Wish with the Candles

by Betty Neels

  ‘Has it a name?’ asked Emma as Justin guided the Rolls up the short drive.

  He pulled up before the double steps leading to the front door.

  ‘Welcome to Huize den Linden, Emma,’ said Justin softly.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE door was opened to them as they reached it by a plump middle-aged woman with a pleasant round face which broke into smiles as they entered. An old and valued member of the household, Emma supposed, watching the warm handshake Justin gave her and listening to the unintelligible exchange of greetings.

  ‘This is Janeke,’ Justin explained. ‘She has been with us since I was a very small boy and we should be lost without her.’ His smile was as warm as his handshake had been and Janeke transferred her smile to Emma and Kitty and offered a large capable hand, then waved it towards the hall in a welcoming gesture just as Emma caught sight of Mevrouw Teylingen coming towards them across the hall from a door on the left. Her greeting was friendly and her smile, if not as broad as Janeke’s, was certainly gracious; she appeared to be really glad to see them and after greeting her nephew with every sign of pleasure, she made them welcome with a warmth and charm which Emma was secretly relieved to see. After all, their hostess hardly knew her and Kitty not at all; even though it was Justin’s house, Mevrouw Teylingen might have been excused if she had shown some slight coolness towards them. On the contrary, she led the way, talking quite animatedly, into a sitting-room of some size, very comfortably furnished with a nicely wedded combination of antiques and modern armchairs, covered in a prussian blue velvet which exactly matched the lavishly draped curtains at the two long windows. The walls of the room were hung with a corn-coloured striped silk and partly covered with a variety of paintings and Emma was a little surprised to see an open fireplace with a plain marble surround in place of something more modern. The ceiling was high, as she had come to expect in the older Dutch houses which would make it cold in winter unless, as she suspected, there was hidden central heating.

  She took the seat Justin offered her and embarked on a polite, somewhat stilted conversation with their hostess while they drank the coffee Janeke had brought them, feeling a little envious of Kitty and Justin, sitting together on an enormous sofa and judging from Kitty’s laughter, amusing themselves a good deal more than she was. But presently Justin broke off their talk to ask his aunt:

  ‘Where are Bess and Caesar? Out with Saskia?’

  Mevrouw Teylingen smiled with faint apology. ‘Did I not tell you, Justin? Saskia’s away—I’m afraid I forgot. I told Wim to shut the dogs in the stable, they were so excited.’

  Justin got to his feet, frowning slightly. ‘I’ll fetch them,’ he said curtly, and left the room to return in a very short time with the two dogs at his heels.

  ‘Gordon setters!’ exclaimed Emma as she saw them. ‘You don’t see many of those around—and they’re beauties.’

  Justin looked pleased. ‘You know the breed? It’s not very popular at present; a great many people can’t put a name to them.’

  He snapped a finger at them and they advanced daintily to where Emma was sitting and stood while she fondled them, and then, obediently to his signal, did the same for Kitty before dropping at his feet as he sat down again beside her.

  They sat for perhaps half an hour, talking, Mevrouw Teylingen with a charm which, if Emma had had any remaining doubts about their welcome at Huize den Linden, calmed them completely. She was charming to Justin too so that Emma began to wonder if she had fancied his annoyance at the dogs being shut up. She dismissed the idea as fanciful on her part and followed Mevrouw Teylingen out of the room and across the hall with its tiled floor and plastered walls to the stairs at its back. It was quite a small staircase, hugging the wall before it opened out on to a landing above, but it had elaborately curved banisters; swags of fruit, wreaths of flowers and birds rioted on either side of the shallow uncarpeted steps. Emma stopped to peer at them on their way, resolving to examine them more closely later. Now she hurried to catch up with the others, already waiting for her at the top of the staircase.

  They had a bedroom each with a bathroom between. The rooms were not over large, but they were lofty and a great deal bigger than their own rooms at home and furnished handsomely with somewhat heavy furniture of the Second Empire period, beautifully cared for and set off to perfection by the glazed chintz curtains, thick cream bedspread and cream carpeting. She went through the bathroom to find that Kitty’s room was very similar and her sister busy unpacking, something she made haste to do herself before tidying her hair for lunch and changing out of the dress and coat she had travelled in and putting on a cotton dress, quite plain but for the double frill of its own pale green material running from neck to hem. It was a pretty dress and one which Justin hadn’t seen before. Emma, viewing herself in the mirror before she joined Kitty in her room, hoped that he would notice it.

  He didn’t. Or if he did, he found it unworthy of comment, instead he inquired of her if she felt tired in such a tone that she instantly felt that she must look a fright despite the care with which she had done her face and hair, but she answered him nicely, if a little briefly, and when they went into lunch confined her replies to any remarks he directed to her to monosyllables, causing him to lift his eyebrows in a faint mockery which vexed her excessively. But Kitty filled any silences there might have been with a lively chatter which more than covered her own silence, and presently she left her sister to do most of the talking and looked around her.

  The dining-room was of a fair size, furnished rather grandly with the oval Hepplewhite table around which they were seated and a side table of majestic proportions against one wall. There was a lacquered cabinet between the windows and on the further red damasked wall was a hooded fireplace. There were brass sconces at intervals around the walls and a number of paintings she was unable to see properly without craning her neck, although a flower painting opposite her caught her eye. She was studying it covertly when Julian said:

  ‘I see you have noticed our van Huysum—it’s an original and we’re very proud of it. An ancestor of mine received it in payment of a debt—quite unaware of its future value, of course. You like paintings?’

  It was a question, but he wasn’t going to allow her time to answer it.

  ‘In that case I’ll take you round after lunch, we have one or two rather interesting portraits.’ He smiled at her in a wholly friendly way so that she felt her childish ill-humour oozing away and felt ashamed of it too. She smiled back, ‘I’d like that, but will you have the time?’

  ‘I can always spare time for you, Emma.’ His voice was casual, but there was a gleam in his eyes which made her colour faintly.

  She found herself, ten minutes later, walking beside him across the hall, leaving Kitty and his aunt to chat in the sitting-room, and she wondered as she went why she should have the absurd idea that Mevrouw Teylingen was annoyed. Perhaps she had wanted half an hour to herself to rest—or to talk to Justin. Emma paused outside the double doors Justin was just about to open and asked, ‘Do you suppose that Kitty…?

  ‘No, I suppose nothing of the sort.’ He laughed as he said it and when she asked him why he was so amused he raised his brows in that selfsame mockery again. ‘Do you forget that old English saying, “One’s too few, three’s too many”?’

  Emma, aware of a galloping pulse, said Oh! rather breathlessly, staring fixedly before her, and after a moment he said, his hand on the door handle, ‘This is the finest room in the house, so you shall inspect it first.’

  He was right; the room was indeed fine. It took up almost all of one side of the house, with windows overlooking the trim garden in front, and three more, floorlength, opening out on to a patio gay with flowers in tubs. The floor was almost entirely covered with a silky carpet of Persian design and the curtains were of a rich mulberry brocade, exactly matching the chair coverings. A pair of wall tables faced each other across the breadth of the carpet, bearing what Emma privately considered to be s
ome truly hideous vases of gilt and enamel, and in one corner was a china display cabinet of walnut. There were a number of tables too and a dainty little work-table with a faded green silk bag, Emma went nearer to examine it and then stood looking around her with interest, and Justin said nothing at all, allowing her to look her fill. Presently she looked at him and smiled and he said, ‘We don’t use this room a great deal now—family gatherings, dinner parties and so on, but when I was a small boy we spent each evening here—the whole family. There were almost always guest too—aunts and uncles and cousins and friends.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t mind—I mean you being in here?’ Emma waved an expressive arm at the lovely things surrounded them.

  ‘No, we were expected to take care, of course; I think we all loved it so much we wouldn’t have dreamed of doing otherwise.’

  Emma said softly, ‘You were happy.’

  ‘As a small boy? Yes, very.’

  ‘Aren’t you happy now?’ She didn’t look at him as she asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She thought he was going to say something more, but instead he caught her by the arm and walked her over to the fireplace, above which was a large dark painting. It was a family portrait of the early nineteenth century, with the head of the family sitting beside his wife, while a number of children were grouped a little selfconsciously around them. Emma counted the little boys in their long trousers and short jackets, and the little girls in straight high-waisted dresses, their hair in stiff ringlets. ‘Eight,’ she said out loud, and looked with respect at the little painted lady sitting in the middle of them in her silken gown and ornate jewellery, her hand in her husband’s. Unless the painter’s brush had lied, she looked not only happy but supremely content as well—as well she might, Emma decided, for the man at her side was Justin—a Justin of earlier times and in different clothes, but still Justin. ‘You’re exactly like him,’ she added, half under her breath.

  ‘My great-great-grandparents,’ explained Justin, ignoring her remark. ‘A devoted couple, but then happy marriages run in the family.’

  ‘And a great many children, it seems. Eight!—She must have found them a handful.’

  ‘With nursemaids and servants? Of course not.’

  ‘But there aren’t nursemaids and servants nowadays.’

  He looked at her with unconscious arrogance. ‘Perhaps we are lucky not to have that problem. As for a nurse, my old nanny has a daughter who waits patiently for me to marry so that she can move in…’

  He grinned at her so wickedly that she coloured faintly and moved away so that he shouldn’t see her face, and went to examine the vases on the side tables.

  ‘Hideous, are they not?’ he offered. ‘Late Louis Seize—Gouthère. The clock on the mantelpiece is part of the set. We are used to them, but people seeing them for the first time are rather taken aback.’

  ‘I like the candelabra,’ said Emma, anxious not to embark on the subject of the vases, about which she knew nothing.

  ‘Louis Quinze—Are you bored?’

  Emma turned in astonishment, and not knowing that he had come to stand behind her, bumped her head into his waistcoat. And: ‘Too good an opportunity to miss,’ he murmured, and bent to kiss her. She was still mastering her breathing when he said in a perfectly ordinary voice, ‘Come and see the little sitting-room, it’s my favourite,’ and led her out of the open french windows on to the patio and in through another door opening into a room which, although not small, could be so described if compared with the apartment which they had just left. It was comfortably furnished, with dog baskets thrust against two of its corners and a thick, bright brown carpet covering its wooden floor. The furniture was dark and solid and the chair covers and curtains were of a rich amber which glowed against the plain white walls. There was a great bookcase taking up the whole of one wall too, filled to capacity. Emma sighed blissfully; it was exactly her idea of homely comfort and when Justin asked, ‘You like it, don’t you?’ she nodded.

  ‘I like the whole house, how could I not? but how I should love to come home to this room and sit here and sew while…’ She stopped and went a slow, painful scarlet, but he didn’t seem to have noticed, for he was looking out of the window. He said without looking round, ‘Yes, I feel that too. Come and look at the garden.’

  It was very Dutch; formal and full of colour—there was no weed to be seen and Emma, thinking of the untidy small garden at the cottage observed, ‘Oh, dear! It’s perfect—when I think of our own garden…’

  ‘One of the nicest I have ever been in,’ declared the professor positively, ‘but you can see that a house like this one couldn’t have anything else but a formal garden, and old Jan who looks after it for me would be hurt if I suggested otherwise. He’s a great one for tradition.’

  ‘So are you,’ declared Emma before she could stop herself.

  He eyed her coolly. ‘Yes. Now I am going to take you back to the others—I have to go to Utrecht. I believe you heard my aunt explaining why Saskia was not here to welcome you—she is staying the night there and I want to see her.’

  The glowing room lost its glow, just as the glow in Emma’s heart was swallowed up by cold common sense. She had, just for a brief time, been living in a foolish make-believe world of her own, just because Justin had wanted to show her his home—he had kissed her too, but that, she told herself bleakly, had been on the spur of the moment. She said in a voice she was relieved to hear sounded cheerful, ‘Oh, yes, of course. I hope I haven’t made you late, you have so little time. You go again tomorrow, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes—but I shall be back within the next few weeks, when I intend to stay in Holland.’

  She had nothing to say to this and his tone hardly invited comment. They walked back the way they had come and crossed the hall once more and entered the sitting-room where his aunt and Kitty, deep in some interesting conversation of their own, looked up in surprise. ‘Back so soon?’ queried Mevrouw Teylingen.

  Justin said briefly, ‘Saskia—had you forgotten?’ and Emma saw the little satisfied smile playing around his aunt’s mouth.

  ‘She has been so impatient—!’ She smiled at all three of her companions as if to invite them to share her pleasure in her daughter’s impatience, but Justin’s face had no expression and Kitty and Emma, knowing of no reason to smile, merely sustained expressions of polite interest.

  After the professor had gone, Mevrouw Teylingen suggested that they might like to take a short stroll, telling them at the same time that tea would be at half past three. ‘Just a cup, you know,’ she explained smilingly. ‘Not your English afternoon tea, but you have only to ask if you would like toast or cake—Janeke is very good.’

  They assured her that a cup of tea was all they could possibly want, and armed with their hostess’s gentle instructions as to the best way to go, set off.

  They returned an hour later, to find Mevrouw Teylingen in the sitting-room, the tea tray beside her and obviously ready for their company. The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough, though Emma, while bearing her part in the talk, was wholly occupied in speculation as to whether Justin would be back that evening. Probably he would remain in Utrecht for dinner, even for the night; he hadn’t seen Saskia for some time, they would have a lot to say to each other. She went upstairs presently to change her dress, for, as Mevrouw Teylingen had delicately indicated, she was in the habit of changing even when she was on her own. There was still no sign of the professor. Emma bathed, put on the first dress she laid her hands on and started, without much enthusiasm, to do things to her hair and face. ‘So pointless,’ she muttered to herself, ‘just the three of us…’ She broke off because her quick ear had caught the whisper of the Rolls’ engine as it turned in at the gate. By the time she had got to the window, all she saw of it was its elegant back sliding behind the screen of shrubs and trees which hid the garage from the house. Hardly had it disappeared than she was at the wardrobe, searching for the brown and white dress Justin liked.

 
If she had hoped that he would mention Saskia she was doomed to disappointment. He talked amusingly of everything under the sun; he even remarked upon the state of the traffic in Utrecht that afternoon and the fact that he had met some old friends. Emma, eating a delicious dinner with little or no appetite, commented brightly upon his remarks as he made them, her face stiff with the smile she was determined to keep there.

  In the sitting-room once more, drinking coffee from tiny fragile cups, Mevrouw Teylingen remarked, ‘How quiet it is without Saskia. What a pity there is no one to give you a game of billiards, Justin.’

  Emma put down her cup with care. She had resented the remark about it being quiet; it implied that she and Kitty were complete nonentities.

  ‘I play billiards,’ she stared clearly, ‘and I should enjoy a game.’ She looked at Justin as she spoke, watching his slow, speculative smile.

  ‘Excellent—and unexpected. You’ll not mind if I give Emma a game?’ He spoke to his aunt as he got to his feet and Kitty laughed and said:

  ‘Don’t look so amused, Justin, Emma’s good,’ and although Mevrouw Teylingen smiled, she did it reluctantly.

  He beat her soundly, of course, although he told her with some surprise that he counted her a worthy opponent. ‘Who taught you?’ he wanted to know. They were standing at the open window of the billiard room at the back of the house, looking out on to the stretch of lawn and its surrounding flower beds.

  ‘My father, when I was a little girl. We all played, and when my brother went away to school I took his place during term time, and then he went to medical school, so I still went on with it. I played in Oudewater.’

  ‘You did?’ He flung an arm around her shoulders. ‘Tell me about it.’

  She told and he laughed; kind, friendly laughter. ‘I hope you know what a singular honour it was that they should have asked you.’