Three for a Wedding

by Betty Neels

  ‘About me?’ The words had popped out before she could stop them.

  ‘About you.’ His hands were on her shoulders and he kept them there. ‘I’m responsible for you.’

  ‘So you are,’ Phoebe said flatly, feeling elation draining from her. How silly of her to have imagined that his anxiety would have been for any other reason. She said brightly: ‘I’m ready. Shall we go?’

  Paul and his governess were still in the sitting room, he still on the floor with a book on his knees although he wasn’t reading it and she still on the sofa, holding a long glass in one hand and still idly turning the pages of the magazine. She put both glass and magazine down hastily and got to her feet. ‘Heavens, how quick you were! We didn’t expect you … Phoebe, you poor thing! I’ve been telling Paul what a little horror he is, he should be severely punished.’

  Phoebe could sense Lucius’ anger, although she wasn’t certain against whom it was directed, so before he could speak she said: ‘Heavens, why? Didn’t you ever play pranks when you were small? I know I did, and what harm’s been done? I’m perfectly all right—as a matter of fact, I had a sleep.’

  Maureen looked at her narrowly. ‘Weren’t you the least bit frightened?’

  ‘No,’ Phoebe uttered the lie stoutly, ‘why should I be in broad daylight? I was a bit worried about getting back on duty, that was all. What was there to be scared about, anyway?’

  She avoided the doctor’s eye as she spoke, aware that she was gabbling. It was a relief when he spoke, his voice unhurried. ‘Maureen, will you be good enough to go and ask Else to make some sandwiches and a pot of tea—Phoebe has missed her lunch.’

  She went reluctantly. It wasn’t until she had disappeared from the room that he spoke again. ‘Paul, will you come here and apologise to Phoebe.’

  The boy came and stood before her, giving her a look of mingled appeal and dislike. When he had apologised she said quickly: ‘That’s all right, Paul. Actually, I enjoyed our morning together, we must do it again some time.’ She turned to Lucius. ‘Paul’s got a marvellous knowledge of Delft and he’s a first-rate guide.’ She smiled at him, coaxing him to good humour, and was disappointed when his face remained grave. ‘I take it that Paul locked you in for a joke?’ he asked her.

  She felt her cheeks redden. ‘Yes, of course,’ she spoke quite sharply, ‘and I hope that now he’s said he’s sorry, we needn’t say any more about it.’

  ‘You’re generous. Very well, we won’t. I don’t think he’ll do such a thing again, will you, Paul?’

  The boy shook his head. His sigh of relief sounded loud in the silence which followed the doctor’s remark and which was only broken when Else came in to tell them that she had taken the tea into the small sitting room at the back of the hall.

  On the surface at least, tea was a pleasant meal, although Phoebe was the only one to eat anything. She made thankful inroads into the sandwiches and Lucius drank his tea—largely, she felt, to put her at her ease. He talked too, making sure that they all took their share of the conversation, keeping to mundane topics so that any constraint which might still be lurking was stilled. When she got up to go, Phoebe found herself more at ease than she had ever felt before at the house, despite the niggling thought that there must be some reason for Paul’s behaviour which she hadn’t hit upon.

  Lucius, it seemed, had to return to hospital too. They spoke little on the short journey and in the hospital they parted company, he to go to the wards, she to the Home. She thanked Lucius briefly in the hall and was about to turn away when he dropped a hand on her shoulder to hold her still.

  ‘Don’t disappear again,’ he begged her, ‘my nerves won’t stand it.’

  Phoebe changed with the lightning speed of long practice and while she anchored her cap, pondered his remark. Intended as a joke, she concluded, and indeed, his impersonal friendly manner towards her when she got on the ward seemed to bear this out; not that they exchanged more than a few words, for she was instantly plunged into the ward work after a brief explanation to Mies and a slightly longer one to the Directrice. By the time she had the leisure to look around her, Lucius had gone.

  She didn’t see him for several days after that—they met on the ward, naturally, but never to speak about anything but ward matters. She had the impression that he was avoiding her, and rendered extra sensitive by her love, she made it easy for him to do so by keeping out of the way when he did a round and seeing to it that there was little chance of her being about when he paid his evening visits. She went out to dinner with Doctor Pontier, the cinema with Jan, the houseman, and if that were not sufficient to distract her interest, accepted an invitation to have supper with Mies.

  Mies had the day off, the Dutch staff nurse had gone off duty at three o’clock, so Phoebe found herself in charge of the ward until ten o’clock—rather a late hour, she had ventured to point out to Mies, to go out to supper. But Mies had laughed and told her that she could sleep it off the next day, as then it would be her day off, so, while other nurses were getting ready for bed, Phoebe was wrestling with her hair, changing her clothes and re-doing her face, rather regretting that she had agreed to go. But Mies was nice and it would be fun to see her flat. She snatched up her handbag and raced downstairs to engage the porter in the difficult task of calling a taxi for her. He shook his head, however, smiled and gave her some lengthy explanation not one word of which could she understand. She tried again, getting very muddled, and was cut short by Lucius’ voice behind her.

  ‘Don’t struggle with our abominable language any more, dear girl,’ he begged her, half laughing. ‘He’s only telling you that you don’t need a taxi. I’ll take you—come along.’

  Phoebe stayed just where she was. ‘Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly give you the trouble. I’m going to Mies, she told me to take a taxi …’

  He looked conscience-stricken. ‘Oh, lord, my memory! I quite intended telling someone or other that I should be calling for you; didn’t I?’

  He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

  ‘No,’ said Phoebe, ‘you didn’t.’

  ‘I’m going to Mies’ flat too.’ He added, ‘For supper,’ as if that clinched the matter.

  ‘Oh, well, are you? It’s kind of you!’ She petered out, so delighted to be with him for the next hour or so that she was hardly aware of what she was saying. She smiled at the porter, cast a quick, shy look at Lucius and allowed herself to be led out to the Jaguar.

  Mies lived close by, down one of the narrow streets leading off a busy main street. The house was old, its ground floor taken up by a bakery, the narrow door beside the shop leading directly on to an equally narrow and steep stairs. The flat was on the top floor, three flights up—two attics, cunningly brought up to date, the mod con tucked away where it couldn’t spoil the charm of the old low-ceilinged rooms. Mies had furnished it with bits and pieces, but there were flowers everywhere, highlighting the white walls and the polished wood floor.

  Phoebe was whisked away to the bedroom, where Mies exclaimed happily:

  ‘I am so glad that you have come—this is a feast, a celebration, you understand. Arie and I are engaged.’

  Phoebe kissed the happy excited face, wished the Dutch girl everything suitable to the occasion and followed her out to the sitting room where there was another round of hand-shaking and kissing, first by Mies and Arie and then by Lucius. For a man of such absent-minded habits, he kissed remarkably well, Phoebe thought confusedly.

  ‘There isn’t—that is, it’s not me you have to congratulate,’ she managed.

  His blue eyes were very bright. ‘I never lose a good opportunity,’ he told her gravely. ‘Besides, I also am to be congratulated.’

  She studied his face. ‘You’re going to be married too?’ she asked, and managed, with a fair amount of success, to smile at him.

  ‘You are surprised? At the moment it is strictly a secret.’ He let her go and went to open the champagne he had brought with him, and the next half hour or so pa
ssed in a good deal of lighthearted nonsense and gay talk. Presently, helping Mies fetch in the supper, Phoebe had a few minutes, away from Lucius, to pull herself together—something she achieved to such good effect that she was able, with the help of the champagne and her resolute common sense, to pass the evening in a very credible manner—a little brittle in her talk, perhaps, and her laugh a little too high-pitched, but that was surely better than bursting into tears.

  She awoke late, made a sketchy breakfast and decided to go to Amsterdam for the day. It stretched before her, a vista of endless hours until she should see Lucius again. She would have to fill it somehow—just as she would have to fill all the days ahead of her, once she had returned to England. ‘The sooner you get him out of your system, my girl,’ she told her face as she made it up with care, ‘the better.’

  She was on her way out of the hospital when she bumped into the youthful van Loon, who said joyfully: ‘I say, what luck meeting you like this, Miss Brook. I must bring specimens for Doctor van Someren, but it is also my day off—you will perhaps have coffee with me?’

  Any port in a storm. Phoebe gave him a wide smile. ‘I’d love to. I was just on my way to catch a train to Amsterdam; I’ve got a day off too.’

  ‘You’re free all day? What luck! May we not go together? I have my car with me. I could show you something of the city.’ He grinned widely, ‘I would be most happy.’

  ‘What a lovely idea. I’d like that, only we must go Dutch.’

  ‘Go Dutch?’ He looked bewildered. ‘But I am Dutch.’

  Phoebe laughed. ‘It’s a saying—we use it in English. It means we each pay for ourselves. I won’t come otherwise.’

  ‘You do this often in England? This going Dutch?’

  ‘Yes—it’s a common practice.’ She smiled persuasively. ‘No one minds.’

  ‘Then I will not mind also. You will wait here for me?’

  He had a Fiat 500, not new; it made the most interesting noises which they occupied themselves in identifying as they drove along. Phoebe, listening to the vague bangings and clangings beneath them, wondered if she would get back safely, but it seemed unsporting to voice her doubts, for her companion was so obviously enjoying himself.

  ‘How long have you had this car?’ she wanted to know, and wasn’t surprised to hear that he had bought it off another young medic for five hundred guilden, and that this was his first trip of any distance. He added happily that he considered it a lucky coincidence that he should have met her, so that she could enjoy it with him. Phoebe agreed in a hollow voice, her doubts as to whether they would reach Delft again supplanted by the more urgent one as to whether they would reach Amsterdam.

  But they did, and what was more, Eddie, as he had begged her to call him, was lucky enough to find a parking place by one of the canals. He stopped the car within inches of the water and oblivious of her shattered nerves, invited her to get out, a request she obeyed with alacrity, to find Lucius watching them from the pavement.

  He crossed the road immediately, wished her a good morning, gave the car a considered stare and remarked to van Loon: ‘I was told you had bought this car from Muiselaar, but I hardly credited you with driving it.’

  Eddie patted its scratched bonnet with pride. ‘It goes like a bomb, sir,’ he said simply.

  ‘Yes, I was afraid of that.’ Doctor van Someren made to move away and Phoebe, longing to ask him where he was going, watched him reach the pavement, only to turn round and come back again. ‘I hope you have a pleasant time,’ he observed. His eyes flickered over van Loon, whose head was under the boot. ‘You will enjoy being with someone nearer your own age. If by any chance this—er—heap should fall apart, be good enough to telephone the hospital and I will arrange for someone to collect you.’

  He smiled briefly into her surprised face and once more regained the pavement, to disappear among the passers-by.

  But nothing untoward happened. They spent a cheerful day together and although it was Eddie who decided where they should go, it was Phoebe who kept an eye on the money they spent and an eye on the clock too.

  She treated him like a younger brother—a relationship which seemed to suit him very well—and they got on famously. He took her to the Dam Palace where they wandered round the state apartments, which Phoebe declared to be magnificent but dreadfully uncomfortable to live in; she was whisked across the Dam square to look at the War Memorial, treading their way among the hippies to do so, then to drink coffee at a nearby café and then be walked briskly through the city’s busy streets to the Rijksmuseum to see the famous Night Watch. She would have liked a chance to do a little window-shopping, but Eddie, determined that she should be stuffed with culture, marched her remorselessly about the streets, in and out of museums, standing her on pavements to crane her pretty neck at the interesting variety of rooftops, taking it for granted that she would leap on and off trams at a word from him. It was fun; the broodje met ham which they stopped to eat at a snack bar, the rich cream confections they consumed with their tea during the afternoon, the postcards she bought to send home—she thanked him during the drive back—accomplished despite the bangs and rattles—refused his pressing offer to have dinner with him, and went early to bed, tired out.

  She was off duty in the morning, and despite the drizzling rain, decided to go out. She was at the hospital entrance when the Jaguar drew up beside her and Lucius got out. She wished him a good morning and made to pass him, but he stopped her with: ‘Wait a minute, Phoebe,’ and joined her.

  ‘I’ve half an hour to spare,’ he told her easily. ‘I feel like a walk, if you don’t mind?’ He gave her a sideways glance. ‘You seem determined to stretch my nerves to breaking point.’

  She stopped walking the better to look at him. ‘I do? How?’

  ‘That—er—car which van Loon drives is hardly safe. Do tell him when next you go out together that he is to borrow the Mini—he has only to ask.’

  ‘But I don’t suppose I shall see him again …’

  He raised disbelieving eyebrows. ‘No? But one day is hardly sufficient in which to see the sights. You had arranged to go with him?’

  Phoebe blinked. If she hadn’t known the doctor so well she might have deluded herself that he was jealous. ‘Of course not! He happened to meet me as I was on my way to catch a train to Amsterdam—he had some specimens of yours to deliver or something of the sort, but he had a day off too—he suggested that I went with him so that he could show me the sights.’ She added as an afterthought, ‘I didn’t know about his car.’

  She watched the little smile play around his mouth. ‘I was mistaken. It seemed natural that you should spend as much of your free time as possible with someone of your own age.’

  ‘You keep saying that,’ she told him, quite put out. ‘You know quite well that he’s five years younger than I—anyway, I feel old enough to be his mother.’

  ‘Which reminds me—it’s Paul’s ninth birthday tomorrow, so will you come to tea? You’re off in the afternoon, are you not?’

  She wondered how he knew that. ‘I’d love to. Did he really invite me? I must get him a present. What are you giving him?’

  ‘A wrist watch, but I’m still wondering what else to buy for him. Have you any suggestions?’

  ‘Mice?’

  He laughed. ‘An unusual suggestion from a woman—perhaps you like them.’

  ‘I do not, but little boys do—didn’t you keep mice?’

  ‘Yes, but I had a tolerant mother—I’m afraid Maureen would never cope with them.’

  ‘But they’re not much work, and Paul would look after them. What about a puppy?’ she asked, knowing already that it was useless—the governess obviously had the last say in such matters. She fell silent as they walked slowly down a gloomy steeg, twisting itself between old houses which had long ago been beautiful but were now let out in rooms. She glanced at the door they were passing, noticing its lovely ruined carving, and at that moment it was flung open and a very small puppy was e
jected by a heavy boot. Phoebe had scooped the pitiful object up, hammered on the door with an indignant fist and was actually confronting the dour-looking man who opened it before she was reminded that she would be unable to tell him just what she thought of him. She turned to her companion, her eyes ablaze with indignation, and he gave her a smiling shake of the head and began at once to engage the man in conversation. She couldn’t understand a word of it, but the man looked annoyed, frightened and then downright cowed, muttering answers to the questions the doctor was putting to him in his calm, commanding manner. It didn’t surprise her in the least that the man, after one final mutter, banged the door and Lucius said on a laugh: ‘I feel sure that you are about to tell me that this creature is an answer from heaven, although he is hardly the breed I would have chosen. But it really won’t do, you know. Maureen refuses to live in the same house as tame mice, so she will most certainly not agree to a dog—and such a dog!’

  Phoebe bit back the forceful things she wished to say about Maureen.

  ‘Oh, please,’ she entreated softly, ‘couldn’t you—just him, not the mice—I’m sure he’s a dear little dog and Paul would love him. Look how sweet he is!’

  A gross exaggeration, she was aware, as she studied the puny, shivering puppy tucked in her arms. He stared back at her hopefully and heaved a sigh which caused his ribs to start through his deplorable coat. She went on urgently: ‘We can’t let him go back to that awful man.’

  ‘Set your mind at rest, I have rashly acquired him.’

  ‘Oh, Lucius, you dear!’ she burst out, and modified this rash remark with rather stiff thanks and an enquiry as to what was to happen to the animal.

  The doctor sighed. ‘It just so happens that I have a friend living close by,’ he sounded amused and resigned at the same time. ‘He is a vet—and don’t, I beg of you, tell me that he is an answer from heaven too. I suggest that we take him along now and see what he makes of the little beast.’

  They came out of the steeg into the Koornmarkt and the vet’s house was a bare minute’s walk away. He was a man of Lucius’ own age and almost as quiet, who listened to Phoebe’s earnest explanations, examined the puppy carefully, gave it his opinion that it should do well with proper care and food and bore them both off to drink coffee with his wife while the puppy was taken off to be bathed.