by Betty Neels
She supposed his family knew the bride, although no one had said anything to her. It was, of course, no concern of hers.
She was up early and had had her breakfast before the first members of the family came down. Lucillia had wakened early too and wanted her tea, and once Emily had seen to that there was no point in her going back to bed.
It wasn’t until mid-morning that Lucillia was ready to go downstairs, and Emily remembered that she was to walk with her brother’s aid. She went downstairs and peered into the various rooms, looking for him, and found him in the library with the twins. He looked up as she went in.
‘Hello—is Lucillia ready to come down?’ He put down the book he was showing to the children. ‘I’ll come now.’
It was a slow awkward business, but achieved at last. ‘Another milestone,’ he assured his sister as Emily handed her the crutches so that she could cross the hall.
The pale blue of the winter sky was already dimming when he came into the drawing-room after lunch. Everyone was sitting around, gossiping idly or reading, and Emily was on the floor doing a jigsaw puzzle with the twins.
‘Ready for that walk, Emily?’ he asked and ten minutes later she found herself going through the front door, the hat and scarf arranged just so, the leather gloves Mevrouw van Tecqx had given her on her hands.
This time they walked to the Oostpoort, pausing to look at the Klaewshofje, one of Delft’s very early seventeenth-century almshouses; the Oostpoort was even older, with twin pointed towers, but it was still lived in by two artists. There was a narrow swing bridge close by, but they didn’t cross it but turned down Oost Einde beside the grey partly frozen water of the canal, and all this time they had almost nothing to say to each other. There was nothing unfriendly in her companion’s silence; he had tucked her hand into his and his clasp was reassuringly firm, and somehow there seemed to be no need for words.
There were few people about and by the time they gained the house it was already dusk. At the door he turned to face her. ‘I hope you enjoyed that as much as I have,’ he observed.
Probably a good deal more, Emily thought, but only said, ‘It was lovely. Delft is cosy as well as beautiful, isn’t it? I’m glad I’ve lived here for a little while, I shall always remember it.’
She went past him into the hall and saw Bas with the tea tray going into the drawing-room. It gave her an excuse to go upstairs without lingering, which was a good thing, for heaven alone knew what she might have said if she had stayed there in the hall with Mr van Tecqx.
With Christmas over there was New Year to look forward to. The Dutch took only the two days of Christmas as holidays, although NewYear’s Day was a day when everything closed and families gathered to celebrate.
This time it was to Mevrouw van Tecqx’s house that the whole family went, gathering on Old Year’s Night in time for dinner and greeting the New Year with olie bollen and sherry or port and a good deal of kissing on everyone’s part. Lucillia had been driven there by her brother and Emily had gone with them; as the clock struck midnight the champagne was poured and a toast drunk before the good wishes began. She thought happily that she had never been kissed so many times in her life before, and by the time Mr van Tecqx reached her, her cheeks were rosy and her eyes sparkling. He kissed her too, a gentle kiss on one cheek, and none of the other kisses mattered any more. All the same, she managed a calm, ‘Happy New Year, Mr van Tecqx,’ and added, ‘But I’m sure it will be.’
In the grey light of the early morning she woke. In twelve days’ time she would be going back to England; he had told her just before the party broke up and they had driven back with a sleepy Lucillia to his own home. He had expressed no regret, merely stated the fact in a quiet voice, and she had answered in like tones. Today he was going to Brussels for some consultation or other and then to Groningen to examine medical students. Time was running out; her dream world was at an end.
CHAPTER NINE
THE DAYS followed each other with unrelenting speed. Emily bought presents to take home with her and spent an afternoon at Constantia’s home, sitting by the fire gossiping and playing with the children. Constantia had told her that she had intended asking Sebastian to bring her to dinner one evening, but she had been told he had too much work.
‘Did you expect to go back so soon?’ she asked, casually enough to make Emily answer impulsively,
‘Well, no—I mean, I knew that Mr van Tecqx was going to operate on my father—I suppose I expected I’d stay here at least until father went home from the hospital.’ She added hastily in case Constantia might think she was grumbling, ‘I expect it’s more convenient for him if I go back when he does. Besides, Lucillia has got so much better; that’s because of Dirk ter Beule. They’re in love, isn’t that nice?’
Constantia, who knew all about Sebastian’s quiet planning to bring about what seemed like a chance meeting between the two young people, agreed that it was very nice, and wasn’t fate extraordinary sometimes?
Emily went to see Mevrouw van Tecqx too. She took a little posy of violets with her which her hostess received with cries of delight, despite the fact that, unbeknown to Emily, there was a large greenhouse in the grounds where an elderly and crotchety gardener cherished pots of them. She chatted about this and that over their coffee and remarked that Sebastian expected to be in England for some time. ‘He has a dear little house, you know, in Knightsbridge—Montpellier Walk. Perhaps you know that part of London?’
‘Well, not to say know,’ said Emily, a truthful girl. ‘I’ve walked around there on days off. It’s a delightful part of London.’
‘You lived near the hospital?’
Summer Lane with all its dreariness rose before her eyes—she had met Sebastian there for the very first time…’ Yes. But when Father is able to manage just with Mrs Owen from the village, I shall get a room in the Nurses’ Home.’
Mevrouw wrinkled her nose. ‘Is that not rather dull, Emily?’
‘Yes, but it’s convenient. There’s hot water and lots of bathrooms and a laundry-room and games-room—a ping-pong table and television.’
Her hostess showed no enthusiasm for these delights. ‘But you won’t need to stay there for ever,’ she pointed out hopefully.
Just at the moment Emily couldn’t think of an alternative, but she said politely, ‘Oh, I expect once I’ve qualified I’ll try for a post outside London.’
She left soon after. She had taken a bus from Delft and walked from the main road along the narrow lane. The snow had gone, but the frozen ground was ironhard, but she was driven back by Mevrouw van Tecqx’s chauffeur, clutching a small packet that lady had given her as she was leaving. She sat beside the middle-aged chauffeur and wondered what was in it, and tried not to think that she wouldn’t see Mevrouw van Tecqx again. It was silly to get fond of people when you knew you would never see them again.
During the remaining days before she was to leave, Mr van Tecqx’s sisters came to say goodbye, each of them observing that they would surely see her again. Emily, very much doubting that, murmured nothings and declared with unwavering enthusiasm that she was looking forward to going back to Pearson’s, and failed to notice their knowing smiles.
Mr van Tecqx was apparently immersed in his work. He left early in the morning and returned in the evening to retire to his study or on several occasions, very correctly attired in a dinner jacket, went out for the evening. He visited Lucillia, of course, when he was coolly polite to Emily and scrupulous in his enquiries as to whether there was anything which he might do for her before they left.
‘Your father will be in hospital, but I believe arrangements have been made for your Mrs Owen to stay at the cottage until you get there.’
‘How did you know that?’ asked Emily rather coldly.
‘I had occasion to telephone your father about the arrangements for his transport.’
‘Oh, well, he didn’t say anything about that. I supposed Mrs Philips would be there.’
‘She is t
aking a little time off, I believe, ready to take over again if necessary.’
‘I shall be there.’ Emily was a little peevish at his highhanded plans.
‘Er—yes, but you might need to be away for some hours—interviews at Pearson’s and so on.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that; I’m sorry.’
He had nodded and gone away, leaving her feeling vexed that she had been cross.
The last day came. Lucillia was inclined to be tearful, although now that she had Dirk she was prepared to do without Emily. ‘But I hope we’ll be friends for ever and ever,’ she declared. ‘You must come and see us; you get holidays, don’t you? And Sebastian can bring you when he comes—he is always going to England.’
Emily agreed calmly and wondered what he would say to his sister’s suggestion. For that matter, his wife might have something to say too.
Dirk came the last afternoon and Emily, with time on her hands, wandered around Delft, taking a last look at her favourite spots, especially the tower of the Oude Kerk. She would never forget that evening in the moonlight.
Back at the house she cast off her unhappy mood. There was nothing to be done about it; she would go back to hospital and finish her training and make a career for herself and, above all, forget Sebastian.
She was a little vague as to exactly where she was to go when they got to London; she supposed Mr van Tecqx would drop her off at the station so that she could catch a train home. That would be a good thing, since there was no chance to get sentimental in such mundane surroundings.
She set about getting Lucillia ready for bed just as though it wasn’t the last evening, listening to her plans for the future—a rosy one with her Dirk—and discussed the desirability of a calf-length wide-skirted coat as pictured in Vogue. ‘It could cover my legs,’ reflected Lucillia.
‘Also keep them warm,’ said Emily, always practical. ‘You’ll have to use your gutter crutches for a bit, you know, and a long coat would almost hide them.’ She added, ‘It’s a bit expensive.’
An understatement, if ever there was one. Lucillia shrugged. ‘But Sebastian never minds; he has a great deal of money, you know.’
‘What if you marry Dirk?’
Lucillia looked at her wide-eyed, ‘Oh, he has a lot of money too.’
‘Oh, well,’ murmured Emily. She and Lucillia lived such different lives; she wondered what Lucillia would make of Summer Lane. Or for that matter, what Mr van Tecqx had made of it. What a pity she would never know.
They were to go by car, catching the night ferry from the Hoek of Holland. That way he could put in a day’s work in theatre before leaving. Emily spent a trying day bolstering up Lucillia, who was suddenly aware that she would never be able to manage with Emily gone. She could dress herself by now, albeit slowly, and provided someone was at hand she could manage very well, and one of the housemaids had proved herself to be adept at giving the right sort of help. Juffrouw Smit would be coming each day to supervise her exercises. Mr van Tecqx arrived home in time to eat his dinner with Emily and, since it was the last night, Lucillia. There would be time enough to help her to bed before they left—besides, it would fill in the time very nicely.
With Lucillia in bed, her luggage waiting in the hall, Emily got into her coat, perched the fur hat on her head at a becoming angle and finally tied the scarf under her chin. She didn’t pause as she left her room, because she might have burst into tears. Instead she went briskly down the staircase through the baize door at the back of the hall and wished Anneke, Bas and the housemaids goodbye. That done, she went back into the hall, because it was time to leave and Mr van Tecqx was a punctual man.
They all followed her. Bas put the luggage in the boot and the women came to stand at the door ready to wave.
Emily stitched a smile on her face and kept it there until they were out of sight of the house and driving through the darker streets of the suburbs, when she was able to look out of the window and wipe her eyes without being noticed.
‘There are tissues in the glove box in front of you.’ Mr van Tecqx’s voice was gentle. Which made her want to weep the more, but she sniffed, blew her nose with resolution and sat quietly, staring ahead of her.
It was a short drive and the ferry was only half full; Emily made no objection when he suggested that she might like to go to her cabin at once, and once there, fortified by a tray of tea, thoughtfully ordered by him, she undressed, crying now as much as she wanted to since there was no one to see.
It was a rough crossing, but she had so much to think about she hardly noticed the heaving and tossing; indeed, she ate breakfast without demur, keeping her puffy eyelids lowered over her eyes. No amount of make-up could conceal her pink nose, but really it didn’t matter any more what she looked like.
Her companion, watching her from the other side of the table, allowed his firm mouth to quiver slightly, but all he said was, ‘It was a rough crossing—you don’t feel too bad?’
She shook her head. ‘No, thank you. About what time shall we get to London?’
He told her, and she sat wondering which train she would be able to catch. She would go straight home and unpack. Her father would have his operation the day after the next; that would give her time to get settled in, see Mrs Owen, make sure that Podge was all right and get some food in the house before she went up to London again so that she would be there during the operation.
Mr van Tecqx kept up a steady flow of small talk during the meal and she answered mechanically, relieved when they were bidden to get into their cars and go ashore.
It was a dark, grey morning, damp and chilly, but the car was warm and very comfortable and the road was almost empty. They made good time and too soon for Emily they were driving through the early morning traffic; Wanstead, Leytonstone, Shoreditch; the nearer they got to the city’s heart the more congested was the traffic. Almost at the end of the Mile End Road she ventured, ‘I can get a train from London Bridge; there are lots of buses from here…’
Mr van Tecqx said blandly: ‘There is no need—dear me, did I forget to tell you that we are going to my place first? An early lunch, I thought, then I’ll drive you down.’
It hadn’t entered her head that he would do any such thing. ‘There’s no need, really there isn’t. It’s right out of your way.’
He had been driving steadily ahead and now he said, ‘Well, we’re almost there now. Besides, I thought you might like to see your father. We can call in at the hospital.’
‘Oh, may I? You’re very kind.’
He said thoughtfully, ‘No, I’m fulfilling my side of the bargain; I haven’t done that yet. You have, and now I must do the same.’
Emily fell silent at that and stayed that way as he took the car through the heart of London, along Piccadilly and so to Knightsbridge, where he turned off the main road into quiet streets lined with Regency houses, and presently stopped before a small house at the end of a quiet little street, bare trees lining its pavements, front doors gleaming with glossy paint and shining brass.
They got out of the car and Mr van Tecqx selected a key from the bunch he hauled from a pocket and opened the door. The hall was small, close-carpeted in red and delightfully warm. There were doors on either side and another by the small curving staircase. Through this door came a small thin woman, in a print apron with a cardigan on top, her hair screwed into a relentless bun. She had a sharp-nosed face and boot-button eyes that twinkled. Emily was put in mind of a thin Mrs Tiggywinkle, and had the feeling that at any moment a duster would be produced and the pair of them would be tidied neatly away.
‘There you are, sir, and the young lady. Coffee’s ready, and as nice a lunch as you could fancy when you want it. I’ll have that coat, sir.’
Mr van Tecqx took off his own coat, helped Emily with hers and handed them to his housekeeper.
‘Nice to see you again, Mrs Twig. This is Miss Grenfell—Emily, Mrs Twig, my housekeeper, and one of the world’s treasures.’
Emily shook han
ds and Mrs Twig said happily, ‘What a one you are, sir, but I do my best.’
He ushered Emily into a room overlooking the street at one end and at the other a small garden with a high wall round it. There were french windows leading to it and although it was so small it was a pattern of neatness.
The room was elegantly furnished but restful too. Emily sat down near the open fire and, bidden to do so, poured their coffee. Mr van Tecqx stretched his long legs before the blaze and smiled slowly when Emily asked, ‘Do you live here as well? I mean, you’ve got a house in Delft…’
‘Yes, I come here often enough to need a home—besides, the family use it when they come to London. You like it?’
‘It’s charming, and such a dear little garden too.’
Presently Mrs Twig came to the door. ‘Shall I show Miss Grenfell where she can tidy herself? And when will you want your lunch, sir?’
‘By all means, and we’ll lunch in twenty minutes if that suits your cooking arrangements.’
Mrs Twig sniffed. ‘You’ve never had to wait for a meal, sir, and you never will, not as long as I have the minding of you.’
She trotted ahead of Emily to the small landing above and opened a door. ‘There’s three bedrooms,’ she volunteered. ‘Two’s got their own bathrooms, the other bathroom is down this little passage.’
The room was charming; pale pinks and blues and a very soft pearly grey. Emily, doing things to her face and hair, wondered who had furnished the house. She could hardly ask Mrs Twig and she hesitated to ask its owner; he had a nasty habit of ignoring questions he had no intention of answering.
