by Betty Neels
‘She’s gone home,’ said Margo in a rush. ‘Julius is back and—and wanted her to return as soon as possible. And as there was a seat on the late morning flight she took it. It was all a bit of a rush.’ She stopped talking, aware that she was beginning to babble.
Gijs sat down. ‘All rather sudden, wasn’t it?’
‘Well, yes, but I expect she wanted to see Julius again. She said she would phone you this evening and she was sorry not to see you to say goodbye.’
There was a silence then, fortunately broken by Mattie coming to tell them that dinner was ready, and Margo, feeling that she had crossed her bridge safely, allowed herself a certain amount of complacency.
A mistake. Drinking coffee in the drawing room after dinner, Gijs asked casually, ‘And you, Margo—what have you done with yourself today?’
She spoke too quickly. ‘Me? Oh, nothing much. I phoned Aunt Flo and did the flowers...’
‘You didn’t go out?’
He watched the colour creep into her face.
‘Well, yes, I did. Just out, you know—nowhere special.’
Gijs reflected with bitter amusement that Margo, a vicar’s daughter, was hopeless at being devious. He asked in a quiet voice which chilled her to the bone, ‘And are the steps of the National Gallery not special?’
‘The steps...?’ She faltered, staring across at his impassive face, seeing the controlled anger in it.
‘You were there, were you not?’ His voice was silky. ‘I was in a traffic jam and I saw you and Jerome together. Not a chance encounter, I imagine? There was a certain familiarity...you were absorbed in each other...’
When Margo said nothing, staring at him with eyes suddenly enormous in a white face, he added, ‘I asked you to have nothing to do with him, Margo. Had you forgotten that? Or was the attraction so great? Will you tell me about it?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d rather not.’
‘I realise that perhaps you are bored with your life here, that it holds little excitement, and Jerome is young and good-looking and adept at charming women. I thought that you—’ He stopped, and then continued levelly, ‘Perhaps we can discuss the whole thing at our leisure some time. Unfortunately, I have a great deal of work for the next week and shall be seldom at home. Why not spend it with Aunt Florence?’
Margo swallowed tears. He was angry, but he didn’t seem to care enough to ask her why she had gone to see Jerome; he had just taken it for granted that she had been bored. Not that she could have told him the truth, but he might have asked. He didn’t care tuppence about her; she might just as well be with Aunt Flo.
‘Very well, I’ll go tomorrow.’
‘Just tell me this, Margo. Did you go to see Jerome of your own free will? Had you arranged to meet him?’
She could only nod, looking no higher than his tie—which was a good thing; his face might have frightened her.
‘I’ll go to bed,’ said Margo.
She didn’t sleep, of course, but when she went down to breakfast the next morning she found Gijs already there. He wished her good morning exactly as usual, only as she sat down he asked her when she planned to go to Aunt Flo’s.
‘After lunch, I thought. There’s a train...’
‘I’ll ring for a car and a man to drive you down. Will half past two suit you?’
She thanked him. He was making sure that she went, she thought miserably.
‘Enjoy your visit,’ he told her. ‘I dare say that you have some plans. I hope you will behave with discretion. Aunt Florence is too nice to be upset.’
‘Behave? Behave? Whatever do you mean?’ Margo’s normally mild nature flared into temper. ‘How dare you talk to me like that? What in heaven’s name have I got to be discreet about?’
She got up, quelling an urge to throw her coffee-cup at him. ‘If that’s the way you are going to talk, then I’m glad I don’t have to see you for a week.’ She added, quite reckless now, ‘Perhaps it had better be for a month, or a year—or for ever...’
Gijs remained unmoved. ‘That is entirely up to you, Margo.’ He even smiled a little, although it wasn’t a very nice smile. ‘Sit down and finish your breakfast.’
‘No, I won’t,’ said Margo, and flew out of the room and upstairs to her bedroom, where she had a thoroughly comforting weep before washing her face and going downstairs again—reluctantly, but there was nothing else to be done...
He had gone. Mattie, clearing the table, remarked cheerfully that the master was a one for work and no mistake. ‘And you’ll be off after lunch, ma’am? If you’d tell me what to cook for the professor... He said he’d be out all day but he will want a good meal in the evening. A week, he said. You’ll miss each other, I’ll be bound.’
She glanced at Margo’s pale face and added sympathetically, ‘It’s hard when you can’t be together when you’re first wed.’
Margo remembered then that she hadn’t phoned Aunt Flo. Supposing she was away or didn’t want a guest? But when she rang it was to hear that Gijs had already phoned. He thinks of everything, thought Margo peevishly.
She didn’t like leaving Caesar and Plato.
‘Don’t you worry, ma’am,’ said Mattie. ‘The master will take Plato out before he goes in the morning and when he gets home in the evening, and Caesar is happy enough in the garden. I’ll take good care of them.’
* * *
AUNT FLORENCE WAS pleased to see her. ‘Need a change from London, do you?’ she wanted to know. ‘Gijs told me he was very busy—don’t suppose you see much of each other.’ She took a look at Margo’s face. ‘You look down in the dumps, child.’ She sounded brisk. ‘A good long walk in the fresh air will do you good. The Truemans have asked us to dinner tonight and the rector and his wife are coming to dinner tomorrow evening. Not exciting, but I dare say you will enjoy a change of scene.’
The week seemed never-ending, and although Margo dreaded seeing Gijs again she longed for him. Obedient to her aunt, she took long walks each morning, ate the nourishing food Phoebe cooked, and made conversation with various of Aunt Flo’s friends who called. She described Arntzstein in minute detail to her, behaved just as she should at the Truemans’, and made a reluctant fourth at Aunt Flo’s bridge evening.
On her last evening she received a phone call from the driver who had brought her to Sunningfield. He would come for her at two o’clock on the following day, if that suited her— ‘But Professor van Kessel says you are to do as you wish, madam.’
‘I’ll be ready at two o’clock,’ said Margo. Gijs wanted her back; they would be sensible and talk quietly and she would explain that she didn’t care a row of pins for Jerome, although how she was going to do that without giving away Corinne’s part in the miserable business was a problem she had yet to solve.
* * *
SINCE IT WAS a Saturday she was sure that he would be at home, but only Mattie was there, ready with tea and a warm welcome. Margo, with Plato and Caesar for company, nibbled sandwiches and pondered what she would say and presently went to her room and changed into a patterned silk dress in a pleasing shade of forest-green. She took pains with her hair and her make-up too, and went down again to sit in the drawing room and wait.
Gijs came home a scant half-hour before dinner. He came into the room unhurriedly, his hello pleasant, so that she took heart.
‘It’s nice to be home,’ she told him. ‘Have you been at the hospital?’
He sat down opposite her. ‘No, I spent the afternoon with friends and stayed for drinks.’ He pulled Plato’s ears gently. ‘You enjoyed your stay with Aunt Florence?’
She began to tell him about her week, only to realise halfway through that he wasn’t listening. She stopped talking then, and presently they sat down to dinner. It was better then, for good manners forced him to make some sort of a reply to her efforts at conversation
, and she felt more cheerful as they went back to the drawing room.
She had poured their coffee and was searching for something to talk about when he said casually, ‘I am going over to Holland tomorrow. If you remember, I did intend going within the next week or so, but I find that I can leave here for the time being and there are several urgent cases in Utrecht I want to deal with.’
‘Not me?’ asked Margo, regardless of grammar.
‘I think not. You must feel free to do as you wish, Margo.’ He gave her a steady look. ‘You still feel that you are unable to talk to me? Believe me, I will listen sympathetically. I am not so middle-aged that I cannot appreciate that one can fall in love whether one wishes to or not. We have been good friends—can you not confide in me?’
She shook her head, not looking at him; if she did she might forget her promise.
‘I leave early in the morning. Draw on our account at the bank for any money you need. I have left our solicitor’s phone number in case you need advice of any kind.’
She asked in a wispy voice, ‘How long will you be away?’
‘Difficult to say, but you can count on two weeks at least—possibly longer.’
There seemed to be nothing more to say, so she drank her coffee and said that she hoped he would have a safe journey. ‘Please give my love to Punch. I—I rather think I’ll go to bed; I’m tired.’
He opened the door for her, and as she passed him he kissed her hard. It was almost her undoing. Another moment and she would have told him everything, promise or no promise. Instead she flew upstairs to her room.
Sitting on the bed, she told herself that the kiss had been his goodbye—not just for a few weeks but for ever.
She slept badly and got up early, hoping that she might see him before he left the house, but when she went downstairs Mattie was clearing away his breakfast things, pausing only to wish her good morning and suggest scrambled eggs.
‘Feel a bit down, I dare say, ma’am, but he’ll be back just as soon as he can. A good cup of coffee will make you feel more cheerful.’
Margo thanked the good soul, reflecting that it would take more than a cup of coffee to cheer her up; she would have to plan her days so that they were filled. Long walks in the park with Plato, visits to the picture galleries and the museums. The British Museum was in itself large enough to absorb at least two weeks, and perhaps by then Gijs would be home again.
She kept resolutely to her plans for the whole of that week—walking herself tired each morning, stuffing her head with useful information from a number of museums and picture galleries in the afternoon and working away at a tapestry cushion in the evening. There was no news of Gijs, and in the middle of the second week she allowed panic to take over.
He had left her; he was never going to see her again—never even write or telephone. Presently she pulled herself together; he wouldn’t do any of those things. He might be angry and unforgiving but he was fair. Perhaps, she thought, he was waiting for her to make the first move. Perhaps he expected her to ask for a divorce—no, she corrected herself, an annulment.
She thought about this for some time, and then made up her mind as to what she should do.
* * *
MATTIE WASN’T AT all surprised when she told her that she was going over to Holland.
‘The professor wants you there, I dare say, ma’am. Can’t get away, most likely.’
‘I’ll try and get a flight tomorrow, Mattie, and let you know how long I’m staying when I get there. Will you be all right with Caesar and Plato—would your nephew take Plato out each day if I leave some money for him?’
‘He’ll be glad to do that, ma’am. Saving up for one of those nasty motorbikes, he is.’
‘Oh, good. I’ll leave you plenty of money—did the professor say anything about your wages? I forgot to ask him.’
‘Paid me before he went, ma’am.’ She smiled cosily. ‘Just you go to Holland. I’ll keep an eye on things here until you’re back.’
* * *
SHE HAD BEEN lucky, thought Margo, looking down at the coastline of England as the plane gained height. There had been a seat available on a flight in the early afternoon. She had packed a small case, dressed herself in the blue cashmere dress and wrapped herself into her topcoat, and, mindful of first impressions, had perched a brown velvet hat with an upturned brim on her carefully arranged hair.
With the same object in view she had spent a long time before the looking glass doing things to her face, but somehow she hadn’t looked right when she had finished, so she had taken all the make-up off again. Her face looked its best with cream, powder and lipstick and nothing else.
Schiphol was vast and busy. It took time to reach the street at last—or rather several streets, choked with buses and cars. She stood for a moment, getting her bearings, and presently saw an empty taxi.
At least she didn’t have the worry of wondering whether she had enough money, she thought, getting in. She had plenty; Gijs had seen to that.
‘I hope you speak English?’ she said to the driver, and was relieved when he nodded.
‘Enough, mevrouw.’
‘Would you take me to a village called Arntzstein? It’s a few miles from Utrecht.’
She had had time to look at a map before she left home; it was fifty or so kilometres from Schiphol.
Once they were clear of the airport and on the motorway, the driver drove fast. Margo was still rehearsing what she would say to Gijs when he turned off the highway and presently reached Arntzstein.
‘It’s through the village—you can see the gates at the end of that lane after the church.’
There were lights shining from the house. She got out, paid the driver, tipped him lavishly and climbed the steps to the door. She tried the handle but it was locked, so she pulled the old-fashioned bell. Funny to ring your own front doorbell, she reflected, and smiled at Wim when he opened the door.
It was nice to be welcomed so warmly. ‘You have come to stay, mevrouw—what a pleasure for us all! Please to wait. I will fetch Kieke and she will take you to your room. We had it prepared; we had expected you...’
Kieke came, with Diny and Mien, to shake her hand and exclaim with delight at the sight of her.
‘Such a surprise for the professor when he returns home,’ said Kieke, going upstairs with Margo to make sure that everything was as it should be.
Margo agreed, quelling sudden panic.
When she went downstairs again, Wim was in the hall.
‘Wim,’ said Margo, ‘please don’t say a word to the professor when he comes in—I want to surprise him. When do you expect him?’
Wim beamed. ‘How delighted he will be, mevrouw. He is expected sometime after six o’clock. If I bring tea now...’
‘Yes, please. I’ll have it in the small sitting room. I expect the professor will go straight to his study.’
‘Always, mevrouw.’ He was delighted at the idea of a conspiracy. ‘You will remain there, mevrouw?’
‘Yes, Wim. Where is Punch?’
‘With the professor. He will also be delighted that you are here, mevrouw.’
She had her tea sitting by the cheerful fire in the cosy room and then, feeling nervous, got up and wandered around, looking at the photos in their silver frames and the family portraits hung on the walls.
The house was quiet so she heard Gijs and Punch come into the hall. She turned off the table-lamp, although the room was out of sight of the hall, and stood with a thumping heart, listening to distant voices. Not visitors, surely? She went to the door and opened it a crack and heard Gijs call to Punch as he crossed the hall and went into his study, shutting the door with a firm click.
Margo counted to ten to give him time to sit in his chair and to allow her heart to quieten down a bit. She wished now that she had never co
me, but this was something which couldn’t be avoided. Moral courage, her father had once told her, was as important as the physical kind. She opened the door, crossed the hall and opened the study door.
Gijs looked up and got slowly to his feet, and Punch padded over to her, lifting his head to have his ears rubbed in Margo’s special way.
‘This is unexpected,’ said the professor. ‘Won’t you sit down?’
When she had, he sat down again himself, watching her without speaking so that she made haste to break the silence.
‘I thought we had better have a talk,’ she began, and looked at him across the desk. He was tired, and there were lines she hadn’t noticed before etched on his face, but he was impassive, waiting for her to go on.
‘I don’t know much about it,’ said Margo, ‘but I think we can be annulled. I mean, that’s better than being divorced, isn’t it? I expect you could arrange that? I’ve been thinking about it a great deal and I expect you have too...’
His brief grave nod did nothing to encourage her to have any hope. She went on doggedly, ‘You see, you don’t trust me, do you? And things will never be right between us, will they?’
He said evenly, ‘If you wish for an annulment, Margo, it can be arranged.’
‘That’s what you want too. I’ve been a disappointment to you, haven’t I?’
She paused, wishing with her whole heart that he would tell her that it didn’t matter about Jerome, that they could start again, that everything would be all right...
‘I want you to be happy, Margo,’ was all that he said.
She could think of nothing more to say then; she had said what she had come to say and it had broken her heart. She stood up.
‘You will stay here as long as you wish,’ said the professor, going to open the door for her. ‘I hope Kieke has made you comfortable. If there is anything you need you have only to ask.’
His cold courtesy chilled her to the bone.
‘Yes—yes, thank you. I’ll go back to London tomorrow.’
‘In that case let us say goodbye. I am going out immediately and shall not be returning until late tomorrow evening.’
