by Betty Neels
Madeleine didn’t answer her as she went.
The professor came into his house half an hour later, during which time Britannia had tried to sort out her thoughts and had failed lamentably. There was so much truth in what Madeleine had told her and she had sounded sincere; moreover, she had looked upset, not sure of herself, and the letter had been genuine…
So it was that when Jake entered the room she voiced her thoughts without allowing common sense to control them. ‘You went to see Madeleine yesterday.’
He paused on his way across the room and gave her a long look. ‘I did.’ The smile on his lips had gone and his mouth had taken on a rather grim look. Britannia saw it and plunged still further.
‘She told me you had—and it was in the letter, and although I believed her I thought there might be a mistake—that I hadn’t understood…’
‘Nor have I understood, Britannia. I take it that Madeleine has been here?’ He frowned. ‘And you speak of a letter?’ His eyes had narrowed and Britannia said quickly before she lost her courage:
‘The letter you wrote to her, of course. She showed it to me—well, the beginning and end with your name. I didn’t want to see any more of it, I didn’t want to hear it either, but she insisted on translating it, otherwise she said I wouldn’t have believed her.’
‘But you did believe her, my dear Britannia,’ he observed blandly, ‘without giving me the benefit of the doubt, too.’ There was a nasty curl to his lip.
‘Oh, dear,’ cried Britannia in an exasperated voice, ‘now you’re in a fine temper…’
‘Not yet, but I believe I shall be very shortly,’ he agreed silkily. ‘I thought that you trusted me, Britannia.’
She looked at him helplessly, aware that she had started all wrong and it was going to be difficult to put it right—indeed, she had the strongest suspicion that he wasn’t going to listen to anything she said. ‘Shall we talk about it later?’ she asked quietly. ‘It was my fault, jumping on you like that.’
‘We will talk about it now.’ He had become all at once arrogant as well as angry, and it was all so much worse because he was so coldly polite. ‘If I am to be accused of—what shall we call it? Double dealing? Philandering? then I would prefer to settle the matter now and not, as you had no doubt hoped, after I had been softened with a whisky and a good dinner.’
Britannia stamped her good foot, careless of what she said now. ‘You’re impossible!’ she told him bitterly. ‘You won’t listen—you don’t want to. There must be some explanation, only you won’t give it, only snarl at me. And you are bad-tempered and arrogant and now you won’t listen…’
‘Not listen?’ his voice was all silk again. ‘My dear girl, what else am I doing but listening, most unwillingly, to your tirade?’
‘Oh, it’s not—it’s not, and I expected you to tell me,’ she went on desperately.
He lifted his brows. ‘I have no intention of telling you anything.’ He smiled mockingly. ‘Madeleine seems to have done that for me.’ He added: ‘And you believed her.’
Britannia regarded him with hopeless eyes. ‘It’s Madeleine you love and want to marry—she said so. I wouldn’t have believed it, only there was the letter.’
‘Ah, yes, this letter. And you imagined that I would—what is the old-fashioned term—trifle with your affections and then drop you when it suited me?’
‘That’s only one way of looking at it,’ she pointed out fiercely.
‘The only way, Britannia.’ He wandered over to the fireplace and kicked a log into flames. ‘And if that is how you feel about it, there is nothing more to be said.’
Britannia’s insides went cold. ‘Jake, please don’t let’s quarrel…’
He turned to look at her over his shoulder. ‘I never quarrel, I say what I have to say and that is all.’
‘It’s not, you know,’ cried Britannia in a high voice. ‘You haven’t said anything, only made nasty remarks.’ Her voice quavered for a moment, ‘I thought we were honest with each other…’
His face was bland and expressionless. ‘What would be the point of being honest with you, my dear girl? You have condemned me unheard and that, in my judgement at least, makes honesty between us quite pointless.’ He added, ‘I’m not sure what I should have explained to you, but nothing, and I mean nothing, would force me to do so now, even if I knew what it was.’
‘But Jake, you do know.’
‘Perhaps I can guess.’ His smile mocked her again. ‘But anything I had intended to tell you when I came into this room is quite purposeless now.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘I THINK I should go home,’ said Britannia slowly.
‘Of course you will go home.’ The professor was in a towering rage, his eyes like blue ice, the nostrils of his magnificent nose flaring with his temper. ‘I shall drive you there myself.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We should be able to catch the night ferry from the Hoek. I imagine that half an hour is time enough in which to pack.’
Britannia goggled at him. ‘Half an hour? The night ferry? Jake, you’re in a most shocking rage and you don’t know what you’re saying.’
‘Indeed I am in a rage, but I am quite aware of what I am saying. We should arrive at your home during tomorrow afternoon.’
‘You’re not coming with me.’ She spoke defiantly.
‘Yes, I am.’ He glared quite ferociously at her. ‘You wish to leave my house as soon as possible; the least I can do is to speed you on your way and make sure that you arrive home.’
She swallowed the great lump in her throat. ‘Jake, please—you must try and understand. I can’t hurt Madeleine—I hate her, you know that, and that’s all the more reason…’
‘I understand very well. I also understand that you have no compunction in hurting me.’ His sneering voice made her shudder.
She was almost in tears now, but it would never do to cry. She said in a calm little voice which shook just a little, ‘Jake, could we talk about it? You haven’t given me a chance…and you haven’t told me…’
His cold voice cut through her muddle. ‘Why should I tell you anything? You already know.’
It was hopeless; he was angry because she had discovered that he really loved Madeleine before he had found a way to tell her himself. ‘You’ll forget me,’ she told him miserably.
His smile was nasty. ‘I have no intention of discussing the matter with you, Britannia. Like all women you have rushed into a situation without stopping to think.’
‘I have thought!’ snapped Britannia, stung by the memory of the last few hours. ‘I’ve thought so much that I don’t know my own mind any more.’
‘So I perceive.’ His voice was all silk. ‘And now if you care to go and pack and say goodbye to my mother…?’
He held the door open and there was nothing else for her to do but to go through it.
A little over half an hour later, sitting beside the professor as he sent the Rolls racing down the motorway which would take them to the Hoek, Britannia reflected that it was like being in a nightmare where one wishes desperately to do something and is prevented by other people and circumstances. She had packed in a daze and then gone to wish Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien goodbye, and because there had been no time to explain, she had stated baldly that she wasn’t going to marry Jake after all and that he was taking her home there and then.
His mother had said very little. ‘A misunderstanding,’ she had observed severely, ‘and of course Jake is in one of his rages and won’t allow anyone to say a word. I’m sorry, my dear—you were, still are, the right wife for him.’
Britannia let that pass even though she agreed with every word. ‘He insists upon taking me all the way to Moreton,’ she said helplessly.
‘And quite right too. I hope you will have a good journey, Britannia.’ She had offered a cheek and then added: ‘It is Madeleine, of course.’
‘Yes,’ said Britannia, ‘it is. Jake will forget me.’
‘A pity that there is no time to te
ll me the whole. Jake has, of course, said nothing.’
Britannia had walked to the door and with her hand on the handle, had said miserably: ‘He loves her,’ and then gone out to where Jake waited for her.
The professor might be in a rage, but he had it under control now; his flow of light conversation would have done credit to a seasoned diplomat making the best of a bad situation. Throughout the journey he was never at a loss for a topic; not that Britannia had much idea of what he was saying. Once she tried to stop him, but her desperate: ‘Jake, please could we…?’ was ignored as he went into a detailed account of the rulers of Holland. Britannia, bogged down in a succession of Willems and the Spanish Occupation, said ‘Oh, really?’ and ‘Indeed,’ every now and then while she tried to sort out her thoughts. But they were still only as far as Koningin Emma when they reached the Hoek and began the business of getting on board. Presumably the professor had found the time to telephone for tickets, for there was no delay in getting the car on board and after a polite goodnight, Britannia was led away to a comfortable cabin and presently a stewardess appeared with a tray of coffee and sandwiches, and the information that tea and toast would be brought in the morning.
Britannia drank all the coffee and nibbled at a sandwich and then, because there seemed nothing else to do, undressed and got into the narrow little bed. It was going to be a rough crossing judging by the way the boat was lurching out into the North Sea; not that that mattered. As far as she was concerned, it could sink with all hands and her with it for all she cared. But although she lay awake, she was quite unable to think sensibly. The arrival of her morning tea was a relief and she drank it thankfully, got up and dressed, made up her white face very carefully and then, uncertain as to what to do next, sat down on the stool by the bed and waited in a kind of daze, not thinking at all for by now she was too tired.
When a voice over the intercom told everyone to rejoin their car she picked up her bag and opened the door. The professor was outside, leaning against the wall. He gave her an icily courteous good morning, told her to follow him, took her bag and strode off. In the car presently, waiting to disembark, there was too much noise to talk, and presently going through the routine of landing there was no need to say more than a word or two, but once on the road to London the professor broke his silence.
‘Rather a rough crossing,’ he remarked pleasantly. ‘I hope you weren’t too disturbed?’
All she could think of to say was: ‘Not at all, thank you,’ but the baldness of this reply didn’t deter him from keeping up a steady flow of small talk. It lasted right through Colchester and down the A12 and around the northern perimeter of London until they eventually joined the M3 at the Chertsey roundabout. Jake turned off again almost at once, remarking that she would probably like a cup of coffee, and drove the few miles to Chobham where he drew up before the Four Seasons restaurant and invited her to get out. Britannia shivered as she did so, for it was a chilly morning and she was tired and empty, but the coffee put new heart into her and she got into the car feeling more able to cope with the situation, until it struck her forcibly that very shortly she would be home now and her parents would expect some explanation. It was only too likely that they would dash forward with cries of welcome for their supposedly future son-in-law. Just as though he had read her mind, Jake said silkily: ‘Have you got your speech ready? Do say anything you wish—don’t mind me.’ He added: ‘I have broad shoulders.’
She blinked back tears, stupidly wanting to weep her eyes red because he had broad shoulders and large, clever hands and a handsome face, and very soon now she wouldn’t see them again. She mumbled: ‘I don’t know what I’m going to say,’ and cried pettishly: ‘Oh, can’t you see? I’m not doing or saying any of the things I want to…words are being put in my mouth. I’m forced to come home, there’s so much I want to say and you haven’t the patience to listen—what am I to do?’
‘My dear girl, surely I am the last person to ask?’
She kept quiet after that while the Rolls swallowed the miles in its well-bred way until he turned off at Ringwood, went through the little town and travelled on to Ibsley where they lunched at The Old Beams. It was a well-known restaurant and the food was delicious, but Britannia ate what was put before her without noticing what it was, making a great effort to match her companion’s relaxed manner and failing, did she but know it, miserably. They didn’t linger over the meal, but drove on, back on to the A31, through Wimborne Minster and Bere Regis, to turn off on to a side road and then turn off again to Moreton. An early dusk was falling by now, and as they approached the cottage, Britannia could see that there were lights already shining cosily from its windows. ‘It’s here,’ she said, and bade an unspoken goodbye to the Rolls as he opened her door and she got out.
Her mother answered the door and after a surprised moment cried: ‘Darling—how lovely, and you’ve brought Jake with you…’ She stopped there because she had seen Britannia’s face, white and rigid, certainly not the look of a happy girl. ‘Come in, both of you,’ she continued, ‘you must be cold.’ She peered over the professor’s broad shoulders and saw the Rolls. ‘Well, probably not, in that car, but I’m sure you could do with a cup of tea.’
She submitted to Britannia’s hug and held out her hand to Jake. ‘I’m so glad to meet you,’ she told him. ‘Come and meet my husband.’
They were all in the sitting room, with Britannia taking off her coat while the two men shook hands and her father, rightly interpreting her mother’s look, forbore from making any of the remarks fathers usually make on such occasions. Instead he asked about their journey, remarked upon the weather, begged his visitor to remove his coat and then embraced his daughter with a cheerful: ‘How nice to have you home, Britannia—for Christmas, I hope?’
He didn’t wait for her answer; even his loving but not very discerning eye could see that she was holding back tears, so he invited the professor to sit down and engaged him in conversation while tea was brought in and sandwiches eaten, and the professor, at his most charming, didn’t look at Britannia at all but said presently: ‘This has been delightful, but I must start back. I intend to catch the night boat.’
Britannia looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘It’s almost five o’clock, you’ll never do it in the time.’
He smiled at her quite nicely. ‘What a pity that we can’t bet on that,’ he told her. ‘As it is, I’m afraid you’ll have to guess whether I do or not.’
He made his farewells quickly, including Britannia in them without actually speaking to her, and to her thanks for bringing her home he murmured: ‘As I have already told you, Britannia, it was the least I could do.’
He didn’t wish her goodbye, only smiled a little thinly at her. Her mother and father saw him to the door, but she stayed where she was, not moving until she heard the last murmur of the Rolls’ engine die away.
Mr and Mrs Smith came back into the room together and Britannia said at once in a high voice: ‘You must be wondering…I told you that I’d found the man I wanted to marry, didn’t I, and it seemed as though I would; everything went right for me—well, most of the time. I—I thought he loved me even though there was this other girl.’ She looked at her mother. ‘Vogue and Harpers and utterly beautiful—you know what I mean.’ She lapsed into silence and her parents waited patiently, not saying a word. ‘She was furious, of course, and she hated me—still does. We didn’t see much of each other, and then the day before yesterday she came to Jake’s house and showed me a letter from him; not all of it, but enough to make me see…’
‘In Dutch or English?’ asked her father quietly.
‘Oh, Dutch, because it was to her, of course, but she translated it for me…’
‘You are sure it was to her?’
Britannia nodded, ‘It began “Lieveling”, that’s darling, and it was his writing and his name at the bottom, and the envelope was addressed to her. She offered to show me the whole letter, but she was so quiet and sad and she co
uldn’t have invented all of it. She told me she hated me, but she thought that if I married Jake and he still loved her, I would be miserable if I found out, and he would be wretched as soon as he had recovered from his infatuation, tied to me and loving her…’
‘He brought you home,’ observed her mother softly.
‘He’s the kind of man who does his duty,’ said Britannia bitterly.
Her mother asked: ‘And did Jake mind very much when you told him you weren’t going to marry him?’
‘He wouldn’t even discuss it, he—he was furiously angry; he has a very nasty temper.’
Her mother nodded. ‘But I don’t quite see why he should have been so angry. After all, if he loved this girl all the time and was only passing the time of day with you, he should have been glad that you had found out about it—it saved him having to tell you, didn’t it?’
Britannia sniffed. ‘He likes to do things his way— I expect he’d got it all planned how he wanted it. It’s over now, anyway.’ She began to collect the tea things on to the tray. ‘May I use the telephone? I thought I’d ring the hospital and start straight away—I’ve ten days to work still, then if I may I’ll come home for Christmas and find another job.’
‘Of course, dear. Your father will help me with the washing-up; you telephone now and get it fixed up.’ Her mother picked up the tray. ‘Your ankle will stand up to it?’
‘Well, I think so, I thought I’d ask if I could work somewhere where there’s not such a rush.’
‘Geriatrics,’ she was told by the Senior Nursing Officer. The ward Sister there had gone off sick and Britannia’s return was providential, and could she report for duty as soon as possible?
A day or two at home would have been nice; on the other hand, if she went back on the next day and saved her days off, she would be finished before Christmas; she agreed to report for duty the following afternoon, and went to tell her mother, and that astute woman said not another word about Jake but for the rest of the evening discussed plans for Christmas and sent Britannia early to bed. ‘Father will drive you up,’ she said comfortably. ‘You can leave after breakfast and that will give you plenty of time.’
