by Betty Neels
The dancing went on for another hour or more before the guests finally left. Some of the more elderly were staying at the hostellerie for the night, the younger ones were either putting up with friends in the village or driving home through the night. Florina walked the short distance to her aunt’s house, arm in arm with a bevy of cousins and Felix. He was to spend what remained of the night with friends in the village, and he parted from them on the doorstep, but not before he had asked her to spend the next day with him.
When she had hesitated, he had promised, ‘We won’t do anything strenuous, and I won’t come round until eleven o’clock.’
And when she still hesitated, her cousins joined in. ‘Oh, go on, Rina, none of us will want to do anything tomorrow, and you’ll enjoy a day out.’
She wasn’t too happy about it as she tumbled into bed, perhaps because she was tired. Besides, she could always change her mind in the morning.
She didn’t; she was awake only a little later than usual and it was a glorious morning. There were only four days left of her holiday—she must make the most of them. She had a shower and dressed in the cotton jersey and went down to the roomy kitchen. Her aunt was already up; there was coffee on the stove and a basket of rolls and croissants on the table.
‘Going out with Felix?’ asked Tante Minna.
Florina nodded. ‘You don’t mind? He’s not coming until eleven o’clock—I’ll give you a hand around the house—you must be tired…’
‘Yes, but it was a splendid wedding, wasn’t it, liefje? When shall we see you marry, I wonder?’
Florina bit into a roll; Tante Minna was awfully like her mother. She felt her throat tighten at the thought but she answered lightly, ‘I’ve no idea, but I promise that you shall dance at my wedding if every I have one…’
‘Do they dance at English weddings?’
‘Oh, rather, discotheques, the same as here.’ But she wouldn’t want that—only a quiet wedding in the church at home, and a handful of family and friends and, of course, the bridegroom—that vague but nebulous figure she could never put a face to. She finished her roll and tidied away her breakfast things and then, armed with a duster, set about bringing the sitting-room to that peak of pristine perfection which Tante Minna, wedding or no wedding, expected.
Presently her uncle appeared to drink his coffee and then go into the garden to inspect his roses, and after him, Felix, flamboyantly dressed, oozing charm and impatient of the coffee Tante Minna insisted on them having before they went. Florina got into the car beside him, told her aunt that they would be back in good time for the evening meal, eaten as was customary at six o’clock, and sat quietly while Felix roared through the tiny village and on to the road to Browershaven, away from Zierikzee.
The day wasn’t a success. Felix talked about himself and, what was more, in a lofty fashion which Florina found tedious. He had no clear idea where they were going, but drove around the surrounding countryside in a haphazard fashion, and when she had suggested mildly that it would be nice to go to the coast he said, ‘Oh, you don’t want to walk on the beach, for heaven’s sake.’
‘Then what about Veere or Domburg?’
‘Packed out. We’ll go inland and find a place to eat, and park the car somewhere quiet and get to know each other.’
Florina wished that she hadn’t come, but it was too late to do anything about it now. They stopped at a small roadside café, full of local men playing billiards and, unlike most Dutch cafés, not over-clean. She lingered over her limonade and kaas broodje, uneasy at the amount of beer Felix was drinking. With good reason, she was to discover, for, once more in the car, he stopped after a few miles and flung an arm around her shoulders.
Florina removed the arm and eyed him severely. ‘Tante Minna expects me back before six o’clock, so be good enough to start back now. I’m sorry if I disappoint you, but I came with you for a pleasant day out and that’s all.’
She was aware that she sounded priggish, even in Dutch, but she wasn’t prepared for his snarling, ‘Prudish little bitch—no wonder you haven’t got a man. I wish you joy of your cooking. That’s all you’re fit for.’
Neither of them spoke again until they reached Tante Minna’s house, and when Florina said goodbye in a cold voice Felix didn’t answer.
‘Had a nice day?’ asked her aunt. Seeing her stony face, she added hastily, ‘We are all going to Goes the day after tomorrow. You’ll come won’t you, liefje? Just the family—Marijke wants us all to see their flat.’
The last day of her holiday was pure pleasure. On Thursday, she joined a happy gathering of family at a proud Marijke’s new home, which was smothered in flowers and pot plants from friends and such members of the family who hadn’t been able to attend the wedding. Florina admired everything, drank a little too much wine, ate the bitterballen served with it, and agreed that the bridal bouquet, hung on the wall at the head of the bed, was the most beautiful she had ever seen. Presently, she sat down with everyone else to nasi goreng and an elaborate dessert of ice-cream. A day to remember, she assured her uncle when he wanted to know if she had enjoyed her holiday.
Sir William had said that he would pick her up after lunch on Saturday. She was up early to pack her small case, eat her roll and sliced cheese and drink her aunt’s delicious coffee, before wheeling out her aunt’s elderly bike from the garage and setting off for a last ride with Jan and Pieter. They went to Zierikzee to start with and had more coffee. Then they went on to Haamstede and cycled on to the lighthouse, where they sat in the sun and ate ice-creams. The morning had gone too quickly, as last mornings always do; they had to ride fast in order to get back to Tante Minna’s in time for the midday lunch.
It was a leisurely meal, for there was time enough before Sir William would arrive. Presently, Florina did the last of her packing and closed her case. She did her face and hair too, anxious not to keep him waiting. She went to wait downstairs and found, to her annoyance, that Felix was there.
There was nothing in his manner to remind her of their last meeting; he greeted her as though they had parted the best of friends, and began as soon as he could to talk of the possibility of meeting her again. ‘Mustn’t lose sight of you,’ he observed smugly, and flung an unwanted arm across her shoulders.
Florina edged away, and went into the garden on the pretext of saying goodbye to her uncle, but he followed her outside, seemingly intent on demonstrating that they were the best of friends, and more than that. He was standing with her when the Bentley slowed to a silent halt on the other side of the hedge. Florina, talking to her uncle, didn’t see it at once, but Felix did; he put an arm round her waist and drew her close, and Sir William, getting out of his car, couldn’t help but see it.
He turned away at once to say something to Pauline, so missing Florina’s indignant shove as she pushed Felix away. At the same time, she saw the car, and a moment later Sir William, strolling towards her aunt’s front door. The wealth of feeling which surged through her at the sight of him took her by surprise. He had been at the back of her thoughts all the while she had been at Tante Minna’s but she hadn’t understood why, but now she knew. He was the vague man of her day-dreams, the man she loved, had fallen in love with, not knowing it, weeks ago; ever since she had first set eyes on him, she realised with astonishment.
She hurried to meet him, thoughts tumbling about her head. It was bliss to see him again, but never, never must she show her feelings, although just at that moment she longed above all things to rush at him and fling her arms around his neck. This last thought was so horrifying that she went a bright pink, and looked so guilty that Sir William frowned at his own thoughts.
He glanced at Felix, decided that he didn’t much like the look of him and countered Florina’s breathless, ‘Sir William…’ with a pleasantly cool, ‘Ah, Florina, we have arrived at the wrong moment. My apologies…’
This remark stopped her in her tracks. ‘Wrong moment? I’m quite ready to leave, Sir William…’
; ‘But not, perhaps, willing?’
She gaped at him, and when Felix sidled up to her and put an arm round her shoulders she barely noticed it. At that moment, Pauline came prancing over to fling her arms around her neck and declare that she was over the moon to see her darling Florina again.
There was a polite flurry of talk, then coffee was offered and refused, and goodbyes said. Presently, Florina found herself in the back of the car, listening to Pauline’s chatter. Sir William was, for the most part, silent, but when he did make some casual remark it was in his usual placid manner. He asked no questions of Florina about her holiday and she, suddenly shy of him, sat tongue-tied. What should have been a happy end to her holiday was proving to be just the opposite. Her newly discovered love was bubbling away inside her. Although she knew that he had no interest in her, he had always treated her with what she had thought was friendship and she was willing to settle for that, but now she had the feeling that behind his placid manner there was a barrier.
To brood over her fancies was of no use, so she bestirred herself to listen to Pauline’s plans: picnics and mushrooming and cycling with Florina and cookery lessons…
‘Wanda will be staying with us for at least a week,’ said her father. ‘You’ll be able to go out with her if I am not at home.’
Pauline made a face over her shoulder to Florina, who smiled in a neutral fashion. The smile froze when Sir William added pleasantly, ‘Florina has a job to do, Pauline. You mustn’t monopolise her free time.’
That remark, thought Florina, puts me nicely in my place.
CHAPTER FIVE
THEY arrived back at Wheel House to a most satisfyingly warm welcome. The journey had gone smoothly, although Florina, knowing Sir William, would have been surprised if it had been otherwise. She had spent the greater part of the journey alternately day-dreaming and worrying as to why his manner towards her had become so cool—still friendly, but she had to admit it was the friendliness of an employer towards an employee.
They all sat down to supper round the kitchen table, talking cheerfully with Sir William asking questions of Jolly and being given a résumé of the week’s happenings. Presently, an excited Pauline was escorted off to bed by Nanny, and Sir William turned to Jolly.
‘I’ll need to be away by seven o’clock at the latest. I’d like you and Mrs Jolly to drive back at the same time. I’ve a list for ten o’clock, so I’ll offload my bag at the house and go straight on to the hospital. I’ll not be back for lunch, and I’m taking Miss Fortesque out to dinner—if there is anything you want me for, I’ll be home round about tea time.’
Florina said, in a colourless voice, ‘Would you like breakfast at half-past six, Sir William?’
‘We shan’t need you, Florina. Mrs Jolly will see to that.’ He added, in a kind, impersonal voice, ‘You must be tired, why don’t you go to bed?’
So she went, exchanging polite goodnights. There had been no chance to thank him for taking her to Holland, and he had evinced no wish to know if she had enjoyed herself, but then, why should he? She was the cook and she had better remember that. Besides, she had no part in his life; Wanda had that. She cried herself to sleep and woke early to listen to the Jollys quietly leaving the room on the other side of the landing. Presently she smelled the bacon frying and the fragrance of toast, and heard the murmur of voices. Her window gave her a view of the road running through the village, providing she craned her neck, and soon she saw the two cars disappearing on their way to London.
Sir William had given her no instructions, but when she went downstairs later and started to clear the table and lay it again for their breakfast, Nanny joined her.
‘You didn’t have much to say for yourself at supper,’ she observed, her sharp eyes studying Florina’s swollen eyelids. ‘Wasn’t your holiday all you’d hoped for?’ She added, ‘Did you want to stay in Holland?’
‘No. Oh, no! And I had a super time. It was a lovely wedding, and it was so nice to see everyone again. It is lovely to be back, though…’
Nanny grunted. ‘Well, I missed you, for what it’s worth.’ She accepted the cup of tea that Florina offered, and sat down by the open door. ‘Sir William won’t be back until Friday evening, and Miss Fortesque’s coming with him. He intends to give a small dinner party on Saturday—six, I think he said, and if the weather is fine he wants to take a picnic up on to Bulbarrow Down. He’s asked the Meggisons from Butt House—they’ve three children, haven’t they? Company for Pauline. He said he would telephone during the week about the food.’ She passed her cup and Florina refilled it. ‘He said to have a quiet week and to see that Pauline got out of doors. If she wants to go to Salisbury she may, he says, provided that one of us goes with her. She will be starting school soon.’ Nanny looked round the pleasant kitchen. ‘I shall miss this…’
Florina, slicing bread for toast, looked up, startled. ‘Mrs Frobisher—you’re not going away?’
‘Just as soon as that Miss Fortesque can persuade Sir William that I’m not needed.’ There was a pause and the stern, elderly voice wavered slightly. ‘With Pauline at school, she’ll say that there’s nothing for me to do…’
‘But that’s rubbish!’ cried Florina. ‘You see to the silver and the mending, and keep the accounts and look after everything.’
‘I do my best, but it’s my opinion that once they’re married she’ll pack Pauline off to a boarding-school and come down here as little as possible.’
‘But Sir William loves this house. I dare say he has a beautiful home in London, too, but you can love two houses… Besides, he works so hard, and he can do what he likes here.’
If Nanny found Florina’s outburst surprising, she gave no sign. She said, ‘Well he’s old enough and wise enough to know what he wants, but he deserves better. His first marriage wasn’t happy—he married too young. I told him so at the time, and I’ll make no bones about saying that it was a relief when she was killed in a car accident, gallivanting off with one of her men friends while he worked. A bad wife, and a worse mother, poor young woman.’ She gave Florina a quick look. ‘I can’t think why I’m telling you all this, but you’re fond of Pauline, aren’t you, and you like Sir William?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Florina, putting so much feeling into the two words that Nanny nodded gently, well aware why she had unburdened herself. One never knew, she thought, and there was no harm in spying out the land, as it were. Florina had come back from Holland sad and too quiet, and Sir William had been holding down some problem or other behind that placid face of his—no one was going to tell her different. She had known him all his life, hadn’t she? And she wouldn’t let anyone tell her not to interfere if she saw the chance.
‘Well, have you any plans for today?’ she asked briskly.
‘Well, I’ll go through the cupboards, then go up to the farm shop if we are short of anything. Perhaps Pauline…’
She was interrupted by the little girl dancing into the kitchen to hug first Nanny and then her.
‘It’s marvellous to be back!’ she declared. ‘I want to go cycling—Florina, do say you will, and we can go into Wilton and buy Daddy a birthday present.’
She inspected the table. ‘Oh, good, it’s scrambled eggs—I’m famished. Daddy woke me to say goodbye. Did he say goodbye to you, Florina?’
‘No, dear, but I’m sure he won’t mind us going into Wilton. When do you want to go?’
The week passed too quickly. There was so much to do: the swans to feed, the Meggison children to visit for tea, long rambling walks to take and the promised visit to Wilton. Sir William telephoned each evening, but it wasn’t until Thursday that he asked to speak to Florina.
He began without preamble. ‘Florina, Miss Fortesque and I will be down on Friday evening, so lay on a good dinner, will you? There will be six of us for dinner on Saturday. Any ideas?’
She had been listening to his calm voice, but not his words. With a great effort, she tore her thoughts away from him and mentally thumbed through he
r cookery books. ‘Watercress soup? Grilled trout with pepper sauce? Fillets of lamb with rosemary and thyme and pommes lyonnaises and a fresh tomato purée…’ She thought for a moment. ‘I’ve got pears in wine or peaches in brandy…’
‘My dear girl—my mouth is watering. It sounds splendid. About the picnic on Sunday—shall I leave that to you?’
She said sedately, ‘Very well, Sir William. Just lunch?’
‘Yes—we’ll be back for one of your splendid teas.’ He rang off, leaving her quiet, and quite certain that she was going to be so busy at the weekend that she would barely glimpse him, let alone speak to him. Although what did that matter? she reflected sadly. She was the cook and let her never forget it.
With female perversity, she dragged her hair back into a severe plait on Saturday, didn’t bother with make-up and, once the serious business of preparing dinner was finished, went to her room and got into a freshly starched dress and white apron. Pauline, prancing into the kitchen to see what there was for tea, stopped short at the sight of her.
‘Florina, how severe you look! And you’ve forgotten your lipstick.’
‘No time,’ said Florina briskly, taking a fruitcake from the Aga. ‘There are some fairy cakes on the table, and I’ve made strawberry jam sandwiches. Don’t eat too much or you won’t want your dinner.’
Pauline gave her a look of affection. ‘You sound just like a mum,’ she observed. ‘Do you suppose Wanda will be a nice mum?’
‘Oh, I expect so,’ lied Florina briskly. She would be awful, she thought, no sticky fingers, no quick cuddles with grubby toddlers. There would be a nurse-maid, young and not in the least cosy, and the children would be on show for half an hour after tea. She wondered if Sir William would stand for that; that’s if there were any more children.
‘You look so sad,’ said Pauline, ‘ever since you left Holland.’
