by Betty Neels
‘They are very young.’
‘And what’s that got to do with it?’ she demanded. ‘I imagine one can love someone at any age.’
His face had assumed its bland expression. ‘Indeed one can, Hannah.’ He got up. ‘Would you like to see something of this house before I take you back?’
Hannah got to her feet. No doubt he regretted talking to her like that; perhaps he and Nerissa had had a tiff and he was feeling wretched. She said in a quiet voice: ‘Yes, I should like very much to do that, but don’t let me keep you.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘It’s after five o’clock and I expect you’re going out this evening.’
‘Yes, I am, but there’s time enough.’ He opened the door and they crossed the hall to another pair of doors opening on to the dining room—a magnificent apartment with panelled walls, two great windows draped in almond green velvet and a three-pedestal dining table in mahogany around which stood twelve Chippendale chairs; a bow-fronted mahogany sideboard stood against one wall and a standing corner cupboard in the same wood displayed silver and porcelain. The floor was polished wood, almost covered by silky carpets. There were gilt and crystal sconces on the walls and a bowl of flowers between the candelabra on the table. ‘Super!’ breathed Hannah, wishing to linger, but her host ushered her across the room and through a small door in the opposite wall into the room beyond, a smaller room, gay with chintz curtains and a crimson carpet. There was a round table in the middle of the room with six Regency parcel chairs, upholstered in crimson brocade, arranged round it, and a very beautiful Dutch walnut and marquetry bombe-front bureau against a wall with a shieldback walnut chair before it, and set close to the small burnished steel fireplace was a small winged armchair covered in tapestry work. It was a charming room with a pleasant air of cosiness which Hannah was quick to feel. She looked enquiringly at Uncle Valentijn, who was watching her, a little smile on his face.
‘You like it? My mother always used this room for what she called her quiet moments. She did her accounts at this bureau and sat here sewing or knitting while I sat at the table and wrestled with my homework. My sister and brothers were younger than I; they were still in the nursery and my father seldom got home before six o’clock.’
So now she knew why he expected his wife to be waiting for him with her knitting or whatever and the children with her. She felt near to tears when she thought of Nerissa, who probably couldn’t knit anyway and disliked children. She tried to think of what to say and decided to say nothing, instead: ‘How many brothers and sisters do you have?’
‘A sister and two brothers—they’re all in Canada at the moment, but they live in Holland. They are all married. I was a year old when my father was taken away to a concentration camp; he came home two years later and my sister was born two years after that.’
‘Your mother?’ Her voice was gentle.
‘She died two years ago—you would have liked her, Hannah. She never quite got over my father’s death… Strangely enough her elder sister is still alive; eighty and very spry for her age, I might add. We must contrive a meeting before you go back to England.’
He opened another door. ‘As you see, the hall again.’ He opened a door. ‘My study.’ He barely gave her time to poke her nose round it before he shut it briskly. ‘The library…’
Another vast room, well lighted by two floor-to-ceiling windows, with rows of books climbing the walls and a gallery running round half way up with a small spiral staircase in one corner. The chairs were comfortable and there was room enough for a dozen people to sit there without disturbing each other.
‘Whoever built this house must have had an enormous family,’ Hannah commented.
‘Twelve children, so I’m told and they all lived to a good age, which was something unusual in those days. My brothers and sister already have five children between them, and I daresay there will be more.’
‘I like families,’ declared Hannah. ‘I expect that’s because I’m an only one myself.’ She caught sight of the clock, an enormous Friesland wall clock hanging over the hearth. ‘Oh, heavens, it’s almost six o’clock! I’m keeping you from your evening. Thank you very much for showing me your home, it’s beautiful and I’ll always remember it.’
UncleValentijn made no demur but led the way back to the hall where Wilrik, warned by some sixth sense, was waiting to open the door, and this time he bowed slightly and allowed a fatherly smile to illuminate his dignity.
Hannah worked hard at light conversation during their short drive, and although her companion—whose manners were very nice even though he could be arrogant when he felt like it—made suitable replies, she had the feeling that he was absent-minded. Probably he was glad that the afternoon was over and was impatient to get to his evening.
But it seemed that this wasn’t so. At the villa he got out and opened her door, then accompanied her inside. Once in the hall Hannah put out a polite hand and began her thank-you speech, but he didn’t listen; he took her hand, it was true, but not to shake, only to hold, and when Paul van Eysink came into the hall, wanting to know if she had had a good time and would they both like a drink he still held it.
‘I’ll not wait now.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘If I’m back in just over an hour?’ He glanced down at Hannah. ‘Will that be long enough for you to do whatever it is you do for little Paul and get changed?’
She looked at him, quite bewildered. ‘Me?’
‘You. I should like to take you out to dinner, Hannah.’
‘Oh, would you?’ She sounded so surprised that the two men laughed. Not bothering to choose her words, she went on: ‘But what about Nerissa? Won’t she mind?’
Uncle Valentijn’s face assumed its bland expression. ‘Why should she?’ His tone implied that she might have minded if it had been anyone else but Hannah. ‘We’re only having dinner together, Hannah. Nerissa is in Paris for the weekend and I daresay she’s dining out too—why should we be condemned to solitary meals when we are apart?’
It seemed an unnecessarily long explanation to Hannah, but she could see his point—besides, Nerissa had nothing to fear from her, had she? Now if she had been pretty and golden-haired and blue-eyed and beautifully dressed, she would undoubtedly have at least tried…
‘Hannah?’
Uncle Valentijn must have said something and she hadn’t heard a word; she really must curb her tiresome imagination. ‘So sorry, I was thinking…’
Uncle Valentijn’s eyes gleamed beneath their lids, but all he said was: ‘Eight o’clock, then, Hannah?’
‘Yes, oh yes, I’ll be ready.’ She gave him a wide smile. ‘I’ll go and see Mevrouw van Eysink—she might have other plans.’
‘She hasn’t,’ declared her husband cheerfully. ‘As a matter of fact we’re looking forward to a cosy evening and getting in a bit of practice feeding the infant, so don’t come tearing back at ten o’clock, Hannah, if you put everything ready we’ll cope.’
‘You’re very kind—all the same I’ll just…’ She hurried off, her head bursting with a variety of thoughts. ‘Thank heaven I washed my hair this morning early!’ she muttered as she went into the sitting room to find Mevrouw van Eysink.
Baby Paul was angelic. Hannah topped and tailed him, fed him and popped him into his cot, then set about her own toilette. There wasn’t much time; a shower, the pink jersey and ten minutes spent doing things to her face and hair and she was ready with a minute to spare. Just the same, when she got downstairs Uncle Valentijn was in the sitting room, talking to the van Eysinks and looking like every girl’s dream in his dinner jacket. He got to his feet at once. ‘Good girl—punctual to the minute! We’ll be on our way, I’ve a table for eight-thirty.’
So they weren’t going far. Hannah didn’t ask where but sat beside him in the Bristol, feeling happy and talking idly about anything which came into her head. ‘How quickly the summer goes,’ she observed, ‘and it’s been a lovely one.’
‘Weatherwise?’ It was asked idly.
‘Yes,
but workwise too. It was dreadful for Mevrouw van Eysink having that accident, but if she hadn’t I would never have nursed her or little Paul.’ She added, ‘Or come to Holland.’
‘Or worked round the clock and given up your free time without a murmur,’ observed Uncle Valentijn drily.
‘Oh, that didn’t matter. I shall miss it all when I go back.’
‘To hospital, or have you other plans?’
She shook her head. ‘Oh, no—if I stay there I’ll be offered a Sister’s post sooner or later.’
‘And is that your ambition, Hannah?’
‘Not particularly, but it’s better paid, you see.’ She peered out of the window. ‘Oh, it’s Utrecht again. Did we come this way this afternoon? I think I’ve seen it before.’
He had slowed to turn the car into a wide street. He said deliberately: ‘You came here with Henk,’ and before she could reply parked the car, held the door for her to get out and tucked a hand under her elbow as the doorman opened the big doors of the restaurant.
Hannah wasn’t too happy. She hadn’t enjoyed herself with Henk, but as far as she could remember she hadn’t told UncleValentijn which restaurant they had gone to. Probably he thought he was giving her a treat—which of course he was, she reminded herself, and anyway she was quite sure that he wouldn’t shout at the waiters and however bored with the evening he was unlikely to tell her so to her face. But she discovered that this evening wasn’t going to be like her disastrous outing with Henk. They were shown to a table by the dance floor by the restaurant manager, a waiter was waved into attendance, drinks appeared at a murmur from Uncle Valentijn and the menus were produced.
Uncle Valentijn had hardly opened his mouth, but there was the head waiter bending deferentially over his shoulder, recommending something special on the menu, enquiring tenderly of Hannah if she cared for asparagus au natural by way of starters or perhaps an avocado pear with the chef’s special dressing?
Hannah began to enjoy herself. It was delightful to be fussed over, and when she looked enquiringly at Uncle Valentijn he obligingly suggested that the asparagus was usually good and how did she like the idea of lobster Thermidor to follow. Hannah, who had never eaten it, liked the idea very much, and when the waiter had gone and she was sipping rather cautiously at her sherry, she said so, rather shyly. ‘It’s not a bit the same,’ she told him. ‘I mean, Henk just ordered the food and I—I felt…I should have liked to have chosen something for myself but I expect he thought I wouldn’t know what to order.’ She smiled happily. ‘This is fun!’
‘I hoped it would be, Hannah. Do you like dancing?’
She nodded.
‘Then shall we let dinner wait for a few minutes?’
It was a good sized floor but fairly crowded. Uncle Valentijn danced as she had expected he would, very well, and although she seldom had the opportunity of dancing, she was good too. They danced in silence and when the music stopped went back to their table and started on the asparagus.
‘You dance very well,’ observed Uncle Valentijn, sipping without fuss at the wine the waiter had poured and nodding his approbation. Hannah watched her glass being filled and when the man had gone said: ‘Well, I know it’s not claret, and it looks like champagne, I think, but it wouldn’t be?’
Uncle Valentijn made a small sound which might have been a laugh. ‘Why not? It is champagne, it goes nicely with lobster.’
‘Oh, does it? You see, I don’t go out very much, so I don’t know things like that.’ She took a sip and said sedately: ‘It’s very nice.’
‘I’m glad you like it. Would you like to dance again?’
The lobster appeared within seconds of them returning to their table and Hannah, being served with polite dexterity, reflected on the pleasure of being treated as though she were important and to be pleased at all costs, and yet UncleValentijn had made no attempt to impress anyone or raise his voice. But then he didn’t need to, she thought lovingly, and smiled widely at him. She was halfway through the lobster when she glanced up and found him looking at her and she paused, her fork half way to her mouth. He looked as though he were amused about something and she looked at her glass, wondering guiltily if she had had too much champagne and was getting chatty again. She asked: ‘Am I talking too much? You’re looking at me…’
‘Hannah, I must beg you to forget that unfortunate remark I made. I fear that you have saddled me with it for ever and regard me as an ill-mannered ogre.’
‘Oh, you couldn’t be ill-mannered if you tried,’ said Hannah kindly. ‘Arrogant, yes, quite often, but always very polite with it, if you see what I mean. And you’re not an ogre.’
‘In that case we might dance again.’
It was midnight by the time they got back to the villa. The house was in darkness save for a lamp in the hall and another one on the landing above. Hannah went past Uncle Valentijn as he unlocked the door and stood aside for her to go inside, where she stopped. ‘Thank you for my lovely evening,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll remember it always.’
He loomed over her in the dim quietness. ‘So shall I, Hannah’. And very much to her surprise, he went back through the door, shutting it quietly behind him, leaving her to wonder what she had said or done to send him away so very quickly.
She went on wondering while she undressed, cast an eye over the sleeping infant and got into bed, where despite the advice she gave herself to go to sleep at once, she lay awake, still wondering and going over every moment and every word Valentijn had said and she had said… She fell asleep finally, to wake a few hours later at little Paul’s urgent twitterings.
‘You sound like a hungry bird, but you gobble like a great giant,’ she told him lovingly, ‘and I wonder if you’ll miss me when I’ve gone away?’
She studied his little plump cheeks; he was fast regaining his health and strength. ‘You won’t, you know,’ she told him, ‘and you’ll forget me—Valentijn will forget me too.’
A slow tear slid down her cheek and landed on his small bald head and he stopped guzzling to stare at her from round blue eyes.
She saw nothing of Uncle Valentijn during the next few days. If he had gone away there was no reason for her to be told. At meals, when she joined the van Eysinks, the talk was of her departure and the arrangements made for it and for the arrival of Henrika, who would take up residence for two days before Hannah left. Mevrouw van Eysink had been to Utrecht for a check-up and had been pronounced very nearly as good as new, and much of the talk was of the holiday they were planning in the autumn. But not a word of Uncle Valentijn.
It was towards the end of the week, with Hannah’s departure only five days away, that Nerissa came. Hannah was in the nursery making up feeds, checking little Paul’s clothes and writing a careful list of instructions for Henrika when she arrived the following day. It had been raining and she would have to take the baby out later on; it seemed as though summer was going to slide into a wet autumn, although it was still warm. Sitting beside the open window, engrossed in her charts, Hannah didn’t at first hear the voices below, but presently Nerissa’s: ‘Let’s sit here, Corinna, and do please let us speak English. I am going to England with Valentijn very shortly and I must get a little practice,’ set her upright in her chair. The right thing to do was to go away from the window, out of earshot, even to close the window, but Hannah, her ears stretched, had no thought for the correct behaviour the occasion demanded. Instead, she edged her chair a little nearer the window and stretched her ears even further.
‘Hannah leaves in four days’ time, does she not?’ Nerissa gave a little laugh. ‘You will miss her.’
Corinna’s voice, much harder to hear because it was pitched lower, answered. ‘Very much. We have worked her so hard and she has never once complained. She has had very little time to herself.’
Hannah was happily unaware of Nerissa’s lightning glance up to her window, but she did notice that her voice seemed even louder. ‘Oh, I daresay, but I’m sure in hospital she has to work much har
der and in unpleasant surroundings. And she has had several days to herself riding—and then Henk took her out.’
‘Why did you ask Henk to take her?’ asked Corinna. ‘He spoilt her evening. It is a good thing that Valentijn took her out to dinner as well as showing her round the hospital and taking her to his home for tea.’
There was quite a long pause. ‘Oh, yes—I’d quite forgotten.’ Nerissa was feeling her way carefully, but her hearers weren’t aware of that. ‘Dinner and dancing.’ It was a statement, but Corinna regarded it as a question as Nerissa had intended. ‘Oh yes—they didn’t get back until after midnight.’
‘So I heard. Valentijn said that he’d never spent such a long evening in all his life. She’s not his type, of course, but he told me that he felt that he should give her a treat before she went back. Henk found her a dead bore, but of course he was too young to conceal his feelings; Valentijn is so good at that, I daresay the girl thought he was enjoying himself too.’
‘I don’t think you should say that,’ said Corinna. ‘Hannah is a dear girl and she has never once bored me.’
Nerissa laughed. ‘Oh, my dear, you are so naïve! Any man would find her dull, especially Valentijn, but I will say this for him, he always does his duty without complaint. Such a pity that I had accepted that invitation to Paris, although as it turned out, he was able to get the business over without wasting an evening on her without having to forgo dinner with me.’
‘Well, that doesn’t sound nice at all,’ declared Corinna crossly. ‘Valentijn knows how much we owe Hannah.’
‘Well, of course,’ Nerissa sounded impatient, ‘but don’t you see that’s why he put himself out. After all, he doesn’t have a great deal of free time, and to give up almost all of a day to entertaining someone he couldn’t care if he sees again shows how much he realises you like her. And he would do anything for you and little Paul, Corinna.’ She added: ‘He wouldn’t tell me if they had champagne, but I’m sure they did—he wouldn’t do things by halves.’
