by Betty Neels
Gemma hadn’t moved. When he handed her the glass, she took it, thanking him in a high voice and tossing off its contents with a fine disregard for its potency; indeed, she had no idea what she was drinking—tap water, tea, sulphuric acid, they were all one and the same to her in her agitated state of mind.
Her companion’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing, only sat down beside her and flung a careless arm across her shoulders, and presently when she exclaimed: ‘I do feel most peculiar!’ he suggested that she should rest her head on his shoulder, something she was glad enough to do, and remained patiently waiting until it was sufficiently clear for her to mutter in a muffled voice: ‘I have no idea what to do…’
‘Quite simple,’ he told her promptly. ‘We’re going to walk into the house and through the drawing room to the front door, looking the very epitome of gaiety.’
She lifted a still swimming head to look at him. ‘I can’t,’ she declared, her voice peevish with shock and humiliation and sheer misery. ‘And I won’t.’
With no sign of impatience he reiterated: ‘Yes, you will. Where’s your pride? Pull yourself together, girl—and where’s that phlegm peculiar to the English race? Let them all see that you don’t care, that you find it amusing too, in a childish way.’ He got up and pulled her to her feet. ‘Now stop looking like a whey-faced orphan!’
Gemma’s eyes glittered with a fine burst of temper, nicely stoked by far too much whisky—it had made her feel sick again, too, but temper, for the moment at least, was uppermost. ‘Don’t you call me names!’ she said belligerently, and then gulped. ‘I still feel very strange…’
‘So much the better.’ Ross tidied away an end of hair which had blown loose from her neat head and studied her forlorn face. ‘Now come along. You don’t need to say a word, just smile—laugh if you can; it will only be for a couple of minutes.’
They were almost at the door when her steps slowed. ‘I don’t think…’
‘Good—thinking won’t help at the moment; it’s action we need.’
‘But supposing we meet Leo?’
The professor allowed himself a faint smile. ‘I don’t think we shall.’ He was ushering her into the crowded room and she muttered fiercely:
‘I don’t want to…’
He cut her short: ‘I know what you’re going to say: Set foot in this house again. Well, there’s no reason why you should, in fact, I’ll promise you that you shan’t. Now smile.’
It was a command; Gemma did as she was told, and when he paused to exchange pleasantries with a few of the guests, she laughed too. He said his goodbyes as they went, taking his time, while all the time he had her arm firmly tucked into his.
He had said a couple of minutes; it seemed like hours. The open door with the grand sweep of garden beyond became a symbol of escape, the sight of his car filled Gemma with relief. They were in it, driving through the gates and away down the narrow road, when she said urgently:
‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘Only to be expected,’ his voice was brisk, ‘after all that whisky you tossed off.’ He pulled up and leaned across and opened her door for her. ‘Shout if you want any help!’
There was a convenient ditch, its steep grass bank running down to clear water. She sank on to the grass and endured the miseries of the moment.
Ross fastened her seat belt when she got back into the car, offered her a large white handkerchief and remarked matter-of-factly that a cup of coffee would be just the thing. ‘There’s a café down the road, we’ll stop.’ He shot her a quick, all-seeing glance. ‘Did you get anything to eat?’
She shook her head, remembering the daintily arranged dishes of delicious food which had been on the table where she had sat with Leo. She burst into tears and heard Ross say: ‘Nor did I. I daresay we can get a broodje.’ He drove on, taking no notice of her sniffing and snorting into his handkerchief, feeling vaguely resentful because he didn’t seem to care in the least that her heart was broken and she was utterly desperate.
The café was open, almost full and poorly lighted in the deepening dusk, so that Gemma’s face was hardly noticeable. She was walked inside, with Ross exchanging cheerful good evenings with the other customers as he led her to an empty table in one corner.
It was surprising what two cups of coffee and a cheese roll did for her outraged feelings, outwardly at least. She replied politely to her companion’s desultory conversation, and looked around her, her face calm now, although inside her, her unhappiness was so deep and real that she could feel its weight on her chest. She had finished her second cup when the professor asked: ‘Do you want to make plans? Talk? Run away?’
Her chin went up. ‘I should like to go back home this very instant,’ she told him forcefully, ‘but I won’t do that—I can’t, can I? Just to walk out on Rienieta like that, and your mother and father have been so kind to me—but perhaps they would let me leave in a week’s time. She could get someone else by then if she wanted to, I expect.’ She paused: ‘Would that be long enough?’
He knew exactly what she meant. ‘To let Leo and his friends realise that you hadn’t been scared away? Oh, yes, and we’ll go one better than that. I’ll take you out and about so that they will be forced to conclude that his boast was an empty one; that you had been having fun at his expense.’ He stared at her so hard that she waited expectantly for him to go on talking, but he only smiled again.
‘You’re kind,’ she told him, her face a little flushed, ‘but wouldn’t that be a bore for you?’
His mouth twitched. ‘Not in the least—I enjoy the occasional evening out.’
‘Yes, but not with me…’
The twitch became a smile. ‘All the more reason to do so at the earliest opportunity, Gemma. Tomorrow evening—I’ll call for you about seven o’clock—and wear that dress, it’s pretty.’
Even in her unhappiness, his remark pleased her. ‘Yes, well, thank you—if you’re sure.’ Her eyes, puffy with her weeping, searched his face. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she wanted to know.
‘We’re old friends,’ he spoke without hesitation, ‘not in terms of time, perhaps, but we’ve done a good deal together, haven’t we? And friends help each other.’
It was a nice, uncomplicated answer, and looked at from all angles, it made sense. She nodded. ‘It’s only for a week,’ she reflected aloud, quite failing to see the gleam in his eyes, ‘then I shall go home and forget all about it.’ She spoke in a wooden voice: forgetting would be hard, it would be like going back into another world. She would have to get a job quickly; perhaps it would be wiser to work in London after all—the future looked empty and dull and she swallowed the knot of despair which was threatening to choke her. She heard Ross say in a comfortable voice: ‘Of course you can go home—remind me to see about a seat on a plane for you, but shall we take things a day at a time?’ He lifted a finger to the boy who had served them. ‘If you’re ready to go?’
Somehow—Gemma wasn’t sure how—he had turned the miserable evening into a commonplace incident hardly worth mentioning. Indeed, he said not another word about it but saw her safely into Huis Berhuys, and then got back into his car and drove away with a friendly wave. She stood in the flower-scented quiet of the dim hall and listened to the whine of the car’s engine getting fainter and fainter. She felt very lonely.
She didn’t sleep at all; the evening’s events paraded themselves remorselessly before her resolutely closed eyes, so that when she appeared at the breakfast table, she looked quite dreadfully pale, and the tears she had shed and hadn’t bothered to mop had puffed her eyelids and reddened her nose. All the same, she was as neat and composed as she always was and her good morning to Mevrouw Dieperink van Berhuys was just as cheerful as it normally was. ‘Rienieta is awake,’ she informed that young lady’s mother—‘she had a very good night and she looks super this morning—she’s famished too—she’s just about one hundred per cent again. Shall I go to the kitchen and ask Ria to take up her breakfast?�
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The lady of the house gave her a brief, smiling glance which saw everything. ‘Please, my dear—how wonderful it is to have the dear child well again.’ She busied herself with the coffee pot. ‘Was it a good party?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ Gemma took the cup she was handed and made rather a business of choosing a roll from the basket before her.
The older lady helped herself to cherry jam and went on conversationally: ‘I’m told that Leo gives splendid parties, though I don’t care much for his friends. Did he bring you home?’
‘No. Ross did—he was at the party too.’
‘Indeed?’ Mevrouw Dieperink van Berhuys’ face and voice expressed a convincing surprise, all the more remarkable by reason of the fact that she had had a long telephone conversation with her eldest son not half an hour previously. But Gemma didn’t know that; she was busy turning over in her tired mind how best to introduce the subject of her leaving. She had her chance when her companion made some observation about her daughter’s splendid progress.
‘I wondered,’ began Gemma, taking the bull by the horns, ‘if she would be needing me much longer—she’s really well now…’
‘Thanks to you, Gemma. And much as we shall all be sorry to see you go, we mustn’t be selfish. I don’t know if you have anything in mind, but my sister—the one who lives in Friesland, you know—is coming down this weekend and she particularly asked if Rienieta might go back with her. She would have her cousins for company and ride and sail to her heart’s content. What do you think about that?’
Gemma, in a black mood, had anticipated all kinds of difficulties; now there were none at all. She said now: ‘I think it sounds marvellous, but I expect the doctor will decide. It’s not for me…’
‘He will be coming this afternoon.’ Mevrouw Dieperink van Berhuys was quick to see the surprise on Gemma’s face and went on smoothly: ‘Yes, I know he isn’t due to come for a few days, but he is going away. Could Rienieta be in the house after lunch so that he can take a final look at her?’
‘Yes, of course, mevrouw. She wants to go on the lake and it’s a lovely morning. When she’s tired of that we could go for a stroll.’
The morning dragged. Gemma, bearing Rienieta company while they pottered on the lake, wandered in the gardens and went yet again to see how the puppies fared, began to feel that it would never be lunch time even while she was aware that the day was beautiful, as were her surroundings, and that normally her contentment would have been complete, but the thought of Leo nagged like a bad toothache. Perhaps it would be easier to forget him once she was back in England and working hard—she wondered if she would forget everyone else too; she would miss them all, especially would she miss Ross. The thought reminded her that she hadn’t said anything about him coming to take her out that evening. She did so after lunch, still too unhappy to do more than wonder at his mother’s placid acceptance of her news, and her soothing: ‘That will be nice, my dear—you haven’t been out nearly enough.’
‘I went to a party yesterday,’ Gemma pointed out. It seemed like years ago.
‘Oh, a party.’ The older lady’s tone implied that she considered that the party in question hadn’t been much of a treat. ‘A great many gabbling young women,’ she observed in her pretty voice, ‘criticising each other’s clothes and young men with long hair who talk about themselves.’
Gemma laughed despite herself. ‘Oh, dear—it was a bit like that, but I thought it was just me; I don’t go to grand parties like that at home.’
‘There are parties and parties, Gemma. I have no doubt that you will enjoy a pleasant evening with Ross.’
And as it turned out, she did. He arrived a little early, so that when she got downstairs, wearing the pink dress and with her hair and face carefully dealt with, it was to find him sitting with his mother and father in the drawing room, but he got up to meet her as she went in and took her hands in his and held her arms wide. ‘Very nice,’ he commented in a voice which could have been an elder brother’s, ‘and delightfully punctual. Shall we go?’
He bade his parents goodbye, made some lighthearted remark about bringing Gemma back safely, and accompanied her out to the car. He drove off at once and without giving her time to speak, said: ‘We’re going to den Haag—or rather, Wassenaar—there’s a dinner dance at Kasteel oud Wassenaar and I happen to know that quite a few of the people who were at the party last night will be there. It’s an hour and a half’s drive if we get a clear run past Rotterdam. Have a nap if you would like that.’
Gemma was conscious that her day had taken a turn for the better. ‘I’d rather talk, if you don’t mind. You live in Vianen, don’t you? Would you tell me about it? Is your practice there?’
‘I don’t live in Vianen itself but in a small village close by—I’ve consulting rooms in Utrecht and Vianen and I sometimes see patients at my home.’
She plunged rather feverishly into more questions; it was a welcome change from her unhappy thoughts. ‘Don’t you wish you could live at Huis Berhuys—it’s so lovely there.’
He sent the car surging along the broad, straight road. ‘Oh, very often, but you see eventually it will be mine and I shall live in it as head of the family, but not, I hope, for a great many years. Until then I’m very content and the hospital is a fine one, did you not think so?’ He discussed it at some length, giving her no chance to ask any more questions.
It struck her then that she would never see his home; she would be leaving Holland very soon now, although he was taking her out it was to stop her being made to look a fool by Leo’s friends, not because he wanted to admit her to his private life. Vague regret stirred within her as she listened politely to his description of the new wing which had just been added to the hospital; he was a good talker and she found herself interested despite her preoccupation with her own worries, and presently she forgot them sufficiently to join in a lively argument about hospital management. It lasted until they reached the outskirts of den Haag, and before she had time to feel nervous, he was slowing the car outside the hotel’s imposing entrance.
He had been quite right, and she recognised several of the faces turned towards them as they were led to the table Ross had reserved. And it wasn’t in a discreet corner, she noted vexedly, but well within the view of most of the crowded restaurant. She assumed what she hoped was a carefree expression and sat down. Ross must have noticed the interest they had aroused too, for his hand came down gently on hers lying on the table between them, and pressed it very slightly. Gemma took it as a gesture of encouragement, although any of those watching them so discreetly might be forgiven for thinking otherwise. He withdrew the hand almost immediately and she wanted to clutch it back again because somehow it made her feel better, but he was asking her what she would like to drink and then there was the business of choosing from the enormous menu.
Until she looked at it she hadn’t realised how hungry she was—she hadn’t eaten much all day, but now peckishness was temporarily outweighing unhappiness. She decided on hors d’oeuvres, followed by salmon poached in white wine, which she ate to the accompaniment of her companion’s pleasantly amusing conversation; indeed, she found herself joining in quite gaily, and presently forgot the carefully casual glances sent in their direction. She finished her delectable meal with a lemon syllabub, drank down the rest of the wine in her glass and jumped up readily enough when the professor suggested she might like to dance. She danced well, she knew that without being conceited about it; the knowledge, coupled with the excellent Sauternes with which Ross had filled her glass, added a sparkle which gave the lie to any speculation and gossip among Leo’s friends. Here, apparently, was no heartbroken girl; anyone less heartbroken would be hard to find. Leo had been taken for a ride, they told each other, and Ross, seeing everything without appearing to do so, was well satisfied.
The evening flew by, and it was Gemma who pointed out that they should really leave. ‘For we shan’t be back before one o’clock as it is,’ she observed,
‘and I daresay you have appointments for the morning.’
Ross had looked faintly amused and agreed so readily that she wondered if he had been bored; he hadn’t appeared to be, but then he had such good manners that he would never allow boredom to show. Her conversation, she remembered uneasily, hadn’t been in the least amusing, which wouldn’t have mattered so much if she had been pretty enough for every man in the room to envy him. This reflection had the effect of rendering her almost silent during their drive back, and any remarks she did achieve were wooden observations about the band and the hotel. Even her thanks, when they arrived at Huis Berhuys, sounded stiff in her own ears, and his conventional reply did nothing to make her feel easier on that score, so that she was surprised when he got out of the car to help her out and then accompanied her indoors. ‘There will be coffee in the library,’ he told her, and led the way there.
She watched him pouring the coffee from a thermos jug. He looked calm and placid and not in the least tired, and he was undeniably handsome in the soft lamplight. ‘Are you spending the night here?’ she asked him.
He gave her her cup and sat down opposite her. ‘No—I’d like to, but I’ve a number of patients to see at the hospital in the morning.’
She glanced at the small gilt carriage clock on its wall bracket. ‘But it’s awfully late.’
‘The road will be almost empty at this time of night—I shall be home in an hour or so.’ He smiled at her. ‘I have tickets for the ballet at den Haag tomorrow evening—will you come?’ And when she hesitated: ‘It might be a good idea—this evening was a great success. I can imagine the telephone conversations in the morning.’ He added deliberately: ‘Leo will be told every smallest detail.’
Gemma swallowed. ‘I—I thought he had gone to Curaçao.’
‘He has been delayed,’ said the professor gently. ‘A question of his front teeth…’
