by Betty Neels
A deep chuckle from the end of the hall made her look round. Radinck was sitting on a marble-topped side table, swinging his long legs, the picture of elegance. ‘Such a magnificent entry!’ he observed. ‘Just like Cinderella at the ball—and then you stopped as though you’d been shot. What happened?’
‘Oh, Radinck, I remembered—I’m so sorry, I never thanked you for the flowers, and they’re so lovely. I hope you don’t mind—I put them in my room, but I’ll bring them downstairs tomorrow…’
‘I’m glad they pleased you.’ He swung himself off the table and came towards her. ‘That is a charming dress, and you look charming in it, Caro. I have something for you; I hope you will wear it.’
He took a box from a pocket and opened it and took out a brooch, a true lovers’ knot of diamonds. ‘May I put it on for you?’
He held the lovely thing in the palm of his hand and she put out a finger to touch it. ‘It’s magnificent!’ she breathed. ‘Was it your mother’s?’
His hand had closed gently over the brooch and her fingers. ‘No—I chose it yesterday as I came through den Haag on my way home. I want to give it to you, Caro, and I want you to wear it.’
She looked up into his face; his eyes were bright and searching and his brows were raised in a questioning arc.
‘Why?’ asked Caro, her head full of the girl in Dordrecht. Flowers, and now this heavenly brooch—it was even worse than she had thought, although Radinck didn’t look in the least like a guilty husband.
‘I’m afraid to answer that,’ said Radinck surprisingly, and pinned the brooch into the lace at her neck with cool steady fingers.
And when he had done it: ‘It’s my turn to ask a question,’ he smiled down at her. ‘Why did you ask why, Caroline?’
Oh dear! thought Caro, now I’m Caroline again, and said carefully: ‘Well, first you sent me those heavenly flowers and now you’ve given me this fabulous brooch, and you see, in books the husband is always extra nice to his wife when he’s been neglecting her or—or falling in love with someone else—then he buys his wife presents because he feels guilty…’
He looked utterly bewildered. ‘Guilty?’ he considered it for a moment. ‘Well, yes, I suppose you’re right.’
Caro’s heart dropped like a stone into her highheeled, very expensive satin sandals. ‘So there’s no need to say any more, is there?’ she asked unhappily.
Strangely, Radinck was smiling. ‘Not just now, perhaps—I don’t really think that we have the time—we are already a little late.’
She said yes, of course, in her quiet hesitant voice and got into her coat, then sat, for the most part silent, as he drove the Panther de Ville to Groningen, almost sixty kilometres away. The roads were icy under a bright moon, but Radinck drove with relaxed ease, carrying on a desultory conversation, not seeming to notice Caroline’s quiet. He certainly didn’t present the appearance of a guilty husband who had just been found out by his wife. Caro stirred in her seat, frowning. She could be wrong…
There wasn’t much chance to find out anything more at the party. The ter Brinks were a youngish, rather serious-minded couple living in a large modern house on the outskirts of Groningen, and Caro found herself moving round their drawing-room, getting caught up in the highbrow conversations among their guests. She had met most of them already and almost all of them spoke excellent English, but—typical of her, she thought—she got pinned into a corner by an elderly gentleman, who insisted on speaking Dutch despite her denial of all knowledge of that language, so that all she could do was to look interested, say ‘neen’ and ‘ja’ every now and then and pray for someone to rescue her.
Which Radinck did, tucking a hand under her arm and engaging the elderly man in a pleasant conversation for a few minutes before drifting her away to the other end of the room.
‘My goodness,’ said Caro, when they were safely out of earshot, ‘I only understood one word in a hundred—thank you for rescuing me, Radinck. What was he talking about?’
Her husband’s firm mouth twitched. ‘Nuclear warfare and the possibility of invasion from outer space,’ he told her blandly.
‘Oh, my goodness—and all I said was yes and no— Oh, and once I said Niet waar in a surprised sort of way.’
Radinck’s shoulders shook, but he said seriously: ‘A quite suitable remark, especially if you sounded astonished. “You don’t say” is an encouraging remark to make—it sounds admiring as well as astonished, which after all was what Professor Vinke expected to hear.’
‘Oh, good—I’d hate to let you down.’
He had guided her to another corner, standing in front of her so that she was shut off from the room. ‘I believe you, Caroline. It is a pity that you cannot return my opinion.’ He took her hand briefly. ‘Caro, perhaps I’m going away for a day or two. Are you going to ask me where and why?’
She stared down at his fingers clasping hers. ‘No, I don’t break promises.’
He sighed. ‘Perhaps the incentive isn’t enough for you to do that…’
And after that there was no further chance to talk. They were joined by friends, and presently Tiele and Becky came across to talk to them and although they left soon afterwards they only discussed the party on their way home. They didn’t talk about anything much at dinner either, and afterwards Radinck wished her a cool goodnight and went away to his study. And yet, thought Caro, left alone to drink her coffee by the fire in the drawing-room, he had looked at her very intently once or twice during the meal, just as though he was wanting to say something and didn’t know how to start.
She went to bed presently and made a point of being down in time to share breakfast with Radinck the following morning. It was hardly the best time of the day to talk to him, but she didn’t feel she could bear to go on much longer without asking more questions. When he had read his post she said abruptly: ‘I’m going to break my promise after all. Are you going to Dordrecht?’
Radinck put his coffee cup down very slowly. ‘Why should I wish to go to Dordrecht?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Ah, now I see—the flowers and brooch were to cover my neglect, were they?’ His voice held a sneer. ‘You really believe that I would go tearing off after a girl young enough to be my daughter, just like your precious novels?’ He got to his feet, looking to her nervous gaze to be twice his normal size and in a very bad temper indeed. ‘Well, Caroline, you may think what you wish.’
‘When are you going?’ she asked, for there seemed no point in retreating now. ‘And you needn’t be so very bad-tempered; you wanted to know if I was going to ask you where you were going, and now I have you’re quite peevish…’
He stopped on his way to the door. ‘Peevish? Peevish? I am angry, Caroline.’ He came back to tower over her, still sitting at the table.
‘And why do you keep on calling me Caroline?’ asked Caro. She had cooked her goose and it really didn’t matter what she said now. ‘And sometimes you say Caro.’
He said silkily: ‘Because when I call you Caroline I can try and believe that you are someone vague who has little to do with my life, only I find that I no longer can do that…’
‘And what am I when I’m Caro?’ she asked with interest.
‘Soft and gentle and loving.’ He bent and kissed her soundly. ‘You have brought chaos to my life,’ he told her austerely, and turned on his heel and went.
Caro sat very still after he had gone. Things, she told herself, had come to a head. It was time she did something about it. And he hadn’t told her when he was going to Dordrecht, or even if he was going there. She poured herself more coffee and applied her wits to the problem.
She got up presently and went to the telephone. Radinck’s secretary at his rooms was quite sure that he wasn’t going anywhere, certainly not to Dordrecht, and at the hospital, in answer to her carefully worded enquiries, she was told that the Professor had a full day ahead of him. So he had been making it up…to annoy her? To get her interested in what he did? She wasn’t sure, but his kiss had been, even
in her inexperienced view, a very genuine one. Caroline nodded her mousy head and smiled a little, then went to the little davenport in the sitting-room and after a great deal of thought and several false starts, composed a letter. It was a nicely worded document, telling Radinck that since they didn’t agree very well, perhaps it would be as well if she went away. She read it through, put it in its envelope and went in search of Willem, who, always willing, got out the Mini used by the staff for errands and rattled off to Leeuwarden, the letter in his pocket.
It was unfortunate that Radinck happened to be doing a round when Willem handed in his letter with the request that it should be delivered as soon as possible; the round took ages and it was well after lunch before a porter, tracking him down in the consultants’ room, making a meal off sandwiches and beer, handed it to him. He read it quickly and then read it again, before reaching for the telephone. He had been a fool, he told himself savagely; Caro had believed that he had gone to Dordrecht because he had been attracted to that girl—and he shouldn’t have let her believe that he had stayed there, either. He was too old to fall in love, he reminded himself sourly, but he had, and nothing would alter the fact that little Caro had become his world.
Noakes answered the phone and listened carefully to the Professor’s instructions. The house was to be searched very thoroughly; he had reason to believe that the Baroness, who wasn’t feeling quite herself, could be in one of its many rooms. Radinck himself would call at the most likely places where she might be and then come home.
He spent the rest of the afternoon going patiently from one friend’s house to the next, calling at the shops he thought Caro might have visited and then finally, holding back his fear with an iron hand, going home.
Caro had been sitting working quite feverishly at her knitting for quite some time before she heard the car coming up the drive, the front door bang shut and Radinck’s footsteps in the hall. It was a great pity that the speech she had prepared and rehearsed over and over again should now fly from her head, leaving it empty—not that it mattered. The door was flung open and her husband strode in, closing it quietly behind him and then leaning against it to stare across at her. Meeting his eyes, she realised that she had no need to say anything, a certainty confirmed by his: ‘Caro, you baggage—how long have you been here?’
‘Since—well, since Willem took my note.’
‘The house was searched—where did you hide?’
‘Behind the door.’ She made her voice matter-of-fact, although her hands were shaking so much that stitches were being dropped right left and centre. She wished she could look away from him, but she seemed powerless to do so. Any minute now he would explode with rage, for he must be in a fine temper. His face was white and drawn and his eyes were glittering.
Caroline was completely disarmed when he said gently: ‘I have been out of my mind with worry, my darling. I thought that you had left me and that I would never see you again. I wanted to kill myself for being such a fool. I had begun to think that you were beginning to love me a little and that if I had patience I could make you forget how badly I had treated you.’ He smiled bleakly. ‘I have just spent the worst two hours of my life…’
Caro’s soft heart was wrung, but she went on ruining her knitting in what she hoped was a cool manner. ‘I didn’t mean you to be upset,’ she explained gruffly. ‘You see, I had to know…well, I thought that if you m-minded about me at all, you would look for me, but if you didn’t then I’d know I had to go away.’ She dropped three stitches one after the other and added mournfully: ‘I haven’t put it very clearly.’ Not that it mattered now. He hadn’t said that he loved her and everybody called everyone else darling these days.
Radinck crossed the room very fast indeed. ‘Put that damned knitting down,’ he commanded, ‘you’re hiding behind it.’ She had it taken from her in a ruthless manner which completed the havoc she had already wrought, but it really didn’t matter, for Radinck had wrapped her in his arms. ‘To think that I had to wait half a lifetime to meet you and even then I fought against loving you, my darling Caro!’ He put a finger under her chin and turned her face up to his. ‘I think I fell in love with you when you told me to give you a needle and thread and you’d do it yourself…only I’d spent so many years alone and I didn’t believe there was a girl like you left in the world.’ He smiled a little. ‘I carry one of your handkerchiefs, like a lovesick boy.’
He kissed her gently and then very hard so that she had no breath. ‘My beautiful girl,’ he told her, ‘when I came in just now and saw you sitting there it was as though you’d been here all my life, waiting for me to come home.’
‘Well, dear Radinck, that’s just what I was doing.’ Caroline’s voice shook a little although she tried hard to sound normal. ‘Only I didn’t know if you would.’
He kissed her again. ‘But I did, dear heart, and I shall always come home to you.’
She had a delightful picture of herself, with her delightful children, waiting in the hall for Radinck to come home…and now she would be able to wear the pink organza dress. She smiled enchantingly at the idea and Radinck smoothed the mousy hair back from her face and asked: ‘Why do you smile, my love?’
She leaned up to kiss him. ‘Because I’m happy and because I love you so much.’
A remark which could have only one answer.
ISBN: 978-1-4592-0516-1
CAROLINE’S WATERLOO
Copyright © 1980 by Betty Neels.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com
