The Vicar's Daughter

by Betty Neels

  She was so surprised, she almost fell over, but she obeyed him and he fetched up beside her, breathing hard, and not altogether because he had been running. All the same his voice was quiet. ‘Just in time,’ he told her placidly. ‘You were rather near a canal.’

  He took the scarf off her head and tied the woolly one on instead. She gave a sniff. ‘I got a bit lost,’ she said in a voice she strove to keep matter-of-fact. ‘I didn’t expect it to snow quite so hard.’

  He took her arm. ‘We’ll get home before it starts again.’ He saw her mouth shaking. ‘Punch is so pleased to have found you; he’s your slave already.’

  He was walking her back to the road, and as they reached it the snow started to fall again. He put an arm around her shoulders and held her close. ‘We might get lost again,’ said Margo in a small voice.

  ‘Not with Punch leading the way.’ She felt his arm tighten. ‘This is my fault, Margo. I should never have left you alone. I’m sorry. I have become selfish living on my own—I—’

  She interrupted him. ‘Of course you’re not selfish—what a silly notion. And it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t to know that I was going out or that it was going to snow. Silly of me not to have told Wim...’

  Punch gave a cheerful bark as they turned in at the gate, and ran ahead of them and through the door Wim already had open, to shake himself all over the hall floor then lope into the drawing room to flop before the fire. No one reprimanded him; they were too busy getting out of encrusted coats, and kicking off wet shoes and boots while the professor gave quiet and unhurried instructions.

  Margo, escorted upstairs by Kieke, had a hot bath prescribed for her, and then, once more warm and dry in a sweater and skirt, went back downstairs.

  There was no one in the drawing room, and although the table was laid for lunch in the dining room there was no one there either. She was standing in the hall, wondering if she should go to Gijs’s study, when he opened the door of the small sitting room at the back of the hall.

  ‘There you are. Come in and have a drink; it’s cosy here. You’re none the worse for your adventure?’

  He pulled a small easy chair forward and gave her a glass of sherry.

  ‘I have to go to Utrecht in the morning—would you like to come with me? There are some splendid shops and you know your way around there now. I’ll meet you for lunch.’

  ‘I’d like that. Perhaps I could find something to take back to Aunt Flo.’

  They lunched together, and then went up to the attic where she poked around, delighted at the chairs and tables, sofas and tallboys stored there.

  ‘You could furnish a whole house...’

  ‘You like the idea? Good. Pick out what you want—there must be enough here to furnish several rooms.’

  She wanted almost everything. ‘This—and this. Oh, and this...’

  She stopped to look at an old-fashioned cradle on rockers. On her knees, she examined it carefully. ‘It’s very old, isn’t it? Hasn’t it been used for a long time?’

  ‘Good lord, yes. All the van Kessels spend the first month or so in it. ‘It’s very comfortable, I’ve been told.’ He smiled down at her, amused at her eagerness. ‘I can’t remember if that is so.’

  She stood up and went to look at a little table inlaid with mother-of-pearl, conscious that her face was red and desperately unhappy because it hadn’t meant anything to him. Didn’t he want children? He had said that he wanted a wife and perhaps that was all he did want—someone to run his house, be a hostess to his friends, be there when he came home...

  * * *

  THEY WENT TO Utrecht soon after breakfast the next day, with Punch sitting, as usual, on the back seat.

  ‘I’ll put you down at the shopping precinct,’ Gijs told her. ‘You remember the small enclosure in the centre, with the seats round it? I’ll meet you there at half past twelve.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t time to have coffee with you, but I’m already late.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she told him, and wondered where he was going.

  She had coffee and then began her search for a present for Aunt Flo. She had money now; Gijs had put some notes into her purse with the remark that she might see something she wanted to buy and she counted them now. There was enough money to buy the kitchen stove if she’d wanted to.

  She strolled round, looking in the shop windows, which were still for the most part filled with Christmas merchandise. She found a silk scarf in misty greys and blues that would be the very thing for Aunt Flo, and then, since she had so much money, bought a gold scarf pin to go with it. Her aunt loved chocolates, she remembered, and so bought a splendid box tied with ribbons and filled with mouthwatering confections, loaded with calories.

  Her purchases in an elegant carrier bag, she had another cup of coffee, made sure that her hair and face were as near to perfection as possible, and wandered back to the shops once more. Almost at once her eye was caught by a small, silver-plated calendar—just the thing for Gijs’s desk. He had given her so much, and the leather photo frame had been paltry compared with all the magnificent presents she had received. She bought it and had it wrapped in pretty paper then put it with her other purchases. By then it was almost half past twelve.

  It was quite warm with the lighted shops all around her and people hurrying to and fro, and she hardly noticed the time passing. Finally, a clock somewhere striking the hour disturbed her thoughts. Gijs was late. Perhaps she had misunderstood him? But there was only one enclosure...

  By half past one she was not only worried, she was cross too. Here I am, she fumed silently, in a foreign country; I don’t even know the phone number at Arntzstein or how to get there. I don’t know where he is. I might still be here when the shops close. He’s forgotten me. He’s forgotten that he’s married! Probably drinking with his pals.

  She knew that the last assumption was nonsense, but she felt better for thinking it. Just let him come now, and she would tell him how tiresome he was.

  ‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting,’ said Gijs from behind her.

  She spun round. ‘An hour—more than an hour—I’ve been sitting here. If I’d known where to go I’d have gone.’ She took a heaving breath. ‘It’s not even England...’

  His mouth twitched but he answered her gravely. ‘I know. Tear me apart if you want to. I hadn’t forgotten you, though.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you come when you said you would?’

  She uttered the words which came so readily to wives the world over. ‘Where have you been?’

  He came and sat down beside her then. ‘I had no idea I would be so long. I went to the hospital to see who they had put on my waiting list and a child was admitted while I was there. She needed surgery—my kind of surgery...’

  Her peevishness evaporated. ‘Gijs, I’m sorry I was cross. What a mess I’m making of being your wife. Of course doctors’ wives expect to get left, don’t they? And they don’t grumble. I won’t do it again, I promise.’

  ‘I must remember to tell you if I’m going to be late home too.’ He spoke lightly. ‘Although I don’t always know.’

  ‘Friends?’ asked Margo, holding out a hand.

  He shook it. ‘Friends for life,’ he assured her.

  They had their lunch then in perfect harmony, and presently, when she asked him, he told her something of the child on whom he had been operating.

  ‘You’ll go and see her again?’

  ‘Yes. Would you like to come to the hospital with me?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please.’ She added hastily, ‘I won’t get in your way.’

  ‘Everyone there wants to meet you...’

  * * *

  AFTER THAT THE days sped by, gradually forming a pattern which Margo could see was to be her life in the future. Pleasant hours with Gijs—walking, sitting by the fir
e talking and reading, learning to play pool in the billiard room at the back of the house—but also long hours spent on her own while he worked in his study and twice drove to Amsterdam where he spent most of the day.

  Certainly he had taken her to the hospital at Utrecht, but as soon as they’d arrived he’d handed her over to an elderly zuster, who’d trotted round introducing her to the nurses on the wards. All the same, she’d gone back home with him feeling that she was sharing a very small piece of his working life.

  She wasn’t lonely, though. She spent time each morning with Kieke, and Wim helped out with the language—after a few days she began to pick out a word here and there, and even tried a word or two of Dutch herself.

  She went down to the village too, and wandered round the church, examining the massive tombstones marking countless van Kessels. She met the dominee there, and he took her back to his house to drink coffee with his wife.

  On Sundays she and Gijs went to church, and sat in the front pew, its little gate shutting them off from the rest of the congregation. The sermons were long and stern, and to her surprise, Gijs always took her hand in his and held it for the whole of the oration.

  Perhaps, she thought hopefully, he’s falling in love with me. But nothing in his behaviour suggested that.

  Although there were no more trips to Utrecht, their days were filled. Friends called—so many people knew Gijs and were anxious to meet his bride—and they walked a great deal with the delighted Punch, and in the evenings they sat by the fire.

  Gijs seemed content, Margo thought, although she suspected that he sometimes longed to go to his study and work or read. She had suggested it tentatively once or twice, but he had assured her that he had no wish to do so.

  ‘I’m on holiday,’ he had observed. ‘Time enough for that when we’re back in London.’

  * * *

  LEAVING ARNTZSTEIN WAS a wrench; she had had no idea until the moment they left that she would mind going so much. The sight of Punch mournfully moaning quietly to himself as they got into the car made her tearful. They had driven some miles in silence before she could trust herself to speak.

  ‘Don’t you miss Punch?’

  ‘Abominably. We must sneak over for a weekend as soon as I can manage it.’

  ‘Oh, good. I shall miss him too—and your home...’

  ‘Our home,’ he corrected her quietly. ‘I’m so glad you enjoyed our stay.’

  ‘Oh, I did. I think I’d like to live there always...’

  ‘Well, that is possible. I could go to and fro quite easily.’

  She felt shocked. ‘But you’ve bought that lovely little house in London.’

  ‘We need a place there while I still work in England, but once it is furnished and we have settled in there is no reason why you shouldn’t stay at Arntzstein for as long as you wish.’

  ‘You’d be in London, though.’

  ‘For some of the time, yes.’

  ‘That wouldn’t do at all,’ said Margo roundly. ‘I’m your wife.’

  They talked about other things then, but at the back of her mind was the thought that Gijs would be quite willing to let her do as she wished. If he loved me, she thought miserably, he wouldn’t even suggest it.

  Once back in London they went straight to the house Gijs had rented. As he stopped the car Margo said suddenly, ‘All the lights are on. There’s someone there, Gijs.’

  He said casually, ‘My old nanny has a younger sister. I asked her to come as housekeeper.’

  Margo turned to look at him. ‘You think of everything, Gijs. You seem to have the gift of making things happen.’

  ‘You think so? Everyone can make mistakes and I am no exception.’

  Chapter EIGHT

  MARGO DIDN’T SAY anything as she got out of the car. What had Gijs meant? Had he been admitting that he had made a mistake in marrying her? Had it been just a random remark which meant nothing much? She was tempted to ask him, but now hardly seemed the right moment.

  The door opened as they reached it and a stout elderly woman stood beaming a welcome.

  ‘Master Gijs, welcome—and you, madam. There’s the kettle boiling, for I’ve no doubt you’ll be wanting a good cup of tea...’

  The professor bent to kiss her plump cheek. ‘Mattie, you’ve settled in? Did Nanny come to London with you?’ He turned to Margo. ‘Mattie is a very old friend,’ he told her. ‘When I was a small boy she used to come and visit Nanny and bring me bull’s eyes.’

  Mattie chuckled richly. ‘Go on with you, Master Gijs. Fancy you remembering that. No, she didn’t come with me.

  ‘If you would like to come with me, madam, I’ll take you upstairs.’ As they went up together she said cheerfully, ‘I dare say Mister Gijs forgot to tell you that I’d be here? I hope you won’t take it in bad part, madam. He’s asked me to housekeep for you, but it’s for you to decide.’

  They had reached the bedroom, which was softly lit with flowers in a vase and the curtains drawn against the dusk.

  ‘I can’t think of anything nicer than to have you for a housekeeper, Mattie. I hope you’ll stay with us always. I don’t know London at all well and everything’s a bit strange.’ Margo smiled cheerfully at the elderly face, liking it already. ‘Must you call me madam? Isn’t there something else...?’

  ‘Well, I could call you ma’am if you’d prefer.’

  ‘Yes, please. This room looks lovely, and so welcoming. You must have worked hard.’

  ‘It’s an easy house. Mister Gijs said you had bought a mews cottage...’

  ‘Yes, but it has to be furnished before we can move into it. It’s bigger than this one—the rooms are larger. It’s in a mews near the professor’s consulting rooms. We shall be busy, you and I, Mattie.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure, ma’am.’ Mattie bustled to the door. ‘I’ll get the tea—you’ll be wanting a cup.’

  Left to herself, Margo took a look round. Mattie had taken great pains to make the room look welcoming. There were magazines on the bedside table, and the long cupboard along one wall and the drawers in the chest smelled of lavender. She went through the half-open door into the bathroom beyond, and found that it had everything that she could possibly want.

  She tidied herself and went downstairs to join Gijs in the sitting room. At the back of her mind was a feeling of resentment that he had installed Mattie without saying a word to her—on the other hand he might have done that to make her sudden plunge into married life easier. He would have overlooked the fact that it was a small house, which Margo could easily have run without any help. She went slowly into the sitting room and found him at a desk under the window, writing.

  He pulled a chair forward for her by the fire and sat down opposite her.

  ‘I must be at the hospital by eight o’clock tomorrow morning and I shall be there all day. I’m sorry that I have to leave you alone, but I’ll be free on Sunday. I thought we might go and see Aunt Florence, and when we come back we could go to the house and make a few decisions about furnishing it. The pieces you chose at Arntzstein will be sent over as soon as the floors and windows are ready. If we can decide something on Sunday, perhaps you would look around for carpets and curtains? We can collect the rest of the furniture at our leisure—there’s a good place at Stow-on-the-Wold and another at Bath. It will be nice to have your own home.’

  She had been steeling herself to the idea of being lonely until such time as she had found her way around and made a few friends, but obviously there wasn’t going to be much time for loneliness. She said now, ‘Well, will you tell me how much I can spend?’

  ‘Of course. As soon as I have time we will go and arrange a bank account for you—for your own personal use. The bills for the house will, of course, be sent to me.’

  She thanked him as Mattie came in with the tea, and he t
alked of something else then.

  Later, after they had dined, he suggested that she should phone Aunt Florence.

  Aunt Flo sounded brisk. ‘Well, so you’re back. What did you think of Holland?’

  ‘I liked it very much,’ said Margo. ‘May we come and see you on Sunday? Gijs will be free. We plan to go and look at the house he’s bought and decide about furnishing it, but if we might just call in...?’

  ‘Come for tea—five o’clock. That gives you the whole day at the house. I’m going out to supper, but I dare say you’d like to be back for an evening at home together anyway.’

  How cosy that sounds, thought Margo. But it wouldn’t be like that—they would dine and have their coffee and presently he would go to his study and she would read until she could go to bed. She frowned at her thoughts. She had no reason to complain; Gijs had his work and she had a lovely little home here and a magnificent one in Holland. She still had to find her feet...

  She was secretly delighted when he stayed with her, talking about Arntzstein, discussing the house they would live in once they had furnished it to their liking; they would go over to Holland again in about six weeks’ time, he told her. ‘For about three weeks,’ he said. ‘But part of the time I shall be away from home. I’m sure you’ll find plenty to do and you will have Beatrice to visit.’

  ‘I’m quite sure that I shall be happy, Gijs. Shall we have the house here ready by then?’

  ‘I don’t see why not. Once we have decided what we need it is only a matter of buying exactly what we want.’

  Margo, rather overawed at the idea of shopping on such a vast scale, agreed.

  * * *

  GIJS HAD BEEN gone for an hour by the time she went down to breakfast in the morning. She had assured him that she didn’t mind getting up early and having the meal with him, but had realised as she’d said it that he had no wish for her company. She had crept to the window and watched him drive away, hoping that he would look up, but he hadn’t.

  He was tired when he got home just before dinner that evening.