The Doubtful Marriage

by Betty Neels

  ‘Well, I didn’t think you’d be interested.’ She sounded pleasantly matter-of-fact. ‘There are some gorgeous dresses here tonight. It’s a very grand affair, isn’t it? And I’ve met a host of new people—there was a nice fat man with a beard…’

  ‘The Burgermeester, my dear. You’ve stolen his elderly heart.’

  ‘Oh, good. We’ll have him and his wife to dinner, shall we?’

  ‘Aiming to be a prominent hostess, Matilda?’ he asked silkily.

  She caught her breath with the hurt of it. ‘No. I thought that was what you wanted, Rauwerd—someone to run your house and entertain your friends and be in the house when you get home.’

  ‘Did I say that?’

  ‘Yes. But if you want to…’ She was forced to stop, for the dance was ending and there were people laughing and talking all round them. Nikky was there, of course; she had come with a professor from the university, but there was no sign of him now. Matilda wished her goodnight and saw her join a group of people at the door. She had smiled at Rauwerd and touched his arm as she left them. She was wearing a vivid green sheath with a slashed skirt and long black gloves. Very dramatic.

  Matilda fetched her wrap, lingered to speak to the director’s wife and went back to the entrance hall. Rauwerd was waiting for her; so was Nikky, cocooned in black fur. Almost everyone else had gone, Rose and Sybren amongst the first; there was only a handful of local people left and no sign of the professor.

  ‘I’ll drop you off, Tilly,’ said Rauwerd, ‘and run Nikky back—Professor Wijse had to leave before the end and she’s without transport.’

  ‘Oh, hard luck,’ said Matilda. ‘Come in and have some coffee first—Bep will have left some ready and it’s quite a long drive.’

  Nikky gave a girlish laugh. ‘Oh, I’ll enjoy it, and Rauwerd loves driving at night, don’t you?’

  Matilda ushered her unwelcome guest into the drawing-room and went along to fetch the coffee. She was crossing the hall with the tray when Rauwerd came in from the car. ‘Isn’t it rather late?’ he asked mildly.

  ‘Well, yes, but it’s so late it doesn’t matter any more, does it? Do you have to be at the hospital in the morning?’

  He took the tray from her and she sensed his annoyance. ‘Yes.’

  She made no attempt to hurry over their coffee. Indeed, she engaged Nikky in a rather pointlesss conversation which Rauwerd sat through silently, but at last she put down her cup with a little laugh.

  ‘Oh, dear, I’m half asleep. I’ll simply have to go to bed. Do forgive me, Nikky, if I go up now.’

  She stood up looking quite superb, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed, due almost entirely to her smouldering rage. ‘I hope we shall see you again soon,’ she said insincerely to Nikky. ‘It was a delightful evening, wasn’t it?’

  Rauwerd went to the door and opened it. She paused to whisper, ‘I’ll say goodnight. There’s not much left of it, but I’m sure it will be good!’

  She heard his quick furious breath as she swept past him.

  Rage and unhappiness upheld her while she undressed and got into bed. Half-way through a sniffing, snuffling weep she fell asleep.

  The full horror of what she had done hit her with all its force when she woke. Emma, who had brought her her early morning tea, stared at her face with consternation.

  ‘Miss Tilly, whatever is the matter? Are you ill? Didn’t you enjoy the dance?’

  Matilda looked at her through red puffy lids. ‘It was heavenly, Emma, but I was so tired when we got home…’

  ‘Five o’clock I heard the car go round to the garage. The doctor ’as ter go ter work, but you have a nice lie in.’

  ‘I’ll feel fine once I’m up, Emma dear, really I will. I’ll be down to breakfast as usual.’ Five o’clock! It had been three when she had gone to bed.

  She felt sick when she contemplated facing Rauwerd presently, which was why she took extra pains with her hair and spent twice as long as usual disguising her pink nose and eyelids. She wore a new outfit, too—a Swiss knitted jacket and skirt with a matching blouse; its bow tied under her chin, which was really rather fetching.

  Rauwerd was already at the table, but he got up as he always did, wished her good morning and picked up his letters once more. He looked tired and very stern and the apology which tentatively trembled on her lips was swallowed again; he was still angry. If he had shouted at her, had a blazing row, it would have been easier, but his chilly politeness stifled any wish on her part to apologise. She took a roll and buttered it. She wasn’t sorry; he had deserved every word and a great many more besides. She was no man’s doormat.

  Rauwerd put down the last of his letters and rather disconcertingly sat back in his chair, watching her. ‘You have been crying?’ he observed and expected an answer.

  ‘I can cry if I wish,’ snapped Matilda.

  He got up, preparing to go. ‘You mustn’t over-react, Matilda. I suspect that your imagination is obscuring your common sense; it is certainly blinding you to the obvious.’ He stopped by her chair, looking down at her unsmiling. ‘We must have a talk, you and I. I hadn’t intended to say anything yet—after all, we have been married such a short time.’

  ‘You’re angry?’ she muttered, not looking at him.

  ‘Yes. I won’t be home for lunch…’

  ‘If there are any calls for you…’

  ‘I shall be over at the hospital,’ he said and added silkily, ‘not in Amsterdam!’

  He whistled to Dickens and went away leaving her to stare at her plate while she fought terror, and tears.

  It wouldn’t do to mope. She drank several cups of coffee and went to discuss the day’s meals with Bep. Bep wanted to know all about the ball and so did Emma, so Matilda sat down at the kitchen table and described as many dresses as she could remember and what they had eaten for supper. Only when the two ladies were satisfied that they knew everything there was to know, was she able to talk about food. If Rauwerd was going to quarrel with her she would feel sick; she chose a meal which made that prospect less likely, made her shopping list, donned a smart little felt hat and gloves, and, armed with a basket and her purse, set off to the shops.

  It was a chilly morning and windy and the town was busy. She stopped to examine the fruit at her favourite stall just outside the supermarket and actually had an orange in her hand when the bomb concealed in the shop exploded.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MATILDA felt herself tossed into the air and then fall, half smothered in oranges, apples and cabbages. Her fall was cushioned by a large crate of tomatoes which puréed themselves all over her person and from which, after the first shocked seconds, she dragged herself upright. The stall’s owner was half buried under a mound of potatoes and Matilda dragged her from them, aware of the profound silence almost at once broken by cries and screams and moans from inside the supermarket. It astonished her that she was still clutching her basket and purse; she looked at them in a silly kind of way for a moment and then handed them shakily to the stallholder.

  The police and ambulances and fire engines would arrive within minutes; in the meantime there was surely something she could do to help. She picked her way over the debris around her and edged into the supermarket. Its front had been blown out and the floor was knee-deep in tins and broken glass, broken bags of rice and sugar, tea and flour; from the depths of its interior people were staggering, calling to each other, crying for help. She pushed past them; the bomb had gone off somewhere at the back of the store and that was where the injured would be.

  There was smoke and dust so that she couldn’t see very well, and shelves still tumbling lazily to the ground, carrying their contents with them, making progress difficult. She began to come across the injured then, lying silent, some of them pinned to the ground by falling masonry, others were wandering around in a dazed way, seemingly unaware of their wounds. Matilda, still dazed herself, began to work her way from one victim to the next, doing what she could, which wasn’t much, uttering rea
ssuring words, straightening broken arms and legs as gently as she could, pulling away the more easily moved debris, snatching a handful of dusty tea-towels on sale on the shelves still standing and using them to cover the more obvious wounds.

  She was joined almost at once by two policemen and three men who had followed them in, and her nurse’s training automatically took over. She began to look more carefully at the wounded lying around groaning, mostly women, and she made sure that they could be carried out without more damage being done. More men were making their way towards them now and she was dimly aware of ambulance bells and a good deal of shouting. She felt light-headed but there wasn’t time to think about that; some of the people lying there were severely wounded, even dead; they had to be got to hospital as soon as possible. She crawled to a young woman lying unconscious under a pile of milk cartons and began to fling them aside. It was a good thing she was unconscious for she had lost an arm… Matilda did what she could with her remaining tea-towel and watched while one of the men picked the girl up and carried her away.

  ‘Vlug,’ cried Matilda, thankfully recalling her Dutch lessons, although anyone in their senses would have known that quickness was of the essence. And then, as she caught sight of a battered pushchair and a small child still strapped into it, ‘Oh, someone come quickly…’

  One of the policemen heard her and made his way to her side. Together they pulled the child clear just as the first of the ambulancemen arrived. A mound of tins had fallen in a great heap between the shelves; Matilda could hear cries from beneath it and began burrowing frantically towards the sound.

  ‘Over here,’ she called urgently, but the hubbub was considerable by now, with a great many helpers all willing but lacking someone to organise them. The ambulancemen were too busy getting victims into the ambulances; the police were hampered by frantic people searching for children and friends. She tugged at the end of a broken shelf and a few dozen tins rolled away leaving a gap with an arm sticking out from it. She edged forward, took it in her hand and squeezed it gently and was rewarded by an answering squeeze. She began to move the tins carefully and presently was rewarded by the sight of a face, dirty and pale but alive. She paused for a moment and said joyfully, ‘Oh, hello.’ The face stretched into a smile although the voice was too faint to hear. Matilda smiled back and began, very carefully, to move the tins.

  At the hospital the bomb had, naturally enough, taken everybody by surprise. Rauwerd, at his desk after a busy outpatients’ session had lifted the receiver before the last rumbles had died away.

  ‘Yes, a bomb,’ agreed the medical director, ‘or a gas explosion.’ The rescue team was to be ready in five minutes. ‘Deal with the situation as you think fit, Rauwerd—you’re free?’

  The team was alerted. Rauwerd had scarcely put down the phone when there was a call from the police. ‘Give us five minutes. Much damage?’

  He dialled again and, when Jan answered, ‘Is Mevrouw at home?’ He sounded calm and unhurried; it was Jan who sounded worried.

  ‘She left about twenty minutes ago to go to the shops. Shall I look for her? We all three could go…’

  ‘I’m on my way there, Jan. Stay at home and ask Bep and Emma to get things ready in case she has been hurt. Does she shop at the supermarket?’

  ‘Almost never, Doctor.’

  ‘That’s where the bomb exploded, Jan, so there is a good chance she’s all right.’

  He rang off and got into his white coat and went to join the team and the waiting ambulances.

  ‘The supermarket,’ he told them. ‘Get the ambulance as near as you can and split into teams of three. I’ll go in ahead of you with Cor and Wim.’ He nodded to the two young housemen standing by him. ‘The rest of you follow as we’ve done in practices.’

  It was no distance, a matter of a minute or two, but they were hindered by the people milling around; the police ahead of them cleared a path and the ambulances stopped, unable to get nearer for the rubble in the street. The fire engines had come in from the opposite end, and the police were urging people to stay away so that the rescue work could go ahead.

  Rauwerd, making his way over fallen masonry and glass and ruined stalls, saw that there was already a row of victims lying in the cleared space outside the supermarket. He said over his shoulder, ‘Tell the second team to organise stretchers and get these people back to the hospital.’ He noted the tea towels. ‘They’ve had a very rough and ready first aid.’ He switched on his walkie-talkie to warn the hospital and ducked into the dust and smoke of the ruined store.

  Matilda was moving the tins very carefully and slowly. The pallor of the face visible in their midst urged her to fling them aside as fast as she could go, but that might bring a cascade on to the owner of the face. She needed help but although there were people round her now, struggling to free the victims, they had their own worries. She didn’t allow her despair to show on her face, however, for the sickly white face peering back at her was looking anxious.

  ‘Not long now,’ said Matilda with pseudo-cheerfulness. Her hands were cut and bleeding and she was covered in a fine dust which had stuck to the squashed fruit and veg still adhering to her person. She felt dizzy, too, and every now and again her surroundings dipped and swayed around her but she kept doggedly on.

  The sight of her, with her hair hanging in a dusty cloud around her shoulders, a trickle of dried blood on one cheek and what looked like the beginnings of a black eye, brought Rauwerd up short. He said, ‘Oh, my dear Tilly, thank God you are safe. You’re not hurt?’

  He had caught her by the arm and she looked up into his face, white and etched with lines she had never seen before. She said in a tightly controlled voice, for she felt rather peculiar, ‘Are you the rescue team? How did you know I was here?’

  ‘I didn’t—I just hoped that you were all right and safe.’

  ‘Well, I am, but we must get this poor soul out—all these tins,’ she cried distractedly.

  He shouted to one of the team members and, taking no notice of her protests, sat her down on an upturned shelf. ‘Don’t move, Tilly,’ he told her and although he spoke quietly she didn’t dare disobey him.

  An ambulanceman joined them and carefully and slowly they eased out the owner of the face, laid her on a stretcher and carried her away.

  ‘And now you,’ said Rauwerd. ‘You’re to go back with one of the team and be taken home, and don’t argue, please, Tilly.’

  Something in his voice stopped her from protesting and indeed there was nothing she wanted more than to be at home, in bed, asleep. Rauwerd hauled her gently to her feet and handed her over to a policeman, then immediately turned his attention to the latest victim to be carried out of the ruins around him.

  She felt a flash of utter misery that he could do that as she was led away, the policeman’s sturdy arm hooked into hers. She was glad of it; once she could get into the street away from the dust and smoke and pitiful cries for help she would feel better.

  They were almost at the ruined entrance when her legs turned to cotton wool and she keeled over, to be caught before she reached the ground and carried to one of the police cars. Her companion had seen the doctor’s face as he had turned away. The doctor had had to stay, poor devil, thought the policeman, so it behoved him to take care of this pretty English girl who had been so quick to give help. He eased her into the nearest police car and told the driver to go to the hospital. ‘And make it quick.’

  Matilda, coming to as she was put on a stretcher in the first-aid department, shook the policeman’s hand and muttered, ‘Dank U,’ and even managed a smile. She added. ‘The doctor…’ and stopped, at a loss for words.

  ‘I tell him,’ said her kind companion.

  The Medical Director came himself to look her over. ‘Nothing serious,’ he assured her. ‘An ATS injection, and a nurse will clean up those cuts and scratches. You’re going to have a black eye but there’s no concussion. I hear that you were one of the first to give aid.’ He patted her hand.
‘We are all very proud of you. I’m so glad Rauwerd found you; he was anxious.’

  She nodded, furious with herself that she couldn’t stop the tears trickling down her dirty cheeks.

  ‘So he knows you are safe. Now we’ll see to you and send you home to bed, and that’s an order, Matilda.’

  Her hands were scratched and torn, she was grazed, and her eye was rapidly turning a rich purple. She was cleaned up, had her injection and was driven home, where she had a rapturous welcome from Bep, Emma and Jan.

  ‘The doctor told us to have everything ready in case you had been hurt,’ said Emma. ‘You’re to have a bath and go to bed. That worried he was, too,’ Emma tut-tutted. ‘Them nasty old bombs, scaring the wits out of decent folks.’

  Matilda, bathed, her hair washed, and made to drink hot milk, got into bed, closed her one good eye, and was asleep instantly.

  It was well into the afternoon when the last of the victims had been taken from the ruins and the rescue team had gone wearily back to the hospital, before Rauwerd opened his own front door. Jan, hovering at the back of the hall, heard him.

  ‘You’re back, doctor. Coffee? A meal? Mevrouw is sleeping.’

  ‘Coffee, please, Jan. I’ll change my clothes—I’ve cleaned up at the hospital, but I need another suit. I must go back at once.’ He started up the stairs. ‘I’ll take a look at my wife.’

  Matilda was curled up into a ball, her sore hands stretched out on the coverlet, her eye, swollen and richly purple, half hidden by her hair. The faithful Dickens, keeping her company by the bed, got up as Rauwerd stood looking down at her; there was a look on the doctor’s weary face which, if she could have seen it, would have made the black eye worthwhile. But she didn’t stir as be bent and kissed her gently and went along to his own room, taking Dickens with him.

  She woke at the end of the afternoon, drank the tea Bep brought her and decided to get up. She felt fine except for the eye and her hands and Rauwerd would soon be home. She put on one of her pretty dresses, tied her hair back with a ribbon because her hands were too clumsy to put it up, and went downstairs, closely shadowed by her faithful household.