by Anne Weale
“You mean I won’t be working only for you?” Jane asked.
“No, that wouldn’t be practicable. I shall use you a great deal, but not exclusively. That’s why you’ll need an agent to handle your bookings. Ready, Pete? Right: we’ll get cracking.”
That night, Yves rang up to ask Jane to lunch with him next day.
“I’m sorry, Yves, I can’t. No, not dinner either,” she told him.
“Then perhaps the day after tomorrow,” he suggested. “I find I do not have to return to Paris as soon as I expected. I shall be here for another three days.”
“I’m sorry," she repeated. “I’m completely tied up all week.”
He was silent for some moments. Then he said, “You mean you do not wish us to meet again?”
“No, no, of course not. I—I like you very much,” she stammered awkwardly. “It’s just that I haven’t the time, Yves. Perhaps when you come to London again...”
“Yes, I think I understand,” he said quietly. “Well, as you suggest, we will not say goodbye ... only au revoir.”
Before she could answer, he had cut the connection.
Early next morning, a box of two dozen white roses was delivered to the flat. There was no card with them, but they could only have come from Yves. As she arranged them in a vase, Jane felt sure she would never see the Frenchman again.
Several weeks later, Jane was booked for her first foreign assignment, a forty-eight-hour trip to Amsterdam for a “Honeymoon On A Budget” feature. David was to take the pictures, and they would be accompanied by the fashion editor of the magazine concerned, and by the male model who had been chosen to pose as the bridegroom.
“But don’t expect to have a ball, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if you’ve time to catch your breath,” Heather warned her, while Jane was packing her case on the night before the trip.
“Yes, I know it will be one mad rush—but I shall enjoy it,” Jane said excitedly. “I’ve never flown before, and I’m bound to see some of the sights.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. These jaunts can be absolute hell,” Heather said pessimistically.
Nevertheless Jane went to bed in a flurry of anticipation, and she was waiting eagerly on the doorstep when David came to pick her up early the following morning.
“I hope you went to bed early last night. The next two days are likely to be fairly hectic,” he said, when she was settled beside him, her case on the back seat.
“Yes, I did—but I didn’t sleep very well. I was too excited,” she admitted, smiling. “It’s strange my first professional trip abroad should be to Amsterdam, isn’t it? When I was scrimping and scraping at the Crown, I never dreamed I should find myself being paid to go to Holland.”
“Don’t imagine it’s going to be a picnic,” David said dryly. “We’re on a very tight schedule. There’ll be no time for relaxing, I’m afraid.”
“That’s what Heather said—but I’m still looking forward to it,” Jane said cheerfully. “How long does the flight take?”
“Only an hour. But we start work at this end. Lena wants a ‘going away’ picture.”
“What is she like?” Jane asked. This was her first booking with Mode, but David knew everyone in the fashion world.
“Lena? She’s very competent,” he said casually. But when they met the other two at London Airport, it seemed to Jane that he greeted the elegant Miss Harris with more than ordinary friendliness. And it was very obvious how Mode’s Fashion Editor felt about him.
Jane’s “bridegroom” was a fair-haired six-footer called Neal Evesham whom she already knew by sight from magazine pictures. As soon as they had been introduced, Miss Harris bustled her off to change into a Tricel suit and an enchantingly pretty bridal hat made of masses of primrose petals.
Jane and Neal gazed into each other’s eyes across a table in the airport restaurant, they held hands while their passports were checked, and posed—smiling and waving to an imaginary host of relations—on the gangway of an airliner.
Then there was just time for Jane to change back into her own travelling clothes before their flight number was called.
In the plane, she sat next to Neal, with David and Lena Harris in seats behind them.
“Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I was on the town last night, so I’d like to catch up on some shut-eye before we really get going,” Neal said frankly, as soon as they were airborne.
“Go ahead. I don’t mind,” Jane assured him readily. She wanted to look out of the window and watch the landscape falling away below her.
In no time at all they were flying over the sea. Behind her, Jane could hear Lena and David talking, and she wondered if they had been abroad together before, and if they had a personal as well as professional relationship.
Neal woke up a few minutes before they had to fasten their seat belts for the landing as Schipol Airport.
“Sorry about that, but I really was whacked,” he apologized. “Oddly enough, I was at a stag party last night—for a pal of mine who’s getting hitched this afternoon.” He grinned. “Let’s hope he feels brighter than I do. I doubt if a real bride would take it kindly if her groom went to sleep on the honeymoon trip.”
Jane laughed. “No, I shouldn’t think she would,” she agreed. “Are you married, Mr. Evesham?”
“Not likely! I can barely keep myself.” he said ruefully. “I can’t think about marriage until I qualify.”
“Qualify?” Jane repeated, puzzled.
“I’m a veterinary student,” he exclaimed. “I’m only in this game for extra cash. I used to work in a coffee bar, and then for an escort bureau. But this racket pays better—if you can take all the ribbing and some sideways looks,” he added, with a twinkle.
Two hours later, after they had arrived at their hotel and had lunch, they started work in earnest. By six, they had been to the massive Rijksmuseum to pose in front of Rembrandt’s famous “Night Watch,” to a diamond factory with showcases full of magnificent glittering jewellery, to a crowded pavement cafe in the wide, busy Damrak, and to several quieter side streets where tall step-gabled houses flanked tree-lined canals. People stopped to watch Neal and Jane sitting on the parapet of a little hump-backed bridge, and strolling hand-in-hand along a cobbled quay, but by now Jane was used to onlookers on outside jobs and they did not bother her.
“Right: we’ll break for an hour, and then we’ll go over to the Hotel Amstel and the Five Flies to take the evening kit,” David said briskly, coming out of an antique shop where he had been photographing Jane from inside the window.
Back at the hotel, he took Lena off to the cocktail bar. But Jane and Neal had to go to their rooms to get ready for the evening session.
When Jane came out of the bathroom, she found a pot of coffee and sandwiches on the table by the window. Wondering if it was David or Neal who had ordered them for her, she decided to put her feet up for ten minutes.
Neal had already joined the others in the bar when she went downstairs with fresh make-up, upswept hair and wearing a turquoise wild silk cocktail dress.
“I’m beginning to wish this was the real thing,” Neal said with a smile, when he saw her.
But David made no comment on her appearance, and Lena Harris, who had also changed her dress, gave her a cool critical stare.
They went first to the Five Flies restaurant, and then to the city’s most luxurious hotel where strings of colored lights outlined the terraces overhanging the waters of the Amstel.
Lena helped Jane into an amber chiffon dance frock and gave her the topaz ear-drops and brooch she had chosen to go with it. They discussed the best lacing of the brooch, but there was no friendly woman-to-woman chat between them, and Jane felt that there was something hard and brittle about the fashion journalist. Could David really be attracted to her?
Lena wanted a pose which would show the fluid lines of the chiffon dress and at the same time make a romantic picture in keeping with the theme of the feature. David suggested that Jane should sit on
one of the cushioned loungers on the terrace with Neal leaning over the back of the couch and holding her hand.
It was some time before David was satisfied with the lighting. When he was, Lena said, “I think it would be better if he was kissing her.”
“So do I.” Neal bent and kissed Jane lightly on the mouth. “How about that?” he asked, straightening.
It seemed to Jane that David’s face hardened for an instant. But it must have been only her fancy, as he nodded and said evenly, “That’s fine. Hold it this time, will you?”
“With pleasure—if Jane doesn’t mind?” This time Neal kissed her properly.
Afterwards, her cheeks hot, Jane wondered if the others knew it had been a real kiss, not a simulated one. She was trembling a little, because she was embarrassed, not because Neal had stirred any response in her.
David took several more pictures in other parts of the hotel, and then at last the day’s work was over.
“You look tired, Jane. You’d better have an early night. We’ve got another heavy day tomorrow. Take her back to the hotel, will you, Neal?” Lena said when they had finished and David was having a word with the manager.
“Sure. See you in the morning.” Neal took Jane’s arm and steered her across the foyer. “I have a feeling Miss Harris wants us out of the way,” he murmured. “Well, that suits me fine. How about getting out of this clobber and finding our way back to that Five Flies joint?”
“Oh, Neal, I really am pretty tired. I think I’d rather go to bed as Miss Harris suggested.”
“But you haven’t had a bite since lunch. You must be as starving as I am,” he protested.
So it had been David who had ordered the sandwiches for her, Jane thought.
“No, I’m not. I’m just sleepy,” she assured him. Neal helped her into a taxi and gave their address to the driver.
“Angry with me for kissing you?” he asked.
Jane shook her head. “That has nothing to do with it—honestly. I just don’t feel sociable tonight. You go out on your own. You may meet a gorgeous Dutch girl.”
“I’ve already met a gorgeous English girl. However, if you really are tired, I won’t haggle. Maybe we can have some fun tomorrow night.”
“Perhaps.” Jane wondered if David and Lena were dining together at the Amstel now. Suddenly she wished she were back in London. The day, begun with such eager expectation, was ending on a sour note.
In her room, she took off the amber dress and hung it carefully away. Then she cleaned off her make-up, unpinned and brushed out her hair and slipped into a robe. She had been sitting by the window for about half an hour and was on the point of undressing and going to bed, when there was a tap on the door.
“May I come in for a moment, Jane?” It was David’s voice. She jumped up, ran across the room and opened the door.
Seeing her dressing gown, he said, “Did I drag you out of bed? I’m sorry. I saw the light and thought you were still up.”
“I am. I’ve been sitting by the window.”
“Lena said you had a headache. Have you taken anything for it?”
“Oh, did she? Well, it’s gone off now, thanks.”
“Have you had a meal?”
Jane shook her head. “Neal did suggest going back to the Five Flies, but I thought you might be annoyed if we were out late.”
“You mean you haven’t had anything to eat at all?” David asked, frowning.
“I wasn’t particularly hungry.”
“You must have something. I’m going round the corner to an Indonesian place. Put some clothes on and come with me. If you can’t manage a rijsttafel, you can have an omelette.”
“But my face...”
“You’ve been out without make-up before. This place is just a small back-street restaurant. I’ll wait for you in the foyer.” He closed the door on her.
It took Jane four minutes to get into a sweater and skirt, put on some lipstick and step into flat heeled shoes. Shrugging on her travelling coat, she snatched up her bag and left the room.
David was talking to the reception clerk when she reached the foyer. He heard the lift doors open and turned to smile at her. Jane felt a tingle down her spine. When he looked at her like that ...
“Where is Miss Harris?” she asked, when they were out in the street.
“She decided to look up some people she knows here.”
The restaurant was down a dark alley between two warehouses. A red neon sign blinked over the narrow entrance.
But inside gilded dragon lamps lit immaculate tables and bronze silk walls, and the carpet was an inch thick. A small monkey-faced Indonesian waiter ushered them to a corner banquette which was screened from the adjoining table by a bank of tropical plants. There were only two other couples in the place.
“How I’ve changed! I feel half-dressed without any make-up,” Jane said wryly, when David had ordered citron genever apertifs, and persuaded her to try the rijsttafel.
He appraised her thoughtfully for some moments. “You could have dined with Neal if you wished, you know. You are entitled to some relaxation.”
“I would rather be here. What a nice place. How did you find it?”
“Some friends put me on to it. Indonesian food is one of my vices. Well, what do you think of Amsterdam?”
Jane sipped the chilled genever. She disliked ordinary gin, but this was very smooth and lemon-scented.
“It’s not like a city ... not like London,” she said slowly. “I suppose there are some ugly parts, but I haven’t spotted any so far. It’s more like a large country town, and there’s a lovely sea-smell everywhere.”
“Do you miss the sea?”
She nodded. “Yes, sometimes. Not Starmouth, just the sea.”
Their rijsttafel arrived—a central pyramid of boiled rice surrounded by about a dozen smaller dishes containing chicken, shrimps, fried fruit, spicy meat balls and other delicacies which Jane did not recognize. All were strongly seasoned, and some were so fiery that her eyes watered and she had to take a quick gulp of the iced lager David had ordered.
Afterwards they had fresh pineapple and sweet black coffee, and Jane remembered how Heather had warned her that the trip would probably be hell.
But at the moment it was heaven, she thought dreamily. There was a peculiar and delightful intimacy about being out with David in a foreign city. And though they had not talked much while they were eating, and were not talking now, their silence was a companionable one.
Tonight, for the first time in weeks, she felt that he was treating her as a person again—not as an animated doll, a fashionable dummy.
Too soon, David finished his cigar and signalled for the bill. Outside, in the shadowy alley, Jane said, “I feel too full of rice to go straight to bed. Could we walk as far as the Damrak and back?” She tried to make the suggestion sound very casual and unimportant.
“Yes, if you like.”
There was a nerve-jangling yowl and a dark shape sprang past her, brushing her legs. She gasped and clutched wildly at David. There was a brief violent scuffle against the wall, and then the cats streaked off into the street.
“I— I’m sorry,” Jane stammered, after a moment. Her heart began to thump against her ribs, but not because the cat had momentarily scared her. She was suddenly intensely aware that David had both his arms round her, that they were as close as if they were locked in a passionate embrace.
For seconds neither of them moved. Then the door behind them opened and some people came out of the restaurant. Instantly David let her go and stepped back. But the others must have seen him holding her, because when they reached the end of the alley Jane heard them chuckling and making what were obviously amused comments.
“All right now?” David asked quietly.
“Yes ... yes, of course.” She began to walk quickly out of the alley, her face burning.
David had reacted to the interruption much more quickly than she had. When the light from the entrance had illumined the passage
, had he seen her face? Did he know she had wanted him to kiss her? As they reached the street, he said, “It’s cold now, and nearly eleven. We’d better get back to the hotel.”
He had seen. Why else should his tone be so brusque? He was embarrassed and irritated by her cheapness. Clearly the idea of kissing her had never even occurred to him. Now he would think she was the kind of girl who would let anyone kiss her.
All the way back to the hotel she felt sick with humiliation. How could she have been so lacking in self-control? Even if he had not seen her face, he must have felt lack of resistance, her quickened heartbeat. She should have pulled away at once.
They arrived at the hotel to find Neal getting out of a taxi.
“Jane, I thought you were going straight to bed?” he exclaimed, looking surprised.
“I changed my mind,” she said briefly.
Neal paid his driver and walked up the steps with them. “How about a nightcap?” he suggested.
“Not for me. Goodnight, Neal. Goodnight, David. Thank you for dinner.”
Without looking at either of them, Jane hurried across the foyer and up the staircase.
Next morning they went by charter launch to the island of Marken, a small fishing community where the people wore traditional costume and it was impossible to distinguish the sex of the small children because the little boys wore skirts and long ringlets until they were four years old.
“Ransome seems rather liverish today,” Neal murmured to Jane, when they were sitting in the stern of the launch on the way back to Amsterdam. “Did something happen last night?”
“What do you mean?” she asked warily.
