by Neels, Betty
‘Because of Sibella, I suppose. It gave me a chance to see something of her, and children love teatime, don’t they?’
‘I do too, don’t you? Not the food only, but sitting there like this...’
‘I find it delightful.’ Benedict spoke quietly, his eyes on her down-bent head.
They took Sibella to school before going to the bank in the morning. Prudence sat in the manager’s office, trying to understand what was being said; true, Benedict did explain something to her from time to time, but she suspected that a lot more was being discussed than she was being told about. Finally she was given a cheque book and told that her first quarter’s allowance was in the bank and that she could take out what she wanted.
‘It’s almost exactly like your own bank in England,’ said Benedict, ‘but you might as well have a go while we are both here.’
‘Yes, all right, but I’ve still some money of my own.’ She caught his eye and didn’t go on, because he looked suddenly annoyed. But all he said softly was: ‘My money is yours now, my dear.’
‘How much?’ she asked. ‘I used about a hundred gulden a week before—before we married.’
‘You’ll need more than that. Divide your allowance into thirteen if you like and then you’ll know roughly how much you can spend in a week.’ He told her how much that was, and she gasped.
‘But, Benedict, that’s far too much! Whatever shall I do with...’
‘Exactly what you like.’ His placid voice had become suddenly obdurate. ‘And please don’t argue, Prudence.’
So she meekly did as she was told and accompanied him outside into the street. Once clear of the doors, she stopped and looked at him. ‘I’ve annoyed you. I’m sorry, but you do seem to have rather a lot of money and I’ll have to get used to it. I’ve never been exactly poor, but I’m a bit out of my depth.’
He looked at her unsmilingly. ‘I’ve no intention of a little thing like money coming between us. We stand on a most agreeable footing—let us remain so, shall we?’
She smiled then. ‘Oh, yes, Benedict. That’s the best of being on such good terms, isn’t it? We can speak our minds like old friends and not take umbrage.’ He glanced at his watch and she said at once: ‘I expect you want to go to your rooms—or is it the hospital? Thank you for coming with me. Will you be home for lunch?’
His firm mouth twitched. The hospital,’ he told her. ‘But not just yet, and I’ll be home for lunch. Let’s get some coffee somewhere—there’s a place just across the street.’
He tucked a hand under her arm and together they crossed the street.
‘What are you doing this morning?’ he wanted to know.
‘I’ve got to get some flowers and I promised I’d get some salad for Sitska, to save her or Betje going out later, and I want some buttons for Sibella’s red dress— she’s lost two—and something to work at in the evening’s, and some stamps.’ She broke off. ‘What a dull recital compared with your morning!’
Benedict shook his head. ‘No, it’s not. It’s soothing; half way through some medical tangle I shall think of you carefully matching red buttons and the world will seem right again.’
She opened her eyes wide at that. ‘Really, what a nice thing to say! I shall think about you too, not all the time, of course, but now and then.’
She poured the coffee and passed him a cup. ‘Sibella was chattering away about Sint Nicolaas when I was putting her to bed yesterday—surely that’s in December?’
‘It is, but it’s rather an occasion for the small children. We must find out what she wants. I promised her a bike for Christmas, so we’ll have to think of something else. A doll?’
‘If I could find a nice old-fashioned one. I’ll dress it and perhaps we could find a cot.
Half an hour had gone in a flash. Benedict signalled for the bill and sighed. ‘We seem fated never to finish a conversation. Remind me to talk to you about a party this evening.’
They went out of the cafe together and started to walk towards the car. ‘Shall I run you home first?’ he asked.
‘My goodness, no—you’ll be late, besides if I don’t walk I’ll get fat.’
He studied her with a leisurely eye and she blushed a little. ‘You’re very nice as you are,’ he assured her, ‘especially when you blush.’ He got into the car with a casual wave and drove off, and she turned away once he was out of sight and did her shopping and went home. She felt vaguely unhappy, although she had no idea why, and once in the house and immersed in her small chores, she felt better. Indeed, by the time she had fetched Sibella from school and they were downstairs waiting for Benedict to come home she felt that the day was quite perfect. Quite unaccountably her happy mood changed when there was a phone message to say that Benedict wouldn’t be able to get home for lunch. He gave no reason, and Prudence, listening to Sibella’s chatter as they ate, became more and more preoccupied. Supposing, just supposing he had met Myra— or any of the other women he must have known before he had met herself—he might even now, at this very minute, be lunching somewhere, smiling that slow smile of his at some witticism from his beautiful companion. She frowned so heavily that Sibella interrupted herself to say: ‘You look angry— you frown. You are sick, Mama?’
Prudence gave herself a metaphorical shake. ‘No, darling, of course not. If you’ve finished we’ll get our things on and take Henry for his walk. It’s getting very cloudy, we’d better go quickly before it starts to rain.’
Ork, seeing them out of the house, shook his head at the lowering sky. ‘It will rain very much, mevrouw,’ he observed worriedly. ‘Do not go far.’
‘Only to the other side of the park, Ork—it makes a good run for Henry, and we can always stand under a tree.’
The wind was sighing and moaning as they crossed the road and ran across the grass to the first avenue, and then, because Henry was already far ahead of them, they walked on to the next avenue, with the busy road well away on one side, and Het Loo Palace on the other. It began to rain as they reached the last stretch of grass and then, with frightening suddenness, the rain turned to hail. Henry, racing round in happy circles, stopped, shook himself and came tearing back towards them. They were all wet by the time they reached the first of the trees, and since the sky was leaden and the hail beat down, Prudence took refuge against one of them, Sibella tucked under one arm, Henry cowering between them.
There was no one else in sight, and although the street lights shone in the distance they seemed a very long way off. ‘As soon as it stops we’ll run for home,’ said Prudence cheerfully. ‘We can cut across the grass and be there in no time.’
‘We go now?’ demanded Sibella. ‘I am cold, and so is Henry.’
‘We’ll all be as warm as toast once we’re home, we’ll sit by the fire and have our tea.’ Prudence’s cheerful voice masked doubts as to how soon that would be.
The hail stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Laughing and out of breath, they reached the house and found Ork waiting for them in the hall.
‘There is a lady visitor,’ he informed Prudence in a disapproving voice. ‘She is in the drawing room, mevrouw.’
‘Oh, lord!’ Prudence swept damp hair out of her eyes. ‘I’ll just go and tidy myself. Would you ask Betje if she would see to Sibella for a minute? I’ll be two ticks.’
She flew upstairs behind Sibella, leaving Ork to shake his elderly head and smile as he led Henry away to be dried in the kitchen.
Prudence came downstairs five minutes later, hair still clinging in damp tendrils around her pretty face, sober court shoes in place of the boots she had been wearing. She was hardly dressed for afternoon calls, she reflected ruefully—a tweed skirt and a bulky sweater belted at her slender waist, even though the belt was a rather splendid Italian one, but there had been no time to change. She opened the drawing room door and saw Myra lounging in one of the big chairs, contemplating her nails.
She didn’t get up, only smiled lazily and said: ‘Hullo. Do you actually go out walking in this foul weather?
I was driving this way and it seemed a good idea to call in and offer my felicitations. You stole a march on all of us, didn’t you? Clever you!’
‘Did I?’ asked Prudence mildly. ‘I didn’t know. Thank you for your good wishes. Would you like coffee—or tea?’
‘No, thanks. I’m on my way to the hairdressers. I always called in when I was driving there—before your time, of course.’ She smiled with quite open malice. ‘Oh, well, all good things come to an end, don’t they? Cosy little lunches and half an hour round the fire chatting. I suppose Benedict comes home to lunch now.’
She looked sideways at Prudence. ‘Most days, at any rate—perhaps the cosy little lunches aren’t quite at an end.’
Prudence watched her, her tongue held firmly between her teeth. Not for the world was she going to allow Myra to annoy her, only she wished she would go. She pinned a smile on to her face and after a silence which went on too long asked: ‘You’re sure you won’t have coffee?’
Myra uncurled herself from the chair and stood up. ‘No thank you Prudence. I had it after lunch.’ She crossed the room, holding out a hand. ‘Benedict always drinks too much of it, you know, you must get him on to your so English tea. Goodbye—I really must fly, I’m late already.’
And as Prudence went with her to the door: ‘Don’t bother, I know my way around this house rather well, you know.’
She went past Prudence, closing the door quietly behind her and Prudence stood in the middle of the room muttering to herself in what her mother would have called a very ill-bred manner. She stopped for a moment to listen to Myra’s voice and tinkling laugh—presumably she was intent on captivating the rather dour Ork.
Only it hadn’t been Ork. The door opened again and Benedict came in. He crossed the room to where Prudence was standing, dropped a swift kiss on the top of her head and asked: ‘What on earth’s Myra doing here?’
‘She came to call on her way to the hairdresser.’
Prudence’s voice was still a little shrill with annoyance. ‘We were out—we had to wait under a tree until that hail stopped, and when we got home she was here.’
Benedict turned to look at her, an amused gleam in his eyes. ‘Intent on getting up your back, I’ll be bound.’
‘Well, she didn’t,’ declared Prudence rather too forcefully. ‘I’m sure you can lunch with her every day of the week if you want to!’
He didn’t take his eyes off her but the amusement in them changed to something else. He said placidly: That’s very generous of you, my dear. Now one can see the advantages of a marriage such as ours, based on friendship and respect for each other’s right to do as one wishes,’ he went on smoothly, ‘and see how Sibella is benefiting from a harmonious relationship such as ours.’
Prudence had shot him a quick look; he must be joking, he had sounded so pompous. But he returned her look with a benign one of his own and went on: ‘Where is she, by the way?’
‘I asked Betje to take her upstairs and change her socks and shoes and dry her up a bit—we all got soaking wet. I didn’t know it was Myra, so I just tidied my hair and came straight down again.’ She paused. ‘Are we really harmonious, Benedict?’
She hadn’t meant to say that, it had popped out and she was sorry it had, but suddenly she disliked the idea; it savoured of a milk-and-water existence with Benedict, and it had occurred to her with the speed of light that she had no wish to be a friend. Harmony and respect, as far as she was concerned, could fly out of the window. She contemplated with horror the idea of being tolerant about cosy little lunches and half hours by the fire. Her green eyes flashed at the very idea, and Benedict, watching her still, thought how very beautiful she was when she was put out.
‘You make it sound very dull,’ he observed, and there was laughter in his voice. ‘I can assure you that there is no need for it to be.’
She turned her back on him and looked unseeingly out of the window. He was quite right, of course. To be in harmony with someone, true harmony, must be wonderful, but then of course you’d have to love that person. Like I love you, Benedict, she cried silently, and I’ve only just this very minute discovered it and now what am I to do?
The problem was solved for her by Sibella’s entry, talking her small head off the moment she entered the room, pouring out the story of their walk to her father, and then begging Prudence in her careful English to have tea just a little earlier. ‘For Papa’s home, and we always have tea when he is here.’
‘An excellent idea, liefje. Down here or in the playroom?’
‘Here, please, Papa, and may Henry come too? He is hungry.’
So they spent an hour or more having tea and then playing cards, all three of them on the floor with Henry lolling beside them and getting in the way, while Prudence tried not to think about Benedict, so close to her and yet so unreachable. Presently she took Sibella off for her supper and to be put to bed, and then, unwilling to face him until she had got her feelings under control, went along to her room, to change out of the sweater and skirt into a wool dress and do things to her hair and face. Suddenly life was full of problems and she wasn’t sure how to cope with them. And she hadn’t known that love could be so overwhelmingly powerful; the feeling she had had for Tony had been no more than a schoolgirl’s crush.
As she went downstairs she promised herself that she would do her best to make Benedict love her. She had no idea how she was going to set about it, but she , would think of something. She crossed the hall and Benedict put his head out of the study door. ‘Come in here, will you? There’s a letter I want you to read.’
Prudence sat down on the chair he drew up for her, glad that the only light was the powerful desk lamp, so that she was in shadow and could blush in comfort.
‘Wait a minute, I’ll get us a drink.’ Benedict went away and came back with a tray. ‘Sherry, Madeira?’ He poured her a glass of sherry and gave himself a whisky, sat down at his desk and handed her the letter.
He was asked to make a short tour of the bigger cities of England; London, of course, Birmingham, Bristol, Liverpool, Oxford, and in Scotland, Edinburgh. It was to last ten days and arrangements would be made for him.
‘But that’s marvellous,’ said Prudence, ‘but what’s this hypo...heavens...hypophosphatasia? Something you know a lot about?’
‘I’ve written a couple of papers on it. It’s a deficiency of alkaline phosphates in bone cells. Do you really want to know?’
She nodded, ‘Yes.’
He explained. It took some time. Ork came twice to tell them that dinner was waiting, but by then at least Prudence had a very good idea of what Benedict was talking about. And over dinner she went on asking questions, because she was scared that he might start talking about the advantages of a sensible marriage, and she wouldn’t be able to bear that.
But she couldn’t go on talking for ever, and when she finally petered out with her questions he said abruptly: ‘We’ll both go—better still, we’ll take Sibella with us. Do you suppose Nancy would have her? Or your mother? There’ll be quite a lot of travelling for us. Would you like that?’
‘I’d love it.’ She tried not to sound too excited. ‘What about Sibella’s school?’
‘A few days won’t matter. I’ll have to fix things up at the hospital and rearrange my appointments, and I’ve two weeks in which to do it.’
They had gone back to the drawing room to have their coffee when he asked: ‘But perhaps you’d rather stay with your parents? Or Nancy? Perhaps that would be a better idea?’
Prudence had no idea how clearly her feelings showed on her face. She said with careful casualness: ‘Oh, no—I mean, I can visit them any time, can’t I? I should so like to hear you lecture.’
‘I’m flattered. We won’t say anything to Sibella for a few days or she’ll be unmanageable.’ He lounged back in his chair, very relaxed. ‘Does she need any clothes? We might get them in Arnhem.’
‘She needs a new dressing gown and perhaps slippers to match, and if she goes to a
ny parties later on she’ll need one or two pretty frocks. Velvet is very fashionable for little girls—she’d look sweet in dark red or sapphire blue.’
He smiled gently. ‘Yes—well, get what you think is right for her. And what about our party? Could you cope with one before we go? Informal, I think, so that we can phone invitations. If we have everyone I can think of it’ll be over and done with...’
‘I think you sound as though you don’t like parties,’ Prudence commented.
‘I daresay I’ll like them better now you’re here to arrange everything.’
They settled on a date and presently Prudence said goodnight and went to bed. She had managed rather well, she considered, sitting there showing just the right amount of interest, not being too eager about going to England with him, stitching away at the embroidery she had brought to work at in the evenings. She’d made rather a hash of it because her hands would shake every time she thought about him, but he wasn’t to know that. She would have to unpick it in the morning.
She got ready for bed, mooning round the room, picking things up and putting them down again. If only there were someone she could talk to about it! She remembered the very first time she had met Benedict she had asked his advice; she would have liked to do that now, but that would be impossible. Her mother would be bewildered and quite unable to understand, and Nancy, so happy herself, would only be made unhappy. The prospect of bottling up her love for the rest of her life was daunting. She stared at her reflection in the mirror; her unhappy face stared back at her and presently Prudence, who almost never cried, allowed herself the luxury of a really good weep.
Chapter 7
Morning was another day, albeit a nasty damp dark one. Prudence, putting on rather more make-up than usual to hide her pink eyelids, took herself to task. No more crying; it wouldn’t help. There was only one thing to do—to go on as she had started, to be as good a wife and companion as possible and to stay Benedict’s friend at all costs. That way, who knew, in time, he might love her just a little.
