The Convenient Wife

by Betty Neels

  ‘But you’ll see her before you go off to America,’ protested Venetia.

  ‘Darling Venetia, of course I shall, but I forgot to ask her the name of that perfume she asked me to get from Harrods.’

  She skipped away, the very picture of content.

  Their journey to Hampstead went smoothly, but travelling with Duert, Venetia had already discovered, was always without worries of any sort. And it was delightful to be welcomed by the Todds, to have one’s bags taken away and unpacked and a tea-tray set in the drawing-room without having to raise either a finger or a voice. Truly, such a comfortable life was bliss, yet she would have exchanged every moment of it if she had Duert’s love in its place.

  She saw very little of him—at breakfast for half an hour and at dinner in the evening, but Anneta was always with them, so that even if she had known what to say she had no chance to say it. But talk they must sooner or later, she decided; the future without the need to mother Anneta was looming rapidly. In the meanwhile she did her best, presenting a serene front when Anneta was there, playing the part of a contented, happy wife.

  She had her small rewards, for Anneta, watching her bidding Duert goodbye at breakfast, said thoughtfully, ‘You know, it has been very revealing, watching you and Duert. There must be something worth having—when you are really happily married, I mean. Just being together whenever you can. Almost all my friends’ parents are divorced or live their own lives. I shall take care whom I marry.’ She giggled suddenly. ‘But I intend to have fun first.’

  Her opinion was endorsed by Duert that evening after she had gone to bed and just for once he stayed in the drawing-room for a while, watching Venetia at her tapestry. ‘Anneta is a changed girl,’ he told her. ‘You have worked a miracle, Venetia, just by being you. It has been a very worthwhile arrangement, don’t you agree?’

  She agreed. Now was perhaps the time to have a talk. She marshalled her thoughts carefully, and had them nicely sorted out when he got up abruptly. ‘I must ring Arthur. I’ll see you at breakfast.’

  She nodded, speechless with disappointment.

  She and Anneta spent several days shopping. There seemed no end to the clothes she would need in the States even though, Anneta being Anneta, she would buy another complete wardrobe when she got there. But after the first week she started her rounds of visits to her friends. Lunch parties, morning coffee, visits to some special boutique—almost every day was filled, although she was always back home before Duert returned from the hospital.

  Venetia felt uneasy, although she wasn’t sure why she should be, but when she mentioned Anneta’s endless engagements to Duert he remarked casually that she had any number of friends all over the place. ‘As long as she is enjoying herself,’ he added.

  That was obvious, for she returned from her visits bright-eyed and excited, ready to give Venetia rambling accounts of the various friends she had met. It was towards the end of the second week that Venetia, having occasion to go to Liberty for silks for her embroidery, wandered out of the shop to stand for a moment idly looking around her. It was a splendid day, and warm, and the street was crowded with tourists. She thought how lucky she was to be living in the peace and quiet of Hampstead. She remembered that Mrs Todd had asked her to get the special Parma ham the professor liked if she happened to be in town, and she hailed a taxi to take her to Harrods. She had to wait a few minutes, for the traffic was thick, but suddenly there was a brief emptiness and exactly opposite to her on the far pavement stood Anneta, her arm tucked into that of a tall, thin man, young and smartly dressed, who even as Venetia gaped bent to kiss Anneta, who flung her other arm around him, laughing. It was then that she saw Venetia, who turned away and got into the waiting taxi, sitting like a poker in the back, her mind in a whirl. She said ‘Harrods, please,’ and sat back, and then started to think. Anneta’s visits and tea parties were probably a blind, and perhaps it had been her in Delft—and who was the man? And what on earth was Duert going to say?

  CHAPTER NINE

  VENETIA wandered round the food hall at Harrods, looking at the numerous delicacies with an unseeing eye, grappling with the problem of Anneta, and presently going back into the Brompton Road again, the Parma ham quite forgotten, and making her way in a haphazard fashion by bus back to Hampstead. Once back home she went into the garden and sat down to think. How deeply was Anneta involved? she wondered. Or was she involved at all? Was it a chance encounter? She thought not, and now she came to think about it she had seen the man before, at a coffee party Anneta had given in Delft. She had joined them for a few minutes, and there had been perhaps a dozen girls and young men there. She hadn’t wanted Anneta to feel that she was prying on her friends, so she had said a general good morning and gone away again. But he had been there, she was quite sure of that. So why was he here in London? He must have followed Anneta, which meant that it wasn’t just a casual flirtation.

  She heard a car draw up presently, and Anneta’s voice as she went into the house, and she got up and went indoors and upstairs to the girl’s room. They would have to talk, and the sooner the better.

  She tapped on the door and went in, and Anneta turned to face her, on her face a mixture of defiance and fright.

  ‘If you tell Duert I shall die,’ she declared wildly. ‘I’ll kill myself.’

  ‘How can I tell Duert anything when I don’t know much myself?’ asked Venetia in a quiet voice. ‘But I do think that you should tell me, dear. Will you talk about it?’

  Anneta flung out her arms dramatically. ‘I’m in love—and it is not your kind of love, so staid and proper, but exciting and such fun…’

  ‘More fun, perhaps, because it was secret?’

  ‘Well, yes. You never knew, did you? Never guessed?’

  Venetia sat down on the bed. ‘I think I guessed… You were suddenly so enthusiastic about working at the hospital and I wondered why, but I hoped that you would tell me. And then I saw you in Delft, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes. Oh, but we’ve been meeting for ages—ever since I was in Paris.’

  ‘So that’s why you didn’t want to come here with us—because you thought you wouldn’t be able to see him?’

  Anneta laughed. ‘That’s right, Venetia. But, you see, I telephoned him and he followed us here.’

  ‘Have you been to any of these friends you were supposed to be meeting?’

  She was given a scornful look. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘And now tell me why I shouldn’t tell Duert? He is your guardian for another few weeks.’

  Anneta burst into tears. ‘I’ll kill myself if you do, I mean that. He is kind to me, he has looked after me for a long time, and I must have unsettled his life. He is strict, but only because he is too old to understand what being in love means. Why, even with you he is so—so unexcited, but perhaps you like that.’ She flung herself at Venetia. ‘Darling Venetia, please, please don’t tell him. You are so kind and good, and do you not see? I want him to remember me as a nice, well-brought-up girl.’ She peered at Venetia, the picture of a woebegone child. ‘I don’t know if he ever told you, but I wasn’t always good at school in Switzerland. I liked to go out with boys, and sometimes I would escape, but I was caught and Duert was so angry. I promised I would never behave badly again…’

  ‘And you’ve broken that promise.’

  There was a fresh flood of tears. ‘Venetia, darling Venetia, if I promise you faithfully that I’ll not see Jan again, will you promise not to tell Duert? I will be so good, truly I will.’ She peeped from under her lashes. ‘I’ll go everywhere with you, and when we go back to Delft you shall come everywhere with me. It’s only a few weeks now before I go away. Besides, we’ll be so busy getting ready for my party.’ She began to cry again. ‘If Duert finds out he won’t give me a birthday party. I can’t be eighteen without a party.’

  Venetia had a fleeting memory of being eighteen, celebrating it with Granny with a small iced cake and a bottle of sherry. There had been a letter on that day, too,
offering her a place at one of the minor universities. She had refused it because, even with a grant, it had been beyond Granny’s means. She had started her job as a doctor’s receptionist the very next day, and had been contented and grateful for her weekly pay-packet. She sighed silently. Anneta had had a different upbringing from her own, and she shouldn’t allow her own disappointments to colour her judgement. She said prosaically, ‘If you will give me your solemn word not to see this—Jan again, and to do all you can to please Duert, then I promise never to tell him.’

  Anneta flung her arms round her neck. ‘You dear, kind Venetia, I promise. I’ll be good, and I’ll do everything to make Duert pleased with me.’ She paused. ‘There’s just one thing—may I write to Jan and tell him that I’m not going to see him again, and that he’s not to write or phone?’ And when Venetia hesitated, ‘I’ll show you the letter.’

  ‘Very well. Better do it now. Then do your face—Duert has very sharp eyes—and come down for tea.’

  She went along to her own room and sat down before the looking-glass and inspected her face. She would have liked a good weep herself—more than that, she wanted above all things to fling herself into Duert’s arms and tell him all about it, instead of which she must present the calm, ordinary face he had come to expect when he returned home. She set to work and, since she was so pale, applied a trace of blusher to her cheeks. A distinct improvement, she considered.

  Anneta came downstairs presently, and over tea handed Venetia the letter she had written. It was a model of rectitude, and Venetia handed it back with a satisfied nod. Anneta slipped it into the envelope she had in her hand and stuck it down. ‘I’ll post it after tea,’ she said with just the right touch of sadness.

  Duert got home at about six o’clock, and to Venetia’s loving eyes he looked desperately tired. ‘You’ve had a busy day?’ she asked as he crossed the hall.

  ‘Not so much bad as hot and long. The last case took five hours.’

  ‘But it was successful…?’

  ‘Yes, so far.’ He smiled at her suddenly. ‘I forgot that you are interested; Anneta hates anything to do with surgery—or did—but since you have been here she has at least taken an interest in the children. A feather in your cap.’

  He started up the staircase. ‘I’ll be ten minutes. I could do with a drink when I come down.’

  She poured him a whisky and went and sat down by the open window. She felt nervous, although she told herself that she had nothing to be nervous about; Anneta had promised and Duert need never know. All the same, she hated deceiving him. She got up and nipped across the room to peer into the magnificent chimney-piece mirror. She looked much as usual; she must try not to blush…

  She became aware that he was standing behind her, watching her in the mirror, his gaze so intent and thoughtful, and she felt her cheeks go warm. Duert, studying her face, wondered why she looked so guilty and why she had needed to use blusher. He asked in a deceptively gentle voice, ‘What’s wrong, Venetia?’

  Her voice came out in an anxious squeak. ‘Wrong? There’s nothing wrong.’ She managed a rather shrill laugh. ‘I’ve poured your drink. It’s on the table by your chair.’

  ‘Thank you, Venetia.’

  He bent and kissed her, and she said in a wispy voice, ‘Oh, why did you do that? There is no need. Anneta isn’t here…’

  ‘One must keep one’s hand in,’ he said blandly, and went to sit down, but paused on the way. ‘Won’t you have a drink?’

  And when she nodded he poured her a glass of sherry and brought it to her. ‘After a hard day’s work I find it most relaxing,’ he said, and kissed her again just as Anneta came in.

  She danced up to them and gave Duert a hug. ‘It must be delightful to come home to a dear little wife like Venetia,’ she declared. ‘What a pity you aren’t home more often.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ he agreed gravely, ‘but I’ve given myself some time off tomorrow. I’ve got tickets for the Phantom of the Opera, and I thought we might dine out first.’ He spoke to Anneta, but he looked at Venetia.

  She said in her quiet way, ‘That will be delightful, Duert. Will you be home really early for tea?’

  ‘Yes, I think so. You’ll both be here?’

  ‘Yes, of course. We’re going to have a quiet day and spend an hour or two in the pool.’ She looked at Anneta. ‘Aren’t we, dear?’

  ‘Yes—we’ll have a picnic lunch there, shall we? Mrs Todd will make sandwiches. Duert, can’t you come home for lunch?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I’ve an outpatients’ clinic until one o’clock, but I’ll be able to get away during the afternoon.’

  The evening passed without incident, and if Duert was surprised at the almost feverish way Venetia kept a trivial conversation going, and her look of unhappiness when she thought herself to be unobserved, he said nothing.

  He took them to Le Gavroche the following evening, explaining that it was by way of being a farewell dinner party in London. ‘At least, for the time being,’ he added, ‘although I dare say we shall celebrate again before you leave.’

  Venetia hadn’t known where they were going, but she had seen Todd laying out the professor’s dinner-jacket in his room. She rooted through her wardrobe and decided upon a long-sleeved taffeta dress, the colour of her eyes, cut with a full skirt and a ruffled chiffon bodice. She knew she had chosen well when she saw the look of approval on Duert’s face, and she ate with appetite her smoked salmon followed by chicken Bresse with a white sauce with mustard and cream and white wine added, rounding off these delights with a glace praline. They reached the theatre with minutes to spare, and she sat enthralled for the rest of the evening. She forgot Anneta—she even forgot Duert from time to time—her gaze fixed steadily upon the stage, unaware that his attention was entirely taken up by the study of her face.

  During the next few days Anneta was a model of docile behaviour, evincing no desire to go off on her own, helping with the flowers around the house, going to the shops with Venetia, and spending long hours by the pool. Almost too good to be true, only there was no reason to be suspicious.

  Duert came and went. Venetia sensed that he was avoiding her, although he was thoughtful for her comfort and quite prepared to be regaled with their day’s happenings when he got home. He looked tired. More than tired, she decided worriedly; he had something on his mind, but somehow there was never the right moment to ask him.

  Another week went by, and they returned to Delft, where he was at once engulfed in a backlog of work, both at the hospitals and at his consulting rooms, so Venetia and Anneta were left to make the plans for the birthday party. Duert had told them to do what they liked, within reason, so invitations had been sent out to all Anneta’s friends as well as a number of older guests, and since almost all of them had accepted the plans could be put into effect. Truus had consented to having the caterers in, although she had insisted on making the birthday cake. A marquee was to be erected in the garden behind the drawing-room and, at Anneta’s insistence, two bands had been engaged—one for the more staid guests, the other a group of her choosing. She chose the food, too, since it was her party, and then bore Venetia off to den Haag to buy suitable dresses for such an important occasion.

  She set her heart on an outrageous dress in black satin, very short, very tight and guaranteed to send Duert into one of his coldly bland moods. Venetia pointed out that Anneta wouldn’t be able to dance in comfort, however wonderfully it fitted while she was standing still. Moreover, she hinted it was rather youthful for a girl of Anneta’s age. With guile and the help of a quick-thinking saleslady, she pointed out the advantages of an electric-blue dress with a ruched bodice and a very full, short skirt. ‘Dance around and you’ll see what I mean,’ she suggested. ‘You could get a pair of those Italian slippers…’

  Satisfied at last, Anneta said, ‘Now you, Venetia. Something gorgeous—scarlet or emerald-green…’

  But Venetia knew what she wanted. With quiet insistence she had her way,
and returned home with a misty-blue dress with enormous puff sleeves and a wide sweeping skirt, and a pair of matching shoes with diamond buckles.

  She was up early on the morning of the party. The caterers would be coming after breakfast, and she and Truus would have to decide on what meals they would have. Duert, breakfasting with her, thought it unlikely that he would get home before tea, which would make it easy for Truus, for she and Anneta would need only a light lunch. ‘But you’ll be home for tea?’ she asked.

  He looked up from the letter he was reading. ‘Oh, yes, as far as I know. You seem to have organised everything very well. You’re not too tired?’

  ‘Me? Not in the least.’ Her eyes searched his face. ‘Afterwards, Duert, can we have a talk?’

  ‘When Anneta has gone, yes, of course.’ He smiled suddenly at her, and her heart tripped up. ‘We so seldom have time to talk, you and I. And there is a great deal I want to say to you.’

  He got up and gathered up his letters, ready to leave. He paused by her chair and bent to kiss her, and for a moment she thought that he was going to say something more, but he went through the door without a word.

  The day went in a flash and Venetia, consulting with the caterers, arranging the great bowls and vases of flowers, making sure that no stone had been left unturned in her efforts to make the party a success, saw little of Anneta. Only when Domus came to say that lunch was waiting did she appear suddenly in the small room where they were to have their meal.

  ‘I’ve been washing my hair and doing my nails,’ she volunteered before Venetia could speak, ‘and reading all the cards I’ve had. I’m dying to open my presents…’

  ‘Well, it will be more fun when Duert’s here. He’s coming home for tea, so you’ll have heaps of time to see them all before we have to dress.’

  ‘I wonder what you’ve given me? Did you choose it together?’

  ‘No, but we agreed about it, and Duert got it.’ Which was only partly true, for he had shown her the pearl necklace he had bought, remarking that it was from both of them. ‘And I’ve ordered flowers, of course,’ he had added.