by Betty Neels
Caroline sank to the floor and hugged the little beast. ‘He’s beautiful,’ she cried, ‘and he’s laughing. Have you had him long?’
‘A few weeks.’ He stood watching her; she was quite unselfconscious, absorbed in the little dog. He turned to Fram and asked for coffee in a quiet voice. Fram went away to the kitchen to state in his dignified way that the English miss who had fallen down outside the house earlier that year was in the house, a guest of the good doctor. ‘And a very nice young lady she is,’ said Fram, ‘though she is not pretty.’
‘Come and have coffee,’ invited Mr van Houben at his most urbane. ‘Would you object to Nep in the car? I thought that after lunch we might drive around here and there.’
‘Where?’ asked Caroline, getting up and going into a large lofty room with Nep prancing between them.
‘You haven’t seen the Keukenhof, have you?’ and when she nodded he went on, ‘but not the Linnaeushof? Shrubs and trees as well as flowers in season? I prefer it to the Keukenhof although it isn’t as colourful. And Haarlem—did you go there? No? Then we will go and look at the market square; there is some fine architecture there.’
As he talked, he ushered her to a chair by the open window at the back of the house overlooking a surprisingly large garden, long and narrow.
‘Not all the houses have gardens,’ he explained, sitting down opposite her while Nep arranged himself across his shoes. ‘My ancestor was one of the lucky ones.’
She allowed her eyes to roam around the room; it was very beautiful, with a vast stone hood over the fireplace, panelled walls hung with a great many paintings and two bow-fronted display cabinets filled with china and silver. Very grand, she decided, and gave a surprised look at the basket in a corner of the room in which a cat lay curled around three sleeping kittens. Somehow it made the room a friendly place despite its magnificence.
‘That’s Jane—nothing to look at but a charming character and a splendid mother. Ah, here is the coffee—will you pour?’
While they drank it he suggested a number of places she might like to see. ‘All within walking distance; we will come back here for lunch and then take the car. Unless there is anything you would prefer?’
She shook her head and was presently borne away by Fram’s wife to tidy herself before setting out from the house, leaving a doleful little dog in the hall. Mr van Houben saw her backward glance. ‘He will come with us this afternoon,’ he promised.
He took her first to the Willet Holthuysen Museum on the Herengracht, only a short distance away—a seventeenth-century merchant’s house where she could have lingered for hours but, urged on by fresh delights in store, they walked the short distance to Waterlooplein and spent half an hour at the flea market, where Caroline bought a small Delft plate. When she admired a painted papier mâché box, he bought that too. ‘A small memento of Holland,’ he told her casually. He took her to the antiques shops next, strolling through narrow little streets lined with even narrower shops, their windows filled with a miscellany of treasures.
Caroline, her small nose quivering with a wish to see everything at once, went from shop to shop while he patiently translated prices and the names of the window’s contents, amused at her absorption and to his surprise enjoying himself.
Lunch was waiting when they got back: cucumber soup, grilled sole stuffed with shrimps, and strawberries and cream. At her look of pleased surprised Mr van Houben murmured, ‘I know someone with glass houses.’
He had learnt, years ago, how to put people at their ease, and he was succeeding very nicely with Caroline. She had lost her shyness and the rather stilted conversations she had offered became normal, so that he was able to draw her out and presently listen to her answering the questions he asked until she said abruptly, ‘I’m talking too much about me, I’m sorry.’
He had smiled at her then, a kind smile which set her at ease again.
Linneaushof was delightful, its flower-beds laid out informally, the trees and shrubs newly green. It had turned quite warm and they wandered along its paths with Nep trotting on the end of his lead until Mr van Houben suggested that since they were so near they might as well take a look at the sea.
He drove her to a very small village behind the dunes, left the car and, with Nep running free, walked her along the smooth sands, stretching north and south as far as her eyes could see. It was almost chilly in the wind coming off the sea but the air had given her a lovely colour and her severely pinned hair had become a little loose. She was happy, happier than she had been for a long time, and she wasn’t sure why, but suddenly life was wonderful and exciting. They didn’t talk much but the silence was a friendly one and she no longer felt that she had to say something, no matter what. She could have stayed there for hours but presently they retraced their steps and got back into the car.
‘Tea?’ asked Mr van Houben, and drove to Haarlem.
He took her to Le Chat Noir and gave her an elegant tea with a selection of cakes to satisfy the fussiest of appetites, and when they had finished he took her to Market Square to show her the lovely old houses lining it and then he drove her back to Alpen-aan-de-Rijn in time for dinner. There she thanked him for her lovely day. ‘You have been very kind and I enjoyed it,’ she told him in her quiet voice, while the unbidden thought that probably he was glad to be rid of her went through her head. As though she had voiced the thought out loud he said, ‘I should have liked to take you out to dinner but I have several appointments this evening.’
‘You have given me more than enough of your time.’ Her grey eyes, with their incredible lashes, stared up into his face. ‘I’m most grateful. Don’t let me keep you—you mustn’t be late.’
He thought of the two meetings he had to attend that evening before going to a reception at the Burgermeester’s house and found himself wishing that he was spending it with her. He said casually, ‘Will you tell Emmie that I’ll phone her in the morning? Goodnight, Caroline.’
‘Goodbye, Mr van Houben.’
It really was goodbye this time. He drove away without a backward glance and she went into the house. Everyone was in the drawing-room but just for a moment she wanted to be alone. She had discovered something, and she was trembling with the discovery. She had just said goodbye to the man she loved; she had only just discovered that too. It left her shaken and suddenly unhappy, all the lovely euphoria of the day swept away, for was there anything more hopeless than loving a man who didn’t look at one except to smile kindly and rather vaguely? As though I were one of his patients, thought poor Caroline.
She took a deep breath and opened the drawing-room door. Life had to go on.
CHAPTER SIX
PARTING from little Marc wasn’t easy, Caroline had grown fond of him over the weeks and he of her. Although they had been careful to tell him that she would be leaving him, when the actual moment of parting came he burst into tears and became so upset that nothing else would do but to promise him that she would come and see him again soon—a promise made by his father and which, on their way to Schiphol, he reiterated to Caroline. ‘You would not mind?’ he asked, ‘if we were to send you your ticket to fly over and spend a few days with us? There was no chance to ask you, but you could see for yourself that Marc was upset and that was all that I could think of.’
‘Of course I’ll come, but please give me plenty of warning, for I would have to ask for leave—just for a few days…’
In those few days, she thought, she might see Mr van Houb
en or at least hear of him. The future, which had looked bleakly empty, held a tiny glimmer of light now.
Bartus van Houben went as far as he could at the airport, leaving her finally with an armful of magazines and an envelope tucked into her handbag. She opened it once they were airborne and found a cheque inside—a generous one—accompanied by a charming letter of thanks. She hadn’t expected that; they had been more than kind to her while she had been with them and her duties had been light, even if the hours were sometimes long and irregular. She spent the short flight planning how she would spend the money, much hindered by thoughts of Mr van Houben.
The hospital, after the extremely comfortable surroundings in which she had been living, looked awful; Caroline wanted to turn and run as she got out of the taxi and looked up at its gloomy pile, but once she was inside and in the nurses’ home, being greeted by such of her friends as were off duty, it didn’t seem so bad after all. Then she reminded herself sensibly that she had been lucky enough to enjoy several weeks of gracious living and she must be thankful for that, never mind that her heart was breaking because she would never see Mr van Houben again—well, she would see him, of course, but it wouldn’t be the same; he would forget her soon enough. Indeed, she wondered if she had made sufficient impression upon him for him to have anything to forget.
Mindful of Home Sister’s injunction that she was to report to the office as soon as she got in, she made her way downstairs to the main block where the SNO had her office, flanked by her two deputies and a formidable secretary. It was after six o’clock by now and all the ladies looked as though they needed a rest from their various tasks but the Senior Nursing Officer received her kindly enough, observed that it was a feather in the hospital’s cap that little Marc should have made a recovery, and said that, since Caroline had fulfilled the task she had been given by Mr Spence in a satisfactory manner, the hospital committee were pleased to allow her to take her final assessment provided she made up the time she had been away afterwards.
She offered this news with the air of one conferring a genuine favour, and Caroline supposed that it was and did her best to look suitably grateful. The SNO’s next piece of news, that she was to return to the children’s ward, under Sister Crump, did cheer her up, however, and so did the advice that she might take four days off at the end of the week.
She phoned Aunt Meg with the news before she went to bed and then, fortified by several cups of tea and a good gossip catching up with the hospital news, she slept, and just before she did so she thought of Mr van Houben and wondered what he was doing.
He was sitting at his desk correcting examination papers submitted by the first-year medical students at Leiden Medical School; he was wholly engrossed, frowning and tut-tutting and writing terse remarks in the margins, and he hadn’t spared her a thought.
Sister Crump was pleased to see her in the morning. ‘A nice little job of work, Nurse Frisby—only what I would have expected from one of my nurses, mind you, but all the same I’m pleased with you. We’re busy and I want some of the cots moved and it’s Mr Spence’s round so don’t dawdle.’
It fell to her lot to make beds with Madge Foster, who was still smarting at the injustice of being overlooked by Mr Spence. ‘I dare say you wouldn’t have any fun,’ she said spitefully. ‘I mean, if you haven’t any idea what people are talking about, it must have been pretty dull.’
‘Not a bit of it,’ said Caroline cheerfully, ‘everyone spoke English, even the butler…’
‘Butler? Was there a butler? But you didn’t actually meet people?’
‘Any number—the nurses at the children’s hospital in Amsterdam were very friendly and I had the chance to look around the city too.’ She paused, not wishing to say any more about that and then went on, ‘The van Houbens had a lovely house just outside a charming little town—they had lots of friends, too…’
‘You didn’t speak to them, though…’
‘Well, of course I did; there were guests to dinner most evenings.’ Which was a slight exaggeration, but Madge deserved that. ‘And I had lunch and dinner with the family. Marc had a lovely nursery and before I left his new governess took over—we got on awfully well.’
‘Did you see Mr Spence?’
‘Oh, yes—he came over twice.’
‘I suppose he talked to you too,’ sneered Madge.
‘Well, of course he did—about Marc.’ She mitred her corner of the sheet carefully and, the last cot seen too, went to help with the mid-morning feeds.
She was sitting patiently with a six-week-old baby who had neither the inclination or the energy to feed, so that every drop needed to be coaxed into his small mouth, when Mr Spence paused by her chair.
‘Back at work, I see, Nurse—er—Frisby. You had a good journey back?’
‘Yes, thank you, sir.’
‘Did you leave Marc in good spirits?’
‘Oh, yes—a bit put out that I was leaving, but he loves Tine, his new governess.’
‘Good, good, splendid.’ Mr Spence looked as if he wanted to say more but wasn’t sure what. He nodded at her and gave her a wintry smile and moved away to the next patient and Caroline continued tickling the baby under its tiny chin, encouraging it to swallow while she thought about Mr van Houben. How would she feel if he were to come through the ward door at that very moment? Delighted to see him, of course, but what would be the point? What, indeed, was the point of being in love with a man with whom one had nothing in common?
The baby opened its eyes and stared up at her and she kissed the top of its bald head; he wasn’t a pretty baby and he had that pugnacious look and a nasty temper; he would probably turn into a tiresome little boy. ‘And good luck to you, poppet,’ said Caroline, urging down the last of his feed. ‘You’re putting up a good fight…’
She lifted him over her shoulder to burp and went on talking to him, since there was no one there to listen. ‘And if you can put up a fight I don’t see why I can’t—I can but try.’ Her lovely eyes narrowed. ‘I could have something done to my hair and buy some make-up and some clothes—there’s that cheque, even if I do give Aunt Meg some of it.’
The baby blew a very small raspberry into her ear and she laughed then and took him away to change him and put him back into his cot.
The prospect of four days off made the rest of the week go quickly enough. She packed her weekend bag, wrapped the plate she had bought in the flea market and caught an evening train from Waterloo, and, since she had been paid, she took a taxi to Basing in time for a late supper with Aunt Meg.
They sat at the kitchen table with Theobald between them, eating one of Aunt Meg’s steak and kidney pies while Caroline gave a detailed account of her stay in Holland. When she had finished, having skimmed lightly over any mention of Mr van Houben, Aunt Meg observed, ‘Well, isn’t that most satisfactory, love? Getting the little boy well again and you having such a nice time too. You said you saw Mr Spence there, and Mr van Houben too I dare say—I expect he was anxious about the little lad.’
‘He came from time to time, sometimes with Mr Spence.’
Her aunt gave her a thoughtful look. ‘And how kind of the little boy’s father to give you a present. You must go shopping, love—some dresses and shoes, and Marks and Spencer have some lovely undies.’
‘You’re going to have a new dress too,’ said Caroline, ‘There’s plenty of money for both of us. We’ll go tomorrow, shall we?’ She paused. ‘I thought I’d go to the hairdresser’s too.’
&
nbsp; ‘What a good idea—there’s that new salon—you know the one I mean? You could ring up and make an appointment before we go in the morning.’
They got home the next evening with not a penny left of the cheque. Aunt Meg had her dress and for once had consented to choose a colour other than her usual useful beige. Blue, a soft blue, and the material was soft too, and made up in a style suited to her sturdy frame. As for Caroline, she had remembered her resolution and cast good sense to the winds. She had made a beeline for Laura Ashley and returned to Basing laden with a most satisfying collection of garments: a pale pink dress with a wide lace collar, a navy and white dress with a little navy jacket to go on top of it, an assortment of well-cut T-shirts, a flowered skirt in raspberry-pink and a white cotton blouse of fine lawn, lavishly embroidered, and there had been money enough to buy a pair of low-heeled sandals. She had been to the hairdresser too and had her hair cut and washed and dressed most becomingly in a french pleat. Trying everything on that evening, she wished that Mr van Houben could see her now.
She hadn’t intended to take any of her new finery back to the hospital, but it was Aunt Meg who persuaded her. ‘Take the lot,’ she advised in her sensible way. ‘Why leave them hanging in the cupboard here? Wear them just for the pleasure of it, love, and you can leave those dresses from I don’t know how many years back and I’ll take them along to Oxfam or one of the charity shops. If you haven’t got them you can’t wear them,’ she added triumphantly.
So Caroline took her new wardrobe back to London and hung it in her bedroom cupboard and wondered when she would wear it; the T-shirts and the flowered skirt would do very nicely for off duty, but the pink dress was something special, so was the navy and white outfit, and special occasions only rarely came her way.
