The Hasty Marriage

by Betty Neels

  Laura read the brief message several times, trying to extract comfort from it, although she was finally forced to admit that it contained none. He could have told her he was going away, although on second thoughts it wasn’t very likely that he would have done so, especially after her outburst. And where had he gone? She ignored her breakfast and flew to the telephone. The reception clerk at the hotel was polite and positive. Mrs Eldridge had not yet returned since she had left the hotel on the previous day; it was understood that she would be back to collect her luggage, as she had taken only a small case with her. Would Mevrouw care to leave a message?

  Mevrouw declined the offer, replaced the receiver, drank a cup of black coffee, gave the dogs their toast and went up to her room. There seemed to be only one thing left to do. Joyce had got her own way once more, only much more quickly than Laura had expected. She wondered what her sister could have said to Reilof to cause him to turn his back on his well-ordered, busy life, his lovely home—he must love her to distraction. Laura, too sad for tears, opened her clothes closet.

  She packed carefully, discarding anything she didn’t absolutely need and taking only a small suitcase, then she changed into a blue shirtwaister and sensible shoes, put all her jewellery into the jewel box in the bow-fronted chest—even her engagement ring, although it hurt her to do so—and left with only her wedding ring, sat down to compose a letter to Reilof. It took a little time to write, for it had to be brief, sensible and friendly and giving no clue as to where she was going, only the address of her father’s lawyer. ‘So that you can contact me through him when your plans are made,’ she wrote, ‘and I hope that you will be very happy.’

  She had cried over it a little and made a splodge, so that she had to write it all over again. As she put it into its envelope and sealed it down, it seemed to her that was what she had done with the brief chapter of her life with him—pushed it out of sight and closed it.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TRUUS and Piet would be having their coffee in the kitchen and the two girls and old Mevrouw Blok, who came in to do the washing and ironing, would be with them. Laura checked that she had her passport and enough money with her, picked up her case and went softly downstairs. She put her letter to Reilof on the desk in his study, left a note on the hall table telling Piet that she had taken the car and reminding him to feed Lucky and Hovis, and went to say goodbye to the dogs. That was the hardest thing she had to do, for Hovis whined softly and Lucky looked at her with his soft boot-button eyes, puzzled that he wasn’t going with her.

  She bade them return to their baskets, kissed their anxious faces and hugged them fondly before she went through the garden door and round the side of the house to the garage. The Fiat was cleaned and ready for the road, a job Piet did with pride. Laura slung her case on to the back seat and without looking back, drove out of the gate to join the stream of traffic going in the direction of Amsterdam.

  She drove mechanically, not allowing herself to think about Reilof or the life she had left behind her. At Schiphol she left the car in the park and bought a ticket for the next flight to London. She didn’t have long to wait, and once she was on board she didn’t look out of the porthole to watch Holland slide away beneath her, but buried herself in the newspapers she had been provided with, reading the same few sentences over and over again without seeing them at all.

  She still hadn’t made up her mind where she would go when the plane landed at Heathrow. She was making her way rather aimlessly through the reception hall when she saw Joyce, looking elegant and cool and pleased with herself, and carrying a big dress box. Her sudden appearance crowned the personal nightmare Laura was in, and she stood still, not quite believing her own eyes. But Joyce had seen her too and came hurrying towards her. ‘Laura,’ she said breathlessly, ‘what on earth are you doing here?’ Her lovely eyes widened. ‘Have you come to look for me? Is Larry worse?’

  ‘Worse?’ echoed Laura slowly, and Joyce said impatiently: ‘Oh, surely Reilof told you—he had a coronary soon after he left the hotel the morning after our dinner party. He was in the car and had the sense to stop. What a piece of luck that Reilof was actually passing when it happened and stopped to see what was the matter! He saved his life, I suppose, for he took him to hospital and saw to everything and then came back to the hotel to fetch me.’ She pouted. ‘You can keep your Reilof, ordering me around, telling me what to do…he’s furious with me because I simply had to fly over this morning and fetch this simply gorgeous dress I’d ordered. What use am I at the hospital, anyway? And Larry looks awful, all tubes and bottles and nurses and doctors fussing round—I hate people being ill, I told Reilof so—he looked at me as though…’ She paused. ‘He says Larry will get over it.’

  Laura asked faintly, her mind at sixes and sevens, ‘Did Reilof stay with him all day?’

  ‘Yes—until the evening when he started to recover.’ She looked curiously at Laura. ‘But he must have told you…?’

  ‘We had guests and he had to leave very early today.’

  Joyce wasn’t very interested. ‘I know—some doctor or other told me—Reilof was off to Antwerp to do something or other vital for some old man—not a penny to bless himself with, so I was told; Reilof won’t make a penny out of it. I’d no idea he was like that—wrapped up in his profession.’ Her pretty mouth sneered. ‘I bet he comes home late and misses parties and forgets to bring you flowers. I’ll stick to Larry.’

  Laura said quietly: ‘Yes, I think I should. That’s your flight being called. I hope Larry is better soon…’

  Joyce had gone with a casual wave and Laura stood, jostled by the hurrying people around her. What a fool she had been, and now she had burnt her boats, Reilof wouldn’t want her back; if he had loved her perhaps he would have come to look for her and taken her back home again, but he didn’t love her. He didn’t love Joyce either. Uncle Wim had been quite right, he had been infatuated and got over it like a child with the measles, and all he would want to do would be to forget her and go back to his busy, well-ordered life.

  She wandered on to where the air terminal bus was waiting and got in, still thinking about him, not giving a thought as to where she would go. It was as she was getting out of the bus that she knew; she found a taxi and at Waterloo Station took a ticket to Wareham and went to join the queue for the next train.

  The journey seemed endless and she was tired when the train stopped in the small station, but it was easy enough to get a taxi to take her to Corfe Castle. It was early evening by now with not much traffic about, and for the first time she wondered if there would be a room for her at the hotel, but her fears were unfounded; the holiday season was almost over and there were few guests, so she handed her case to the porter and for the first time since she had begun her journey, relaxed in the welcoming atmosphere of the old hotel. There was a room for her too, low-ceilinged and furnished with an enormous bed, an old-fashioned chest of drawers and a ponderous dressing table, but it was very clean and comfortable and there was a bathroom next door. She unpacked her few things and went down to the dining room for her dinner, conscious that she was hungry, for she had eaten nothing all day. Presently, nicely full and sleepy from the glass of wine she had had with her meal, she went upstairs again; bed would be delightful, even if she didn’t sleep.

  But she did, for the first part of the night at least, to wake in the early hours and worry about the tangle she was in. It would be a simple matter to telephone Reilof, she reflected, but supposing he felt himself to be well rid of her, she had been stupid enough…although any girl might have done the same. And he should have told her about Larry; all he had done had been to attack her about Jan—of all the nonsense…

  If she had seen him at breakfast perhaps he would have told her then, and she would have explained about Jan and Ella—it could have led to a better understanding between them at the very least. She tossed and turned in the wide bed, her thoughts getting more and more muddled. She had imagined, just once or twice, that he ha
d begun to like her. She dropped off into a restless doze on the thought, and woke to the early morning sounds of the little town and thankfully got up and got dressed, her mind already busy once more. If Joyce saw Reilof, and surely she would, would she tell him that she had met her at Heathrow? Knowing Joyce, she thought it unlikely, and supposing Larry died after all, would Joyce turn to Reilof again? She had seemed disenchanted with him at the airport, but he was rich and successful and if he had loved her once he might well do so again.

  Laura tied back her hair, suddenly impatient of it, and went down to make a pretence of eating her breakfast.

  She spent the morning wandering round the small shops and although she wasn’t hungry, lunch whiled away an hour. She had been given the same table she and Reilof had shared, for the landlord had remembered her, forcing her to think up a tale about Reilof not being able to come at the last minute, and when she had sat long enough she climbed up to the castle, wandering about the steep slopes until it was long past tea time.

  She felt calmer now, although she still could think what to do. She had money enough for a few weeks and she could always go home to her father, and surely she would hear before very long…it all rather depended on poor Larry. She shut her mind off from the various possibilities of the situation and went back to the hotel to change her dress and eat her solitary dinner after having a drink with some of the guests staying there. They were pleasant and friendly and she shared a coffee tray with them afterwards, but when they invited her to make a fourth at bridge she declined on the excuse that she had letters to write and was a poor hand at the game, anyway. And indeed, she did have one letter—a rough draft of what she would write to her father’s solicitor, but not yet—she must give Reilof time; she would send it in four or five days’ time.

  The letter composed to her liking, she brushed her hair and got into bed, and because she was really tired now, she slept at once and until morning.

  The next day she hired a bicycle and went to the Blue Pool. The morning was fresh and the narrow roads almost empty and she enjoyed the exercise, and the moment she had parked her bike and saw the first glimpse of blue water below her, she knew that this was where she had wanted to come. There were very few people there, and she climbed the narrow paths to the place where she and Reilof had sat together, and perched herself on the rustic bench. The pool gleamed bluely beneath her, not a ripple on its smooth surface, the trees and shrubs already yellowing a little with the approach of summer’s end. It was very quiet; someone had told her that the birds only sang on one side of the pool and where she was there was nothing but the rustle of the trees as the wind stirred them.

  The peace of it wrapped itself around Laura and gradually stilled her busy mind; it had been peaceful when she had been there with Reilof; he had enjoyed being there too, and she…her head had been full of half-made plans and high hopes.

  She sat on, oblivious of time, until hunger sent her down to the little tea-house for a pot of tea and toast before she cycled back to the hotel to eat her dinner with more appetite and go to bed early.

  She went again the next day, not bothering to take a book with her, but just sitting and dreaming and thinking about Reilof and the lovely old house; she missed it all—the dogs, Piet and Truus, old Mijnheer de Wal, but she supposed that in a little while she would get over her longing to see them all again.

  One more day, she told herself the following morning, and then she would pull herself together, write to the solicitor and make some sensible plans. It was almost a week now, at least she was used to the idea of being on her own again and had conquered a desire to burst into tears each time she thought of Reilof. She had no appetite for her breakfast; she made short work of it and set off for the Blue Pool once more, wearing the shirtwaister and a cardigan, both of which she was heartily sick of. Her hair she had tied back with a scarf and she hadn’t bothered overmuch with make-up. She parked her bike and wandered round the now familiar paths, finding her way at last to the rustic seat above the pool. She sat there for a long time, lulled by the quiet, and presently she closed her eyes. She was on the edge of sleep when she heard footsteps on the rough path which led up from the water, but she didn’t bother to open her eyes at once. When she did, Reilof was standing there, very close to her.

  Laura sat staring at him, her heart pounding so hard that she had no breath to speak, and only when he sat down beside her did she make a small sound, half sob, half sigh. At least he was flesh and blood and not a ghost made from her longing; dressed with his usual elegance, too, although his face was weary and showed lines she had never noticed before. He took her hand in his and turned to look down at her. ‘My darling girl…’ he said softly, and smiled, so that the weariness and lines disappeared completely.

  She tugged at her fast-held hand and his grip became rocklike, although still gentle. ‘You went away!’ she burst out furiously, but he took no notice, only picked up her hand and slipped the ruby ring back into its place above her wedding ring, and then kissed it so that she almost wailed, ‘Oh, you’ll have to explain…’

  He let her hand go then, and pulled her close and kissed her, and she, so suddenly transported from nightmare to dearest dream, kissed him back, so that Reilof kissed her again with most satisfying thoroughness. All the same, she said into his shoulder: ‘I don’t understand—at least, I’m not sure that I do. I met Joyce at Heathrow and she told me about Larry and that you’d saved his life…’ She thumped his great chest with a furious fist. ‘Oh, why didn’t you tell me…’

  ‘My dear love, wait a minute—you met Joyce? But why didn’t she tell me?’

  ‘Then how did you know I was here?’ demanded Laura.

  ‘The car at Schiphol—no, let me begin at the beginning, my darling. I telephoned Piet and he told me that you had gone out hours earlier and hadn’t come back—you had left him a note about the dogs, and he was worried, so I cancelled my lectures, went back home and found your note. I looked for you, my dear heart, I searched high and low. I telephoned your father and went to Uncle Wim and went to see Joyce, but she said nothing about seeing you. And then they telephoned about the car at Schiphol and I knew at last where you had gone. You see, I remembered the day we sat here together and what you said: That if ever you wanted to hide from anything or anyone, you would want to come here.’

  Laura tilted her head, the better to look into his face. ‘But why? I thought that you loved Joyce. And she—she told me that she intended to divorce Larry and marry you—that I could have you until she was ready…’

  His laugh was full of genuine amusement. ‘She said that? But not to me, my darling Laura. Perhaps she knew when we met again that I hadn’t even a flicker of interest in her any more. You see, I had been in love with you for quite some time, dear heart, although I didn’t choose to admit it to myself and certainly not to you, for I didn’t think that you loved me. Only on that day when I looked out of my consulting-room window and saw you driving past, looking so defiant and so small, did I admit it—I couldn’t go after you fast enough, and when I saw the Fiat on the side of the motorway…I could have boxed your ears, my little love.’

  Laura said indignantly: ‘You were beastly, and you were beastly about Jan, and I only went to persuade his girl-friend to marry him and live in your house, and you thought a whole load of rubbish—I could have thrown something at you!’

  There was a gleam in his eye as he studied her face, taking so long about it that she cried quite crossly, ‘Oh, don’t look at me, I know I look a complete hag.’

  He shook his head. ‘No—you’re the most beautiful girl in the world, and when I came home and found that Jan had been to see you I could have wrung your lovely neck.’

  Laura sat up, the better to look at him once more. She might not be the most beautiful girl in the world, but she certainly felt as though she was. She said, a little breathless, ‘Well, well—I never did! I thought you didn’t care a button for me—I have no looks, you know, and not much conversation
.’

  ‘You are a stubborn girl, for I have just told you that you are beautiful and I find your conversation quite delightful.’ Reilof tightened his hold a little and kissed her again, and presently she settled down against his shoulder once more.

  ‘Oh, do you,’ she asked, ‘do you really? But there’s a lot that’s not quite clear.’ After a moment she said, ‘I think I’d like a cup of tea.’

  He kissed the top of her head and said fiercely, ‘You’re too pale and thin, and it’s my fault. You shall have all the tea you can drink, dear love, and tomorrow I’ll take you home.’

  She said a little shyly: ‘I’m staying at the hotel.’

  ‘Yes. I know. I called in on the way here. The manager remembered me; he was disappointed that we should be leaving in the morning. I told him that we should come again and bring the children.’

  Laura jerked upright. ‘Children? But we haven’t any…’

  ‘These things take time, my darling, but we mustn’t disappoint the man, must we?’

  ‘Lucky and Hovis will be marvellous…’ Suddenly she was crying. ‘Oh, Reilof darling, I’ve been so homesick!’

  His arms wrapped her close in the most comforting manner. ‘Never again, dear love, I promise you.’

  She sniffed. ‘Oh, dear, I’m so happy, I think I’m going to cry…’

  Reilof put a finger under her chin and kissed her very gently. ‘You may have ten minutes, dearest, before we go and have our tea,’ and when she gave a little watery snort and said, ‘I haven’t got a hanky,’ offered his.

  She blew her red nose and mopped her eyes and asked, ‘Do I look awful, Reilof?’

  His dark eyes were tender, although he was laughing a little. ‘Must I tell you again that you’re the most beautiful girl in the world?’