by Betty Neels
She stroked the enormous noses breathing gently over them. ‘And the pony and donkey?’
‘They happened to be there. The pony’s very old, and he and the donkey are fast friends.’ He nodded towards the end of the field beyond the gate. ‘The stables are over there. I’ve a mare I ride when I’m here—she’s already in for the night. The boy will be along soon to bed these four down.’
He handed out lumps of sugar and Cressida said, ‘Oh, may I...?’
He gave her the rest of the sugar and she took off her glove and offered it in turn. ‘Oh, how can you bear not to live here?’ she wanted to know.
‘Well, I have my work.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Holland is a small country and I have my car. I spend as much time here as I can manage.’ He broke off as a strong-looking lad came plodding towards them. ‘There’s Wigbald.’ He called out to the boy who as he joined them said something in Fries and the doctor replied in the same tongue before saying, ‘Cressida, this is Wigbald who runs the stables for me and does the ploughing and a good deal of the heavy work. He will be a good farmer when he is grown.’
He spoke to Wigbald again, the boy came forward and she held out a hand and had it wrung remorselessly. ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Cressida and smiled widely at him, hoping he would at least see that she was pleased to meet him. It seemed he was for he made quite a long speech, not a word of which could she understand. He then thumped the beasts gently on their enormous rumps and turned to the stables, followed by the pony and the donkey.
Cressida watched their stately plodding until they had reached the stables. ‘That’s a very funny name,’ she said. ‘Wigbald—how do you spell it?’
The doctor obliged. ‘Fries names are a little out of the ordinary and we like to keep them in the family, as it were.’ He took her arm. ‘You’ll get cold standing there—my fault. We can walk round the shrubbery and cross the lawn and go in through the kitchen.’
It was almost dark now but the sky was clear and full of stars and coming out of the shrubbery on to the grass she saw the house again, the back this time, with lighted windows casting brightness on to the velvety lawn. Without stopping to think she said, ‘But Nicola must be mad to dislike this—it’s the most wonderful house I’ve ever seen.’ She stopped abruptly. ‘I’m sorry, I had no business to say that. I—I expect den Haag is a very nice place; some people prefer the town, don’t they? I mean, it’s really a long way from anywhere here, isn’t it?’ She went on a little desperately, for he had remained silent, ‘Although I suppose Leeuwarden isn’t too far away.’
‘Don’t babble, Cressy, there is no need.’ He sounded kind and a little amused. They had reached a stout door at the bottom of a pair of steps and he led her down and opened it on to a flagged passage with plastered walls at the end of which there was another door. The kitchen was beyond, a large square room, its flagstones covered in matting, a row of windows at semi-basement level. A vast dresser loaded with china took up almost all of one wall and facing the door was a large Aga before which sat a tabby cat who ignored the dogs. Tyske was at the table, stuffing a chicken; she looked up as they went in and said something to the doctor which made him laugh. ‘Tyske says that we must be cold and she will bring tea at once.’
What was there to laugh about in that? reflected Cressida as she was led out of the kitchen, up a few steps and through a small door which took them into the hall. The door was beside a wide staircase which ascended to a half-landing before turning at right angles to a gallery above. The house door was ahead of them and a wide sweep of black and white tiles, partly covered by thin silk rugs. Along one wall was a walnut side-table with a panelled frieze elaborately carved, upon which was a bowl of chrysanthemums, and on either side of it Dutch burgomaster chairs each with an intricately carved crest. On the opposite wall there was a marble fireplace in which a log fire burned briskly, flanked by winged armchairs, their walnut cabriole legs gleaming in the firelight, upholstered in dark red brocade. The walls were white and almost covered by portraits and landscapes in heavy gilt frames. A brass chandelier hung from the high plastered ceiling and there were ormolu wall lights spaced around the walls. A long case clock stood in one corner, chiming the hour.
She stood still, taking it all in unhurriedly. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said presently, and the doctor nodded.
‘Most of the furniture is original and was brought here when the house was built.’
‘It’s old, the house...’
‘Parts of it are sixteenth-century; it got added to from time to time but except for the plumbing and heating and electricity it hasn’t been altered for almost two hundred years.’
They crossed to arched double doors and he ushered her through them into the drawing-room. There was a bright fire here too, under a massive stone hood with a coat of arms carved upon it. It was a very large room and yet it contrived to be lived-in and comfortable. The furniture was a nice mixture of satinwood and rosewood although the two walnut and marquetry display cabinets on either side of the fireplace were of an earlier date and filled with massive silver and a Meissen tea set, a collection of small bowls and dishes and a massive centrepiece.
There were sofas on either side of the fire and a number of easy-chairs and the room was lighted by the lamps standing on the various small tables. The enormous cut-glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, although unlighted, reflected the lamp-light and the flames from the fire, giving the room a warm glow.
The doctor gave her time to look around before inviting her to sit by the fire. ‘We’ll have our tea here,’ he said, sitting down opposite her, ‘then we must go back; it wouldn’t do to keep Charity waiting.’
Cressida said, ‘You have a beautiful home and so peaceful and far away—well, I know you can’t be far away from anywhere in Holland but it seems like that.’
‘You like the country?’
‘Oh, yes, although I liked Leiden. I’m going to explore this part of Holland...’
‘Friesland.’ He was laughing.
‘Yes, well, Friesland.’ She smiled at him a little shyly as the door opened and Wester came in with the tea-tray. The dogs, who had stayed in the kitchen to have their meal, came in with him, followed by the cat. The three of them sat down before the fire, the cat in the middle.
‘What is his name?’ asked Cressida.
‘Smith! He adopted us a year or so ago; the dogs are devoted to him.’
Wester had set out the tea things, a plate of sandwiches, another of little cakes and speculaas on a table between them and gone again.
‘Be mother,’ said the doctor. ‘I have two lumps of sugar.’
He was friendly in a casual fashion and she felt at ease with him. She had been rather taken aback with the grandeur of his home but he was so very much at ease himself that she forgot to be shy. Besides, the conversation he carried on was calculated to set her mind at rest: gardens and gardening, music and books, Friesland’s past history... They ate their tea in complete harmony. Cressida had quite forgotten Nicola, and, as for the doctor, although he hadn’t forgotten her, he had certainly dismissed her from his mind as a problem to be dealt with at some not too distant date.
Cressida was disappointed that she hadn’t seen more of the house, but Aldrik hadn’t suggested it and she hadn’t liked to ask; besides it was time for them to return. She asked if she might go to the kitchen and say goodbye to Tyske, ‘For she gave us such a lovely tea,’ she pointed out, and then shook hands with Wester, who bowed over her hand—just as though I were someone important, she thought, not noticing the doctor’s smile. Nicola, when she had been to Janslum, had ignored Wester and eaten the delicious lunch Tyske had prepared for them without comment.
They didn’t talk much as they drove back to the van der Bronses’ house, Cressida sat quietly, feeling the warmth of the breath of the dogs on the back of her neck whenever they leaned forward.
She was happy; she was having a lovely day off and she was going back to a job that she was enjoying. She’d had no idea that half a dozen children could be such fun even if they were hard work and took up every moment of her day.
At the house, as the doctor helped her out she did her best to thank him. ‘I can’t remember when I’ve had such a splendid time,’ she told him. ‘Thank you very much. There must have been so many other things you would have liked to have done—I’m sure you don’t get much free time.’
She was thinking of Nicola now and wondered if she had minded the doctor spending a whole day away from her.
‘It is I who thank you,’ he told her. ‘I’m always happy to come to my home here and it is an added pleasure to show it to someone. I’m glad you liked to see it.’
‘Oh, I did like it, the horses and that lovely kitchen and the dogs.’ She stopped, aware that she was probably boring him. ‘Anyway,’ she went on briskly, ‘thank you.’
They were standing on the sweep before the door and although it was really very cold she felt nothing but a warm glow. She lifted a happy face to his and he bent and kissed her.
* * *
CHARITY, WHO HAD gone to the window and seen the car’s headlights sweep up to the door said, ‘Tyco, he’s kissing her...’
Her husband lowered his newspaper. ‘A quite normal thing to do, my love.’
‘Yes—no, it isn’t. He’s supposed to be going to marry that Nicola...’
‘I hardly think that Aldrik is likely to be firmly influenced by what he is supposed to be doing. I have known him for years—he does what he wants to do.’
Charity came away from the window. ‘Oh, do you suppose...?’
Tyco abandoned his reading. ‘My darling, let us suppose nothing but wait and see.’
‘Men,’ said Charity. ‘You’re so different from us.’
‘What a good thing that is, my love.’ He pulled her towards him and kissed her soundly.
Dinner was a pleasant meal. Teile and Letizia had been allowed to stay up and the talk was a mixture of childish chatter and light-hearted talk. No one mentioned Nicola, nor did they comment on Cressida’s unfortunate stay at Noordwijk-aan-Zee, and when they had had their coffee and she reminded Charity that she would have to go back to the ter Beemstras’ the doctor got up as well.
‘I’ll drop you off,’ he observed, ‘it’s on my way.’ Which it wasn’t, but Cressida, still a little muddled as to the geography of her surroundings, didn’t know that. She made her farewells, promising to go shopping with Charity on the following week, and got into the Bentley again. Aldrik hadn’t spoken and the drive to the ter Beemstras’ was short. She wished very much that he would kiss her again but he didn’t, only went into the house with her, exchanged a few courteous remarks with the ter Beemstras, shook her hand and went away again, without expressing a wish to see her again.
‘Oh, well,’ reflected Cressida, getting ready for bed, ‘why should he? I dare say it was his good deed for the day.’
However there had been no need to kiss her, and certainly not with such—she sought for a word—satisfaction. She had enjoyed it, although she reminded herself prudently that she had been kissed so seldom that it had stirred her rather more than it might have stirred any other girl—Nicola, for instance. Horrible girl, thought Cressida, as she closed her eyes, and I wonder what he’s doing? Ringing her up, most likely, telling her what a boring afternoon he had. She drifted off to sleep.
The doctor was in his study with Mabel and Caesar, making notes for the lecture he was to give in Leiden in a few days’ time. Telephoning Nicola hadn’t entered his head and when he was interrupted by a phone call from her he frowned impatiently.
‘Darling,’ trilled Nicola, ‘are you very lonely up there? Are you coming back tomorrow? There’s the van Douws’ dinner party—you haven’t forgotten? I’m just off to have dinner with one or two friends, I’m so lonely without you.’ And when he didn’t answer, ‘Aldrik?’
‘Enjoy yourself,’ he told her. ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow evening about seven o’clock. I’m not lonely, I’m getting a good deal of work done.’
‘Oh, work,’ said Nicola. ‘What have you done all day?’
He told her briefly.
‘I’m so glad the poor girl has settled down at last,’ said Nicola softly. ‘I feel very badly about her unhappy stay at Tante Clotilde’s. It was all my fault. I thought she was a working-class girl, used to household chores. I’m so relieved that she has a more suitable job now. I dare say she’ll meet someone of her own sort—a farmer or a bank clerk—someone like that.’
The doctor thought of several replies but he uttered none of them. He said again, ‘Enjoy your evening, Nicola. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
He wrote without interruption for a time then he went into the drawing-room. The room looked beautiful in the light of the lamps and the fire welcomed him. He looked at the chair where Cressida had been sitting and wished that she was still there.
He went to sit by the fire, one arm round Mabel’s vast shoulders, Caesar sprawled over his feet, and when Wester came in presently he told him to lock up and go to bed. The old house was quiet, he could hear the wind whistling in from the Waddenzee but it was a sound he loved. Cressida would like it too, he reflected; he would bring her here again and drive her to the flat coast to watch the wild sea breaking against the dykes. He thought that it would be some time before she trusted him completely and it would be necessary to disabuse her of the idea that he and Nicola were to marry. He had never mentioned marriage to Nicola although he had to admit that he had considered her for a wife. She was pretty, amusing, knew how to dress and would run his homes efficiently, although he was aware that no one who worked for him liked her, but he had known for some days now—weeks, he amended—that he wanted Cressida for his wife. What had begun as an act of kindness on his part had become the most important thing in life. He would need patience and time, but he was a patient man. That she liked him he was sure, but she was wary of him too, and not surprisingly after her miserable time with Jonkvrouw van Germert.
He would have to talk to Nicola. He had known that she wanted to marry him but he was certain that she had no love for him. She enjoyed his company—besides, he was a wealthy man and able to give her everything she wanted—but he was aware too that she could be just as fond of any man who could give her a secure future. She would have been a very suitable wife, of course, but he marvelled that he had ever considered her as his. With hindsight he saw now that she had been clever enough to adapt to his life and ideals so that he, wrapped up in his profession and heart-whole, had allowed the idea of marrying her to enter his head. ‘Something which must be remedied,’ he observed to the dogs, who cocked friendly ears but made no move.
* * *
WITH CHRISTMAS BARELY two weeks away the ter Beemstra household was a hive of activity. The house would be full, Mevrouw ter Beemstra told Cressida: aunts and uncles, grandparents, brothers and sisters would be coming. ‘There will be four more children.’ She sounded apologetic. ‘Ten all told! You will manage? Baby’s nurse will help out, of course, and we will all assist you.’
Cressida assured her that she would manage in a voice which disguised her uncertainty of this. True, it would be for a few days only, and the children would probably amuse themselves for a good deal of the time. She shut her mind to the problem of getting ten children out of bed and washed and dressed and returning the same number to their beds each evening, but bridges should never be crossed until one reached them.
The following week was largely taken up with the making of paper chains, addressing of Christmas cards and the secret tying up of presents, and her days were filled. She was to go to Charity’s again for her day off and drive to Leeuwarden to shop, and if, at the back of her mind, she had hoped to see Aldrik van der Linus or even have news of him, she was to
be disappointed.
Tyco came to fetch her after breakfast before going to Leiden for the day, and at his house she got into the Mini, settled Charity beside her and took them to Leeuwarden at a careful pace, still not very happy about driving on the other side of the road. Directed by Charity, she parked the car at a hotel in the centre of the city while Charity reserved a table for lunch before the pair of them made for the shops.
It had been a splendid day, reflected Cressida in her bed that night; Charity was a dear and they had talked about everything under the sun—excepting Aldrik—and they had done their shopping to their entire satisfaction although Cressida’s purse was woefully empty. Back at the house Tyco had been waiting for them, ready to entertain them with an account of his day at Leiden and then admire the presents Charity had bought. Teile and Letizia had come back then and everything had been bundled away out of sight before tea. Tyco had driven her back to the ter Beemstras’ after dinner that evening and gone indoors with her to spend a few minutes with them, and when he left he told her in his kind voice that they looked forward to seeing her again as soon as Christmas was over. No one had mentioned Aldrik; she supposed that he was already in England.
There were flurries of snow from a leaden sky the next day and by the day before Christmas Eve the countryside looked like a Christmas card. The school holidays had started and Cressida spent a good deal of the time making snowmen in the grounds with the children, going for brisk walks whenever the snow stopped and overseeing the changing of shoes, the drying of parkas and the drinking of hot cocoa the moment they got indoors. It was an energetic life with no time to spare but she enjoyed it and the exercise and the children’s cheerful company had put colour into her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She had taught them a carol too—‘Good King Wenceslas’—badgering them to get the words right while she thumped the piano in the playroom. Even little Lucia joined in and Cressida hoped that it would be proof of her efforts to teach the children English.
