by Betty Neels
"Would his wife do?" asked Olympia, curiosity quite overcoming her.
The voice-a very pretty voice it was too became even more agitated. "No, no-on no account must you tell her, she mustn't know that I'm telephoning."
Olympia drew a steadying breath and swallowed the questions she longed to ask; instead she inquired sedately: "Has the doctor your number? If so I'll ask him to ring back when he comes in."
"Please," said the voice, "and you do understand that no one else must know-especially his wife."
"Oh, yes, I understand," said Olympia, still sedate. "Good-bye." She hung up, a prey to a variety of strong feelings. Who could it be? A lovely voice, belonging, no doubt, to a lovely girl who wanted, for solve reason, to talk to Waldo. She remembered uneasily that he had been spending a lot of time in his study lately and several times he had asked that he shouldn't be disturbed because he was expecting an important telephone call-from this girl? There must be some perfectly innocent reason. Common sense took over for a brief moment, but was swamped in a sea of highly imaginative conjectures. If the reason had been an innocent one, why hadn't the girl given her a message for Waldo, and why had she been so anxious that no one should know about the call? Olympia walked up and down the sitting-room, nibbling her fingers and frowning heavily; she was still at it when Mijnheer Blom arrived and remarked playfully that it was evident from her distraught air that she hadn't done her homework.
"Oh, but I have," she assured him in an overbright voice. "The past tense, wasn't it? Look, I know all the verbs you told me to learn."
She recited them like a good child and he applauded her, wondering at the same time why she looked so pale. She was, he had confided to his wife, a very nice young lady, not pretty, but with an attractive air about her, but now, this morning, she looked quite plain, and her voice, usually so gentle, sounded quite different. Perhaps she wasn't feeling well, or starting a cold. Pleased with himself for having solved his little problem, he embarked on a fresh batch of verbs before their daily tour of the house. But now it was Olympia who named each object as they came to it, and today he promoted her to adding a suitable adjective as they started, as usual, in the sitting-room.
"A large chair," said Olympia in her painstaking Dutch, "a small table, a square carpet, some pretty flowers, a telephone…' She had come to the end of her adjectives and looked inquiringly at her teacher, who suggested the Dutch word for necessary. She repeated it obediently, thinking that as far as she was concerned it was nothing of the sort; it wasn't necessary for her to know about Waldo's girl-friends; she didn't want to know, all the same she was going to ask him the minute he set foot inside the houseshe cared nothing for his private affairs, but she had a right to know. She came to a halt, these muddled thoughts racing round and round inside her head like mice on a wheel. "I have a fearful headache," she told the astonished Mijnheer Blom. "I'm so sorry, you really must excuse me," and fled from the room. Upstairs it was quiet with the peace of an old house. She sat on the bed in her room, and because she really couldn't help herself, had a nice cry.
She felt better presently, and when Elisabeth called some time later with the kindly purpose of escorting her to the shops, she was able to greet her quite naturally even though her face was still a little pale. She put on a coat and tied a scarf over her hair against the boisterous wind, snatched up her shopping list and joined Elisabeth on the short walk to the shops where she gave her order for the week's provisions, visited the butcher and the fishmonger and purchased a few household necessities, frequently corrected by the ever-helpful Elisabeth, who never seemed put out or bad-tempered. She was so kind, thought Olympia, struggling to make herself understood over the change, no wonder Waldo and Ria were so fond of her. They finished their shopping at length and walked on to collect Ria from school, and Olympia's mood was by no means improved at the sight of the little girl's obvious joy at seeing Elisabeth while she herself was greeted with remote politeness.
The rest of the day dragged until the doctor came home, and when he did, Ria was there, eating her supper in her pretty quilted dressing gown, while Olympia carried on a hesitant conversation with her; her Dutch was improving daily, but even so, without any help from the little girl, it was uphill work. All the same, she did her best and only paused when Waldo said from the door: "You deserve a medal for perseverance, Olympia," and whether he was referring to her struggle with his mother tongue or her efforts to break down Ria's hostility, she didn't know. He crossed the room and dropped a casual hand on her shoulder, then went to kiss Ria, and after that there was no chance to talk to him alone, not until Ria had been put to bed and she had come downstairs again to find him on the point of going to his study.
"There was a telephone call for you, from England," she began without preamble, and was shattered to feel how she trembled inwardly; the trembling turned to stillness as she saw him halt and turn to look at her with suddenly alert eyes.
"England?" he questioned, and when she realized that he wasn't going to say any more than that, she went on:
"It was a woman, a girl I imagine, by her voice-it was pretty…' She swallowed the anger she had been nursing all day and went on steadily, "She was anxious to speak to you-she didn't know who I was, but she told me not to tell your wife."
He regarded her gravely, his face impassive. "I take it she didn't give her name?"
"No. She said you knew the number," and in the small silence which fell between them: 'Waldo, who is she?"
He answered her blandly, "My dear Olympia, if you insist upon an answer, I will give you one, but I should very much prefer not to do so."
"Never?" Her voice, to her annoyance, came out in an angry squeak.
The blandness had become silky. "When the moment is right, I will tell you. Will that content you'?"
It didn't, but she ignored that for the moment. "Does it have to be so-so secret?" and greatly daring, because the bland face told her nothing: "Do I…that is, does it concern me too?"
"Yes, it does." She waited for him to say more than that, but apparently that answered both questions. Her temper nicely under control but spurring her on, she asked: "Have you known her long?"
His eyebrows lifted. "A few weeks-shortly after we were married." Suddenly he smiled. "I believe that we are at cross purposes-it is not at all what you think."
She all but tossed her head. "I'm not in the least interested in your private affairs," she told him with immense dignity and utter mendacity, and felt annoyed when he answered calmly: "In which case, this whole conversation has been rather a waste of time. Now if you will excuse me, I must make a telephone call."
"Oh, certainly," said Olympia pettishly. "I'm sorry I've been wasting your time." She added savagely, "I have a great deal of knitting to do," which absurd remark he acknowledged with a gentle nod and good-humoured agreement. She seethed as she watched his broad back disappear into his study and then suddenly her anger went, for what was the use of it? It was the kind of situation one read about in novels and the Sunday papers-someone in love with someone who loved someone else, only they always ended neatly in divorce. She shivered, quite unable to contemplate such a thing happening to her. But it could-Waldo couldn't be blamed if he had met someone he loved; he had made no bones about the terms of their marriage; no harm would be done if they were to part and he would be generous to her, although she knew that she could never take a penny of his money. She had hardly made herself indispensable, had she? Looked at from every angle, she was quite superfluous in his life. She picked up her knitting, attacking it with a ruthlessness which had no regard to the intricate pattern.
CHAPTER SIX
THAT same night Ria fell ill. There had been no warning, she had been peacefully asleep when Olympia peeped in on her as she herself went to bed. It was one o'clock in the morning when Olympia was awakened by a faint sound from the little girl's room directly above hers. She got out of bed, put on her dressing gown and slippers and ran upstairs. Ria was being sick, her small
face greenish white, and when Olympia took a small wrist in her own steady one, it was to feel a racing pulse and a feverish warmth. She cleaned the child up gently, put on a fresh nightie, covered her carefully and ran downstairs to Waldo's room. He wasn't there, but downstairs the light in the hall was still burning and when she tapped on the study door and went in, he was there, sitting at his desk. Even then, with her mind full of Ria, she could see how tired he looked, his brows drawn together in a weary frown, but as he got to his feet his face became its usual placid self once more, although his eyes were alert.
"Ria," she said, not giving him a chance to say anything, "she's been dreadfully sick, her pulse is up too and she's feverish."
He had come round the desk to stand by her and spoke with reassuring promptness. "Let's go up and have a look at her," and smiled so kindly at her that she choked a little. "I had a look at her before I went to bed, she was fast asleep then."
They were mounting the stairs together, his arm round her shoulders, for all the world as though they hadn't disagreed so sharply that very evening. "Measles?" he mused out loud. "There's plenty of it about-but she's been immunized. Something she ate? Supper?" He turned a questioning look on Olympia.
"A mug of cocoa, Marmite sandwiches, one sweet biscuit and an apple," she answered promptly.
"Not supper, then. Appendix? Could bewe'll soon know."
Ria had fallen into an uneasy sleep, but she wakened as they went in and was sick again. Waldo stood at the foot of the bed while Olympia cleaned up once more and then went to sit on its edge. He was quick and gentle, listened patiently to Ria's tearful little voice as he poked and prodded, and when he answered her his own voice was reassuringly quiet and calm. When he had finished he glanced at Olympia.
"Appendix-I'm pretty sure of it. We'll get her round to the hospital. Wrap her up warm-dressing gown and blankets will do-I'll go and telephone Piet de Haan, he'll have a look and see what's to be done."
He said something jokingly to the little girl and went away, leaving Olympia to roll her carefully in blankets and collect a few things to take with her. There was nothing to put them in, though, so she flew down to her own room to fetch a small case of her own and when she got back found Emma on the landing. There was no time to explain in her slow Dutch, so she pushed a chair by Ria's bed and waved Emma into it and then ran downstairs again, this time to fling on some clothes and bundle up her hair. She was back again a few minutes before Waldo, who cast a glance at her sweater and slacks and tied-back hair and said with approval: 'Ah, good girl-I hoped you would come," then turned to speak to Emma before picking up Ria.
He had found time to bring the car round to the door; they were away within seconds with Olympia in the back seat, Ria on her lap. The little girl was very quiet now, whimpering a little from time to time, clinging to her. The hospital wasn't far and Waldo took a short cut through the narrow cobbled streets. Even so, they were waiting for them, met at the door by a nurse and a porter with a trolley and a young houseman too. They went in swift procession to the children's ward, and they were expected there too, with a small bed turned down, Night Sister standing by it and a thin man with a stoop and thinning hair talking to her. Olympia was introduced rapidly before Waldo took him aside while Ria was put to bed. Someone took Olympia into Sister's office then, and gave her a cup of coffee and murmured kindly-conventional phrases of sympathy and optimism in excellent English; then Waldo was with her again, drinking coffee too and telling her cheerfully that it was an appendix and that she was to go straight to theatre where Piet would whip it out for her. "She'll be back within the hour," he told her, "and home again in a week."
"She's so little," said Olympia.
He put down his cup and took her hand in a comforting grip.
"You're fond of her, aren't you?" he observed, "despite the difficulties. I warned you that she would be a handful, didn't 1, but I didn't expect her to fight against you." He paused, looking at her from half closed eyes. "And you have done a great deal for her, I have seen… It can't be easy for you, Olympia. I have sometimes wondered…' he paused and Olympia's heart stood still. Their quarrel was still fresh in her mind. What was he trying to say? Was he going to ask her if she would like to be free again"? Before he could speak she said quickly, "I don't know why Ria doesn't like me. Once or twice I've thought that she was beginning to like me just a little, and then-it's as if someone had warned her against me…' her voice trailed away and she knew that she had failed in her effort to make him understand for he took his hand away and said bracingly: "That doesn't sound like you, Olympia. You must be feeling tired and a little overwrought. Would you like to go home? I can get someone to take you Ria will be quite all right; I'll go into theatre with Piet and then stay until she's round."
"I'd rather stay too, if you don't mind, I'll not be silly. And Waldo, I'm sorry about this evening; I had no right to speak to you as I did, it isn't as if I'm-we're…' She was bogged down in a sentence which she didn't know how to finish. "We're friends; you said so, and I wasn't very friendly."
She looked round as the door opened and Night Sister put her head round and said briskly: "They're ready in theatre, Doctor." She went away again, and Waldo got to his feet. It was just as though he hadn't heard Olympia's apology, for all he said was: "You'll be all right here? We shan't be long."
They were less than forty minutes, and within another half hour Ria had opened her eyes, declared that she was sleepy and closed them again. Olympia looked at the small, colourless face on the pillow, trying to see something of Waldo in it. There was nothing, but that didn't really matter; she was Waldo's child and because of that she loved her too. She bent to kiss the dark hair, then went to thank Piet de Haan, who was gulping down great draughts of coffee while he wrote up the chart. He was a nice man; she knew that instinctively, and when she thanked him he smiled with real friendliness.
"Waldo and I are very old friends," he told her. "Many is the night he has got out of his bed to see to my eldest-an asthmatic, you know; now I've had the chance to pay back something of what I owe him."
She had gone home with Waldo after that and found Emma and Joanna waiting for them with more coffee and a great many anxious questions. It was half past four before they were all back in their beds.
When she got to the hospital after breakfast, driven there by Waldo on his way to the surgery, it was to find Ria sitting in a chair, looking washed out but perfectly happy. The doctor cast a knowledgeable eye over her chart, made a few inquiries, kissed her rapidly and with affection and went on his way, leaving Olympia, who had had the foresight to bring the little girl's favourite doll, Ton, with her. She also supplied news of Niko, a little hampered by having to use the same words over and over again. But her efforts pleased Ria, who gabbled away happily and when she got up to go, kissed her with something approaching affection so that Olympia walked back home with her spirits soaring at every step.
Life wasn't too bad, after all; Waldo had seemed glad to have her with him when they had gone to the hospital, although she had to admit that apologizing to him had been a waste of breath; perhaps he hadn't heard; he must have been worried about Ria despite his calm manner, and on this bright morning with the sun shining, even the awful shadow of the girl in London seemed vague and unimportant. She would redouble her efforts to make Waldo love her, although she hadn't the least idea how best to set about it, but at least she would try. Optimism came flooding back, bringing with it a gaiety which made Mijnheer Blom, when he arrived, reverse his opinion of the previous day; the young lady was pretty after all.
He had just gone when Elisabeth arrived and when Olympia told her about Ria's sudden removal to hospital, she was surprised to see her friend frown. "What's the matter?" she asked anxiously. "You look quite cross."
Elisabeth smiled her gentle smile. "Not that, Olympia, a little puzzled that I, an old friend and one who has loved Ria since she was a baby, wasn't told at once. I could have comforted her-gone with her to the h
ospital."
"But it was one o'clock in the morning," protested Olympia, puzzled, "and we looked after her very well, you know, and went with her and stayed until she was back in bed again. I've just been there this morning with Waldo, she's sitting out in a chair, looking marvellous."
Elisabeth said gently: "You nurses-always so bright-I expect that you get hardened to illness and pain."
"No, we don't. In fact I think we hate it more than people who don't understand it very well, only we mustn't show it, we're taught to hide our feelings."
Her companion's lovely blue eyes studied hers. "Do you? Do you really? Are you able to hide your feelings completely?"
"I imagine so." She was still puzzled, Elisabeth was so intense, and usually she was such a serene person. She tucked her hand under her arm. "Come and have some coffee and then come to the shops with me. I want to buy some wool."
"More knitting? But Ria has two new pullovers and now you are knitting a cardigan."
"This won't be for Ria. I thought I'd make Waldo a very thick sweater, ready for next winter. There's such a lot of him, it will take me the whole summer to knit it."
She laughed as she spoke, but Elisabeth remained serious. "But it will be a waste of time. He dislikes all sweaters but the cashmere ones he buys in London. I know because I always knitted them for him until he told me that he liked only these which he bought."
Olympia poured her coffee. "Oh, well, I'll start one for me-I like to have something to do, you know." She was disappointed, but she wasn't going to let it show, and later that day, on her way back from the hospital, despite what Elisabeth had told her, she bought a vast amount of wool and a pattern. It was in Dutch and she would have to puzzle it out for herself, although Mijnheer Blom might help, or Emma and Joanna. She didn't think she would ask Elisabeth.
The house seemed very quiet without Ria, and now, if he had wanted to there was time enough for Waldo to talk to her when he got home each evening, but it seemed that he had had second thoughts about it, for after half an hour with her, talking lightly about nothing in particular, he went away to his study as he always had done, leaving her to wrestle with the pullover. But she had managed to make one small change; she had begged Waldo to let her sort his post for him every day. "I can read quite well now," she assured him not quite truthfully-'not your letters, of course," she added hastily, "I won't open those." She had looked at him as she had said that and gone a bright pink at the faint mocking smile on his face. "Perhaps it's not such a good idea after all," she had muttered, and was surprised when he said smoothly: "On the contrary, it is a very good one. By all means do it, it will be a great help to me."
