The Chain of Destiny

by Betty Neels

  ‘Yes, oh, yes, please,’ said Suzannah, and skipped happily beside him out of the restaurant; she was feeling quite at ease despite her initial fears, and if her companion wasn’t enjoying himself he was dissembling very successfully.

  They drove on presently, to Zwolle and across the bridge to Kampen and then on to Sneek, where they stopped so that he might show her the harbour, crammed with yachts, and the Hoogeindster Waterpoort, an ancient water gate with two towers. She would have lingered there, for there was a great deal to see, but he whisked her back into the car and drove along narrow country roads winding beside the lakes stretching in all directions until they came to Beesterzwaag where they stopped for lunch. The hotel had a fine restaurant set in grounds which were still attractive, even at the tail end of the year. The food was delicious: smoked eel on toast, roast pheasant and red cabbage, and paper-thin pancakes with syrup. Over coffee, the professor said, ‘We are about half-way; we shall drive over on the Afsluitdijk and cross over to the coast, the country there is pretty and the road is quiet until we reach Haarlem. We don’t need to go into the town, we’ll go south to Aalsmeer and turn off before we reach Hilversum and go down the river Vecht; the light will be going by then, but you will be able to see some of it. We can use the motorway from there, as it will be too dark to see any more.’

  ‘We’ve been over almost all of Holland,’ said Suzannah.

  ‘It may seem like it to you; there are so many villages and small hidden roads still to discover.’

  The weather stayed kind, although the afternoon was already darkening; the Afsluitdijk stretched unendingly, it seemed, but the Bentley made nonsense of its length. Then they were on the mainland again, taking a narrow road to the east coast. The professor had been right, it was pretty, with the sea never far off and small, isolated villages, but presently they reached the outskirts of Haarlem and turned inland on a main road now. But before they reached Hilversum he turned into a narrow, winding road running by a charming river, lined with trees and with splendid houses on either side of it; it was dusk now and they were lit, their high, wide windows uncurtained so that Suzannah longed to stop and walk up their wide driveways and peer inside. The professor knew several families living there and, seeing her interest, told her something of their history.

  ‘It would be very nice to live here,’ said Suzannah wistfully, ‘but of course you live in England.’

  He smiled a little and agreed. ‘Shall we have a cup of tea? There’s a café in Loenen.’

  It was beginning to rain as they left the café, and there was a mean, cold wind blowing. The day was almost over and Suzannah was aware of regret; she had loved every minute of it and, surprisingly, she had liked being with the professor, although she still harboured the suspicion that he had given her a treat to make up for the small snubs and slights she had had. He was kind, she reflected, staring ahead of her into the dark, made darker by the car’s headlights. They would be back in den Haag very soon now. She would spend the evening packing—well, she amended, part of the evening, for there was very little to pack. The professor had fallen silent and she began to brood over what she should do when she got back to England. But her thoughts were brought to an end by the professor’s voice.

  ‘I thought we might have dinner in Leidschendam, it’s far too soon to go back.’

  ‘Oh, yes—but I’m not dressed…I thought—that is, you might meet someone you know.’

  ‘My dear girl, what are you talking about? I probably shall, but what has that got to do with us having dinner?’

  ‘I think you might be ashamed of me,’ she said in a cool little voice. ‘I’m rather shabby, you know.’

  His voice, very quiet, came to her through the dimness of the car.

  ‘You must have a very low opinion of me, Suzannah.’

  ‘Oh, no, I haven’t, only…’ She stopped just in time from telling him what Julie had said.

  He finished for her, ‘Ah, Julie in one of her bad moments planted the idea in your head.’ He added coldly, ‘And you believed her?’

  ‘Not like that, I didn’t.’ She was anxious to explain, because she could hear the anger in his voice. ‘I just didn’t want to embarrass you. I don’t think you’d mind a bit what I was wearing, but if you saw someone you knew they might—well, be surprised. I haven’t explained very well, but I’m sorry you’re angry, only it’s true, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you, truly I wouldn’t.’ She sniffed, a small, forlorn sound. ‘It’s been such a lovely day…’

  ‘Indeed it has, and we are not going to spoil it now. We will dine at our ease and discuss what you are going to do next, and I promise you that you are quite adequately dressed: Julie’s idea of shabby is wearing a dress for the second time, and hardly to be taken as a general rule.’

  The restaurant, when they reached it, was a splendid one, and Suzannah cast the professor a reproachful look as her coat was taken from her, revealing the brown dress. A look which he ignored, and from the way the head waiter led them to a table with deferential respect she might just as well have been wearing a couture gown and diamonds.

  The restaurant was already half full, and indeed the professor nodded to several people on the way to their table, but no one stared at her. Perhaps the dress wasn’t so bad, after all.

  The professor asked her what she would like to drink, ordered the sherry she asked for and a jenever for himself, and watched her while she studied the menu. The dress was terrible, he thought—someone should tell her to wear green or blue or grey—but he had to admit that her ordinary face, its colour heightened with excitement and, he suspected, misgiving, had a certain appeal; certainly her eyes were beautiful and the burnished copper of her hair was quite unusual. And she was a good companion… He smiled as she glanced up and asked her what she would like to eat.

  ‘We had rather a large lunch,’ she observed doubtfully, unaware that he had decided before they set out that he would at least give her a good lunch and dinner. Never one to do things by halves, and despite the fact that he had been regretting his invitation, he had kept faithfully to his plan.

  He now found, rather to his surprise, that he was enjoying her company.

  He said, ‘That was hours ago. They do a very good salmon in lobster sauce—shall we have that? And perhaps a mousseline of chicken with caviare for starters? And, since we are celebrating Julie’s complete recovery, I think we might have some champagne, don’t you?’

  Suzannah, relieved not to have to decide for herself, agreed and added artlessly, ‘I had champagne once, on my mother’s birthday…’

  ‘And how long ago was that?’ he asked gently, and led her on to talk about her childhood before asking casually, ‘so what do you intend to do when you get back to England?’

  It wasn’t the first time he had asked her that. She reminded him that she would go to Mrs Coffin with Horace, and he said easily, ‘Have you anywhere to stay in London? It occurs to me that it might be easier and far quicker for you if you were to leave Horace with Mrs Cobb for a few more days while you find a job.’

  The champagne was having its effect; for the moment at least, life was benefiting from rose-coloured spectacles. ‘Well,’ said Suzannah cautiously, ‘that would be much easier, wouldn’t it? I could go straight to some employment agencies…’

  ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘I can’t do shorthand and I don’t know how to be a secretary, so I thought I’d try to get work as a receptionist at a doctor’s or dentist’s, but I’ll take anything where I can have a room and keep Horace.’

  ‘You have friends in London where you can stay when we get there?’

  He reflected that he had helped her twice, and it looked as though he would be doing that for a third time. He didn’t know whether to be relieved or not when he replied promptly, albeit untruthfully, ‘Oh, yes. If Horace might stay until the next day with Mrs Cobb, just while I can get settled in.’

  He frowned. ‘Did you not say that you would stay with Mrs Coff
in until you found work?’

  ‘Yes, I did. But it seems a waste of time not to stay just a day or so in London first; I might get a job immediately.’

  She spoke with conviction, made seemingly positive by her desire not to impose upon him a moment longer than she need. There must be lodgings somewhere in London where she could stay with Horace. Once there, even though it would be evening by then, she could say goodbye to the professor and find a place, if only for one night. Further than that she refused to think, shying away from a mental picture of her touring London with Horace in his basket, looking for work and a place in which to lay their heads. But, of course, if her search was fruitless she could get an evening train to Mrs Coffin’s… She uttered a small sigh of relief and the professor wondered why, convinced that she was only telling him what she thought he would want to hear.

  A patient man as well as a clever one, he began to talk about something quite different. Suzannah followed his lead so eagerly that he was more than ever sure that she was prevaricating. Time enough to find out when they got back to London. Hard on the thought came another; there was no earthly reason why he should concern himself with her future; he was seeing her safely back, she wasn’t penniless and she had assured him that she would find work without any apparent difficulty. She was a sensible girl, well-educated and able to stand on her own two feet, and he could think of no reason for feeling concern for her future.

  It wasn’t mentioned again; the rest of dinner passed pleasantly, the talk of any number of subjects but never of her.

  It was only a short drive back to the van Dijls’ house, and once there he went in with her to spend half an hour in small talk with the van Dijls and Julie. When after ten minutes or so Suzannah excused herself on the grounds of packing her things, no one attempted to stop her from doing so. Beyond a brief nod of goodnight and the warning to be ready for him when he came to fetch her in the morning, the professor had nothing to say to her save to murmur a conventional rejoinder when she thanked him for her day. Perhaps he hadn’t enjoyed himself as much as she had thought he had, she mused, getting ready for bed; it was difficult to know exactly what he thought about things at times. She went to sleep feeling vaguely worried, although she wasn’t at all sure why.

  He was exactly on time the next morning, and they wasted very little time on goodbyes. Mijnheer van Dijl was already at his office, but his wife thanked Suzannah, kissed her and pressed a small packet into her hands. ‘You have been so good,’ she murmured. Julie trailed down in her dressing-gown to kiss the professor and shake Suzannah’s hand with a casual, ‘Well, have fun wherever you are going. I won’t stay; I must get ready for Evert.’

  ‘I hope you’ll be very happy,’ said Suzannah, and got into the car, with the professor taking her case to stow in the boot.

  The journey was smooth and untroubled; the professor travelled without fuss, but with every detail dealt with in advance. It was as they were nearing London in a dark early evening that she said, ‘If you would drop me at Charing Cross station…’

  He interrupted her. ‘Certainly not, at this time of the day. There is no question of you traipsing around London on your own. It will be best if you come back with me for the night; you can go to your friend’s house in the morning, and then come back and collect Horace.’

  ‘There is no need…’ began Suzannah in what she hoped was a firm voice.

  ‘Don’t argue.’

  It was obvious to her that nothing she said would alter his plan, so she said, ‘Very well, Professor,’ in such a meek voice that he laughed.

  They arrived at his house soon after that, and she was ushered into its warmth and in no time at all found herself sitting opposite to him at an oval dining-table in an elegant dining-room, eating delicious food Mrs Cobb had conjured up without any sign of fuss. And when they had finished she was taken to the kitchen to see Horace. He looked sleek and content, but he was pleased to see her. He lived in great comfort, that was obvious, and she wondered how he would like the humbler home she hoped to find for them. The professor had gone to his study and she explained that in the morning she would go and see her friend, now so vivid in her imagination that she seemed real. ‘And then I’ll come back for Horace; I expect it will be after lunch…’

  ‘That’s all right, miss. The professor won’t be here, but he said to expect you.’

  Presently they said goodnight and Suzannah went out into the hall. She had been shown her room when they had arrived and she started up the stairs, uncertain whether to knock on the study door. It opened while she stood trying to make up her mind, and the professor stuck his head out.

  ‘Going to bed? Sleep well. I shall be gone early and shan’t be back until late in the evening. Collect Horace when you like; I’ve told Cobb to drive the pair of you and your case to your friend’s house. Just let him know when you want to go.’

  She said faintly, ‘Oh, but there’s no need,’ and at his, ‘Don’t argue,’ didn’t finish but uttered her thanks for the journey. ‘It was very kind of you,’ she finished. ‘Goodbye, Professor Bowers-Bentinck.’

  He came out into the hall and stood looking up at her. ‘We say goodbye rather frequently, don’t we?’ He added with a touch of impatience, ‘Let me know if you need help. Have you sufficient money to keep you until you find a job?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ London was very much dearer than her own small village; she pushed the worrying thought away and said cheerfully, ‘And I can stay with my friend…’

  He eyed her narrowly and was about to speak when the study door was pushed wide and a dachshund trotted out and sat down beside the professor. ‘You haven’t met Henry—come and say hello to him.’

  She crossed the space between them and stooped to pat the little dog.

  ‘Hello and goodbye, Henry,’ she said, and rubbed a silky ear.

  She stood up and offered a hand to the professor. ‘Goodbye, Professor.’

  He took her hand and bent and kissed her; she had been kissed before, though not often, casual kisses which had meant nothing, but this was different. The thought flashed through her mind that he was an older man, a man of the world, and must have had years of practice. It would be delightful to be kissed like that every day; she would have to be content with once in a lifetime. She said goodnight and goodbye in a brisk voice and went upstairs without a backward glance, reminding herself that there were a great many things about him that she didn’t like; she couldn’t call any of them to mind just at that moment, but she would certainly remember them later.

  A pleasant girl brought her tea in the morning, told her that breakfast would be in half an hour and suggested she go to the breakfast-room on the left of the hall and warned her that it looked like snow. ‘Just right,’ she said cheerfully, ‘with Christmas so near.’

  Suzannah was met at the bottom of the stairs by Cobb with a cheerful good morning and the hope that she had slept well. ‘I understand that you’ll be going to your friend, miss. When you come back for Horace, I’m to drive you wherever you wish to go.’

  She thanked him nicely and worried about it while she ate a splendid breakfast, went to say hello to Horace and presently got into her outdoor things and left the house.

  It was now that she needed a kindly fate to step in and give her a hand, but in the meanwhile she would study the situations vacant columns of the daily press. She went into the first newsagents she came across once she had left the calm backwater where the professor lived, and, armed with several newspapers, walked on in the direction of Regent Street and in a small side street found a small, rather seedy café. With a cup of coffee before her, she opened the first of the papers and began searching.

  Fate had decided to be kind; her eyes lighted upon an urgent demand for a young educated woman to help at a nursery school close to the Tottenham Court Road. The position was vacant due to illness and an address was added.

  She left her coffee and crossed to the counter. ‘Is Felix Road, just off the Tottenham Court
Road, far from here?’ she asked the man behind the coffee machine.

  He scratched his head. ‘Felix Road—that’ll be near the ‘ospital. Get on the underground to Goodge Street, it’ll be close by. Yer can take a bus if yer want.’ He thought a minute and told her the number. ‘Might be ‘andier.’

  She thanked him and set off smartly, found a bus stop, caught a bus and presently got off again when the conductor warned her. She found Felix Road without much trouble; a narrow street in the warren of similar streets between the underground station and the hospital. The nursery school was half-way down it, a tall brick house needing a coat of paint, its neighbours on either side, apparently empty, even shabbier. But the windows were clean and curtained, and the neighbourhood was more or less traffic-free. She mounted the steps to the front door and rang the bell.

  She could hear children’s voices from behind the door, and someone singing nursery rhymes, and when the door opened the woman standing there was reassuringly middle-aged and motherly.

  She eyed Suzannah. ‘Yes?’ she asked.

  ‘There is an advertisement,’ began Suzannah, and before she could say more she was invited in.

  ‘Perhaps it is already filled?’

  The older woman held out a hand. ‘Mrs Willis, I own this place.’

  ‘Suzannah Lightfoot.’

  They shook hands and the woman said, ‘No, there have been several girls after it, but it’s too much like hard work for most, and they don’t like the idea of living here.’

  She opened a door in the hall. ‘Come in and I’ll explain.’

  They sat facing each other across a small table in the rather bare room. ‘I’ve lost two of my helpers in the last week: one is ill, the other got married. There are thirty children here, toddlers; most of the mothers work at the hospital and the toy museum down the road. They come at eight o’clock in the morning and most of the kids are called for by six o’clock each evening. It’s hard work and the pay’s not much—it’s not state-run—’