Winter of Change

by Betty Neels

  ‘Have you recovered?’ he wanted to know coolly. ‘Though perhaps I’m foolish to ask such a question, for you’re not likely to tell me, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she replied in an outraged voice, her eyes no higher than his waistcoat. She spoilt this by adding: ‘It’s not your business, anyway.’

  He grinned. ‘Who said it was? Willem Trouw was asking about you yesterday. He doesn’t know about your broken romance and he’s having difficulties with his own love life. I believe you might console each other.’

  Mary Jane was furious, so furious that for a moment the words she wanted to say couldn’t be said. At last: ‘You’re abominable—how dare you say such things? You’re cruel and heartless!’ She tried to shut the door in his face, but he took it from her and held it open.

  ‘Probably I am,’ he agreed, ‘but only when I consider it necessary.’ He bent suddenly and before she could turn her head, kissed her mouth. Then he shut the door gently in her surprised face.

  Willem came over that very afternoon, and remembering Fabian’s words, she was hard put to it to be civil to him; supposing Fabian had said the same sort of thing to Willem? Perhaps men didn’t confide in each other, but to be on the safe side she refused Willem’s invitation to go out with him that evening, doing it so nicely that he could always ask again if he wanted to.

  She had been there more than a week when Fabian, on one of his daily visits, mentioned casually that the continuous frost had made it possible to skate on the lake. ‘Do you skate?’ he wanted to know.

  They were in the little sitting room, Cousin Emma in an easy chair, leafing through a pile of fashion magazines, Mary Jane determinedly knitting. She bent her head over it now, rather crossly picking up the stitches she had dropped, and became even crosser when Fabian remarked:

  ‘I think you are not a good knitter, for you are always unpicking or dropping stitches or tangling your wool.’

  He was right, of course; she had been working away at the same few inches for days, for the pattern always came wrong. Probably she would tear it off the needles and jump on it one day. Now she left the dropped stitches and knitted the rest of the row, briskly and quite wrongly, just to let him see how mistaken he was. It was a pity that he laughed.

  ‘There are skates in the attic,’ Cousin Emma informed anyone who cared to listen. ‘I shall not skate, naturally, but you, Mary Jane, must do so if you wish. It is a splendid exercise and Willem could come over and teach you if you aren’t good at it.’ She added complacently, ‘I’m very good, myself.’ She glanced at her cousin. ‘What do you think, Fabian?’

  Mary Jane wasn’t sure how it happened. All she knew was that within minutes she had agreed—or had she?—to spend the following afternoon skating with Willem. It would be so convenient, said Emma, because Doctor Trouw was coming over to discuss wedding plans with her, and Willem could come with him. They would stay to tea, of course, and Mary Jane might like to make that delicious cake they had had a few days ago—Cook wouldn’t mind.

  Mary Jane replied suitably, doggedly knitting. But in the hall she said to Fabian: ‘I don’t particularly wish to skate with Willem, and I should be much obliged if you would mind your own business when it comes to my free time…’

  He put on his car coat and caught up his gloves. ‘My dear girl, have I annoyed you?’ His voice was bland, he was smiling a little. ‘Perhaps you have other plans—other young men you prefer to skate with?’

  He was still smiling, but his eyes were curiously intent.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, you know I haven’t.’ She went on gruffly: ‘When can I go home? Emma is almost well.’

  He was pulling on his gloves and didn’t look at her. ‘No one would wish to keep you here against your will, Mary Jane, but I think that Emma would be broken-hearted if you should wish to go home before her wedding.’

  ‘Will they marry soon?’

  ‘I imagine so. Are you homesick?’

  She raised puzzled eyes to his. ‘No—at least, I don’t think so. I—I don’t know. I feel unsettled.’

  He put a compelling finger under her chin. ‘Unhappy?’ His voice was gentle. And when she shook her head, ‘The truth is that you are still in a mist of dreams, are you not? But they will go, and you will find that reality is a great deal better.’

  He went away and she stood in the lobby watching the Rolls being expertly driven down the frozen drive and away down the road. Sometimes he was so nice, she thought wistfully, wondering what exactly he had meant.

  She went skating with Willem when he came because there was nothing she could do about it—he arrived with his father, his plans laid for an afternoon on the ice with her. He had even borrowed some skates, and despite everything, she enjoyed herself. The lake was crowded, the bright colours of the children’s anoraks lent the scene colour under the grey sky, their shrill, excited voices sounding clearly on the thin winter air. Willem was a good skater, if unspectacular. They went up and down sedately while he told her about the girl he wanted to marry and who didn’t seem to want to marry him. ‘I can’t think why,’ he told her unhappily. ‘We’re such good friends.’

  ‘Sweep her off her feet,’ advised Mary Jane. ‘I don’t know much about it, but I think girls like that. You could try—you know what I mean, be a bit bossy.’

  ‘But I couldn’t—she’s so sure of what she wants, at least she seems to be.’

  Mary Jane executed a rather clumsy turn. ‘There, you see? Probably she doesn’t know her own mind. Where is she now?’

  They were going down the length of the lake again. ‘As a matter of fact she’s in Groningen.’

  ‘Today? This afternoon?’ Mary Jane came to such an abrupt halt that she almost lost her balance. ‘What could be better? Go and fetch her here, make her put on skates and rush up and down with her until she’s worn out—show her who’s master.’ She gave him a push. ‘Go on, Willem—she’ll be thrilled!’

  ‘You think so?’ He sounded undecided and she reiterated: ‘Oh, go on, do!’

  ‘But what about you?’

  ‘I’m all right here. If I’m not back by dark you can come and fetch me.’

  ‘Really? You don’t think I’m being—being not friendly towards you, Mary Jane?’

  ‘No, Willem. It’s because we’re friends that we can make this plan.’ She started off, waving gaily. ‘Have fun!’

  She didn’t look round, but when she turned and came back, he had gone.

  The afternoon darkened early and became colder, but she, skating with more enthusiasm than skill, glowed with warmth; she had on her sheepskin jacket and a scarf tied tightly over her bun of hair, and she had stuffed her slacks into a pair of Cousin Emma’s boots—they were too big, but they did well enough, as did the thick knitted mitts Jaap had found for her. Her ordinary little face was pink with pleasure and exercise, her eyes sparkled; that she was alone didn’t matter at all, because there were so many people around her, enjoying themselves too. She skated to the end of the lake and then, the wind behind her, came belting back. There were fewer people now; the children were leaving, and there was more room. She was almost at the end when she saw Fabian some way ahead, right in her path. Even in the gathering dusk there was no mistaking his tall, solid figure. She began to slow down, for, most annoyingly, he hadn’t moved. She was still going quite fast when she reached him, but he stayed where he was, putting out a large arm to bring her to a standstill.

  ‘Whoops!’ said Mary Jane, breathless. ‘I thought I was going to knock you over—you should have moved.’

  He was still holding her. ‘No need. I weigh fifteen stone or thereabouts, and I doubt if you’re much more than eight.’ He laughed down at her. ‘You show a fine turn of speed, though I don’t think much of your style.’

  ‘Oh, style—I enjoy myself.’

  He had turned her round and they were skating, hands linked, back down the lake. Presently he asked, ‘Where is Willem?’

  ‘He’s gone to Groningen to meet his
girl-friend.’

  ‘I thought he was spending the afternoon with you?’

  ‘Oh, we started off together, then he started telling me about her and really, he was so fainthearted, I thought I’d better encourage him to go after her.’

  ‘So you gave him some advice?’

  ‘That’s right. Have you the afternoon off?’

  ‘More or less, but I must go home shortly. Will you come and have tea with me? Willem is presumably occupied with his girl, and Cousin Emma and Trouw will be engrossed with each other. That leaves us.’

  She considered. ‘Well, tea would be nice—but won’t they wonder where I am?’

  ‘I’ll let them know. Shall we race to the end—you can have twenty yards’ start.’

  She did her best, but he overtook her halfway there, and then dropped back to skate beside her until they reached the bank, where they took off their skates and walked through the bare trees to where he had parked the car.

  His house was warm and inviting, just as she had remembered it. They had tea in a small, cosily furnished room with a bright fire burning and lamps casting a soft glow over the well-polished tables which held them. And the tea was delicious—anchovy toast, sandwiches and miniature cream puffs. Mary Jane, with a healthy appetite from her skating, ate with the pleasure of a hungry child. She was halfway through the sandwiches when she exclaimed, ‘We haven’t telephoned Midwoude—do you think we should?’

  Fabian got up at once. ‘I suppose I can’t persuade you to stay to dinner?’

  She refused at once very nicely and was at once sorry that she had done so, because she would very much have liked to spend the evening with him. She told herself urgently that it was foolish to be charmed by him just because he was being such good company—besides, there was Mervyn. She pulled herself up with the reflection that there wasn’t Mervyn; she owed nothing to him, neither loyalty to his memory or anything else; not, said her heart, even love, for it hadn’t been love, only a plain girl’s reaction to being admired…

  ‘You’re looking very thoughtful,’ remarked Fabian and sat down again. ‘You said you wanted to go home—will you agree to stay until Emma is married as I asked you? I think the wedding will be very soon, probably we shall hear something when we go back presently.’

  She spoke at random to fill the silence between them: ‘This is a lovely house.’

  ‘You like it? It needs a family—children—in it. You like children, Mary Jane?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was unconsciously wistful as they lapsed into silence once more. She had abandoned her confused thinking, and it seemed a good thing; she needed peace and quiet to sort herself out, and Fabian’s presence had the effect of confusing her still further. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted any more—only one thing was clear, he didn’t mind if she returned home; she had watched his face when she had told him that she wanted to go and its expression hadn’t changed at all. Not meaning to say it, she asked: ‘When I go home, will you need to visit me again?’

  His casual, ‘Oh, I think not; everything is arranged very satisfactorily. If you should need my services you can always write or telephone,’ daunted her, but she tried again.

  ‘But what about the horse?’

  ‘I asked the vet to keep an eye open—he’ll let me know when he finds something worth while.’

  She said, ‘Oh, how nice,’ in a small forlorn voice, aware that she had been using the horse as a line of communication, as it were, and Fabian had cut the line. She got to her feet. ‘I think I should be getting back,’ and when he got to his feet with unflattering speed, ‘You said we wouldn’t meet—that you would only be Emma’s surgeon—I forgot that this afternoon. Did you?’

  His dark eyes rested briefly on hers. ‘No, I hadn’t forgotten, Mary Jane, but there is such a thing as a truce, is there not?’

  He fetched her outdoor things and they went out to the car. A good thing, she thought savagely as she got in, that she hadn’t accepted his invitation to dinner—uttered out of politeness, no doubt, for he was obviously longing to be rid of her. Telling herself that it didn’t matter in the least, she kept up a steady flow of chat as he drove her back to Midwoude, her voice a little high and brittle.

  But he seemed in no hurry to be rid of her company or anyone else’s when they reached the house. Cousin Emma and Doctor Trouw were in the sitting room, the tea things still spread around them, deep in wedding plans. They would be married, declared Emma, with a suitable touch of the dramatic, in four days’ time—the burgermeester of Midwoude had promised to perform the ceremony in the early afternoon at the Gemeentehuis, and afterwards they would cross the street for a short ceremony in church. ‘And you will come, Mary Jane, because you have been so kind and good…’ the ready tears sprang to her eyes, ‘and when you marry I shall come to your wedding.’

  ‘How nice,’ said Mary Jane briefly. ‘Tell me, what will you wear?’

  Her companion was instantly diverted and the two ladies became absorbed in the bridal outfit. They were still engrossed in this interesting topic when the gentlemen wandered off to the other side of the room to have a drink, and when after a few minutes Fabian said that he must go, he did no more than pass a careless remark about their pleasant afternoon before he took himself off.

  There was no time for anything but the wedding preparations during the next day or so. Cousin Emma, fully recovered from her operation, plunged into a maelstrom of activity with Mary Jane doing her best to hold her back a little. Recovered she might be and in the happy position of having others to attend to her every want, she still needed to rest. Mary Jane gently bullied her on to the chaise-longue in her bedroom each afternoon and by dint of guile and cunning, kept her there until Doctor Trouw called at teatime. Fabian came too, but only for a few minutes, to check his cousin’s progress, although on the day previous to the wedding he remained long enough to tell Mary Jane that should she wish, he would arrange for her to travel home on the day after the wedding. ‘But time enough to let me know,’ he assured her carelessly. ‘There are few people travelling at this time of year, it will only be a question of a few telephone calls.’ He had nodded cheerfully at her and added, ‘I shall see you at the wedding, no doubt.’

  Getting Cousin Emma to the Gemeentehuis proved a nerve-shattering business. Not only was she excited and happy, she was tearful too, and when almost dressed declared that she looked a complete guy, that her shoes pinched and that her scar was so conspicuous that she really hadn’t the courage to go through with the ceremony. It was fortunate that her bridegroom—come, as Dutch custom dictated, to fetch his bride to their wedding—had brought with him his wedding gift, a string of pearls which exactly covered the offending blemish. Mary Jane, rather pink and excited herself, left them thankfully together and hurried to the front door. Jaap was to drive her to the village and she was already a little late. He wasn’t there, but Fabian was, strolling up and down the hall in morning clothes whose elegance quite dazzled her.

  ‘There you are,’ he remarked. ‘I sent Jaap on, you’re coming with me.’ He stood looking at her. ‘Now that is a new hat,’ he decided, ‘and a very pretty one.’

  Mary Jane gave him a doubtful look. The hat had taken a good deal of thought and she hadn’t had all that time to escape from Cousin Emma. It matched her coat exactly, a melusine with a sideways-tilted brim ending in a frou-frou of chiffon. Not at all her sort of hat, but after all, it was a wedding and one was allowed some licence. It added elegance to her ordinary face too and gave it a glow which almost amounted to prettiness.

  ‘Someone told you,’ she accused him.

  ‘No, indeed not,’ he laughed at her, ‘and it really is pretty.’

  She wished that he would say that she was pretty too, although that would be nonsense, but he didn’t say anything else, but tucked her into the Rolls beside him and drove off to the Gemeentehuis, a small, very old building, ringed around now with a number of cars and little groups of people from the village. Inside, Fabian found h
er a seat at the back before he went to take his place with his family in the front row. The ceremony was short and quite incomprehensible to her, but the service in the church was more to her taste, for she was able to follow it easily. And when it was over she watched the bride and groom and their families, correctly paired, walk down the aisle to the door of the church. She knew none of them, save for Fabian and Willem. They looked, she considered, a little haughty, very well dressed and faintly awe-inspiring, although the younger members of the party were gay and smiling and enjoying themselves. Willem, she was glad to see, had his girl with him—at least, she hoped it was his girl. He certainly looked happy enough, and Fabian—Fabian was escorting a truly formidable lady of advanced years, just behind the bridal pair.

  She waited until almost everyone had gone and made her way to the door, looking for Jaap. He was nowhere to be seen. There were still several groups of people lingering around the porch, but they were all strangers to her. She supposed she would have to walk. She frowned—how like Fabian to forget all about her; she wished she hadn’t come, he was horrible, thoughtless, thoroughly beastly… He touched her arm, smiling at her, so that she felt guilty, and felt even more so when he said, ‘I knew you would have the sense to wait until I came for you—Great-aunt Corina isn’t to be hurried. Come on.’

  She travelled back sitting with the old lady, who wasn’t haughty at all, while a large young man, whom Fabian introduced as Dirk—a cousin—squeezed in beside them. Fabian introduced the girl sitting beside him too—a blue-eyed creature wrapped in furs. Her name was Monique, and even though he said she was a cousin, Mary Jane didn’t take to her. She was still pondering the strength of her feelings about this when they arrived at the house.

  The vast drawing room had been got ready for the reception, with a long table and a number of smaller ones grouped around it. Mary Jane, seated between Dirk and an elderly uncle of the bride, found that she was expected to make a good meal. She went from champagne cocktails to lobster meuniere, from venison steaks to chocolate profiteroles, each with its accompanying wine. It was a relief to hear from Dirk that a wedding cake wasn’t customary, for what with the wine and champagne and the warmth of the room, she began to feel a little lightheaded. Even the haughty members of the family didn’t seem haughty any more, indeed, those she had spoken to had been charming to her. She glanced round her. Everyone looked very happy, but then marriages were happy occasions, although if she married she would want a quiet one with just a few friends. The corners of her gentle mouth turned down; the sooner she stopped thinking that romantic nonsense, the better. She turned to Dirk, who was quite amusing although a little young, she considered, and when he asked her if he might take her out to supper that evening, she refused with a charm which drew from him a regretful smile and a promise to ask her again the very next time they met. It seemed pointless to tell him that she was going back to England the next day, she laughingly agreed and listened with all her attention while he told her about his ambition to be as good a surgeon as his cousin Fabian.