The Fateful Bargain

by Betty Neels

  Emily longed to agree, but if Mr van Tecqx was in love with the woman it seemed disloyal. She murmured non-committally, thanked Anneke for her coffee and went back upstairs.

  It struck her as she entered the room that Lucillia didn’t like her visitor. Her face was a polite blank, the same face which her brother assumed at times. She was sitting in her chair by the window and cast a speaking look at Emily, who rose to the occasion with the first thing she could think of.

  ‘It’s time for your physio, Lucillia,’ she said, all of a sudden very professional, and added cunningly, ‘Would you care to stay and watch, Juffrouw van Telle?’

  ‘No, no. I find it so painful to see Lucillia so crippled, and I dare say it exhausts her.’ She bent to brush Lucillia’s cheek with a meaningless kiss, nodded carelessly at Emily and went away in a little rush.

  ‘Dear, kind Emily,’ said Lucillia. ‘I do not like that woman and she doesn’t like me. Do you know that when I was first ill she wouldn’t come and see me? And when Sebastian brought me here she was afraid that the whole house would be con—con-…’

  ‘Contaminated,’ finished Emily.

  ‘And I am not a cripple!’

  ‘Well, of course you’re not, but you know people who are scared of illness never know anything about it. It would be very nice if next time she comes you’re downstairs leaning negligently against something!’

  That made Lucillia laugh. ‘She used to come here quite a lot, that was before I was ill and I lived with Mama, but when I came to see Sebastian she was always ringing up or wanting something, but she doesn’t come often nowadays. She doesn’t like you.’

  Emily received this news with equanimity. ‘Who cares about that? Now how about those exercises?’

  It was the following day that Mr van Tecqx arrived home in the middle of the day—something he seldom did. He had someone with him. Emily had just got Lucillia downstairs and into the drawing-room; it had taken a very long time, but now, flushed with their triumph, Lucillia was sitting by the fire while Emily nipped back to fetch a light rug.

  Emily had chosen the afternoon in which to try out her plan; there would be no one about until Bas brought in the tea and no one would come unless she rang. Lucillia struggled to the top of the stairs and then submitted to being sat down on the top step. With Emily beside her ready with a supporting arm, she had bumped her way down to the bottom. The two of them giggled a good deal while they made their slow progress; it was an undignified way in which to gain the hall, but at least Lucillia did it finally, and after a rest, she crossed the hall on her crutches to the safety of the drawing-room chair.

  Emily heard the murmur of voices as she raced back down the staircase; probably Bas making up the fire. She opened the door with a flourish—and stopped short at the sight of Mr van Tecqx, leaning against a sofa table listening intently to Lucillia. Standing beside him was a young man, a head shorter than he, with a pleasant and rather rugged face and dark hair. He was staring at Lucillia and she was staring back, and Mr van Tecqx was watching them both, his bland mask of a face shielding his thoughts. He looked up as Emily came to an abrupt halt.

  ‘Ah, Emily.’ There was nothing in his quiet voice to tell her if he were annoyed or pleased to see his sister downstairs. ‘I see that you have wrought a miracle. A delightful surprise. May I present Dr ter Beule, who has just taken up a houseman’s post in Leiden? A very promising pupil of mine.’

  Emily shook hands and murmured, and retired discreetly out of Mr van Tecqx’s line of fire; she was never very happy when he addressed her in such silky tones. ‘Tea?’ he enquired gently, and she tugged the bell rope.

  The tea tray was carried in within minutes and Emily, asked to pour out, did so. Dr ter Beule had drawn up a chair close to Lucillia and they were deep in conversation. Mr van Tecqx had taken his usual chair and spoke only when spoken to, which Emily, left behind the teapot, found worrying, and she tried to make up her mind whether to engage him in small talk or keep quiet.

  As she couldn’t think of any small talk anyway, she stayed silent, handing teacups and passing plates of cake and biscuits, all the time aware that Mr van Tecqx was watching her.

  She offered second cups and presently said, ‘You will excuse me? There are several…’

  She got no further. ‘I’m sure Dirk can entertain Lucillia for ten minutes or so, Emily. Perhaps you would be good enough to come to my study?’

  The other two hardly noticed as they left the room. He held the door open for her as they reached his study and offered her a chair before sitting down behind his desk.

  ‘Do tell me,’ he begged her coolly, ‘just how did you get Lucillia downstairs? Bas was obviously surprised to see her when he brought the tea. Who helped you?’

  ‘Well, no one, actually. She managed on her crutches to the staircase and then I helped her sit down to rest on the top stair. After which I sat beside her and put an arm round her and we worked—our way down to the hall.’

  ‘On your bottoms?’

  Emily flushed faintly. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Lucillia walked on her crutches to her chair in the drawing-room.’

  ‘And what inspired her—and you—to do that?’

  It was rather like being cross-examined by someone who knew he was going to get the better of her anyway. She said defiantly, ‘Juffrouw van Telle came to see Lucillia yesterday. I’m quite sure she didn’t mean to be unkind—’ she crossed her fingers behind her back as she said it, for it was a fib, ‘but she called Lucillia a cripple and Lucillia was most upset, so I thought it might be a good idea.’ She studied the bland face on the other side of the desk. ‘And it was,’ she said firmly. ‘And now the nice young man has turned up and they like each other, and that’s just what she needs.’

  He said equably, ‘Yes, I thought so too. I was a student with his elder brother, so it will be quite an easy matter for him to have the run of the house. My mother knew him as a small boy, my sisters too—a family friend. But he and Lucillia have never met.’

  ‘Oh,’ her fine eyes sparkled, ‘wouldn’t it be great if they were to—to like each other?’

  ‘Fall in love?’ he amended coolly. ‘Yes, most suitable.’ He shifted in his chair, his eyes on her face. ‘You took a risk this afternoon, Emily. Repeat the exercise by all means, but take care to have someone with you.’ He looked at her curiously. ‘Were you not frightened?’

  ‘Oh, my goodness, yes, but you see I had to do something to make her see that she’s as normal as you or I.’

  He agreed gravely, ‘Of course. You have had your free time this afternoon?’

  ‘Well, not really—you see, it took a long time, getting Lucillia down, and I couldn’t leave her sitting there, could I?’

  ‘No. So we will leave the two young people to get to know each other and you and I will take a brisk walk. You have not yet seen the grave of Louis the Seventeenth at the far end of the Oude Delft? Good. Fetch your coat and put something on your head. It is a cold day.’

  Emily got into her coat, crammed her woolly hat on her neat head, found her gloves and went downstairs. Mr van Tecqx was in the hall, coated and gloved and bareheaded. He gave her a cursory glance, opened his house door and ushered her outside.

  ‘I shall take you first to see the grave and then we will walk back along the Oude Delft; there are some rather interesting antique shops there.’

  She agreed meekly, feeling it would have made little difference to his plans if she had suggested going somewhere else.

  It was bitingly cold with a bitter wind and Mr van Tecqx marched along at a great rate, a hand tucked under her elbow so that she had perforce to keep up with him. She was quite out of breath by the time they reached the wrought iron railing which surrounded the grave. The inscription was in French and she read it out loud, and added, ‘How sad. Do you suppose he really was Louis the Sixteenth’s son?’

  ‘We shall never know. There was a will, left by the Duchess of Angoulême, wh
ich should have thrown some light on the matter, but it has been lost.’

  She touched the fleurs-de-lys which adorned the railings. ‘So it may be a king buried here?’

  ‘We like to think so.’ He turned her smartly round and headed back along the Oude Delft. As they walked a few flakes of snow drifted lazily down, barely disturbing the grey water of the canal.

  ‘You should have worn a hat,’ said Emily.

  He had tucked a hand under her elbow again. ‘I have never met a girl like you before,’ he observed. It was impossible to tell from his voice whether he had meant that in a complimentary sense or not; she thought it prudent to say nothing.

  The antique shops were delightful. Emily peered into their small, crowded windows, admiring the bric-à-brac, the old silver and the beautiful bags, all beaded, that bygone housewives had worn attached to their belts. There were gold earrings and heavy brooches and silver clasps and head ornaments. She lingered from one shop to the next, until she happened to glance up and saw that Mr van Tecqx’s bare head was lightly covered with snow.

  ‘I’m so sorry—it’s awfully kind of you to stand about, I quite forgot…’

  He only smiled and then walked her briskly on back to the house, where they parted in the hall. ‘Perhaps you will be good enough to come down and collect Lucillia’s odds and ends—I’ll carry her up to her room.’

  He sounded aloof and she said quietly, ‘Yes, Mr van Tecqx, I’ll be down in five minutes.’

  But when she went to the drawing-room she found that Lucillia had other ideas. To go back to bed just as she was getting to know Dirk didn’t please her at all.

  ‘We have to go back to Leiden this evening,’ her brother pointed out patiently. ‘We are both working men, liefje. Dirk can keep you company whenever he likes—that is if he gets enough free time.’

  She looked at the younger man. ‘Will you come, Dirk?’

  ‘Of course.’ He lapsed into Dutch and Emily saw Lucillia go a pretty pink and Mr van Tecqx smile slowly.

  ‘I’ll be down at once, Dirk.’ He plucked his sister off her chair and carried her up to her room, with Emily trailing behind with the crutches and rug. He wasted no time. He kissed Lucillia on her cheek, murmured something to her so that she laughed, nodded to Emily and went away. A few moments later Emily heard the door close.

  Lucillia couldn’t have had a better incentive to get well. She talked about Dirk as Emily got her into bed; she had learned a considerable amount about him in the few hours he had been in the house and she repeated it all to Emily. ‘Do you believe in love at first sight?’ she wanted to know.

  Emily thought. ‘Well, yes, I think I do, although I’m sure you can fall in love slowly and not know until it hits you suddenly. I mean, you can feel instantly at home with some people, as though you’ve known them all your life.’ She paused; she had felt like that the very first time she and Mr van Tecqx had met. There were exceptions to every rule, she thought regretfully.

  ‘You look sad,’ said Lucillia. ‘Have you ever been in love, Emily?’

  Emily opened her mouth, intending to say no, then closed it again, because that would not be true; she had been in love, she was in love at that very moment, only she had only just realised it. Essentially a truthful girl, she said, ‘Yes.’ It was a bit silly to admit it, because Mr van Tecqx had no more intention of falling in love with her than he had of giving up a successful surgeon’s career and taking up knitting.

  ‘Tell me about him,’ said Lucillia instantly.

  ‘There’s nothing to tell,’ observed Emily tranquilly. ‘He doesn’t know, and he certainly doesn’t love me.’

  ‘Where did you meet him?’ demanded her companion.

  ‘In England! If you don’t mind, I don’t want to talk about it.’ Emily added brightly, ‘I’d much rather talk about Dirk. How long has he been qualified?’

  A red herring which was instantly swallowed. Dirk was discussed at great length and from every aspect until Bas came with Lucillia’s supper tray and Emily went downstairs to her lonely dinner.

  Lucillia was tired and, for once, content; she didn’t want to be read to and consented to be tucked up for the night as soon as Emily went back upstairs, which left Emily with time on her hands and leisure to reflect upon her feelings for Mr van Tecqx. It would be nice if she could suppress them or at least banish them to the back of her mind, but she did neither. Telling herself she would have to be sensible about the matter, she sat down to think it over. An hour later she was still sitting there with only one clear thought in her head; she had fallen in love with Mr van Tecqx and wished above all things to be his wife.

  ‘That’s as far as you’ll get, my girl,’ she told herself, nodding at a van Tecqx ancestor staring at her from his portrait with cold haughtiness. ‘So we’ll forget the whole silly business.’

  Before she began on the difficult business of forgetting, she had a good cry before she slept.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT WAS A really good thing that Emily barely glimpsed Mr van Tecqx for the next couple of days. Indeed, it seemed as though he was deliberately avoiding her, leaving his house in the morning with a brisk, ‘Good morning, Emily,’ if they should happen to meet, and as for the evenings, he went straight to his study when he came home, and then went out to dinner. Emily assured herself that this was a good thing. The less notice he took of her, the easier it would be for her to quash her feelings; nip them in the bud, think about something else. Her good sense agreed with this, but she discovered that being in love didn’t take good sense into account.

  Her instinct was to take herself off to the shops, den Haag, even—there were trams running several times an hour—buy some dashing clothes in the first rank of fashion, have her hair permed and buy such aids to beauty as might improve her looks, but here reason took over. She had only a certain amount of money with her, and even when she received her pay cheque, she needed to save a good deal of it. Her father, even when on his two feet again, would need extra help in the house for a time at least, and she herself, even if she went straight back to Pearson’s, would get no salary for a month. Besides, there was no guarantee that Mr van Tecqx would notice any difference in her appearance. True, he stared at her a good deal, but she very much doubted if he noticed her as a girl.

  It was several days before she went down to breakfast and found him at the table. His ‘Good morning’ was genial as he got up with the unconscious good manners which she found so pleasing, begged her to help herself to coffee and toast and made trivial remarks about the weather, still holding a sheaf of papers in his hand.

  She agreed that it looked like snow again, that it was very cold and that the morning was dark, even for the time of year, helped herself to toast and butter and added practically, ‘Do please go on with your letters, Mr van Tecqx. I don’t need to be entertained.’

  ‘Er—was I entertaining you? I’m flattered.’

  She flushed. ‘You know quite well what I meant—having to be polite and talk about the weather when you have better things to do.’

  He put down his letters. ‘What makes you think I prefer to read my letters rather then have a conversation with you, Emily?’

  When she didn’t answer, the ebbing flush most annoyingly creeping back into her cheeks, he said, ‘No, don’t answer that. Tell me, would you like to go to den Haag and see the shops? Perhaps you wish to buy presents?’

  ‘Yes, I should like that, but I don’t mind which day I have. There’s a tram, isn’t there? I didn’t realise that den Haag was so close. Do you give presents, just as we do?’

  She paused because she was nattering on aimlessly, anxious to sound like the nurse whom he employed and not like a girl who was head over heels in love with him.

  He answered her gravely, although she had the nasty feeling that he was laughing at her secretly. ‘Oh, yes, we give presents and have a tree and Father Christmas. Before the Second World War we did very little, but now we have adopted your English Christmas, altho
ugh we still celebrate New Year in style.’ He got to his feet. ‘Well, I have a list this morning…’

  At the door he paused. ‘I could run you into den Haag if you would like that—the day after tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but it’s easy for me to go by tram.’

  Emily forced herself to look at him and smile a little, but he didn’t smile in return. He said shortly, ‘Just as you like, Emily.’

  So the following day she took the tram which travelled along the main road between Delft and den Haag and with Christmas in mind, turned her back on the Ridderzaal and the Mauritzhuis, the Geyangenpoort, the Panorama Mesdag and Madurodam, all of which Lucillia advised her that she simply had to visit, but they would have to wait for the next time, she decided, and she plunged into de Bijnenkorf, a department store which she hoped would help her to solve the problem of Christmas presents.

  With the prospect of a pay packet very shortly she felt free to spend what money she had. She began cautiously with Christmas cards for her father and Mrs Philips and her friends at Pearson’s, and then she began to search for something suitable to send to England. She had left it rather late and it would have to be something she could post easily. She decided on a rather dashing tie for her father and a headscarf for Mrs Philips; not very imaginative, but when she went home eventually she would be able to take a bottle of Bols genever for him and Dutch chocolates for her.

  There was the vexed question of what to get for Lucillia and her mother, and should she choose something for Mr van Tecqx? Also, what about Bas and Anneke and the two housemaids?

  Handkerchiefs, though dull, were safe. She bought cigars for Bas and hoped he smoked them. For Lucillia she bought a gossamer-fine shawl in pale blue; she already had several but had expressed a wish for something in blue. It made a great hole in Emily’s purse, but the van Tecqx family appeared to have everything they wanted or wished for; not for them were the useful headscarf, the tights, the toiletries…she was quite sure that their scarves were of Italian silk, their tights from Dior and their toiletries from exclusive firms, where the soap alone would have cost the equivalent of a good-sized Sunday joint.