by Betty Neels
Eliza sat next to Doctor Berrevoets with Christian, at the head of the table, on her other side, but it was quickly apparent to her that conversation between them was to be limited to platitudes, uttered at sufficiently frequent intervals to escape sheer neglect. It was Estelle, on his other side, who received the lion’s share of his attention, although what she said to interest him, in Eliza’s opinion, could have been put on a postage stamp and room to spare, nor was his attention in the least lover-like—she noted that while inclining her neatly capped head towards Doctor Berrevoets, listening to his dissertation on butterflies. The study of them was his hobby and he was delighted to find such a ready listener. She knew nothing of the pretty creatures, although she could recognise a Red Admiral or a Cabbage White, but she gave him almost all of her attention, the remaining bit of it being focused on Christian and Estelle: she could see no sign of any deep feeling between them. True, Christian was hardly a man to demonstrate his affections in public, but no one, least of all herself who was so in love with him, could have failed to mistake the look of a man in love. And there was no such look, she was quite sure of that, and as for Estelle, if she had any feelings at all, she was keeping them well concealed.
It was a pity that he wasn’t an ordinary GP with not much money and an ordinary house; then she would have done her best to rescue him from a marriage which she was certain would be disastrous, but that was impossible now. Estelle, for all her tepid nature, had all the attributes required of her; she would be an excellent hostess, know all the right people, never lose her temper and know exactly what to do even in the most awkward situation. She would never let him down, she would certainly not expect him to rescue her off mountains because she would never be fool enough to go there in the first place, neither would she given him a broom and tell him to sweep… Eliza caught Doctor Berrevoets’ eye, fixed expectantly on her, and she hadn’t the slightest idea what he had been saying.
‘You’re quite right,’ said Christian, speaking across her, coming to her rescue with all the ease of an accomplished host. ‘Very few people realise that the female Blue Butterfly is in fact brown. Personally, I find the Holly Blue particularly lovely.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Doctor Berrevoets happily, ‘Celastrina Argiolus, quite charming. I was just telling Eliza that when she goes home she must use her eyes.’
‘Indeed, yes.’ Christian’s voice was bland, as was his face. ‘I have observed, though, that she does that to good effect.’ He smiled at her and she glared at him, a futile gesture quite lost on him. ‘And that reminds me, my mother is sure that you will want to see Cat and the kittens, they have settled in very nicely; my own cats have quite taken to her and so has the kitchen cat. She has a basket in my study—perhaps you would like to see her presently?’
‘Oh, please. I did wonder…but there hasn’t been much opportunity to ask. But I knew they’d be comfortable here.’
They went back to the drawing room for their coffee after that, and this time Eliza found herself sitting beside Mevrouw van Duyl, but not for long; Christian joined them within a few minutes. ‘Estelle and I are going to take Eliza to see Cat,’ he told his mother, and Eliza watched the two pairs of eyes, so dark and alike, meet and wondered why he should give his mother a faintly mocking smile.
Cat remembered her and offered a small head for a caress. She looked sleek and content, quite another animal from the poor bedraggled thing Christian had hauled into the cottage, and Eliza told her so, picking her up to cuddle her, while the kittens, their eyes open now, stared unblinkingly up at her.
‘Oh, aren’t they sweet?’ She was down on her knees now, tickling their chins. ‘You’d never think, looking at her now, that she’d been half starved—and so wet!’ She chuckled. ‘Do you remember how frightened I was when she tapped on the window?’ She laughed up at Christian and found him looking at her, his face alight and warm.
‘You certainly sounded terrified.’ He was sitting on his heels beside her now and Cat was wreathing herself round him. ‘She’s turned into a charming little creature.’
‘There are already three cats in the house as well as a dog,’ Estelle, standing behind them, pointed out in a reasonable voice. ‘Surely we might find good homes for them?’
‘They have a good home here.’ Christian’s voice was quiet, but Eliza sensed his impatience at the remark.
She put the kittens down and got to her feet. ‘I don’t suppose they’ll bother anyone,’ she offered placatingly, ‘I mean, they quickly learn where they’re allowed to go and who…’ She stopped awkwardly and Estelle took her up, still in an agreeable voice.
‘You make me sound a hard-hearted person.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that at all. I know you’ll be very kind to them.’
‘Certainly I shall, as long as they stay in their right place. I have never been able to understand sentimentality in the treatment of animals.’ Estelle sat down in a high-backed chair, looking complacent, and went on: ‘It will be my duty as mistress of this house to see that all its occupants are properly cared for, a duty for which I feel myself eminently suited.’ She closed her eyes as she spoke—and a good thing too, for Eliza was regarding her open-mouthed and Christian’s face had the look of a man who is teetering on the edge of a very high cliff. By the time she had opened her eyes again they had normal expressions on their faces and she continued: ‘I discovered a book the other day, a child’s book by someone called Beatrix Potter.’ She wrinkled her patrician nose in faint disgust. ‘Animals, dressed like people! I must say that I found it most extraordinary.’
‘In Dutch? How marvellous—I had no idea they were translated into Dutch.’ Eliza was quite carried away with the idea. ‘The Flopsy Bunnies and Jemima Puddleduck…’
‘Mrs Tiggywinkle and Tom Kitten,’ said Christian.
‘You know them too? I was brought up on them, I think they were the first books I learned to read.’
‘My favourite bedtime reading,’ remembered the Professor, ‘my mother has them still.’ They smiled at each other, sharing pleasant memories, and Estelle said sharply: ‘Should we not go back to our guests, Christian? I am sure Eliza wishes to go back to her patient.’
There was the faintest hint of annoyance in her voice, and Eliza said at once, ‘Yes, I do. Thank you for letting me visit Cat, it’s nice to see her happy.’ She got herself to the door. ‘Good night. Would you please say good night to the rest of them for me?’
She was through the door and half way up the staircase before they followed her out of the study; she was too far away to hear what they were saying, but Christian sounded annoyed.
The Professor was dozing lightly and Hub came quietly to meet her.
‘There was no need for you to come back yet, miss; Professor van Duyl said that I was to stay until you came up to bed.’
‘How kind, Hub, but there are one or two things I want to do. I’ve been to see Cat and the kittens.’
‘Settled down very well, if I might say so, miss. Professor van Duyl took care of that, very anxious he was to have the little beasts comfortable. Sits in his study, he does, working, and they sit there with him—them and Willy the dog. Very fond of him he is too.’
‘The Alsatian—I’ve not seen him, Hub.’
‘Well, miss, Juffrouw van der Daal doesn’t like him overmuch, so he’s in the kitchen now. The Professor takes him out as usual of course, and he was in the library with the gentlemen this afternoon, but you wouldn’t have noticed him under the desk. When we’re on our own he has the run of the house.’
Eliza heard the wistfulness in his voice. ‘I hope I see him before I go back, Hub.’
‘I’m sure you will, miss. Would the Professor like a light supper presently?’
‘Oh, yes, please. Shall I come down for it?’
He looked shocked. ‘Oh, no, miss. Someone will bring it up, and perhaps you would ring when you want the tray removed. Soup? A morsel of fish? And I believe Cook has some excellent water ices
.’
‘Oh, yes—I had some at dinner, they were delicious. That would do very well, Hub, I’m not sure what the Professor should drink, though. Tonic water’s a bit dull, isn’t it?’
‘A little fresh fruit juice, perhaps?’ And when she nodded, he smiled paternally and went quietly away. He was a dear, she thought, as she went to sit by the bed and picked up her embroidery and began to stitch so that when her patient woke up he wouldn’t think that she was just sitting there waiting impatiently for him to open his eyes.
He wakened very shortly afterwards, irritable and inclined to snap her head off, but the arrival of supper caused him to brighten considerably. Only her offer of the fruit juice sent him into a fit of the sulks, which she was doing her best to weather when the door opened and Christian came in. He had a bottle in one hand and glasses in the other.
‘Ah, just in time, I see. I met Hub in the hall and he told me that he had just served fruit juice with your supper, something which I felt should be remedied at once.’
He put the glasses down on a small table, a delicate trifle of rosewood inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and set to work on the bottle’s cork.
Professor Wyllie, all at once sunny-tempered as a happy baby, watched him, and Eliza watched him too. He dominated the room, just as he did any company and any room without making any conscious effort to do so. For some reason that simple fact made her feel that all was right with her world, although common sense told her that this was not so. The next few days weren’t going to be particularly happy ones, Estelle didn’t like her and although good manners would prevent her from saying so out loud, she would make sure that Eliza would never forget that she was the nurse and not a guest.
‘I shall come up here tomorrow, sir,’ observed Christian easily. ‘We can just as easily work on that article with you here in bed as downstairs.’ He glanced at Eliza. ‘A pity you don’t type, dear girl.’
‘I do.’
‘Splendid. You can keep an eye on our patient and type the thing for us.’ He handed them each a glass. ‘Your health, sir.’
The elder man beamed. ‘A splendid idea, though a little boring for Eliza.’
The dark eyes were fixed on her face and she made haste to stare down into her glass. ‘Then we must recompense her, must we not? A drive round the countryside, perhaps, or a trip to Nijmegen. Which would you prefer, Eliza?’
‘I really don’t mind. Besides, it would take up your time—there must be other things…’
‘There are. What do you think of the champagne?’
‘It’s very nice,’ she told him sedately, and heard the old man laugh.
‘Heidsieck Monopole—Diamant Bleu 1961. Am I right, Christian?’
‘You are.’ He had gone to sit down, disposing his length in a comfortable fashion which suggested that he had come to stay. Eliza put down her glass and picked up her needlework once more. She feared that the champagne would go to her head; they had, after all, had wine with their dinner; she thought it was a burgundy, but she wasn’t sure. As though he had read her thoughts, Christian continued, ‘We had a Corton Charlemagne 1966 at dinner—a splendid white burgundy, don’t you agree?—you shall sample it when you come down.’
‘There was no need for champagne, dear boy.’ The Professor was chumping away at his fish, in a splendid good humour.
‘You’re wrong. I’m celebrating something.’
‘May we know?’ Professor Wyllie asked the question and Eliza echoed it silently. They had decided the date of the wedding, they would be married immediately…her thoughts ran riot. Why had she ever come, she must have been mad… Her fragmental ideas were swept tidily away by his answer.
‘No. No one knows.’ He got to his feet slowly. ‘I’ll wish you both good night.’
The room seemed empty when he had gone, and very quiet. Eliza went on stitching, making conversation with her patient, and when he had finished his supper, suggested that he might like a game of cards. ‘Or better still, there’s a table here for chess or draughts.’
They played a mild game or so of draughts and Eliza, busy with her thoughts, allowed him to win before getting him ready for bed; arranging his pillows how he liked them, setting the bell close at hand, and turning out all but a small table lamp. ‘I’m not in the least tired,’ she lied cheerfully to him, ‘and there’s a book I want to dip into—do you mind if I bring it in here for half an hour?’
He smiled at her very nicely. ‘What a dear child you are! Afraid that I’m going to start another wheeze? I promise you I won’t, but I shall enjoy your company. Get the book by all means.’
He was already sleepy and when she returned from her room he had his eyes closed, to open them once to bid her good night. ‘You’re a great comfort to me, Eliza,’ he told her.
She had taken off her cap and put on her pink sippers again. The house was very quiet, but then in a house of that size, she reminded herself, it would be hard to hear voices from downstairs. She moved her chair cautiously a little nearer the lamp and opened John Donne.
She didn’t hear Christian come in; something made her look up to see him standing there, just inside the door, watching her. He crossed the room with surprising lightness considering his size and bent down to whisper: ‘Why are you not in bed?’
‘Well,’ her voice was a mere thread of sound, ‘I wanted to be quite sure.’
He didn’t answer her but took the book from her hand and studied. She had been reading The Broken Heart and he stared down at the page before handing it back to her and then, his mouth very close to her ear: ‘Beatrix Potter—and now John Donne.’
‘I have a very catholic taste,’ she assured him seriously.
‘But not, I hope, a broken heart?’
She returned his piercing look steadily, her mouth firmly closed against the things she wished to say to him and could not; she shook her head instead and crossed her fingers unseen because although she hadn’t said a word, it was the same as telling a lie.
‘Strange,’ his whisper was fierce in her ear. ‘I imagined that you had.’
Eliza didn’t look up; her eyes were fixed on John Donne lying in her lap. They focused on the end of the poem: ‘My ragges of heart can like, wish and adore, but after one such love, can love no more.’ Donne had hit the nail on the head; her heart wasn’t just broken, it was in rags too.
‘And what do you think of Estelle?’ The whisper had become silky.
She spoke to the book. ‘She is charming—and very handsome.’
‘She will be a splendid hostess, don’t you think? and run my home, sit on local committees and be the Lady Bountiful, as would be expected of my wife—the kind of wife I thought I wanted, Eliza. My mother will have time on her hands, will she not? I hadn’t realized quite how much. Estelle has money too—she won’t need my millions.’
Eliza’s startled eyes flew to his face. ‘Not millions—money millions?’
He grinned. ‘Indeed I’m afraid so—in guldens, of course, in England I am merely a wealthy man.’
He wasn’t joking. Eliza swallowed and said woodenly, ‘Well, you have a large house to maintain.’
He shrugged. ‘Perhaps you don’t approve?’
‘Why ever not? It’s a beautiful house and the things in it are beautiful too. It would be terrible if you couldn’t look after it all.’
He fetched a chair and set it down opposite her and bestrode it, his arms folded across its back. ‘Did you notice Estelle’s ring?’
How silly men were; didn’t they know that a girl always noticed things like that within the first few seconds? ‘It’s magnificent.’
He shook his head. ‘Diamonds in a modern setting, but Estelle wanted it. The family betrothal ring is old-fashioned; rose diamonds and rubies set in gold—all the wives have worn it and there are earrings to match, given to each successive bride as a wedding gift. Estelle wants earrings to match her ring.’
‘I expect they will look very nice,’ Eliza whispered in a tepid voice, and then, c
arried away by curiosity, went on: ‘What are you celebrating?’
Christian fixed her with a dark look. ‘Ah, so you’re interested, are you? That at least is something. I shan’t tell you.’ He grinned again and suddenly unable to bear the conversation any longer she got up. ‘I think if you don’t mind, I might go to bed now.’
He stood up too. ‘Do that, Eliza, but before you go to sleep, lie in your bed and remember everything I have said. Don’t bother to recall your part of the conversation; most of it wasn’t true, anyway.’
He opened the door for her after she had taken a quick peep at the sleeping form in the bed and wished her a whispered good night, but for some stupid reason she wanted to cry. She nodded her head at him instead, her eyes very wide to hold back the tears.
She was up early, in fact she was dressed when Nel came in with her morning tea. Eliza took her cup to the window and stood looking out on to the garden, bleak in the half darkness of the grey morning, and when she had finished it she went quietly along to Professor Wyllie’s room. He was awake, bright-eyed and refreshed after a good night’s sleep, and was all for getting up straight away. Fortunately Hub arrived with his morning tea and with it a message for Eliza. ‘Would you care to join Professor van Duyl downstairs, miss? He thought you might enjoy a quick walk with him and Willy.’
One of the conclusions Eliza had come to during the night had been that of not seeing more of Christian than she must; instantly forgotten as she settled Professor Wyllie against the pillows, begged him to be good and ran to her room to fetch her cloak.
Christian was in the hall with Willy sitting patiently beside him. She was wished a good morning, introduced to the great beast and ushered down a narrow passage to a side door. ‘I saw your light,’ explained the Professor as they went through it into the chilly day and turned away from the house, down a flagstoned path between shrubs and trees. At the end of it there was a wall with a little wooden door and when they emerged on the other side Eliza saw that they were in a small park. ‘Is this yours too?’ she wanted to know.
‘Yes.’ He was walking along at a great rate, so that she was forced to skip a step or two to keep up. Willy was already out of sight and after a minute or two she asked: ‘Do you have a surgery here?’
