The Doubtful Marriage

by Betty Neels

  Matilda drank her tea and wondered why, but being a practical girl she didn’t waste too much time about that but found paper and pencil and made a list of clothes. Most of her wardrobe was suitable for a GP’s wife—and she supposed that he was a GP, with lecturing on the side, as it were—but she would have to have something to be married in: shoes, a couple of pretty dresses, more undies. She pruned the list to fit the contents of her balance at the bank, had a bath and dressed and, accompanied by Emma, got into the taxi Cribbs had waiting for them. Fenwick’s would do, she had decided; pretty clothes, but not too wildly expensive.

  It didn’t take all that time to find what she wanted: palest pink crêpe and to go over it a darker, dimmer pink tweed coat. ‘I need a hat,’ she told the nice girl serving her. ‘It’s a wedding outfit,’ and blushed when the girl’s eyes slid to her left hand, looking for the ring which wasn’t there.

  The three of them went along to the hat department and found a velvet trifle which matched perfectly. ‘You will look nice,’ enthused the assistant. ‘Your husband is going to like that.’

  Matilda wondered if he would; he might not even notice what she was wearing. She put her gloves on over her ringless hand and paid the bill.

  Emma, a country woman born and bred, didn’t fancy any of the big stores. She settled for a majestic hat in plum-coloured felt which they found in a small shop off Oxford Street and, since they were both thirsty and a little tired, they had coffee before Matilda went in search of undies. It was almost lunchtime by then. She hailed a taxi and they went back to the doctor’s house very pleased with themselves, already making plans to go again the next day.

  She was getting into bed when the telephone on the bedside table rang. ‘In bed?’ asked the doctor.

  ‘I was just getting in. We’ve had a lovely day shopping.’

  ‘My name’s Rauwerd. Have you finished your buying?’

  ‘Not quite; we’re going tomorrow morning.’ She hesitated. ‘Thank you for arranging everything, it was kind of you. Have you had a busy day?’

  ‘Yes. You will be gone by the time I get back, but I’ll find the time to come and see you in Southend before I go over to Holland. Sleep well, Tilly.’ He rang off.

  She found two pretty dresses the next day and, since there was still some money left, she bought a couple of sweaters and a silk blouse as well as a handbag and gloves for Emma. When they got back there was the packing to do. They wouldn’t need much; she repacked almost all her things into her biggest suitcase and put it in the wardrobe, hung her wedding finery there as well, and declared herself ready to leave in the morning. Although she told herself that it didn’t matter at all, she was decidedly disappointed when Rauwerd didn’t telephone her.

  They travelled to Southend in a Rover, a car, Cribbs told her, which was kept in London in case the doctor didn’t drive himself over from Holland and which he and Mrs Cribbs were free to use when they wished. He was a chatty man, but Matilda couldn’t get him to talk about his employer and after one or two discreet questions she gave up. She was a fool, she told herself worriedly, plunging head-first into matrimony. Indeed, by the time they had reached the end of their journey she was in a state of near panic. But that quickly subsided once she was in the company of Mrs Spencer and Emma; their matter-of-fact acceptance of the situation made it seem perfectly normal so that she ate her lunch, went for a brisk walk along the promenade before tea and went to bed directly after supper to sleep soundlessly.

  The following evening the doctor telephoned. His calm voice dispersed any remnants of her doubts. He was going over to Holland on the following day, he told her, and he would be down in the morning to see her.

  He hadn’t said exactly when; Matilda was up be-times, ate a hasty breakfast and then mooned around, ignoring Emma’s sensible observation that it was all of an hour’s drive from London and it was still only nine o’clock.

  Half an hour later he arrived, accepted the coffee Mrs Spencer offered him, passed the time of day with Emma and then suggested a walk with Matilda. ‘I must leave at midday,’ he said casually. ‘I’ve still one or two things to see to.’

  So Matilda got her coat and a scarf to tie round her head and they started off into the teeth of a strong cold wind. Presently he took her arm.

  ‘I’ve settled everything for our wedding,’ he told her. ‘I shall be back in ten days’ time and we shall marry two days later. I’ll come for you and Emma— I’ll let you know what time. Are you quite happy here, Tilly?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you. Aren’t you coming back before—we—we get married?’

  ‘Probably I shall have to, but don’t count on seeing me.’ He stopped and turned her round so that the wind was at her back. ‘I have something for you.’ He put a hand into his pocket and took out a small box and opened it: a ring, a sapphire surrounded with diamonds set in gold. ‘I hope it fits. It can be changed.’

  It fitted. A good omen? Matilda took heart from that. She thanked him nicely but without gush, a little sad that they hadn’t chosen it together.

  ‘I should have liked to have had you with me,’ said Rauwerd, unerringly reading her thoughts, ‘but I tried to choose something we would both like.’

  ‘It’s beautiful, and I’m sure I’d have chosen it if we’d been together.’

  He turned her round and they began to walk into the wind again. It wasn’t possible to talk much; they turned back presently, blown along by the gale, and outside Mrs Spencer’s house he flung a friendly arm around her. ‘You look delightful.’ And indeed she did, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks pink from their walk, and her hair whipped from its pins. He bent and kissed her cheek, the kiss of an old friend, nothing more. ‘I’ll not come in, I’m late already.’ He opened the door and pushed her gently inside. ‘Tot ziens, Tilly.’

  He had gone before she could answer.

  She would ask him the next time they met what Tot ziens meant. He had been casual about seeing her again, but she had the rest of their life together to ask him questions.

  A week went by, Matilda, fully recovered from the ’flu, looked prettier than ever. She missed Uncle Thomas, but that was a sorrow she kept to herself, and already in those few weeks she had taught herself not to think about her former home. The future mattered, and she intended to make a success of it. The days went by uneventfully, a kind of half-way house between her past and her future. She read and knitted and walked miles and gossiped gently with Emma and her sister and thought about Rauwerd.

  There were four days left before the wedding when he came again, and then only briefly. He had returned to fetch Dickens back to Holland, he told her, but he would be back in two days’ time and would drive down to take her back to his house. He looked tired; all the same he walked her along the esplanade in the spring sunshine, not saying much, listening to her quiet talk, and when he went after an hour or so he said, ‘You’re a restful girl, Tilly—did anyone ever tell you that?’

  He gave her a casual kiss and got into his car and drove off. It seemed to her that, pleasant though their relationship was, it was unlikely to be more than that, but she must never forget that she had been chosen by him to be his wife; not for the usual reasons, it was true, but it was satisfying to be wanted.

  She and Emma were ready when he came to fetch them two days later. It was still early and the road was fairly empty so that the Rolls ate up the miles. They were almost at their journey’s end when Rauwerd observed casually that his mother and father were at his home, a remark which had the effect of throwing her into a panic.

  All to no purpose, as it turned out. At the end of the day, lying in her comfortable bed in the elegant room she had previously slept in, she mulled over the last few hours. Rauwerd’s parents hadn’t been at all what she had expected. They had been waiting in his drawing-room when they arrived, his father older than she had imagined, upright and as tall as his son, and his mother—she was tall, too; a fine figure of a woman, her uncle would have said—still good-looking in a sev
ere way, although she had been kindness itself to Matilda. Thinking about it, Matilda decided that they liked her, just as she liked them; another good omen, she told herself.

  They hadn’t bothered her with a lot of questions, either, nor expressed the least surprise at their son’s sudden decision to marry. Of course, he might have told them everything that was to be told, but somehow she doubted that. Tomorrow the best man and his wife would be arriving to lunch: a lifelong friend and his English wife. Matilda curled up in her bed and wondered what she should wear and she was still pleasantly occupied with this when she fell asleep.

  Doubts as to whether the best man and his wife would like her rather clouded her morning, to be instantly dispelled when they arrived. Sybren Werdmer ter Sane was a large man, as large as the bridegroom. He engulfed Matilda’s hand in his and twinkled down at her in a reassuring manner which put her at her ease, and as for his wife Rose—she was small and unassuming with magnificent brown eyes and a happy face. She was beautifully dressed, but then Sybren was an eminent surgeon in Amsterdam; she was also quite plainly the most important thing in her husband’s life. Matilda suppressed a pang of envy as she led her upstairs to their room to tidy herself.

  ‘Such fun,’ said Rose. ‘Rauwerd told us all about you, of course. He said you were very pretty and of course, you are. We shall be able to see each other—that’s if you’d like to?’ she added shyly.

  ‘Oh, please. I don’t know a thing about Holland or about Rauwerd’s work. It’ll be a bit strange…’

  ‘It’s very like England and all the people you will meet speak English. Besides, Rauwerd will see that you have a good Dutch teacher.’ Rose was sitting at her dressing-table, piling her mousy hair into a neat topknot. ‘Sybren and Rauwerd were at Leiden together—he is little Sybren’s godfather.’

  ‘You’ve got a baby? How lovely! How old is he?’

  ‘Six months and a bit. He’s with his Granny and Grandpa and Nanny while we’re here. He’s gorgeous.’ Rose patted the last strands into place and got up. ‘Aren’t you excited? We had a quiet wedding, too, but there was a huge party afterwards. Where are you going for your honeymoon?’

  ‘Well, we have to go straight back to Leiden. I expect we’ll go somewhere when Rauwerd’s not so busy.’ She gave Rose a bright smile. ‘Let’s go down if you’re ready.’

  Later that night, Rose, sitting up in bed watching her husband emptying his pockets on to the dressing-chest, said thoughtfully, ‘They don’t seem very in love, darling; more like old friends who haven’t seen each other for a long time. Do you think they will be happy?’

  Her husband cast her a loving look. ‘Yes, darling, I do. Perhaps not for a while, but neither of them are young and silly; they’ll work at it and make a success of it. She is a nice girl and Rauwerd is one of the best.’

  ‘Then why are they getting married?’

  ‘I can think of a dozen reasons, all good.’

  ‘When I know Matilda better, I shall ask her,’ said Rose.

  The sun shone in the morning, Matilda, getting into her wedding finery, peered out of the window and watched Rauwerd and Sybren strolling round the garden. From the back they looked rather alike in their sober grey suits and with their hair fair and silvery. Someone called them from the house and Matilda withdrew her head smartly, but not before Rauwerd had seen her and given her a casual wave.

  They were to be married at a small church a bare five minutes’ drive away. Matilda, waiting nervously in the drawing-room with the rector after everyone else had gone, swallowed down panic behind a calm face. There had been no time for that until now; when she had gone downstairs to meet the others there had been a good deal of cheerful talk and her future mother-in-law had taken a velvet case from her handbag and begged her to open it.

  ‘All the wives have it in turn, and now it’s for you, Matilda, my dear,’ she had said kindly. ‘Will you wear it?’

  A brooch, rose diamonds, any number of them in an old-fashioned setting of gold. It sparkled and shone and Mevrouw van Kempler said gently, ‘Let me put it on for you, dear, and wish you all the happiness in the world.’

  Rose had given her a present, too, to be opened later, she whispered, and so had the rector. Emma’s present was packed: a dozen of the finest lawn hankies, housed in a quilted sachet which had been her sister’s gift. There had been nothing from the Warings or her aunt and Herbert. Rauwerd had put the notice of their marriage in the Telegraph and she had hoped that they might have sent a card. It was a little frightening not to have family or friends; perhaps, she thought hopefully, she would find both in Holland.

  She followed the rector out to the car and, when they arrived at the church, walked steadily beside him up the aisle to where Rauwerd was waiting.

  She walked just as steadily down the aisle, her arm tucked into Rauwerd’s, twenty minutes later. The plain gold ring on her finger proclaimed her to be married but she didn’t feel any different. Indeed, she was suddenly very scared. Perhaps Rauwerd guessed what she felt, for he gave her hand a gentle reassuring squeeze and, when she looked at him, smiled at her with an equally gentle smile, so kind that she felt tears pricking her eyes. She wasn’t scared any more; everything would be all right. She liked him now, even if she hadn’t when they had first met, and she respected him, and that was surely more important between husband and wife? She smiled back at him and got into the Rolls beside him and was driven back to her new home.

  There was a luncheon party, of course. Mrs Cribbs had excelled herself with lobster patties, caviare, tiny sausages on sticks, chicken vol-au-vents and smoked trout, followed by crêpes de volaille florentine, a variety of salads and asperges polonaise, and finally the wedding cake, cut with due ceremony and washed down with champagne. Presently it was time for Matilda to change into a jersey dress to wear under the new tweed coat and to pack the last of her things. She was taking a final critical look at herself when there was a tap on the door.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Rauwerd. ‘You do look nice, Tilly. They are all waiting to say goodbye.’

  She collected her gloves and handbag and went downstairs with him, feeling shy, to be instantly engulfed in a round of embracing and kissing.

  ‘We shall see you very soon, my dear,’ Rauwerd’s mother told her. ‘We travel back tomorrow.’ His father hugged her close and kissed her cheek. ‘I couldn’t have chosen a lovelier bride myself,’ he told her gallantly.

  Rose and Sybren were staying for a few days and going to fly back. ‘I’ll give you a ring as soon as we get home,’ promised Rose and stood back to allow Emma to say goodbye. Not for long, for she was to travel to Holland with Rose and Sybren.

  ‘Just you be ’appy, the pair of yer,’ whispered Emma.

  They drove to Dover and went by hovercraft over to Calais. It was all new to Matilda. The Rolls ate up the two hundred-odd miles they had to go, along the coast to Bruges, skirting Antwerp, and then on to Breda, stopping for tea before they reached Dordrecht. Here Rauwerd left the motorways, taking a route which took them to Schoonhoven, Gouda, and then, avoiding Alpen aan de Rijn, Boskoop and finally Leiden.

  Rauwerd had bypassed the towns and cities, so that Matilda had her first real glimpse of an old Dutch town as he slowed to go into its centre.

  She had been careful not to chatter, but now she exclaimed, ‘Oh, look—all those old houses and the gables, and what is that little castle built up on that mound?’

  ‘That is the Burcht—eleventh century, with a fort overlooking the old and new Rhine. We’re turning off here, before we reach it. This is the Rapenburg Canal; the university and the museums and laboratories are here.’ After a moment he added, ‘And this is where our home is.’

  She could have hugged him for that ‘our’.

  He turned the Rolls into a narrow street lined with tall old houses, three and four storeys high, their massive front doors reached by double stone steps guarded by wrought iron palings. He stopped at the first house, its high stone wall abutting on to Rapenburg, it
s elegant front facing the tree-lined street.

  Rauwerd got out and came round the bonnet to open Matilda’s door. He took her hand and went with her up the steps to where a stout elderly man was waiting at the open door. Rauwerd said something to him in Dutch and added, ‘Matilda, this is Jan. He has been in the family for a very long time and looks after me; he will be only too delighted to look after you as well. His wife does the housekeeping; her name is Bep.’

  Jan bent his portly frame in a bow. ‘Welcome, Mevrouw—we are delighted.’

  His English was heavily accented but it cheered her enormously. She shook hands and, urged by Rauwerd, went into the house. The hall was lofty and narrow, the ceiling hung with pendant bosses, the walls panelled in some dark silk and hung with oil paintings. There was a marble-topped console table against one wall and a long case clock with floral marquetry on the opposite wall; the floor was black and white tiles. Exactly like an old Dutch interior on a museum wall, thought Matilda, as she allowed herself to be led forward to where Bep was waiting, small and stout as her husband and with just as warm a welcome. Rauwerd said something to her and she smiled and slipped through a door at the back of the hall while Jan opened the double doors facing the clock. The room was long and wide and as lofty as the hall. The windows overlooking the street were draped in a rich plum-coloured velvet with elaborate pelmets, a colour repeated in the brocade of the chairs and sofas each side of the hearth. A lovely room, with a magnificent plaster ceiling, the walls lined with glass-fronted display cabinets.

  Rauwerd, standing beside her, watched her face as she turned to him, to be interrupted by the reopening of the door and the entry of Dickens. He was a well-behaved dog but his greeting was none the less ebullient. By the time they had made much of him, Bep was back, waiting to take Matilda to her room. But before she went Rauwerd caught her by the hand.