by Betty Neels
She began to walk down the aisle with Mr Inglis. The professor was standing with his back to her with Arthur Miles beside him. He looked extremely large and remote, and she wished that he would turn round. She looked away from him and met the smiling faces of several of her friends bunched behind Miss Hawkins, who looked formidable in a no-nonsense felt hat. Even Sister Giles was there, looking bewildered. As well she might, reflected Venetia; she must be the most unlikely bride in the hospital’s history.
She caught Caroline’s eye and smiled. When the professor did turn round at last, she smiled at him, too, suddenly aware that she would be able to cope with whatever the future held.
The ceremony was simple and brief, and afterwards they all drove to the Ritz Hotel and drank champagne and ate delicious bits and pieces, and presently cut the cake. Venetia, who hadn’t expected anything like it, was beaming with pleasure. Standing alone with Duert for a moment, she said, ‘Thank you for such a lovely wedding—I never guessed… I thought we would just go to church and get married.’
He didn’t tell her that that was what he had intended, and it was Lottie who had organised the whole thing, declaring that Venetia deserved a wedding day to remember. He had agreed unwillingly, and now he was glad that he had allowed Lottie to have her way.
The reception didn’t last long; Venetia’s case had been taken round to the car before the wedding, so that presently all that she had to do was to wish everyone there goodbye and get into the Bentley beside Duert.
The euphoria engendered by her wedding was still with her, and she chatted happily for several minutes before she realised that Duert wasn’t listening. She fell silent then, hoping that he would say something—anything—but he made no effort to speak, and when she peeped at him she could see that his profile was stern. Presently she asked, ‘Is anything the matter?’
He turned to look at her then, a quick, impersonal look which chilled her. ‘The matter? No, should there be? It all went off very well. Lottie arranged everything very splendidly, I thought.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We should be in Leiden by the late afternoon. I’ll call in at the hospital and take a look at the man I’ll be operating on in the morning—you won’t mind waiting in the car? I shouldn’t be long, we can drive home afterwards.’
Home, she knew, was somewhere between Leiden and den Haag. Her home now. She had a great deal to think about as they travelled, and plenty of time in which to do so; true, they stopped on their way to Dover for lunch in Wye. The Wife of Bath was a small cottage restaurant, and the food was excellent. The professor, when he chose, had delightful manners. He made sure that she had everything that she wanted, and carried on a casual conversation which never once touched on themselves. Venetia, bursting with questions about her future, and so far given only the barest facts, longed to ask endless questions, but somehow she found it impossible to interrupt his mild observations on this and that with her queries. All in good time, she supposed.
On the hovercraft he became at once immersed in a sheaf of papers from his briefcase, although he had made sure that she had something to read as well. But everything was too novel to waste time with a magazine. She found the crossing fascinating and, when they landed, the business of going through Customs just as exciting; having had her new passport conjured up within a few days by the professor gave her a thrill. But she didn’t say so—obviously the professor considered the journey as routine as taking a bus from here to there. He gave her back her passport and swept the Bentley out on to the road which would lead them northwards, through Belgium and on into Holland.
They left Calais behind them, bypassed Bruges and Antwerp, and crossed over into Holland from the Breda autoweg. The professor drove past Dordrecht and turned on to the motorway to Rotterdam, then circled away to take the road to Gouda, Alphen and finally Leiden. By then the afternoon was well advanced, and Venetia was longing for a cup of tea. Her heart sank as Duert turned into the courtyard of a large hospital and stopped before its entrance. It rose again when he said, ‘You must be longing for tea. Come inside and I’ll arrange for you to have it while I’m talking to the anaesthetist.’
The hospital, old on the outside, was mostly modern inside. Venetia was ushered into a small room, nicely warm and well lit, and shortly after the professor had left her a porter came in with a tea-tray. But only one cup, she noted. All the same, she took off her coat, poured her tea and started on the little biscuits accompanying the teapot. The tea worked wonders for her state of mind; by the end of the second cup she conceded that Duert had every right to put his patients first, and that his silence during their journey had almost certainly been due to his preoccupation about the patient he was even now examining. And he had told her that they would see very little of each other, although she hadn’t expected it to be quite as soon…
Tomorrow, in daylight, she would be able to see around her. From what she had glimpsed through the gloom of the afternoon, Holland was exactly as she had expected it to be: flat, covered in snow and chilly. There had been people skating on some of the canals as they had passed, and the old houses in Leiden looked charming in the streetlights. Delft would be even better, she told herself stoutly, and poured another cup of tea.
The professor returned presently, enquiring if she was ready to leave and, after being meticulously introduced to a small group of hospital staff, she went out with him to the car and was driven away, back into the snowy streets. It was quite dark by now, and once they had left the centre of the town there was nothing to see. After a minute or two she asked, ‘Is it far to Delft?’
‘About fourteen miles. Are you tired, Venetia?’
‘Not in the least.’ Hungry and rather scared, now the journey was almost over, but not tired. ‘Do you drive to and fro to Leiden each day when you’re in Holland?’
‘When I’m operating there, yes. I go to den Haag and Amsterdam, too, and quite frequently to Brussels, and occasionally to Hamburg.’
He was driving fast on the motorway, and the lights of den Haag were reflected in the night sky. ‘I did tell you that I was often away from home.’
‘Yes, you did. You—you don’t mind that?’ She turned her head to peer at him. ‘And your home at Hampstead? Do you mind leaving that?’
‘Oh, yes, but I know that I shall be going back there frequently. I think that I have no preference, though; my home is here as well as in England. I am happy in either.’
Presently he turned off the motorway and took the main road to Rotterdam; she could see the lights of Delft now, and felt a glow of excitement, but once more he turned the car from the town, into a narrow road with snow-covered fields on either side of it.
‘I live just outside the town,’ he explained. ‘The house can be reached easily from Delft, but this will be quicker as we have no need to go into the town.’
He drove on for a short distance, and presently she saw a high stone wall, and wrought-iron gates flung wide. The professor turned between the stone pillars on either side of the gateway and drove slowly along a short drive lined with trees and thick shrubs, bare now, and laden with frozen snow. There were lights ahead of them, and Venetia strained her eyes to see the house. They were almost there before she could make out its bulk. It was much larger than she had ever imagined, its many windows pouring light on to the sweep before the front door. It was opened before the professor had got out of the car, helped her out, too, and taken her arm to walk her up the shallow steps to where an old man was waiting for them.
‘Domus…’ The professor shook the old man’s hand, said something in Dutch and drew Venetia forward. ‘This is Domus, my trusted butler. He served my father before me and is a family friend.’
Venetia shook hands and smiled at the elderly face with the twinkling blue eyes. He looked friendly, and she felt indeed that it augured well for her future. A moment later, as they went through the vestibule into the hall, an elderly woman, tall and thin and sharp-featured, came from the back of the hall. The professor shook her hand
, too, and turned to Venetia.
‘And this is Truus, Domus’s wife. She used to be my mother’s maid, but now she is our housekeeper.’
Venetia shook hands again, and wished she had an idea of what was being said. How in heaven’s name did Duert expect her to run his house when she couldn’t speak a word of his language?
Unerringly he had understood her hesitant murmur. ‘Don’t worry, my secretary speaks English and she will help you, and, of course, Anneta speaks English, too. You shall have lessons in Dutch as soon as you like. Domus tells me that Anneta is in the drawing-room at the back of the house. Shall we go there first, and then Truus will take you to your room?’
He sounded friendly enough, but she heard the faint impatience in his voice. He was a man who was used to having his own way, even though he disguised the fact with good manners. She said cheerfully, ‘I’d like to meet Anneta first,’ and was rewarded by his faint smile.
The lovely hall was large and square and panelled in some pale wood. It was thickly carpeted in a very dark red and lit by wall sconces—delicate affairs with crystal drops and loops. Difficult and time-consuming to clean, she reflected, crossing the hall beside the professor while Domus went ahead to open the big double doors at the back of the hall. There was a staircase beside them, of the same light wood and carpeted in red, which curved up to a gallery above the hall, but she had no chance to examine it closely for the doors had been opened and, with the professor’s hand propelling her forwards, she went into the drawing-room.
It was a large room, and the first thing that struck her was its comfort. It was grand, too, but there were comfortable chairs, magnificent curtains at the tall windows, and plenty of reading-lamps on the small tables scattered around. There was a great fire, too, leaping up the wide chimney with its enormous stone hood.
The girl and the dog sitting by the fire both turned as they went in, and Venetia felt the professor’s hand on her arm as he spoke.
‘Anneta…’
Venetia looked up into his face, and he looked down at her with a smile of such kindness that her misgivings gave way to common sense; she was his wife and quite able, with his help, to cope with the future. She watched the girl, who had bounced to her feet and was coming across the parquet floor towards them, the dog yelping with delight ahead of her.
Anneta was pretty with fair hair cut short, enormous blue eyes and a lovely mouth. She looked older than her seventeen years, due to the clothes she was wearing: a swirling skirt, ankle length, in some soft material; a scarlet silk shirt; and an outsize cardigan, its vivid blue matching her soft leather boots.
‘Darling Duert!’ she flung herself at him, talking all the while in Dutch while the dog pushed himself between them.
The professor gave a crack of laughter and spoke in English. ‘What a welcome.’ He disentangled himself and tucked a hand under Venetia’s arm. ‘Nice to see you again, Anneta. I’ve a pleasant surprise for you. This is Venetia, my wife.’
‘Hello, Anneta,’ said Venetia and put out a hand.
Anneta took it slowly, staring at her. ‘Your wife? Duert, you never told me you were going to get married.’ She smiled suddenly, seizing the hand she was offered, and kissed Venetia’s cheek. ‘How absolutely super!’ She darted a look at the professor. ‘Now you’ll never have to worry about me again, will you?’ she asked airily.
‘That remains to be seen,’ said the professor drily.
Anneta chuckled. ‘Venetia—may I call you Venetia? Duert has had to put up with me for years, but not for much longer now. I think we shall be friends, don’t you? I’ve only had governesses and companions—even when I was at a boarding-school they were waiting for me in the holidays.’ She wrinkled her charming nose. ‘They always wore brown or black and had absolutely no idea about clothes.’ She gave Venetia an appraising look. ‘You look smashing. Do say you like clothes, too…’
‘Oh, I do,’ said Venetia, glad to get a word in edgeways at last, and conscious that Duert was amused. ‘I dare say we shall go shopping together.’
‘Having settled that important problem, will you take Venetia upstairs? Truus will have got her room ready—I phoned her about it.’
He gave Venetia a little pat on her shoulder. ‘You must be famished—I know I am. Will fifteen minutes or so be long enough for you to take off your hat?’
He went with them to the door, opened it, and stood watching them crossing the hall and going up the staircase, before going to his study to glance through the pile of letters waiting for him, the dog with him.
The staircase opened on to a square gallery with several doors and wide corridors leading away on either side. Anneta opened a door at the front of the gallery and ushered Venetia into the room beyond. ‘The master bedroom—isn’t that what they call it in England?’ She crossed to a door and opened that, too. ‘Bathroom. There’s a door on the other side—Duert’s room. He’s always used a room at the back of the house, but, of course, now he’s moved in here. I never guessed, and I saw Truus moving his things over this afternoon.’ She turned a mischievous face to Venetia. ‘I can’t wait to see the faces of certain ladies I know who have been hoping for I don’t know how long to become Mevrouw ter Laan-Luitinga.’
She skipped to the door. ‘I’d better go and find Duert and give a faithful account of where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing for the last ten days or so. He takes his guardianship seriously, you know.’
Venetia, left alone, took off her outdoor things and then explored the room. It was large with long, narrow windows hung with thick silk curtains, their peach pink echoed in the bedspread and the bedside lights. There were lights on either side of the applewood table with its triple mirror, and someone had set a bowl of blue hyacinths upon it. The carpet was a very pale blue-grey, and soft to her feet, and there was a vast cupboard along one wall. Perfection indeed, and the perfection was echoed in the bathroom, cream-tiled and with its shelves piled high with pastel-tinted towels, little bowls of soaps, bath essences, and just about everything a girl could wish for. She did her face, brushed her hair into tidiness, and went back downstairs rather slowly, shy of going into the drawing-room. The professor must have heard her, for he came out of his study as she reached the bottom stair and crossed the hall to meet her. ‘A drink before we have dinner? You like your room?’
‘It’s delightful, and I’d love a drink.’ She paused as they reached the drawing-room door. ‘It’s all much larger—much larger than I had expected…’
‘I think that you will find that it shrinks in size as you get used to it. Remember that it was built a couple of hundred years ago, when it was usual to have large families. Besides, the Dutch at that period liked to build solid houses with their East Indies fortunes. Tomorrow Anneta will take you over the place.’ He opened the door and the dog, a black Labrador, lumbered happily to meet them. ‘This is Digby, by the way. He belongs to me, but since I’m so often away from home he shares himself among all of us.’
Venetia bent to stroke the dog. ‘He must be glad to have you home for a little while.’
‘Just as I am glad to be here.’
He fetched their drinks and sat down beside her on one of the vast couches on either side of the fire. ‘Anneta will be down in a moment. I shall be away until tomorrow evening, Venetia. I’m sure she will tell you anything you want to know and show you round. The country is pretty around the house, and the garden is a good size. When the weather is settled you can explore. I’ll open a bank account for you tomorrow, and you can go shopping in den Haag. You will need clothes, and Anneta will love to help you buy them.’
She said, ‘Yes, Duert,’ so meekly that he turned his head to look at her.
‘You are probably thinking that it is no one’s business but your own as to what you should buy. I’m sure your taste is excellent—that is a charming outfit you have on—but, seeing that we shall go out a good deal and entertain here, too, I should like you to have all the clothes you require.’ He added in a vo
ice that she had heard often at St Jude’s, polite, chilly and quite certain that whatever he wanted would be done, ‘And let us be quite clear upon the matter, Venetia—I am quite able to foot the bills, however extravagant they may be, so you have no need to examine the price tags too closely.’
‘Oh—well, I’ll try and remember not to. Have you a great deal of money?’ She went a bright pink and bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘Why not? You are my wife, you have a right to know. And yes, I do have a good deal of money; a large part of it is inherited, the rest I earn. But be assured that there is ample. If you should need more money than there is in your account you have only to tell me.’ He smiled a little. ‘I can trust you to be as extravagant as you wish, but I hope you will curb Anneta’s wilder spending. She has always had everything she needed or, for that matter, wanted, and it’s time she learnt the value of things. She will marry one day and need to be less reckless. Besides, her aunt in America will expect her to have at least a modicum of good sense.’
He got up as he spoke and Anneta came into the room. ‘Ah, the two lovebirds!’ she exclaimed. ‘I stayed away as long as I could, but I do want a drink…’ She grinned at Duert and went and sat beside Venetia. ‘What is it you say in English? I will be a gooseberry.’
‘Gooseberries,’ said Venetia in her down-to-earth way, ‘are hairy and green! I don’t think that you are either.’
A remark which delighted Anneta. ‘You have no idea how nice it will be to have a friend. Duert, how clever of you to marry Venetia.’
