Saturday's Child

by Neels, Betty

  They were ready as she had promised by eight o’clock, with Nina in the fur bonnet and the red shoes to match the zipper suit. Abigail, standing beside her in the hall, wore the tweed coat, which she now loathed, her knitted beret and the scarf to match. She hated those almost as much; only the gloves Professor de Wit had given her gave her pleasure. Her boots still leaked, but Bolly, bless him, had cleaned them beautifully and no one knew about the ieak. But she felt shabby beside her small charge and she had an uneasy feeling that the professor shared her feelings as he came into the hall, for the look he gave her was a leisurely and searching one, starting at the pompom of her beret, and going slowly down to her feet. The little smile he gave her did nothing to mollify her ruffled feelings.

  There had been some late snow during the night, just sufficient to turn the roads to slush and powder the bare trees, but once out of the city, the flat country on either side of the motorway was blanketed in white; only the road ahead of them gleamed blackly. Abigail, sitting comfortably in the warmth of the big car, with Nina cuddled close to her and Colossus beside her, felt sorry for the drivers of the slow-moving farm carts drawn by plodding horses, but Nina, untroubled by this aspect of the winter’s morning, wanted to know about the horses; she wanted to know about the cows and die canals and the windmills and bridges too; Abigail’s Dutch was strained to breaking point and the professor, helping her out from time to time with the right words laughed a good deal, and Bollinger glanced at him several times, surprise all over his wrinkled face.

  They went by way of the sea dyke, over the Ijsselmeer, and there was nothing to see because the snow blotted out the view on either side and the road ahead was straight, fading into an unseen horizon. Abigail scarcely noticed when they reached the mainland and the professor told her that they were in Friesland. They went down the coast of the great inland water and then turned inland to Bolsward and on to Sneek, both of which small towns Abigail had but the briefest glimpse of, but what she saw enchanted her, for despite the snow and the grey sky and the lack of people about the streets, they were picturesque.

  They turned off the main road presently, and then again, this time into a much narrower road, running between fields with no villages to be seen. They could, thought Abigail, be in the middle of a snow-covered desert, and had her thought answered by the professor, who remarked easily:

  ‘A little bleak today, I’m afraid, but when it is clear weather, the country is charming.’

  The road gave way to a still narrower one, made of bricks and uneven, with a signpost pointing to Eernewoude, but before they reached there the professor swung the car into a side lane lined with bare trees, and almost at once through an open gateway. The lane ended abruptly in a wide sweep of cobblestones and before them was the house.

  It was an old house, with a multitude of gables, and built of rose bricks, and while not large, appeared roomy enough. Its windows were small and arched and its panelled door studded with nails. The door swung open as they got out of the car, Nina was whisked up into her uncle’s arms, and with an invitation to follow him, Abigail went inside, with Bollinger behind.

  It was similar to the house in Amsterdam, with the same square hall with its black and white flagged floor and its lovely linenfold panelling, but this hall extended back a good deal further and the staircase rose out of its centre and divided from a little landing half way up it. It smelled of wax polish and potpourri and was pleasantly warm. Abigail’s coat was taken from her and she was invited to go into one of the rooms on the right of the entrance, but not before the professor had introduced the old woman who had opened the door. Joke, he called her, and it was apparent that he and she had known each other for a long time.

  The room they went into was quite large and a little dark by reason of the weather outside and the small windows, but the lamps in their wall brackets gave it a cheerful air, as did the fire burning briskly in the old-fashioned cast-iron fireplace. Il was furnished in much the same style as the small sitting room in Amsterdam; a happy blend of comfort and antiques.

  The professor offered Abigail an easy chair by the fire and Nina immediately perched on her lap. Bollinger had disappeared. ‘To see to those bulbs of his,’ explained the professor. ‘My gardener, the man Bollinger has replaced so well, is convalescing here, they will no doubt have a most interesting talk over their coffee.’

  ‘However can they talk?’ Abigail wanted to know, ‘unless your gardener knows any English.’

  ‘He does. He was in England during the war. Besides, they both know the Latin names of everything that grows, which makes it easy.’

  The idea of Bollinger being so clever hadn’t entered Abigail’s head. She said in astonishment, ‘How extraordinary, Bolly speaking Latin.’

  ‘He’s a clever old man when it comes to gardens,’ replied the professor, and went to take the coffee tray from Joke. Over coffee he said, ‘I shall be busy for an hour or two. Can you amuse yourselves, do you think? The garden is quite large. It’s stopped snowing again. I daresay if Nina’s sufficiently wrapped up, she might like to make a snowman—there’s just about enough for that.’

  Abigail, thinking uneasily of her leaking boots, agreed because Nina wanted to go outside so badly, and moreover, the professor had finished his coffee and she sensed that he wanted to be gone. There was a wide stretch of lawn behind the house and plenty of snow to make the promised snowman. Between them they made a magnificent specimen and then snowballed each other and Colossus until they were warm and Nina was tired.

  Time to go indoors,’ said Abigail firmly, and scooped up the little girl and bore her inside. Even after they had tidied themselves in the cloakroom surprisingly hidden in the hall panelling, there was still an hour till lunch. They went back to sit by the fire, and Nina, on Abigail’s lap, recited her jumble of nursery rhymes. She was giving her own version of Baa Baa, Black Sheep when the professor joined them. He listened gravely to his niece’s efforts, congratulated her with suitable enthusiasm and offered Abigail a drink before stretching himself out in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth. It was pleasant sitting there in the warm, delightfully furnished room. Abigail sipped her sherry, on the edge of a daydream, and was brought back to reality by his voice.

  ‘Nina’s going home in two days’ time, Abigail. Dirk telephoned me. We shall miss her, shan’t we?’

  ‘Yes, very much.’ She contrived to make her voice normal. ‘Will she go by car?’

  ‘Yes, Dirk will be here tomorrow evening and will spend the night, and they will leave the next morning. You will wish to return to England as soon as possible?’

  She could only say yes to that and add: ‘Is Bollinger to come with me?’

  ‘Not unless you want him to, but it’s entirely up to you— and him—to decide.’

  Abigail looked relieved without knowing it. ‘Oh, well, if he could stay—you see I shall have to find another job and—and somewhere to live, and if it’s a case where I have to live in, I must find a room for Bolly. It would be nice if I could have it all settled before he goes back to England.’

  ‘It would be nicer still,’ said the professor, not looking at her at all but into his glass, ‘if you would stay on for a while and work in the hospital.’

  Her heart rocketed into her throat, she swallowed it back, staring at his downbent head. ‘Oh, yes, it would, but is there a job for me there?’

  ‘My dear good girl, we are as short of nurses here as they are in England. I can think of half a dozen vacancies...you don’t mind where you work?’

  ‘No—at least, I know Zuster Ritsma already and she speaks English, which makes it easier for me, and I prefer surgery.’

  Theatre?’

  ‘Yes—I did six months.’

  He nodded and put down his glass, half smiling. ‘Good, that’s settled then—how about having your room at Mrs Macklin’s again?’

  ‘Do you suppose she would let me? I should like that very much.’

  ‘So will she.’ He got up
and lifted Nina into his arms. ‘Shall we have lunch, and then while this young lady is having her nap, I’ll show you round the house.’

  Lunch was a gay meal and the food so good that Abigail felt constrained to mention it.

  ‘Joke’s daughter,’ the professor told her. ‘It’s her husband who does the garden. Joke attends to the housekeeping although she has retired, but she’s lived here all her life and it’s home to her. She lives with Arie and her daughter in the little cottage behind the garage.’

  They ate thick pea soup, followed by grilled sole and a salad; the sweet, as a concession to Nina’s youthful appetite, was a pile of waffles and a great dish of whipped cream. They drank a dry white wine with it and the professor poured Nina’s orangeade with the same care as he poured the wine. Abigail, watching the two of them, thought what a splendid father he would make, for he was surprisingly patient with children. Only with himself, she thought sadly, was he impatient.

  When they had finished, he led the way upstairs to a small room on the first floor, where Joke was turning down the coverlet of a narrow bed with a carved headboard.

  ‘Odilia used to sleep here when she was little,’ the professor told Abigail. ‘I’ve never changed it, it seemed so right for a little girl. It hasn’t been used for a long time...’ He frowned a little and Abigail busied herself with Nina because she could guess why he was frowning—there might have been a small daughter of his own in that room. Out on the landing after tucking Nina up under the pink eiderdown she asked, ‘Have you really got the time to take me round? I shall be quite happy on my own if there’s something else you want to do.’

  ‘There’s nothing else I want to do,’ he spoke briskly. ‘Let’s go downstairs first, shall we?’

  There were two other rooms besides the sitting room and the darkly splendid dining room; one a vast drawing room, hung with silk panels in a faded strawberry pink, with an Aubusson carpet on its floor and dark green curtains of velvet. Its walls were lined with cabinets displaying china and silver and glass and on either side of its vast fireplace were velvet-covered sofas flanked by rosewood sofa tables. Here too the chairs were a happy mixture of modern comfort and antiques and what paintings there were were light flower studies or pastoral scenes.

  The other room was the library, its walls crowded with books, and from the look of it, frequently used. The furniture was heavy and smelled faintly of tobacco and leather, and Abigail wrinkled her nose. ‘Nice,’she commented. ‘What a marvellous collection of books. I suppose most of them are in Dutch.’

  ‘Some—there are quite a number in English, though, and German and a few in French.’ He gave her a sidelong glance and smiled. T have to keep up with my studies, you know.’

  She agreed gravely, ‘Yes, of course, but I expect you write too, don’t you?’

  ‘Only when I have something worthwhile to say.’

  He led her back into the hall and up the staircase to the bedrooms, more numerous than she would have supposed, each with its narrow windows and each too, with its own colour scheme, pale vague blues and pinks and greens which acted as magnificent foils to the beautiful old furniture, and was echoed again in the thick carpeting.

  Abigail sighed gently as they went downstairs again. ‘It’s a beautiful house, as beautiful as your house in Amsterdam— have your family lived here for a long time?’

  They were back in the sitting room, facing each other across the fireplace with Colossus between them. The professor eased himself into his chair and answered her in a leisurely fashion.

  ‘Yes, three hundred years or so. My family are Friesian, you know, with strong ties with Amsterdam. While I was married we came here very seldom. My—wife disliked it, it is so quiet, you see. Only the country around us and a handful of small houses, but ‘ find it delightful.’

  Abigail nodded. ‘And Amsterdam—surely you love your house there?’

  ‘Yes, equally, I suppose—but here I can escape, you see.’

  She saw very well. Away from the bustle of the hospital and his eternal round of patients and still more patients, this old house would be like a quiet heaven. She said so and was rewarded by his smile. ‘You see how you have changed me,’ he said quietly. ‘Before I came to know you I should have suspected you of saying that merely to please me.’

  ‘Isn’t that a little conceited of you?’

  ‘Yes—but perhaps you don’t know that for a number of years I have been regarded in the light of a good—what is the word?—catch, I believe. I have come to regard any girl who agreed too readily with me or said something obviously meant to attract my attention or win my approval as highly suspect.’ ‘So that’s why you accused me of toadying. But they may have meant it—they might have been charming...’

  ‘Just as my wife was charming?’ He gave her a bitter little smile. ‘Do you not say in your own language: Once bitten, twice shy? I am very shy, Abigail.’

  She eyed him warily. He looked irritable again and all set to say something ill-tempered. Perhaps it would be a good idea to talk about something else.

  ‘You have a lovely garden,’ she told him brightly. ‘Do roses do well here?*

  The look of bitterness left his face; he looked as though he was going to laugh. ‘Excellently—there is a large bed in the centre of the lawn at the back of the house, and there’s a rose walk besides, at one side.’

  ‘I should have loved to have seen it,’ said Abigail regretfully. ‘We had a rose garden, when we lived in the country. Bolly was very good with them and my mother had great bowls of them around the house.’

  He said deliberately, ‘Tell me about your parents, Abigail.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to...’

  ‘Yes, you do, only you have buried them deep down, haven’t you? You shouldn’t, you know. Happy times are for remembering. When did you move to London?’

  She found herself telling him about her childhood and her parents, and Bolly and the pleasant house they had lived in, and he scarcely interrupted her, sitting in his chair, smoking a pipe and staring at the ceiling and not at her at all. When she had finished she felt as though she had talked all the sadness away for ever and left only happy memories. She sat up straight, aware that she had been talking for a long time. Tm sorry,’ she said shyly, ‘I didn’t mean... I must have bored you...’

  He got up and pulled her to her feet and stood in front of her, her hands still in his. ‘No, never that. You deserve a happier future, Abigail.’

  She reddened. ‘I don’t pity myself in the least; I’m very fortunate to have a job—and there’s Bolly...’

  ‘Don’t you have other friends?’

  She answered reluctantly. ‘Yes—quite a number, but one doesn’t burden friends, they have their own lives.’ She fidgeted under his steady gaze. ‘Shall I go and fetch Nina down?’

  ‘By all means. I have to work for half an hour or so.’

  He sounded aloof, even annoyed, perhaps because she had refused to talk about herself; indeed, thinking about it she thought that perhaps she had snubbed him although she hadn’t meant to do so. She went slowly from the room and up the lovely staircase to where Nina was waiting impatiently to be got up.

  They went back after tea, and Abigail, half hoping that the professor might suggest that she and Nina should sit beside him, was disappointed. The two men talked about gardens and gardening for the whole of the journey. Nina had dropped off to sleep, curled up like a kitten in her lap, Colossus slept too, and Abigail was left with her thoughts again, and they weren’t very happy.

  She dined alone, for the professor, Bollinger informed her, had gone out. ‘Some big do or other,’ he confided. ‘All got up, he is, and very handsome too. Must give the ladies a treat. I hear you’re to work in the hospital for a while, Miss Abby, and very nice too, if I may say so. You’ll be living with that nice Mrs Macklin again?’

  ‘Yes, Bolly, though I don’t know for how long. I’m so glad for you—you’re happy here, aren’t you?’

  ‘N
ot half! Lovely bit of garden in that house where we went today, and no one breathing down your neck—I missed me garden, Miss Abby.’

  ‘Oh, Bolly dear, I know, and I’ll never be able to repay you for giving it all up when Father died. What should we have done without you? You’ve been a real friend. I hope I stay for ages, just to make you happy.’

  ‘Won’t you be happy too, Miss Abby?’ He sounded wistful and full of curiosity all at once.

  ‘Yes, I shall, actually, Bolly.’ She didn’t look at him. ‘I think I’ll go to bed early, I’m almost as tired as Nina.’ She gave him a sweet smile and presently wandered through the quiet house and up to her room.

  She didn’t hurry over her bath and it was an hour or more before she was ready for bed, and when she went into Nina’s room as she always did at bedtime, it was to find the child awake. It took only a few minutes for her to discover that Nina wasn’t ill, only excited. She had slept and wakened and remembered that she was to go home in a day’s time and she wanted to talk about it. Abigail fetched her some warm milk from the kitchen and then curled up beside her on the bed while she sipped it, very slowly and with pauses for excited chatter. But presently she had said it all and the milk was nearly finished. She edged nearer Abigail. ‘Not pretty,’ she informed her, fingering Abigail’s dressing gown, a serviceable one she had received from her aunt and uncle at Christmas. Nina was right, it wasn’t in the least pretty; a dim red, thick and woolly, it made Abigail’s plumpness assume enormous proportions and the colour merely emphasized the mediocrity of her features.