funny, Sutske—that’s my youngest sister—said at Christmas that she hoped that the next time we were all together Marc would have a wife. And here you are!’ She beamed at Franny. ‘Mother and Father would have loved you.’
The professor informed them that he had one more day at the hospital. ‘Oh, good,’ said Elsa. ‘Bring Franny here. We’ll go shopping and you can come back here when you’ve finished at the hospital.’
* * *
A HAPPY SUGGESTION which became a happy day. Franny, with money in her purse now and a chequebook besides, was taken from one boutique to another and returned presently with two new dresses, a pair of shoes she hadn’t been able to resist, and a rather beautiful leather handbag.
They had tea at Elsa’s house before returning home and, although Marc went to his study to work again after dinner that evening, Franny was happy; they were getting to know each other.
* * *
WHEN SATURDAY CAME she dressed in one of the new dresses—a dark red velvet, elegantly cut and simple—for the dinner party, and when she went down to the drawing room Marc was there, waiting for her.
‘My mother’s ring,’ he told her, slipping a great sapphire and diamond ring onto her finger above her wedding ring. ‘And this...’ He opened a case and took out a pearl necklace. ‘A belated wedding gift.’
He fastened it around her neck and dropped a kiss onto her cheek. ‘I am a shockingly bad husband; you should have had these when we married.’
It was hard to find the right answer to that; Franny thanked him prettily and felt relief when their guests arrived.
She felt a little overwhelmed at first—there were so many of them and since they all wished to talk to her at once she had difficulty in sorting them out. It didn’t matter, though; the warmth of their welcome into the family was sincere and presently she began to enjoy herself.
Sitting opposite Marc at the splendidly decked dinner table, she felt the first gleam of hope that they were going to be happy, she and Marc. Perhaps not the wildly romantic happiness of those in love, but a secure and lasting affection on his part and her love for him—which he need never know of.
The last guest went just after midnight, and they went back to the drawing room to sit for a while.
‘When we come next time—some time in the late spring—we will visit the family. It is a pity that I am tied up for the next few days.’
‘At the hospital here?’
‘No, Utrecht and then Rotterdam. I won’t ask you to come with me; you would be alone for most of the days. Would you be happy to stay here?’
She assured him that she would, for that was the answer he expected. And as it turned out she wasn’t in the least bored; she took Biddy for long walks and went to the village, making friends with the people there even though she did not understand a word anyone said. She lunched with the dominee and his wife and invited them to tea. The days passed happily enough and Marc telephoned each evening, the high spot of her day.
When he got back she greeted him with reserved pleasure, afraid to show her feelings. They were to return to London in two days’ time, he told her.
‘Shall we have a look around the country? And we might dine out and dance. There are some good hotels in den Haag.’
They spent a happy hour or two deciding how they would spend their last days, and as Franny got up to go to bed the professor said, ‘I have been looking forward to coming home and finding you waiting for me, Franny.’
He kissed her on the top of her head as she went past him, and she stopped and looked up at him. ‘That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’
* * *
SHE WENT DOWN to breakfast after a dreamless night. Life was quite perfect—well, almost perfect. It would get better, she assured herself.
Actually it got worse, and all at once. Marc wasn’t in the breakfast room and Biddy was sitting disconsolate by his empty chair. There was a note by her plate. He had been called away in the very early hours of the
morning on an emergency—the VIP in Brussels. He was flying there at once; he would phone as soon as possible.
He rang that evening. He had operated on his patient, who was expected to recover; he would stay in Brussels for another day and then drive back late in the evening. He would pick her up and they would board the Harwich Ferry. And would she ask Moule to come to the phone?
So it was more long walks with Biddy, and more long hours filled with wandering round the house, getting to know it. She was disappointed, but she was sensible enough to know that a medical man’s wife had to fit in with his work without fussing.
When he got home on the last evening she was quite ready to leave. They had a light supper, took Biddy for a last brisk walk while he told her about his patient, and then drove to the Hoek and boarded the ferry.
The professor hadn’t apologised for leaving her alone but she hadn’t expected him to; it was his work and he had made it clear that his job was the most important thing in his life. She drew comfort from the fact that he was pleased to see her. He wasn’t a demonstrative man, but she had welcomed the weight of his arm when he flung it round her shoulder.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS RAINING as Marc began the drive up to London from Harwich. It had been a fairly smooth crossing and he and Franny had had breakfast on board before they disembarked. They should be home by mid-morning, observed Marc. ‘I must go to St Giles’ directly after lunch, and I have several patients to see at my consulting rooms in the evening. You will be glad to see Auntie again. I wonder if Finn will be able to get away for a while?’
‘I phoned him while you were in Brussels. He’s hard at work, he says, but he’ll ring one evening. I hope he’s not working too hard...’
‘I imagine he manages the odd hour or two in which to enjoy himself,’ said the professor dryly. ‘I did.’
Crisp was waiting for them, his round face beaming.
‘There’s coffee ready to pour,’ he assured them, ‘and Mrs Blake in the drawing room. I’ll fetch the bags. Will you be needing the car, sir?’
‘After lunch. No need to take it round to the garage. Everything all right, Crisp?’
‘No problems, sir. The letters are in your study, and I’ve noted down the phone calls.’
‘Splendid. Let’s go and see Auntie...’
He had taken off his coat and now he took Franny’s, cast them over a chair, took her arm, opened the drawing room door and crossed to where Auntie was sitting.
Auntie got up quite briskly. ‘My dears, how lovely to see you again. Did you have a good time in Holland? I’m longing to hear all about it. Crisp has been so good to me, and that nice woman, Miss Jenkins—what a pleasant person she is. She’s coming to see you later, I was to tell you.’
While she talked she hugged Franny and lifted her face to the professor for his kiss. ‘I’ve done my exercises,’ she told him, ‘and walked every day. And Finn has been to see me...’
She was interrupted then, by Crisp with the coffee tray, and presently Marc excused himself with the plea that he had to read his post. So Franny, with Auntie to keep her company, unpacked and told her about Holland and Marc’s lovely home and the people she had met.
‘You’re happy, love?’ asked Auntie.
‘Yes, Auntie, I am. Marc is a very kind and considerate man.’ She gave a small sigh. ‘He works too hard, though.’
‘Only because he has had no reason to do otherwise,’ said Auntie sensibly. ‘Now he’s a married man he will have you to think of and, later on, children! He’ll still work hard, but it won’t be the be-all and end-all of his life.’
If only that could be so, reflected Franny, but moaning about it wasn’t going to help. She agreed cheerfully and added, ‘Marc says I am to take you to Harrods and you are to buy what you would like to wear. Shall we go tomorrow? He’s going to be busy all day.’
‘Harrods? But that’s such an expensive shop, dear.’
‘He said Harrods,’ observed Franny, ‘so I think we’d better go there.’
* * *
IT SEEMED TO her, now that they were back at Wimpole Street, that Marc had become remote. He was pleasant and friendly, but from a distance, as it were. She had thought once or twice in Holland that they were closer together, that there was a chance that they would become something more than friends, but now she wasn’t so sure. Anxious not to betray her own feelings, she became a little cool towards him while doing her best to be the kind of wife he wanted.
It wasn’t easy, and once or twice Auntie looked at her in a puzzled fashion, although she said nothing. They had had their shopping expedition, and, at first with reluctance and then with growing pleasure, Auntie had chosen the kind of clothes she had never expected to wear again. Going back in the taxi, she had observed that Marc was just about the nicest man she had ever met—‘Except for my husband,’ she had added. ‘And so devoted to you, love.’
If only he were, Franny had thought, but had said brightly that he was indeed devoted. And if that meant giving her a handsome allowance, taking an interest in her day when he got home in the evening and telling her from time to time in a rather absent-minded manner that she looked nice, then, yes, he was devoted.
They had been back for a week when he told her that they were to dine with Lady Trumper.
‘No,’ said Franny without even stopping to think. ‘I won’t go.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘You are my wife, Francesca. I am not ashamed of you—why should you be?’
‘I’m not in the least ashamed,’ she said fierily. ‘But I do not like Lady Trumper and she doesn’t like me.’
‘I’m afraid that you will have to meet and even entertain a good many people you don’t like, my dear. It is for Thursday, seven-thirty for eight-o’clock. Wear something pretty; you can look very nice, you know.’
He had smiled gently and went away, leaving her to rage around the flat so that Auntie and Crisp exchanged several worried glances.
‘What has upset you, Franny?’ asked Auntie over the tea tray Crisp had brought a little earlier than usual, in the hope that a nice cuppa would clear the air.
Franny told her aunt, but if she had expected a sympathetic reply she didn’t get one.
‘My dear child, what could be better? A chance for you to let Lady Trumper see that you are as good as she is, if not a great deal better. After all, our family is an old one—William the Conqueror, my dear—a good deal better than hers.’ Auntie snorted delicately. ‘After all, what was her husband? Knighted for making nuts and bolts for tanks or something? New money, my dear. She’s a snob. Tomorrow we will go to Harrods and you shall buy a really lovely dress.’
‘You think it will be all right if I go? I don’t want to shame Marc.’
‘I think that would be impossible.’
* * *
SO BACK THEY went to Harrods, to the sales lady who was beginning to consider herself a friend by now. A suitable dress for a dinner party? Something dignified? She had just the thing.
It looked a mere handful of glistening amber chiffon hanging over her arm, but on Franny’s shapely person it was transformed into a thing of beauty. And it was a perfect fit. Its price shocked Franny, but she reminded herself that Marc had told her to get something pretty... This was more than pretty, it was exquisite, and it really transformed her from a rather plain girl into a young woman who would surely attract a second or even a third glance. Franny bore it home and said nothing to Marc.
* * *
HE WAS LATE home on the evening of the dinner party. Franny, sitting in the drawing room, the few lamps she had switched on giving just sufficient light to show up the beauty of the dress, was disappointed when he thrust his head round the door with a quiet, ‘Hello. Ready, are you? Good. I’ll not be long.’
She was in the hall already wrapped in her long
velvet coat when he returned. His brisk, ‘Good girl. Quite ready?’ was curt, and at her nod he ushered her down the stairs to the front door and opened the car door for her.
There wasn’t a great deal of traffic and it was no great distance. Barker opened the door to them on their arrival and Franny wished him good evening in a pleasant voice and allowed him to take her coat. The professor, shrugging his own coat off, gave her a brief, reassuring glance and then stood stock-still as the glance became a long look.
How was it that he had never noticed how pretty she was? And the dress showed off her person to its fullest advantage. He had a sudden wish to take her in his arms and tell her so, but with Barker standing there it wasn’t possible. But the smile he gave her spoke more than words; Franny, her small chin in the air, her feet on cloud nine, accompanied him into the well-remembered drawing room.
There were a number of persons there; they parted to allow their hostess, majestic in slightly too tight black satin, to cross the room to greet Marc and Franny.
The professor pecked her cheek. ‘Of course, you know my wife, Francesca,’ he said easily, and Franny shook hands and smiled and murmured prettily for all the world as though she had never set eyes on Lady Trumper before. There was a great deal she would have liked to say, but she must remember that she was Marc’s wife...
Marc knew most of the other guests; they congratulated him on his marriage and spoke kindly to Franny, liking her quiet manner and pleasant voice. She sipped Lady Trumper’s indifferent champagne and answered their friendly questions with a readiness which charmed them. Lady Trumper, talking to the professor, eyed her across the room.
‘Who would have thought it?’ she began.
‘Who, indeed?’ His voice was cool as he went on to ask her how she had been since he had seen her.
