An Old-Fashioned Girl

by Betty Neels

  Rosie struggled out of Patience’s arms and toddled over to her uncle, crowing with pleasure. Patience, standing on the last stair, hoped that her own overwhelming pleasure wasn’t as obvious. She said sedately, ‘Good morning, Mr van der Beek.’

  He tossed his small niece in the air while she squealed with delight. ‘Good morning, Patience. Would it not be a good idea if you were to call me Julius? After all, you are no longer in my employ.’ He spoke casually as though it were a matter of little concern to him.

  She flushed. ‘Oh, no, of course not—I forgot… very well, Julius.’

  ‘That’s better. Shall we go?’

  She sat in the back of the car with Rosie, which made it dificult to talk, and in any case Rosie’s prattle made conversation unnecessary. She wondered where they were going for once they were clear of the city he turned off the motorway on to a country road, surprisingly rural with flat fields on either side, divided by small canals. There were Friesian cows in abundance and in the distance a windmill and a tall church spire. Very Dutch, reflected Patience. Presently the winding road led into more wooded country, still flat but now there were glimpses of water.

  ‘Lakes,’ said Julius over a shoulder. ‘They drain into the old Rhine.’

  She conjured up the map of Holland she had studied so assiduously before she had left England. ‘Between Aalsmeer and Alphen-aan-der-Rijn?’ she ventured.

  ‘That’s right.’

  The road ran alongside the lake now, a tranquil stretch of water bordered by clumps of trees, but presently it dwindled into a canal and Julius turned away from it along a narrow sandy road which led to another lake with a village on its shore. It was nothing more than a large group of small houses, white-walled and red-roofed, but there was a jelly-mould church and a shop in its small centre.

  Julius spoke over his shoulder once more. ‘Rijnsten,’ he said and went through the village, following the road to a clump of trees. There was a wall now, a high brick one pierced by a tall wrought-iron gate standing open. He drove through and along a narrow driveway bordered by thick shrubbery which ended in a wide sweep before a large square house. Its walls were white with a gabled blue slate roof and a great many large windows. The door was open at the top of a double flight of steps, a solid affair with a beautiful fanlight above it. It looked as though it had been there for a very long time and would still be there for many years yet.

  ‘Whose house is this?’ asked Patience, staring out through the window.

  ‘Mine. Mine for my lifetime and after that it will be my son’s and then his son’s. It is the family home.’

  He had got out of the car and come round to open her door and lift Rosie out. He tucked his niece under one arm and held out the other hand to Patience. It was a large, firm hand, and the feel of it on hers made her insides tremble. He didn’t let it go at once either, but still held it closely looking down at her so searchingly that she asked, ‘Is there anything the matter, is something wrong?’

  ‘On the contrary, everything is very right. Come inside, for coffee will be waiting for us and the entire household will be looking forward to spoiling Rosie.’

  They mounted the steps and Dobbs appeared as they reached the door. ‘This is Dobbs,’ said Mr van der Beek, and laughed while Patience stared open-mouthed. ‘Dobbs’ brother! I’ll explain about that later on. Dobbs, this is Miss Martin; Rosie you already know.’

  Dobbs smiled widely and stooped and took Rosie from her uncle. ‘Indeed we do, sir, and delighted to see her again.’

  ‘Take her along to see Mrs Dobbs, will you? And we would like coffee in the drawing-room.’

  Patience was propelled gently across the wide hall and through mahogany double doors into a large room with long narrow windows and a door between them leading to the garden beyond. The door was open and two dogs came in together, great shaggy beasts, their rough coats gleaming, their fearsome sharp teeth showing in what she hoped were grins.

  ‘Josh and Lulabelle,’ said Julius, ‘Bouviers, mother and son. Offer them a fist.’

  They nudged her gently and looked at her with their yellow eyes and she patted their rough heads. ‘They look very fierce.’

  ‘They can be, but they will never harm their own and they’ll die fighting to protect you. You need never fear them, Patience.’

  ‘They’re not at all like Basil…’

  He laughed. ‘No, but when he comes to live here they’ll accept him, just as they’ve accepted Wisp.’ He indicated a small tabby cat asleep on one of the armchairs.

  ‘Why Wisp?’

  ‘Well, she was such a wisp of a thing when they found her.’ He urged her towards a small armchair. ‘Do sit down; the coffee won’t be a minute.’

  He sat down near her and the dogs sat one each side of him, and now she had a moment to look about her. The room was beautiful; she supposed one could call it magnificent. It was lived in, though, with books and papers scattered on the small tables and bowls of flowers. The furniture was old and well polished, and the chairs were covered in brocade or velvet in various shades of red, matching the elaborately draped curtains at the windows, and the walls were hung with a white silky paper. There were a number of paintings in heavy old-fashioned frames and a vast bow-fronted display cabinet at the far end of the room.

  Mr van der Beek had been watching her narrowly. ‘Well?’

  ‘It is quite beautiful. I thought your home in Chiswick was lovely but this is… I know just what you mean when you say it’s your family home.’ She paused. ‘You said that Josh and Lulabelle would get on well with Basil. Are—are you coming to live here for always?’

  He watched her pour their coffee from the tray Dobbs had brought in. ‘Oh, yes, that is to say, instead of living most of the year in Chiswick and coming here for a few months, I shall live here and go over to England once or twice a month. Dobbs and Miss Murch will remain at Chiswick, of course. I have no intention of giving up the house there.’

  She longed to ask why he intended living at Rijnsten, although she could guess. He would marry—he had told her that the house went from father to son and of course he must wish for a child to take over from him when the time came. She had never had any hope that he would fall in love with her, even like her—but sadness welled up inside her at the thought of him marrying. It would be to some very beautiful girl, someone to match his wonderful looks, who would be the confident hostess of this lovely old house…

  ‘I expect you have a great many patients in Holland?’

  ‘I have beds in hospitals in den Haag, Amsterdam and Rotterdam and I visit Utrecht and Groningen from time to time.’ He passed his cup for more coffee. ‘Would you like to see something of the house? Rosie will be quite happy with the Dobbses until lunchtime. I’ll drive you back in time for her supper.’

  There was all day ahead of her and in Julius’s company. Never mind the future—that could take care of itself for the moment—she was going to enjoy every moment of now.

  They wandered through the house together presently: the dining-room, handsome dark furniture and crimson wallpaper and a beautiful chandelier over the rectangular table; a small sitting-room—Patience imagined herself sitting there, knitting or sewing—a library with a small circular staircase at one corner leading to a narrow gallery above and still more books; his study with a vast desk littered with papers, and behind that a billiard room. The staircase curved up from the hall to a gallery above but he didn’t take her upstairs but led her instead out of a side-door which opened on to a cobbled yard lined with outbuildings, on the other side of which there was a wicket gate which led to the gardens at the back of the house. She had loved the house and she was enchanted by the gardens. They had gone through another gate and were standing in the centre of what would shortly be a splendid rose garden when hurrying footsteps caused them to turn round. Coming through the gate was a girl—
no, Patience corrected herself, a woman, and a very beautiful woman too with dark hair and striking features, and as she came towards them Patience had time to note her clothes, simple with the simplicity of haute couture.

  ‘Julius!’ The woman stopped before him, ignoring Patience, and flung her arms round his neck. Patience could only guess at what she said next, but it was obvious that she knew Julius well.

  Mr van der Beek unwound the arms, his face blandly inscrutable. ‘Hello, Sylvia—this is an unexpected pleasure. Patience, this is Mevrouw van Teule—Patience Martin.’

  Patience put out a hand and had it shaken in a perfunctory fashion before being ignored. ‘Julius, why didn’t you tell me you were coming? But now you’re here we must dine—this evening?’

  ‘I’m here for a very short time and working for all of it—I’m afraid it won’t be possible.’

  Mevrouw van Teule stared at Patience. ‘Then what is she doing here?’ she asked, speaking in English this time.

  His eyes were like blue ice but he answered with cool civility. ‘Patience has been so kind as to come over with Marijke and keep an eye on Rosie while their nanny has been off ill.’

  ‘Oh, a—what do you say?’ She looked at Patience, who answered politely.

  ‘A mother’s help, mevrouw?’

  A small sound escaped Mr van der Beek’s lips but all he said in the smoothest of voices was, ‘Rosie will be wanting her dinner; we must go back to the house.’

  ‘I’ll stay to lunch,’ declared Mevrouw van Teule, ‘then you’ll have someone to talk to.’ She smiled enchantingly.

  ‘We shall be delighted, but I must warn you there will be no need for you to make conversation. Rosie is a tremendous talker.’

  ‘The child eats with her nurse, surely?’

  ‘No,’ his voice was gentle, ‘Rosie has her meals with her family. She will sit between Patience and myself and we shall contrive between us to get her fed.’

  ‘Marijke always had these modern ideas,’ she declared. ‘Personally I think that children should stay in the nursery until they’re old enough to behave themselves.’

  Mr van der Beek didn’t pursue the subject but led his guests back to the house and into the drawing-room where he offered sherry and made polite small talk until Dobbs came to tell him that lunch was served. ‘Rosie is already in her high chair, Mrs Dobbs having seen to her and done the needful.’

  ‘Splendid, Dobbs. Be good enough to set another place for Mevrouw van Teule, will you? She is lunching with us.’

  There was a young girl in a plain dress and a white apron standing by Rosie’s chair and Mr van der Beek said, ‘Ah, Patience, this is Ans, one of Mrs Dobbs’ helpers.’ He spoke to Ans, who smiled and took the hand Patience offered, nodded her head cheerfully and went away.

  Patience, bidden to sit down beside Rosie, did so, and was instantly subjected to a steady flow of chatter, to all of which she nodded understandingly without understanding one word, while Julius and his guest, he at the head of his table, she beside him opposite Patience, kept up a steady if desultory conversation.

  Lunch, thought Patience, spooning soup into the small mouth, wasn’t going to be quite what she had expected and hoped for.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MR VAN DER BEEK was an accomplished host. He contrived to listen with apparent interest to whatever Mevrouw van Teule had to say while at the same time joining in the rather one-sided conversation Rosie and Patience were enjoying. Mevrouw van Teule had said, ‘Dag,’ to Rosie and then ignored her; she had ignored the dogs, too, neither of whom made any movement towards her; indeed they sat side by side on the side furthest away from her during the meal, not making a sound but rolling their yellow eyes at Patience from time to time, their tongues hanging out in what she thought hopefully were friendly grins.

  She had little to say during the meal; she had no intention of competing with the other woman and when Julius addressed her she replied readily but forbore from making any remarks of her own, only low-voiced wheedlings to Rosie, who tended to frown fiercely across the table at her uncle’s guest, at the same time keeping up a continuous chatter between mouthfuls.

  ‘Doesn’t that child ever stop talking?’ Mevrouw van Teule asked Patience sharply, aware that she had by no means secured the whole of Julius’s attention.

  ‘Well, you see,’ explained Patience carefully, ‘she’s still very small and she’s just discovered what fun it is to talk. She’s such a happy child and such fun…’

  Mevrouw van Teule shrugged elegant shoulders. ‘I suppose if you earn your living looking after children you get to like them,’ she laughed. ‘You would need to, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Indeed yes,’ said Patience in a chilly voice. ‘Just as if the children were your own you would get to like them too—if you saw enough of them.’ Her smile was charming and Mr van der Beek, sitting back in his chair, allowed himself a faint smile. He leaned from his chair, lifted Rosie on to his knee and offered her a bon-bon from the little silver dish on the table. Mevrouw van Teule made an impatient sound and Patience gave him a limpid look from her beautiful eyes. She hoped that he knew what he was marrying—he must love the woman very much; perhaps if she loved him too she would change. Highly unlikely, reflected Patience, having second thoughts.

  After lunch Patience said, in her matter-of-fact way, ‘Rosie usually rests for an hour; is there a room where she can lie down? I’ll stay with her.’

  She hated to go away and leave the two of them together but her instinct told her that was what they wanted, certainly Mevrouw van Teule did. But not, it seemed, Julius. ‘She can go to bed a little earlier,’ he said easily. ‘We’ll take her down to the gardener’s house. I’ve a surprise for her there—a donkey, for her to ride.’ He glanced at her feet. ‘Good, you’re wearing sensible shoes—it’s rather muddy. There’s an old jacket you can borrow.’

  He turned to Mevrouw van Teule. ‘You’ll forgive us, Sylvia? It is the only time I shall have and I have to go back to Amsterdam this evening—work.’

  She smiled with a charming wistfulness. ‘Oh, Julius, I had hoped that we might have time together. When are you going back to England?’

  ‘It depends very much on my patients.’ He glanced at Patience. ‘Will you ring that bell by the fireplace, please? Dobbs will get Ans to show you where you can see to Rosie—I’ll be here waiting for you.’

  Patience said, ‘Very well,’ and bade the other woman goodbye before going off with Ans, who showed them into a well equipped cloakroom hidden away by the staircase. She wished she knew how to reprimand Rosie for refusing to look at Mevrouw van Teule and even, horror of horrors, putting out a small pink tongue as she was borne away. Unnoticed, Patience hoped.

  The pair of them went back to the hall presently and found Julius sitting on a table, deep in thought. He got up when they reached him.

  ‘Of course, little girls who put their tongues out at guests don’t deserve treats.’ He spoke in English and Rosie blew him a kiss and giggled.

  ‘Oh, I did hope no one saw it. I would have told her how rude it was only I don’t know enough Dutch.’

  ‘Leave it to me.’ He lifted Rosie on to the table and put his arms around her and whatever he said couldn’t have been very severe because she gave him a kiss.

  There was no sign of Mevrouw van Teule; Patience wondered what they had said to each other before she left. Mr van der Beek smiled and was looking smug; perhaps they had made a date after all…

  He took them through the side-door again, past the outbuildings and down a path to the side of the gardens, hedged with shrubs. At its end he opened a door in a high brick wall which opened into the kitchen garden, a place of incredible neatness with rows of vegetables sprouting and not a weed in sight. There were trees there too, apple and pear and plum and a whole square of fruit bushes. Patience would have like
d to linger but Julius was striding ahead with Rosie on one arm towards another door. This one opened on to a paddock at the other end of which was a small house, smoke curling from its chimney, washing blowing from a long clothes line, and from the far end came two horses and a small donkey, ambling towards them.

  They stood still to watch them. ‘Do you ride?’ asked Mr van der Beek.

  ‘Not since my mother and father died—I had a pony. What are their names?’

  ‘Jess and Caesar. Jess is the gentlest little lady, not up to my weight though—Marijke rides her when she’s staying here.’

  ‘And Caesar is yours?’

  ‘Yes. I thought Rosie may like to name the donkey; she’s only been with us for a few days.’

  ‘Had she no name?’

  ‘I came across her being driven to the knacker’s yard.’

  ‘Oh, the poor little beast—how kind of you, Julius.’ She gave him a glowing look. ‘Now she will be happy for the rest of her life.’

  He didn’t answer but took some lumps of sugar from his pocket and, rather surprisingly, a carrot. The horses had their sugar and Rosie, armed with the carrot and safely in her uncle’s arms, offered the donkey the carrot.

  ‘Oh, she is so pretty,’ said Patience, and Rosie echoed,

  ‘Pretty, pretty, pretty.’

  ‘So “Pretty” it is to be, and here comes Jon with the saddle.’

  The donkey was new to a saddle, new for that matter to a small person on her back, but she raised no objections and stood obediently while Rosie was sat gently down and then led slowly around the field, her uncle on one side, Patience on the other, Jon and the horses following behind. Presently Mr van der Beek said, ‘Well, that will do for today. Jon, saddle her up for a short time each day, will you; put your youngest on her back for a short while so that when Rosie comes again she will find it easy.’

  He paused to say it all over again for Patience’s benefit, talked for a few minutes with the man then watched while Pretty and her two companions wandered off again. Rosie watched her go too and then burst into tears, having been under the impression that Pretty would return with her to her home.