Ring in a Teacup

by Betty Neels

  ‘You think that I might change my mind?’ His voice was silky.

  It seemed a good opportunity to take the bull by the horns. ‘I’m not at all the kind of girl everyone expected you to marry; Mies said, and so did Lisabertha, that you liked pretty girls—not like me at all.’ She drew a little breath and asked in a rush: ‘Who is Adilia?’

  He didn’t answer her for a long moment but stood by the window still, staring at her. Finally he said: ‘I have rushed things too fast, I believe. You are uncertain of me, Lucy—indeed, possibly you don’t quite trust me. I will tell you who Adilia is and then we will forget this whole conversation and return to our former pleasant task of getting to know each other. She is a girl I have known for some years; I have never had any wish to marry her, just as I have never had any wish to marry any of the girls I have taken out from time to time.’

  He walked over to her and pulled her gently to her feet. ‘I have never asked anyone to marry me before, Lucy.’ He bent and kissed her lightly. ‘Go to bed, my dear. I wish I had all day to spend with you tomorrow, but I’m not free until the late afternoon. We’ll put off going to Mama’s and we’ll go out to dine, just the two of us.’ He put up a hand and touched her cheek. ‘You’re a dear, old-fashioned girl, aren’t you? You need to be wooed slowly; I should have known that.’

  He was as good as his word. He came to take her out the following evening and by the end of it Lucy had almost made up her mind to leave the hospital at once and marry him just as soon as he wanted her to. They had dined at a quiet, luxurious hotel and danced for a while afterwards, and she couldn’t help but be flattered by the attention they received. Fraam was obviously a well-known client and although he took it all for granted, she was made a little shy by it. They had walked back through the quiet, cold streets afterwards, and when they had got back into the house she had actually been on the point of telling him that she would do as he wished, but the telephone had rung and when he had gone to answer it, he had bidden her a hurried goodnight and left the house.

  She saw him at breakfast, but as he was on the point of going as she reached the table, there was no time for more than a quick kiss and an assurance that he would be home for lunch.

  As indeed he was, but with a guest. ‘Adilia,’ he introduced her coolly, and Lucy, instantly disliking her, greeted her with a sweetness only matched by her new acquaintance.

  ‘We met outside and since Adilia tells me that she is at a loose end I invited her for lunch.’ He added carelessly: ‘I told Jaap as we came in. And what have you two been doing with your morning?’

  He sat down between Lisabertha and Adilia, opposite Lucy, and it was to her he looked. Lucy began some sort of a reply, to be interrupted gently by Adilia, who demanded, in the prettiest way imaginable, that she might be given a drink. And after that she kept the conversation in her own hands, and during lunch as well, even though Lisabertha did her best to start up a more general conversation so that Lucy might join in; for how could she do that when the talk was of people she didn’t know and times when she hadn’t even known Fraam. She looked composed enough, made polite rejoinders when she was addressed and seethed inside her. Adilia might only be a girl Fraam had known for years, but she was a beautiful one and she had a lovely voice, a low laugh and the kind of clothes Lucy had hankered after for years. She decided that the wisest course was to attempt no competition at all and was pleased to see presently that Adilia found it disconcerting. All the same they parted on the friendliest of terms, and Lucy, talking animatedly, managed to avoid Fraam, calling a casual goodbye as he went through the door with Adilia, who had begged a lift, beside him.

  ‘You do not like her,’ declared Lisabertha instantly, leading the way back to the sitting room.

  ‘I can’t say I do,’ agreed Lucy, ‘though I daresay I’m jealous of her; she’s quite beautiful and she wears gorgeous clothes.’

  ‘And you also will wear such clothes when you are Fraam’s wife, and you may not be a beauty, but he has chosen you, has he not?’

  Lucy said ‘Yes’ doubtfully and because she didn’t want to talk about it, said that she had letters to write and had better get them done and posted.

  And that evening, when Fraam came home and they were having drinks before dinner, he asked her what she had thought of Adilia. It would have been nice to have told him what she did think, but instead she said rather colourlessly that Adilia was beautiful. He laughed then and added: ‘So now you know what she’s like, my dear.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  LUCY HAD SPENT an almost sleepless night wondering exactly what Fraam had meant. He hadn’t said any more; dinner had been a pleasant affair, just the three of them, and the talk had been of the family dinner party at their mother’s house the next evening. ‘Have you got that green dress with you?’ Fraam wanted to know, and when Lucy answered a surprised yes: ‘Then wear it, my dear, it suits you very well.’ He had smiled to send her heart dancing: ‘There will be more family for you to meet; there are a great many of us...’

  ‘Aunts and uncles,’ chimed in Lisabertha, ‘and cousins. I suppose that horrid Tante Sophie will be there.’

  ‘Naturally, and you will be nice to her, Lisa, although I think that we must all take care that Lucy doesn’t fall into her clutches.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Lucy.

  ‘She is malicious. Perhaps she does not mean to be, but she can be unkind.’

  ‘Well, if I don’t understand her...’

  ‘She speaks excellent English. But don’t worry, we’ll not give her a chance to get you alone.’

  All the same, Lucy found herself alone with the lady the next evening. Dinner was over, a splendid, leisurely meal, shared by some twenty people and all of them, it seemed, der Linssens. They had had their coffee in the drawing room and had broken up into small groups the better to talk, and someone or other had delayed Fraam as they had been crossing the room, and Lucy found herself alone. But only for a moment. Tante Sophie had appeared beside her and no one had noticed her taking Lucy by the arm and leading her on to the covered balcony adjoining the drawing room.

  ‘I’m really waiting for Fraam,’ began Lucy. ‘He’s just stopped to speak to someone...’

  ‘He will find us here,’ beamed Tante Sophie. ‘I have been so anxious to have you to myself for just a few minutes, Lucy. Such a sweet girl you are, you will make an excellent wife for Fraam; so quiet and malleable and never questioning.’

  ‘Why should I question him?’ asked Lucy curiously.

  Tante Sophie looked arch. ‘My dear, surely you know that Fraam is what you call a lady’s man? That is an old-fashioned term, is it not, but I am sure that you understand it. So many pretty girls...’ she sighed, ‘the fortunate man, he could have taken his pick of any one of them, but he chose you. You haven’t known him long?’ Her voice had grown a little sharp.

  Lucy didn’t answer. She wondered if it would be very rude if she just walked away, but Tante Sophie still had a beringed hand on her arm.

  ‘Of course, my dear Lucy, we older ones find it difficult to understand you young people—not that Fraam is a young man...’ Lucy opened her mouth to make an indignant protest, but she had no chance. ‘You are permissive, is that not the right word? Why, I could tell you tales—but wives turn a blind eye these days, it seems, just as you will learn to do.’

  Tante Sophie had small, beady black eyes. Like a snake, thought Lucy, staring at her and trying to think of something to say. The lady was so obviously wanting her to ask all the questions she was just as obviously wanting to answer. When she didn’t speak Tante Sophie said tartly: ‘Well, it is to be hoped that he won’t break your heart; he’s never loved a girl for more than a few days.’

  Lucy felt Fraam’s large hand on her shoulder. Its pressure was reassuring and very comforting. ‘He’s never loved a girl,’ he corrected the old lady blandly, ‘un
til now. Have you been trying to frighten Lucy, Tante Sophie?’ His voice was light, but Lucy could feel his anger.

  ‘Of course not!’ The elderly voice was shrill with spite. ‘Well, I must go and talk to your mother, Fraam.’ Her peevish gaze swept the room behind them. ‘Such a pity it is just family. A few of those lovely girls of yours would have made the evening a good deal livelier.’

  They watched her go, and Fraam’s hand slipped from Lucy’s shoulder to her waist. ‘Sorry about that,’ he observed easily. ‘Do you want to call our engagement off?’

  He was laughing as he spoke and she laughed back at him. Now he was there beside her, all the silly little doubts Tante Sophie’s barbed remarks had raised were quieted. ‘Of course not! She must be very unhappy to talk like that.’

  ‘Clever girl to see that. Yes, she is, that’s why we all bear with her.’ He smiled down at her and for a moment Lucy thought that he was going to kiss her. But he didn’t—perhaps, she told herself sensibly, because someone might turn round and see them, but it didn’t matter; he loved her and everything was all right.

  All right until lunchtime the next day. She and Lisabertha had been out shopping and while they were waiting to cross the busy street at the Munt, she saw the unmistakable Panther de Ville coming towards them. And Adilia was sitting beside Fraam. Lucy watched it pass them in silence and it was Lisabertha who exclaimed: ‘Well, what on earth is she doing with Fraam? He told me he was working until at least three o’clock.’

  ‘Perhaps he finished early,’ Lucy heard her voice, carefully colourless, utter the trite words, and her companion hastened to agree with her. But Lucy didn’t really listen; she was thinking about Adilia. In the few seconds during which the car had passed, Lucy had had the general impression of loveliness and chic and beautiful clothes, and an even stronger impression that Adilia had seen her...

  By the time they got home she was in a splendid turmoil of temper, hurt and doubt. She could hardly wait until Fraam returned so that she might unburden herself; men who were just engaged didn’t go riding round the city with other girls, nor did they tell lies about working until three o’clock when they weren’t. When he did get home she was sitting in the drawing room alone, for Lisabertha, sensing her mood, had retired discreetly to her room. Fraam barely had time to close the door behind him when she told him icily: ‘I saw you this afternoon—at lunchtime—with Adilia. You said you would be working until three o’clock.’ She added waspishly: ‘I suppose you took her out to lunch.’

  His expression didn’t change at all and she couldn’t see the gleam in his eyes. ‘Er—no, my dear.’ She waited for him to say something more than that and when he didn’t she got up and started for the door. She knew that she was behaving childishly and that she would probably burst into tears in no time at all; she had been spoiling for a nice down-to-earth quarrel and Fraam had no intention of quarrelling. Was this what Tante Sophie had meant? Was this learning to turn a blind eye? A sob bubbled up in her throat and escaped just as she had a hand on the door, but she never opened it. Fraam had got there too and turned her round and caught her close.

  ‘Now, now, my love,’ he said soothingly, ‘what’s all this?’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I believe Tante Sophie’s hints and spite did their work, after all.’ He turned her face up to his and carefully wiped away a tear. ‘I told you I would be working until three o’clock, but what I didn’t explain was that I had a list at another hospital. I was driving there when Adilia stopped me and asked for a lift. And I didn’t have lunch with her—indeed, I haven’t had lunch at all.’

  ‘Oh, aren’t I awful?’ Lucy said woefully, ‘jumping to conclusions, and you going without your lunch. I feel mean and a bit silly.’

  ‘You’re not mean and you’re not silly, but supposing we get married as soon as we can, then you’ll be quite sure of me, won’t you?’

  ‘You mean I’m not quite sure of you now?’ she asked him quickly. ‘Well, no, perhaps I’m not. But don’t you see, while I’m not then how can I marry you?’ She went on earnestly: ‘I think I should go back to St Norbert’s and—and not see you for a bit and then you’ll be sure...’

  ‘Sure of what?’ His voice was very quiet.

  ‘Well, wanting to marry me.’

  ‘And you? Would you be sure then, Lucy?’

  She looked at him in surprise. ‘Me? Oh, but I’m sure—I mean, sure that I love you.’

  ‘So it is for me that you wish to go back to hospital? Not for yourself?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes. You do have to be quite certain.’

  ‘And you think that I am not. Shall I tell you something, Lucy? The world is full of Adilias, but there is only one Lucy.’ He pulled her to him and kissed her slowly. ‘I can’t teach you to trust me; that’s something you must do for yourself, and I think that you do trust me, only you have this ridiculous idea that every girl in the world is beautiful except you, and because of that you have this chip on your shoulder which prevents you from accepting the fact that anyone could possibly want to marry you.’

  ‘I have not got a chip on my shoulder,’ said Lucy pettishly. ‘I’m trying to be sensible.’ She wanted to cry again, but she didn’t know why.

  ‘All right, no chip.’ He kissed her again. ‘We won’t talk about it any more now; I have to go back to my rooms after tea, but after dinner this evening we’ll talk again, and this time I shall persuade you to change your mind and marry me as soon as possible.’

  She leaned her head against his shoulder and thought that probably she would be persuaded because that was what she wanted to do really. She said quite happily: ‘Yes, all right—I like being with you and talking, Fraam.’

  They had tea together presently, and Lucy had felt utterly content. This was going to be marriage with Fraam; quiet half hours in which to talk and knowing that he would be home again in the evening. Just the sight of him sitting opposite her, drinking his tea and eating cake and telling her about his day at the hospital, made her feel slightly giddy with happiness. Her matter-of-fact acceptance of her plain face was being edged away by a new-found assurance stemming from that same happiness and after all not many girls had green eyes. When Fraam had gone she went upstairs and washed her hair and wound it painstakingly into rollers while she did her face. The results were not startling but at least they were an improvement. She would buy a new dress or two, she thought happily, and when later that evening they would have their talk, she would agree to anything he said. He had been right, of course; the reason why she wasn’t quite sure of him was because she hadn’t quite believed that he could prefer her to other girls. She skipped downstairs to wait for him.

  He didn’t come. There was a telephone message a little later to say that there had been an accident—one of the surgeons on duty—and Fraam would stay in his place until he could be relieved. The two girls dined alone and the evening passed pleasantly enough discussing the clothes Lucy would like to buy. ‘Get all you want,’ advised Lisabertha. ‘Fraam has a great deal of money and he will pay the bills.’

  ‘I’d rather not—at least, not until he suggests it, if he ever does. I’ve some money, enough to buy a dress.’

  They went to bed presently and Lucy, thinking of Fraam, slept dreamlessly.

  He was at breakfast the next morning, immersed in his letters, making notes in his pocketbook and scanning the newspaper headlines. He got up when she joined him, settled her in a chair beside him, declared in a rather absent-minded way that she looked as pretty as a picture, kissed her briefly and went on: ‘I have to go to Brussels this morning—there’s a patient there I’ve looked after for some time and his own doctor wants me there for a consultation. I’m flying down, Jaap will take me to Schiphol, and I should be back this evening—wait up for me, Lucy, there is something I want to tell you.’

  ‘Can’t you tell me now?’ She tried not to sound anxious. His ‘no�
� was very decisive.

  Lucy was alone in the sitting room after lunch when Jaap came into the room.

  ‘There is a visitor for you, Miss Prendergast,’ he announced uneasily.

  Adilia looked lovely, but then she always did. She brushed past Jaap as though he weren’t there and addressed Lucy. ‘I’ve come to fetch some things I forgot to take with me.’

  Lucy felt puzzled. ‘Things?’ she asked, and added politely: ‘Well, I’m sure Fraam won’t mind if you collect them—where did you leave them?’

  Adilia gave her a wicked look. ‘Upstairs, of course—where else do you suppose? In the Brocade Room.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Fraam called you the parson’s daughter, and you really are, aren’t you?’

  She sank down into one of the large winged chairs, apparently in no hurry, arranging herself comfortably before she observed: ‘Why do you suppose Fraam is marrying you, Lucy? He needs a wife...’ she glanced round the beautiful room, ‘someone to run his household and rear his children. That’s not for me,’ she shrugged briefly. ‘I’m all for freedom, so he can’t have me—not on a permanent basis—and now he doesn’t care who he marries. You will do as well as any, I daresay—probably better.’

  Lucy felt cold inside and there was a peculiar sensation in her head. All the same she said sturdily: ‘I don’t believe you.’

  Adilia got up, stretched herself and yawned prettily. ‘It’s all the same to me. You will be an excellent wife, for you will never allow yourself to wonder if Fraam is really in Munich or Brussels at some seminar or other, or ask where he has been when he comes home late.’ She nodded her beautiful head. ‘It is a great advantage to be a parson’s daughter—he sees that too.’

  Lucy was on her feet now, her small capable hands clenched on either side of her. ‘I still don’t believe you,’ she said, and somehow managed to keep her doubts out of her voice.

  ‘You don’t want to. Fraam is in Brussels, is he not, or so he told you.’ Adilia tugged the bell rope and when Jaap came: ‘Jaap, you drove Mr der Linssen to Schiphol, did you not? We are both so silly, we cannot remember where he was going.’