Tulips for Augusta

by Betty Neels

  Augusta had abandoned her gardening and was sitting on the grass. ‘Yes, he is. I forget everything else when I’m with him.’ She eyed her mother a little defiantly, wondering if that lady would smile because it had sounded a bit corny, but Mrs Brown replied quite seriously, ‘Yes, dear…it’s nice, isn’t it, and it stays that way—provided you marry the right man.’

  ‘Like Father?’ asked Augusta.

  ‘Like your father,’ said Mrs Brown, and smiled. She watched Augusta fidgeting on the grass and said with maternal cunning, ‘Darling, be an angel and make some scones for tea, I’m quite exhausted in this heat.’ She lay back, looking fragile as her daughter obediently got to her feet. There was plenty for tea without scones, but the dear child would find the afternoon pass more quickly if she had something to do.

  Augusta was dressed and ready by the time Constantijn arrived. He was late, but he excused himself with such charm that it was difficult to be annoyed, especially when his eyes told her that she had done the right thing in wearing the yellow dress.

  They waved their cheerful farewells, and he turned the car into one of the several small side roads which led, each in its own roundabout fashion, to the A30 and London. Once on it, he gave the Rolls her head, for there was surprisingly little traffic about for a Friday evening. Augusta, watching the country whizz past, felt a vague disappointment; at the rate they were travelling they would be at their journey’s end in two or three hours, and he hadn’t mentioned food…indeed, the conversation was of a most impersonal nature, although when she led the talk to Alkmaar and her aunts, he was ready enough to respond. All the same, something was worrying him; she could tell because of the tiny furrow between his sandy brows. They slowed through Shaftesbury and then sped on towards Salisbury, and he said, so suddenly that she jumped:

  ‘It must seem to you, my dear Roly, that I’m intent on getting you back to St Jude’s as fast as possible. Well, I’m not. There’s a small village near Guildford—Compton; I’ve booked a table at Withies, which is a restaurant I’ve been to before. I think you’ll like it, and it’s well under an hour’s run to town, so we need not hurry over dinner. You can go in as late as you like?’

  She said happily, ‘Oh, yes—and I’m not on until one.’

  ‘I thought of that.’ He gave her a brief, smiling sidelong glance. ‘How pretty you look in that yellow thing. You’re so composed, Augusta, not for ever asking questions and wanting things and having hysterics when you can’t get them.’ Which remark caused her to say quickly, ‘But I never have hysterics,’ and made her wonder if he was thinking of Susan, but how could she ask that after what he had just said? She inquired after Johanna instead, which led the conversation naturally enough to Paris where she now was and which Augusta knew of a little as she had been there several times. They exchanged views and opinions and argued with a pleasure which they both enjoyed until they had almost reached Guildford, when Constantijn turned off on to a side road and presently parked the car outside Withies. It was a smallish restaurant, but the food was excellent. They chose from a cold table of great variety and Constantijn ordered a bottle of champagne, which surprised her until he said, the moment the waiter had left them, ‘You must know what I’m going to say, my dearest Augusta. Will you marry me?’

  She restrained herself from shouting Yes at the top of her voice and instead looked across the table at him with commendable calm. The furrow had gone, she noticed, perhaps he had been plucking up courage…she dismissed the thought at once; Constantijn wasn’t a man who needed to pluck up courage, but whatever it was, it had gone from his face, leaving no trace. She said quietly, ‘Yes, Constantijn, I will,’ and smiled, at the same time concealing her disappointment—a half-full restaurant wouldn’t have been her choice—but then it wasn’t for a girl to choose. As though he had read her thoughts: ‘I wanted to ask you this morning,’ he said, ‘but your mother…’

  Augusta chuckled. ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid of her!’

  ‘No—she’s a delightful person, but I somehow felt that privacy at such a moment…and I never have fancied proposing while driving a car at speed, and anticipating the remainder of the evening, I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask you in St Jude’s entrance hall with, very possibly, the hall porter making an interested third. It had to be here.’

  She had to laugh at that. They drank champagne then, and ate their meal in such a leisurely manner that it was, incredibly, well after eleven when they left. In the car he kissed her, and said:

  ‘Once this dance is over, we’ll make wedding plans, shall we?’

  Augusta was still a little dizzy from his kiss, and said in a voice that wasn’t quite steady, ‘Yes, if you like. I expect you’ve an awful lot to do.’

  He nodded. ‘Quite a bit, although I shall be handing over Susan’s affairs as soon as my guardianship ends.’

  She was unable to prevent herself from asking, ‘I expect you will give her a splendid present?’ To which he made no answer, merely saying, ‘Which reminds me—have you any preference as to your ring, Augusta?’

  ‘Me? I don’t know—I haven’t had time. I think I’d like to be surprised.’

  ‘Surprised you shall be, Roly dear.’ He took his hand off the wheel and touched hers for a fleeting second.

  They reached St Jude’s after midnight and the night porter gave them a sleepy glance as they went past his little box. They didn’t hurry and Augusta was glad because the idea of parting from Constantijn, even for a short time, was unbearable…when they reached the door at the end of the passage he opened it and then stood leaning against the wall watching her; she said in a little rush, ‘Thank you for bringing me back and for giving me dinner,’ although what she really wanted to say was ‘I love you’, but somehow she was unable to say it, and anyway, it didn’t matter, for he took her in his arms and said softly, ‘How sweet you are—and I’m the one who should give thanks,’ and kissed her again so that presently she floated across the courtyard and up the stairs to her room, where she undressed without being aware of doing so and got into bed, to lie thinking happily of the future.

  There were flowers from him next day, but no message. She had expected a telephone call or perhaps a letter, and when neither came she consoled herself with the fact that he had said that he was going to be busy. The next day was Sunday, so there was no post anyway and probably he was back with Doctor Soames. She could hardly eat her breakfast on Monday, wondering if there would be a letter, and she had to wait two or three hours before she knew, as it was theatre day and she went down with the first case and stayed to help the anaesthetist. There was a letter, or rather a note, written in a laconic style which held no trace of a love letter; it merely told her that he would call for her the following evening at nine o’clock, and was signed, Yours, C. She read it several times; even if he was hers. C. he didn’t sound wildly enthusiastic about it—perhaps he wasn’t the kind of man who could put his feelings into writing; she thought soberly that she had a great deal to learn about him.

  She was ready the following evening long before nine o’clock. Several of her friends had given her assistance of a sort—it took the form of sitting on her bed, drinking tea and commenting upon each stage of her toilet, allied with a good deal of speculative talk about the evening before her. It was Wilkes who offered to go downstairs and see if Constantijn had arrived. She came tearing back almost at once. ‘He’s here, Gussie—he’s in tails and he looks marvellous!’

  Augusta sprayed Balmain’s Jolie Madame with a careful hand. She said, ‘Yes—I thought he would be,’ and when Wilkes asked, ‘I say, he sent the roses, didn’t he?’ she said ‘Yes,’ again. She put down the scent spray, flung her borrowed cape around her shoulders and went to the door.

  ‘Don’t drink all the tea,’ she said, and then, as a kind of afterthought, ‘I’m going to marry him.’

  She could hear their excited burst of talk as she went down the stairs to where Constantijn stood waiting for her. She put up her face t
o be kissed much as a child would and felt his lips gentle on her cheek.

  ‘You smell nice, Roly, and how beautifully punctual. Am I allowed to see your dress, or must I wait?’

  She slid off the cloak promptly, glad that he had asked, and stood quietly under his gaze. ‘Yes—it’s perfect,’ he said. ‘You’ll certainly get your share of admiring glances, my dear. You’re positively beautiful.’

  She said without selfconsciousness, ‘That’s because I’m in love,’ and smiled at him. He caught her hand in both of his, staring down at her.

  ‘I told you you were sweet,’ he said, ‘I can only say it again,’ and he bent and kissed her again, on her mouth, and not gently at all.

  The dance was well under way when they arrived, although there were still other guests going in as they went into the house. The hall looked very splendid and brilliantly lighted, and Augusta felt a small twinge of panic as they entered it, to be at once soothed by Constantijn’s calm voice saying mildly, ‘I’ll be here when you’re ready, Roly,’ as he handed her over to a maid she had already met when she had lunched with Lady Belway.

  They went upstairs slowly, his hand on her elbow, and across a wide landing to the ballroom at the back of the house. It was a fair size and very full of people. Lady Belway was sitting just inside the door, greeting her guests, with Susan standing beside her, looking beautiful in a dress of silver tissue which had doubtless cost a fortune. Augusta offered a polite hand to the old lady and was pulled down to receive a peck upon her cheek and a warm greeting, while Susan added, ‘I’m so glad you could make it, Augusta.’ But though she smiled as she spoke there was a lack of warmth about her which Augusta was quick to notice, and she couldn’t help hearing her ‘I must see you, Constantijn,’ as he stopped to talk to her. Augusta, with Constantijn’s hand on her arm, moved down the room, telling herself that naturally Susan would want to see Constantijn—he was, after all, for a few more hours at least, still her guardian—but why had she sounded so desperately urgent? She pushed the thought to one side and gave all her attention to the various people she was being introduced to, and presently, when Constantijn said, ‘If we don’t dance now, we may not get the chance for a little while,’ she forgot everything.

  They danced until the music finally stopped and Huib, appearing silently beside them, declared that it was his turn and whirled her away so that in a moment she had lost sight of Constantijn. After that she danced with a bewildering succession of partners, so that it was considerably more than a little while before he claimed her once more, and they had barely taken a dozen steps when an imposing figure tapped Constantijn on one shoulder and when they came to a halt, said in a rich, heavily accented voice, ‘My dear boy, I have been waiting to dance all the evening with this young lady—may I be allowed to claim that privilege now, before I must so regrettably leave? You do not mind?’

  He smiled with great charm upon them both and Constantijn said, ‘I mind very much, Your Excellency, but I hate to see you disappointed, and I’m sure Miss Brown feels the same,’ and in no time at all, Augusta found herself with her new partner. He was elderly and portly and grey-bearded and wore a magnificent uniform which she completely failed to recognise. Constantijn had introduced him, certainly, but the name had sounded outlandish and she wasn’t quite sure from which part of the world he came—apparently it didn’t matter, for he talked very little and then only banalities, but he danced with an expertise which, though old-fashioned, was a nice change from some of her partners of the evening, who had tended either to shuffle round and round or go in for a great deal of hip-shaking and wriggling—not Constantijn, of course, who danced with a kind of careless perfection which most happily matched her own. It was while she was gyrating upon the dance floor with this interesting personage that she caught Lady Belway’s eye, and obedient to its imperious summons, went to her side.

  ‘I’m feeling cold,’ said the old lady a little grumpily, ‘and I can see nobody—nobody at all to do the smallest service for me. Be a good child and go to my room and bring me back my shawl you will find on the chair by the window— Paisley—my dear mother’s, and a very fine one too.’

  Augusta gave her partner an apologetic glance and said, ‘Yes, of course I’ll fetch it for you, Lady Belway…if you will tell me where your room is?’

  ‘It is on this floor—take the left-hand fork at the top of the stairs as you leave this room—it is the last door at the end of the corridor.’

  Augusta made her way slowly through the crowded room, looking about her for Constantijn as she went, for despite the crush he was easy enough to see by reason of his height. There was no sign of him, however, and she frowned a little, suppressing a not unnatural annoyance; she had enough good sense not to expect him to follow her around like her own shadow, but even so, surely he could have waited until His Excellency Someone-or-other was ready to hand her back again? She opened the door of Lady Belway’s room and went inside. It was a large apartment with equally large french windows opening on to a balcony, and as the curtains had not been drawn it was not necessary to put on the light—she could see the chair by the window and the shawl upon it. She crossed the room to pick it up and paused for a moment to stand and look out upon the garden below where she and Constantijn had had tea. It was then that she became aware of his voice, so close that she looked round, startled, half expecting to see him in the room. Certainly she heard every word as clearly as though he were.

  ‘Susan, it’s impossible,’ he was saying, ‘I thought we had decided that only this morning.’ He sounded patient and at the same time exasperated, but Susan, when she answered, sounded tearful.

  ‘Why not? You’ve changed so, Constantijn. You always said you wanted me to be happy, and now you don’t care any more.’

  ‘You wouldn’t be happy at someone else’s expense, can’t you see that? What has she ever done to you that you should blight her whole life? She’s sweet and kind and trusting, and she’s in love.’

  ‘I don’t care a damn for her—and I’m in love too, or had you forgotten that?’

  His voice sounded weary. ‘No—I haven’t been allowed to, have I? But I gave my word to her and I don’t intend to go back on it, and when I see her,’ he paused, ‘believe me, Susan, if I can find a way out of this mess, it won’t be at her expense.’

  Augusta stood very still, aware of an unpleasant coldness deep inside her. They were, of course, talking about her, who else? She remembered with horrid clarity that she had told Constantijn that she loved him, and now that she came to think about it he had never once said that he loved her. A kind of numbing emptiness took possession of her which did not allow of her thinking and which held at bay any other feelings. She picked up the shawl, and folding it carefully, draped it over one arm and waited with a frozen calm for the conversation to continue, intent on hearing everything. But there wasn’t a great deal more to hear. Susan’s voice, resentful and angry, ‘When are you getting married?’ and she heard Constantijn reply, ‘My dear Susan, surely you realise that this thing must be settled first?’ and then more briskly, ‘Dry your eyes and do something to your face—everyone will wonder where you have got to, and I’ll have no suspicion of gossip. Pin a smile on your face and come and cut the cake.’

  Augusta moved at last; she would have to get back to the ballroom before they did. If Constantijn should notice her returning after them, he was astute enough to wonder where she had been, and of one thing she was quite certain, she must do and say nothing which might give him cause to wonder. Later, when her wits were working again, she would think what to do, although she was already miserably aware that she already knew. She went back to the ballroom, arranged the shawl around Lady Belway’s shoulders and was dancing with a suave gentleman with a peculiar accent and a great many medals on his chest, when she saw Susan and Constantijn return. Susan was whisked away to dance at once, but Constantijn remained by the door, looking around him.

  Augusta, steeling herself, smiled gaily when he
saw her and waved a hand airily, and only when there was the length of the room between them did she suggest to her partner that some sort of refreshment would be nice. This strategic move had the effect of keeping her away from the dance floor for at least a quarter of an hour, and by that time Susan was ready to cut the gigantic cake which had been carried in, and even then she was able to put off talking to Constantijn, for he had a speech to make and stood, naturally enough, with Susan and Lady Belway and the rest of the family. It was fortunate that her partner seemed loath to part with her anyway, which was perhaps a good thing, she reflected, especially as he set about introducing several of his friends to her as well and she found herself hedged in by would-be partners.

  The cake was cut, the champagne drunk and the speeches made, and it was only when Constantijn was making his speech that the numbness gave way to pain and bewilderment that he should ever have thought himself sufficiently in love with her to ask her to marry him. But perhaps he had never meant it to go so far—perhaps he had wanted to make Susan jealous, perhaps even, he had only discovered his true feelings for Susan in his imagined love for herself. He had said once that he had thought of marrying Susan. If only she had never told him that she loved him…

  She allowed herself to be led on to the dance floor again and turned a bright, attentive face to her partner while she went on thinking about Constantijn. Well, now he could marry his Susan, and she would tell him so just as soon as the opportunity occurred. She had a weekend, she reflected, just four days away. He had said that he would be with Dr Soames for a day or so before he went back to Alkmaar; she would go down and see him and arrange everything in the friendliest possible fashion; she would have to think exactly what she must say, but there was plenty of time for that. Augusta felt almost lighthearted with relief at her decision and the smile she directed at her partner was almost dazzling.