by Betty Neels
He had halted and stood looking at her with raised eyebrows. ‘Oh, yes—a middle-aged married woman, very sober and conscientious. You must go and see her for yourself some day.’
Deborah was left standing in the hall, her mouth open in surprise. Did he suppose her to be jealous of something absurd like that? She mooned back into the sitting room, Smith at her heels. Of course she was jealous; he filled her with rage, he was exasperating and indifferent, but she was still jealous. She would have to cure that, she told herself sternly, if she was to have any peace of mind in the future—the uncertain future, she had to allow, and wondered why Gerard had wanted her back. But if she had hoped to see a change in his manner towards her, she was doomed to disappointment. He was a quiet man by nature, he seemed to her to be even quieter now, and sometimes she caught him staring at her in a thoughtful manner; it was a pity that his habit of drooping the lids over his eyes prevented her from seeing their expression. There was no hint of a return of those few strange moments on the moor; they had been make-believe, she told herself, and took pains to take up the smooth, neat pattern of their life together as though it had never been ruffled out of its perfection.
She visited his family, arranged a dinner party for a medical colleague who was coming from Vienna and bought yet another new dress to wear at it. It was a very pretty dress, fine wool in soft greens and pinks, with a wide skirt. It would go very well with Tante Emmiline’s garnets and perhaps, she hoped wistfully, Gerard might notice it. She hung it carefully in her clothes cupboard and went to get ready for the orphans’ hour and for a number of muddled but sincere reasons, took almost every penny of her remaining allowance and when she reached the orphanage gate, stuffed the money into the alms box hung upon it, accompanying the action with a hotchpotch of wordless prayers—and later, when one of them was answered, took fresh heart. For Gerard noticed the new dress; indeed, he stood looking at her for so long that she became a little shy under his steady gaze and asked in a brittle little voice: ‘Is there something wrong? Don’t you like my dress?’ She achieved a brittle laugh too. ‘A pity, because it’s too late to change it now.’
His eyes narrowed and a little smile just touched the corners of his mouth. ‘Far too late, Deborah,’ he said quietly, ‘and I wouldn’t change a single…’ his voice altered subtly. ‘The dress is delightful and you look charming.’ He turned away as he spoke and the old-fashioned door bell tinkled through the house. ‘Our guests, my dear. Shall we go and meet them?’
The other prayers must have become mislaid on the way, thought Deborah miserably as she got ready for bed later that evening, for when their guests had gone Gerard had told her that he would be going to Vienna for a five-day seminar in a day’s time. When he had asked her if she would like him to bring back anything for her she had replied woodenly that no, there was nothing, thank you, and made some gratuitous remark about a few days of peace and quiet and now was her chance to take the new Fiat and go and see Abigail, who was still in Friesland.
Gerard had paused before he spoke. ‘Why not?’ he agreed affably, and looked up from the letters he was scanning. ‘When is the baby due—several months, surely.’
‘Almost six. I’ve knitted a few things, I’ll take them with me.’
He nodded and went to open the door for her. ‘Good idea.’ He patted her kindly on the shoulder as she passed him. ‘Sleep well, my dear,’ and as an afterthought: ‘I had no idea that you could knit.’
The pansy eyes smouldered. ‘It’s something I do while you’re away or working in your study. I get through quite an amount.’ Her voice was very even and she added a pleasant: ‘Good night, Gerard.’
She didn’t see him at breakfast, although he had left a scribbled note by her plate saying that he would be home for lunch—not later than one o’clock.
But it was later than that, it was six in the evening. She had eaten her lunch alone, telling herself that was what being a surgeon’s wife meant; something she had known about and expected; it happened to all doctors’ wives—the young houseman’s bride, the GP’s lady, the consultant’s wife, they all had to put up with it and so would she, only in their cases, a shared love made it easier. Deborah sighed, and loving him so much, hoped with all her heart that he, at least, was satisfied with their marriage. Apparently no more was to be said about Claude or any of the events connected with him, and in any case it was too late for recriminations now—besides, she wasn’t sure if she had any; living with him, in the house he loved and which she had come to love too, was infinitely better than never seeing him again.
She was in the garden playing with Smith when he joined her. He looked weary and a little grim and she said at once: ‘I’ve a drink ready for you—come inside,’ and then because she couldn’t bear to see him looking like that: ‘Must you go tomorrow, Gerard? Is it important?’
He took the glass from her and smiled in a way which somehow disturbed her. ‘Yes, Deborah, I think it’s very important—I have to be sure of something, you see. It involves someone else besides myself.’
An icy finger touched her heart and she turned away from him. ‘Oh, well, I’ll telephone Abigail.’
‘I thought you had already arranged to visit her.’
‘No—it had quite slipped my mind,’ she improvised hastily, because the reason she hadn’t telephoned was because she had hoped, right until this last moment, that he might suggest her going with him, but he wouldn’t do that now. Hadn’t he said that there was someone else? She wondered if he had meant a patient and very much doubted it. She telephoned Abigail there and then, being very gay about it.
She wished Gerard a cheerful goodbye after breakfast the next morning and after a fine storm of weeping in her room afterwards, dressed herself and drove the car to Friesland where she received a delighted welcome from Abigail and Dominic. They had come out to meet her, walking together, not touching, but so wrapped together in happiness so secure and deep that she could almost see it. For a moment she wished she hadn’t come, but later, laughing and talking in their comfortable sitting room, it wasn’t so bad. Indeed the day went too quickly. Driving back Deborah contemplated the four days left before Gerard should come back. There was, of course, the orphans’ hour, but that wasn’t until Thursday. She would have to fill the days somehow. She spent the rest of the journey devising a series of jobs which would keep her occupied for the next day or two.
She was a little early when she got to the orphanage on Thursday evening, but although it still wanted five minutes to the hour, the children were already assembled in the long, bare room. At least, thought Deborah, as she took off her coat and prepared for the next hour’s boisterous games, the evening would pass quickly, and the next day Gerard would be back. She longed to see him, just as she dreaded his return, wondering what he would have to tell her, or perhaps he would have nothing to say, and that would be even harder to bear.
She turned to the task in hand, greeting the children by name as they milled around her, separating the more belligerent bent on the inevitable fight, picking up and soothing those who, just as inevitably, had fallen down and were now howling their eyes out. Within five minutes, however, she had a rousing game of ‘Hunt the Slipper’ going—a hot favourite with the orphans because it allowed a good deal of legitimate screaming and running about. This was followed by ‘Twos and Threes’. A good deal of discreet cheating went on here; the very small ones, bent on getting there first, were prone to fall on their stomachs and bawl until Deborah raced to pick them up and carry them in triumph to the coveted place in the circle.
There was a pause next, during which she did her best to tidy her hair which had escaped most of its pins and hung most untidily around her shoulders. But it took too long, besides, there was no one to see—the children didn’t care and she certainly didn’t. ‘Grandmother’s Steps’ was to be the final game of the evening, and Deborah, her face to the wall, listened to the stampede of what the orphans imagined were their creeping little feet and thanked he
aven that there was no one below them or close by. She looked over her shoulder, pretending not to see the hasty scramble of the slower children to achieve immobility, and turned to the wall again. Once more, she decided, and then she would declare them all out and bring the game to a satisfactory conclusion.
She counted ten silently and turned round. ‘All of you,’ she began in her fragmental Dutch which the children understood so well. ‘You’re out…I saw you move…’ Her voice died in her throat and her breath left her; behind the children, half way down the room, stood Gerard.
He came towards her slowly, pausing to pat a small tow-coloured head of hair or lift the more persistent hangers-on out of his way. When he reached her he said with a kind of desperate quietness: ‘I thought I should never find you—such a conspiracy of silence…’
Her hand went to cover her open mouth. ‘Wim and Marijke, they knew—they discovered. They were sweet about it—don’t be angry with them.’ She searched his calm face for some sign; his eyes were hooded, there was the faintest smile on his mouth; she had no idea what his true feelings were. She went on earnestly: ‘You see, it’s a Catholic convent and you—your family are Calvinists.’ Her look besought him to understand. ‘You—you don’t mix very well, do you? Separate schools and hospitals and…’
‘Orphanages?’ he offered blandly.
She nodded wordlessly and lapsed into thought, to say presently:
‘Besides, you’re home a day early.’
‘Ah.’ The lids flew open revealing blue eyes whose gleam made her blink. ‘Am I to take it that that is a disappointment to you?’
‘Disappointment?’ Her voice rose alarmingly. There were small hands tugging at her skirt, hoarse little voices chanting an endless ‘Debby’ at her, but she hardly noticed them; she had reached the end of her emotional tether.
‘Disappointment? Disappointment? This week’s been endless—they always are when you go away. I’m sick and tired—I won’t go on like this, being a kind of genteel housekeeper and wondering all the time—every minute of every day—where you are and what you’re doing and pretending that I don’t care…’
She was in full spate, but the rest of it never got said; she was gripped in an embrace which bade fair to crack her ribs, and kissed with a fierceness to put an end to all her doubts.
‘How can a man be so blind?’ Gerard spoke into her ear and the children’s voices faded quite away from her senses. ‘The star was there, only I didn’t want to see it. I wanted to stay in the mist I had made—the nice safe mist which wouldn’t allow anything to interfere with my work, because that was all I thought I had left. And yet I suppose I knew all the time…’ He loosed his hold for the fraction of a minute and looked down into her face. ‘I love you, my darling girl,’ he said, and kissed her again; a pleasant state of affairs which might have gone on for some time if it hadn’t been for the insistent pushes, tugs and yells from the orphans—it was story time and they knew their rights.
It was Deborah who broke the spell between them. ‘My darling, I have to tell them a story—just until seven o’clock.’ She smiled at him, her pansy eyes soft with love; he kissed her once more, a gentle kiss this time, and let her go. ‘A fairy story,’ she told him. “‘Rose Red and Rose White”…’
His mouth twitched into a faint smile. ‘In which language, dear heart?’ he asked.
‘Both, of course—I don’t know half the words.’ She smiled again. ‘Heaven knows what they’re thinking of us at this moment!’
‘Nor I, though I’m very sure of what I’m thinking about you, but that can wait.’
He pulled up the tattered old music stool so that she could sit on it and the children jostled happily against each other, getting as close as they could.
‘Rose Red and Rose White,’ began Deborah in a voice lilting with not quite realized happiness, and the children fell silent as she plunged into the story, using a wild mixture of Dutch and English words and a wealth of gestures and mime and never doubting that the children understood every word, which, strangely enough, they did. They sat enrapt, their small mouths open, not fidgeting, and two of them had climbed on to Gerard’s knees where he sat on one of the low window seats, listening to his wife’s clear voice mangling the Dutch language. She had reached a dramatic point in her narrative when the room shook and trembled under the tones of the great bell from the church across the road.
‘Seven o’clock,’ said Deborah, very conscious of Gerard’s look. ‘We’ll finish next week,’ and added, ‘Sweeties!’ at the top of her voice, producing at the same time the bag of toffees which signalled the end of play hour.
She was marshalling her small companions into a more or less tidy line when the faint dry tinkle of the front door bell whispered its way along the passage and up the stairs. It was followed almost at once by the Mother Superior, who greeted Deborah warmly, the children with an all-embracing smile, and an extended hand for Gerard, admirably concealing any surprise she might have felt at finding him there.
‘The little ones have been good?’ she asked Deborah.
‘They always are, Mother. Do you want me to come on Friday next week, or is it to be Thursday again?’
The nice elderly face broke into a smile. ‘You will have the time?’ The pale blue eyes studied Gerard, the hint of a question in their depths.
‘I approve of anything my wife does,’ he told her at once, ‘even though you and I are in—er—opposite camps.’
She answered him gravely, although her eyes were twinkling. ‘That is nice to know, Mijnheer van Doorninck. You like children?’
He was looking at Deborah. ‘Yes, Mother, although I’m afraid I’ve not had much to do with them.’
‘That will arrange itself,’ the old lady assured him, ‘when you have children of your own.’ She glanced at Deborah, smiling faintly. ‘Thank you for your kind help, my child. And now we must go.’
The line of orphans stirred its untidy ranks; they hadn’t understood anything of what had been said, and they wanted their supper, but first of all they wanted to be kissed goodnight by Debby, who always did. A small sigh went through the children as she started at the top of the line, bending over each child and hugging it, until, the last one kissed, they clattered out of the room and down the stairs. Deborah stood in the middle of the room, listening to the sound of their feet getting fainter and fainter until she could hear it no longer. Only then did she turn round.
Gerard was still by the window. He smiled and opened his arms wide and she ran to him, to be swallowed up most comfortably in their gentle embrace.
‘My adorable little wife,’ he said, and his words were heaven in her ears; she was five foot ten in her stockings and no slim wand of a girl; no one had ever called her little before. Perhaps Gerard, from his vantage point of another four inches, really did find her small. She lifted a glowing face for his face, and presently asked:
‘You’re not angry about the orphans?’
‘No, my love. Indeed, they are splendid practice for you.’
She leaned back in his arms so that she could see his face. ‘You’re not going to start an orphanage?’
‘Hardly that, dear heart—I hope that our children will always have a home.’
‘Oh.’ She added idiotically: ‘There are twenty-eight of them.’
He kissed the top of her head. ‘Yes? It seemed like ten times that number. Even so, I would hardly expect…!’ She felt his great chest shake with silent laughter. ‘A fraction of that number would do very nicely, don’t you agree?’ And before she could answer: ‘Don’t you want to know why I have come back early?’
‘Yes—though it’s enough that you’re here.’ She leaned up to kiss him.
‘Simple. I found myself unable to stay away from you a moment longer. At first, I wanted to keep everything cool and friendly and impersonal between us, and then, over the weeks, I found it harder and harder to leave you, even to let you out of my sight, and yet I wouldn’t admit that I loved you, although
I knew in my heart—I could have killed Claude.’
‘But you let me go away—all the way to Aunt Mary’s…’
‘My darling, I thought that I had destroyed any chance of making you love me.’
‘But I did love you—I’ve loved you for years…’
He held her very close. ‘You gave no sign, Debby—but all the same I had to follow you, and then I found you in the mist with all those little girls in their strange round hats.’
Deborah laughed into his shoulder. ‘You showed me our star,’ she reminded him.
‘It’s still there,’ he told her. ‘We’re going to share it for the rest of our lives.’
He turned her round to face the window. ‘There—you see?’
The sky was dark, but not as dark as the variegated roofs pointing their gables into it, pointing, all of them, to the stars. The carillon close by played its little tune for the half hour and was echoed a dozen times from various parts of Amsterdam. It was all peaceful and beautiful, but Deborah was no longer looking at it. She had turned in her husband’s arms to face him again, studying his face.
‘Are we going home?’ she asked, and when he had kissed her just once more, she said, ‘Our home, darling Gerard.’
‘Our home, my love, although for me, home will always be where you are.’
There was only one answer to that. She wreathed her arms round his neck and kissed him.
* * * * *
SPECIAL EXCERPT FROM
Harlequin® Romance
Will getting to know the man behind the money in romantic Paris convince fiercely independent Avery that she, billionaire Jacob McCallen and their one-night baby could be a family?
Read on for a sneak preview of
CARRYING THE BILLIONAIRE’S BABY by Susan Meier,
the first book in the
MANHATTAN BABIES trilogy!
“Go ahead. Just lay your hands on either side.”
He gingerly laid one hand on her T-shirt-covered baby bump.
She reached down and took his other hand and brought it to her stomach too. “We may have to wait a few seconds…oops. No. There he is.” She laughed. “Or she.”
