by Betty Neels
She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Front teeth?’
‘He lost them yesterday—I knocked them out.’
‘You did? Oh, how very kind of you,’ declared Gemma with such enthusiasm that her companion’s eyes glinted with amusement. ‘It’s just the sort of thing my brothers would have done.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ Ross begged. ‘It gave me great satisfaction. I hope you will forgive me when I say that it is something I have wished to do for some time.’
‘Oh, well, yes—I gave you a good excuse, didn’t I?’ She could hear her voice, brittle with false cheerfulness and ready to crack at any moment. She put her cup down and sat looking at it until he said: ‘Well, I suppose I must be going. Will you lock the door after me?’
Gemma turned the ponderous key in its lock and shot the bolts and listened to the squeal of the tyres as he turned the car at the gates. Without him, her thoughts became gloomy once more, but she was too tired to pursue them. She went up to bed, her head a fine muddle of smart restaurants, missing front teeth and what she should wear to the ballet.
She had expected not to sleep, but awoke to find the sun streaming in through her bedroom window and Ria standing by the bed with her morning tea. She was one day nearer home, and hard on that waking thought came the one that she would like to stay for ever at Huis Berhuys, wrapped in its peace and security—and that was nonsense, she told herself roundly; what about George and the others and her career? She drank her tea, then jumped out of bed and went along to see how Rienieta was feeling. She was awake and excited at the prospect of a visit to Friesland, so much so that beyond a casual inquiry as to Gemma’s evening out, she showed no interest in the subject.
The two of them spent the day out of doors and friends came in the afternoon to join them, and it wasn’t until she went to her room to change for the evening that Gemma realized that she hadn’t thought about Leo all day—she hadn’t had the chance, but somewhere deep inside her she was unhappy, and that unhappiness was made worse when she remembered that she would be leaving Holland in a very few days now. It was no good brooding, she told herself, and self-pity never helped anyone. She would have to grin and bear it until time rubbed it out.
She wore a cream wild silk dress; it wasn’t new, but it suited her and its very simplicity rendered it more or less dateless; she hadn’t worn it when she had gone out with Leo because it was quite obviously last year’s dress and he was observant of such things, but now no one was likely to notice her appearance. She was wrong, for Ross noticed; he came to meet her as she went downstairs and said at once: ‘That’s nice—and eye-catching.’
Gemma paused to look at him. ‘Eye-catching? Oh, I thought…it’s not in the least fashionable, you know. It’s last year’s—I thought no one would notice…’ Her voice tailed away under his amused look. ‘That sounds awfully rude, as though it doesn’t matter what I wear when I’m with you. I didn’t mean that.’
‘I know what you meant, Gemma. All the same, it’s attractive, and we want people to notice you, don’t we? We have to keep up the good work, don’t we?’
‘Yes—yes, of course.’ She came down off the stairs and walked to the door with him. ‘I suppose you haven’t heard…?’ Her voice died away and she wouldn’t look at him.
‘If Leo has been told about our dinner together? No, but then I’ve been at the hospital all day. But I imagine it highly probable that he has.’
The Koninklijke Schouwburg was packed and they took their seats with only a few moments to spare, which meant that they came under the eyes of those already seated around them. Gemma, conscious of the glances cast in their direction, nonetheless assumed an unconcerned leisurely progress which earned her a whispered word of praise from her companion. ‘Good girl—that was very well done,’ he said low-voiced in her ear as she sat down, ‘and don’t look round, but that girl with the teeth who looks like a tent pole is sitting two rows behind us—you remember her?’
Gemma remembered—Lise someone or other, who had sneered at the pink dress. A little thrill of childish pleasure because Ross had called her a tent pole ran through her and she smiled up at him and was disconcerted to meet the unsmiling penetrating look in his eyes; but only for a second, the next moment he was smiling again.
She watched the performance with every sign of interest, not really seeing it at all, her thoughts busy. Surely Leo would have been told by now, and what had he thought? Would he be furious at her apparent turning of the tables on him, or might the whole thing have sparked off a real interest in her in place of the feeling he had pretended so well? Her hands clenched in her lap, as she remembered how well he had done that, and were instantly covered by Ross’s large firm hand, and she threw him a grateful glance before concentrating on the stage, this time in earnest.
It wasn’t until he was preparing to go after they had returned to Huis Berhuys that he mentioned casually that he had arranged her flight for her. ‘I’ll let you have the ticket tomorrow,’ and when she looked at him questioningly: ‘Mama is taking Rienieta shopping tomorrow afternoon; I’ll come over for you about two o’clock.’ He barely gave her time to agree and thank him for her evening before his own quiet goodnight. She bolted the door after him as she had done on the previous night and felt a faint stir of excitement at seeing him again. He hadn’t said where they were going—perhaps to some other public place where Leo’s friends would see them; by now surely they would have all realised that Leo’s bet had misfired, but perhaps he wanted to make quite certain. Certainly his plan had helped. She no longer felt so humiliated, and Leo would never know now whether she had fallen for him or had been playing his own game. She sighed. Falling in love hadn’t been at all what she had expected. She sighed again and went to sleep.
It was raining by lunch time on the following day; Rienieta and her mother went off, driven by her father in the big BMW, and Gemma went to get her raincoat and a scarf for her hair. Not knowing where she was going, she had put on the Jaeger skirt and the coral jumper and a pair of light shoes, and now she looked at herself in the glass and hoped that she would do.
She was too early, but she might as well go downstairs and wait for Ross. He was already there, sitting in the hall, reading a paper. He got up as she went towards him, cast the paper down untidily on to a chair and opened the door on to the driving rain outside. His greeting had been friendly and he made some casual remark about the weather as they got into the car. It wasn’t until Gemma asked him where they were going and expressed the hope that she was suitably dressed that he said: ‘I thought we would go to my house and then take a look at Vianen.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘You look very nice—you always do.’
She felt grateful for his kindness; somehow he always conveyed the impression that she was the kind of girl any man would enjoy taking out, and what was more, she was beginning to believe him. She settled back beside him, already happier. ‘I looked up Vianen this morning,’ she told him. ‘Rienieta was telling me about it, you see, and I wanted to know about the gateways and the Counts of Brederode and the medieval town hall…are there a lot of tourists there in the summer?’
‘Very few, thank heavens. We’ll take the motorway, I think, and come back through the country.’
‘I forgot to ask your mother at what time she would like me to be back.’
‘I said that we’d be back in time for dinner—there’s no hurry, is there, and Rienieta’s shopping expeditions are time-consuming events, no one will be home before seven o’clock. How well she looks now—you have done her a lot of good, Gemma.’
‘Thank you, but I haven’t done much, you know. She’s a dear, and I’m glad she’s quite well again.’
‘So am I. She’s my father’s darling, being the youngest—she’s everyone’s darling, I think—rather like George…’
There was so much to talk about; the journey seemed to Gemma to be too short, and she was surprised when Ross said: ‘We turn off here. Vianen is another kilometre or so ahead of us; the v
illage is at the end of this lane.’
She hadn’t known what to expect, certainly not the delightful house fronting the village square, its ponderous door reached by a double flight of steps, its enormous windows gleaming in the sudden burst of sunshine after the rain. It was flanked by an archway leading to a narrow cobbled lane on one side of it, and the other was hedged off by a high brick wall with a nail-studded door in its centre.
Ross stopped the car at the bottom of the steps, said: ‘Here we are,’ and opened her door.
‘Well,’ said Gemma, a little breathlessly, ‘I had no idea—I mean, I thought you would have a flat or a little house. This is—is…’ Words failed her and her companion smiled.
‘It was my grandfather’s house, and his father’s before him. Over the years it has been the custom for the eldest son to take possession when he’s of age. Come in.’
The door opened under his hand and they went into the long narrow high-ceilinged hall, with its traditional black and white tiled floor, its panelled walls and a number of arched doorways on either side. Before he had closed the door a large, stout woman came sailing down the hall with cluckings of delight and cries of welcome. Reaching them, she clasped her hands across her vast waist, eyed Gemma with small, bright blue eyes, and allowed her strong features to break into a smile.
‘This is my housekeeper, Ortje,’ said Ross. ‘She’s from Friesland and married to my gardener. Her niece is the housemaid—all very cosy and convenient for all of us.’ He said something to Ortje, who chuckled richly, and when Gemma put out a hand, wrung it briskly and broke into a spate of words.
‘Oh, dear,’ exclaimed Gemma, ‘what a handicap it is not understanding a word! Please will you tell her I’m very glad to meet her?’
The professor said something else and his housekeeper shook with laughter as she led the way to one of the closed doors and threw it open. The room they entered was charming; a combination of muted colours which blended very nicely with the thick patterned carpet underfoot. The walls were patterned too with some sort of silk hanging and hung with paintings under an ornate plaster ceiling. Gemma took the chair she was offered and looked around her. ‘It’s quite beautiful,’ she exclaimed. ‘Is your consulting room here too?’
‘On the other side of the hall; it can be reached from the door at the side without coming into the house.’
‘Was your grandfather a doctor too?’
‘Oh, yes, and his father and grandfather before him. We will take a look round presently if you would like that and I’ll take you to Vianen before tea—it’s not large.’
The rest of the house was beautiful too, its rooms high-ceilinged and furnished with a restrained elegance and comfort which Gemma loved, and presently they wandered out to the car again and drove to Vianen, where Gemma was taken to see the Lekpoort and the Hofpoort and then to view the magnificent town hall while the professor gave her a brisk précis of its history. She asked him anxiously once or twice if he didn’t find it tiresome to take her sightseeing, but he seemed to be enjoying it as much as she was, and later, when she had seen everything, he took her back to his house and they had their tea by the open sitting room window, taking advantage of the now brilliant sunshine. And when it was time to go, Gemma got up with a reluctance which caused the professor to hide a small satisfied smile. She wasn’t sure now if it wouldn’t have been better if she hadn’t visited his house, for then she wouldn’t have minded leaving it. And she did mind; she craned her neck for a last glimpse of it as they drove away and Ross said: ‘You like it, don’t you?’
‘Yes. I like Huis Berhuys, but now I’ve seen your house, and I like it even better.’
Her companion smiled and said nothing, and Gemma, her head full of the afternoon’s pleasure, was content to sit quietly until he said: ‘I’m going off the motorway here and on to the Dordrecht road, we’ll skirt the town and take the road to Willemstad.’ He had left the motorway as he spoke. ‘There’s a map in the side pocket if you want to see where you are.’
She studied it carefully, asking a lot of questions and mispronouncing the names of the towns quite dreadfully. There was plenty to talk about, and they were back, she discovered, long before she wanted to be.
Most of the family were in the house when they went in. Dinner was a gay meal with a great deal of laughter and talk. Gemma looked round the table and knew that whatever else she forgot, she would never forget any of them. She caught Ross looking at her and smiled. She wouldn’t forget him either. He had understood how she had felt about Leo; without his help she would never have got through the last few days. For the first time since the party, she slept deep and long.
There were two days left, she told herself when she woke up the next morning, and it didn’t seem possible, and today Ross wasn’t coming. He had said that he had to go to Amsterdam and didn’t expect to be back until late in the evening, and after today there would be only one day left. She had been booked on a late morning flight from Schiphol and she tried not to think about it, and was succeeding very well until Mevrouw Dieperink van Berhuys told her that there was to be a family lunch party the next day and of course she would join the family. ‘Such a pity Ross can’t come,’ said his mother, and shot a glance at Gemma’s face, which, did she but know it, registered disappointment.
There were a great many guests—aunts and uncles and cousins, the latter all looking very alike, so that Gemma kept thinking that Ross had come after all. The girl cousins were pretty and there was a sprinkling of children and one very old lady with white hair and black eyes. She had a deep booming voice and held a silver-handled ebony stick which, as far as Gemma could see, she used, not to walk with, but to prod various members of her family when she wished to attract their attention. Gemma, feeling shy, was handed briskly round the family until at last she found herself standing in front of the old lady.
‘Our great-aunt,’ said the cousin, so very like Ross, who was escorting her. ‘Barones Berhuys van Petterinck.’
His venerable relation adjusted her spectacles and took a good look at Gemma. ‘Nice figure,’ she pronounced in penetrating English, ‘a jolie laide, I see—she’ll pay for dressing. Come here, child, where I can see you properly.’
Gemma advanced a few steps. Her ‘How do you do, Barones,’ was politely uttered despite the old lady’s remarks, and she was rewarded by ‘Nice manners, too.’ Her interrogator patted the chair beside her and waved the nephew away. ‘Sit down and tell me about yourself,’ she commanded, and Gemma patiently answered the sharp questions put to her until lunch was announced and she was able to slip away to her own place at the table between two cheerful young men whose conversation kept her chuckling throughout the meal.
It was a glorious afternoon; lunch eaten, the whole party scattered into small groups, the elderlies to the drawing room, where they unashamedly took refreshing naps, the younger ones out into the garden and the children to the stables to see the puppies. And because, despite everyone’s niceness to her, Gemma still felt shy, she took charge of the children, still small enough to control despite her lack of Dutch. She led the party down to the charming little lake when the puppies palled, and it was here that Ross joined them. ‘Got landed with the brats?’ he asked cheerfully, and was drowned by the vociferous welcome from the smaller members of the party.
When it was a little more peaceful, Gemma said: ‘Your mother said you wouldn’t be coming.’
‘To the lunch party, no. Do you find my family overpowering?’
‘No, not at all. They’re all charming.’
‘And does that include Great-Aunt Rienieta?’
‘The very old lady with the stick? She’s gorgeous.’
‘Was she outrageous? She’s noted for her outspokenness.’
‘She called me a jolie laide, which is so much nicer than being told that one is plain.’
Ross put his head on one side and took a long look at her. ‘There is a difference, you know.’ His voice was very deliberate, his eyes on he
r face. ‘No looks, wasn’t it—too plump and far too good.’
She went a very bright pink. ‘There’s no need…’ she began.
‘Oh yes, there is, even if it’s only to make you see that you mustn’t always believe what you hear. What you are, in actual fact, is jolie laide, just as Great-Aunt said, and although this may surprise you, men like plump girls—they like good girls too, Gemma, and don’t you forget that.’
He turned away to toss a very small girl high in the air and sit her on his shoulder. ‘We are all bidden to drink tea in the drawing room.’ He added something in his own language to the moppet on his shoulder, who giggled and shrieked as they went up to the house. The children liked him; he should have married and had children of his own, thought Gemma, trying to keep up to his long stride. Before she could curb her tongue she voiced the thought out loud, then went scarlet and said: ‘Oh, I do beg your pardon!’
He had stopped to look at her. ‘That’s exactly what Great-Aunt has told me a hundred times, and when I told her the other day that I intended to take her advice, she was for once speechless.’
All Gemma could think of to say to that was ‘Oh!’
She didn’t see him to speak to alone after that. He went away again after tea and they said their goodbyes in the middle of a chattering group of cousins. ‘I’ll drive you to Schiphol,’ he told her carelessly. ‘The news will get around and there’s always someone coming or going there—a last gesture, don’t you think?’
‘There’s no need…’ she began.
‘I have to go to Amsterdam,’ he told her coolly.
He had been right again. There was someone there—Cor, standing with the beanpole, probably waiting for someone. Cor pretended not to see them, but the beanpole nodded coldly and Gemma managed to smile, terrified to look round her in case Leo was there too.
‘He’s not,’ said Ross softly. ‘I happen to know that he’s in a clinic having some new front teeth put in.’ ‘Oh,’ said Gemma, and then caught her breath as he went on: ‘He’ll have to be quick about it, he’s getting married in Curaçao next week.’
