by Betty Neels
And even if she had known, it would have been cold comfort to her that two people had heard her; Marius, busy in the bows of the yacht, had called without turning round: ‘I thought I heard someone calling—it sounded like Tabby.’ And Lilith, close to him said at once: ‘Yes, so did I—she’s waving from the other boat,’ and waved back just as though Tabitha were really there. Bill Raynard, watching her, said in his wife’s ear:
‘What’s that silly little fool doing? There’s no one here worth waving to, unless she’s keeping van Steen sweet.’
It was still light when they berthed. They were standing in a little group, talking over the day before they dispersed, the two stiff-legged members of the party accommodated on a convenient wooden seat, when Marius asked sharply: ‘Where’s Tabitha?’
Muriel and Bill and Jan van Steen answered him in a surprised chorus.
‘With you, of course, Marius.’ Mrs Crawley said nothing at all because she had just had a glimpse of her daughter’s face, and Mr Bow and Hans kept their own counsel—they too had seen Lilith’s face.
Marius changed from a casual, easy-going man to one who was almost frighteningly calm. ‘She was to have come with me,’ he said, very quietly, ‘but you, Lilith, said she had changed her mind and wanted to go with Jan.’ He looked with suddenly cold eyes at Lilith. ‘You waved to her.’
‘But we didn’t even see her,’ said Muriel, and was interrupted by Marius.
‘Somebody must have seen what happened to her—did she go back for anything?’
He looked at each of them in turn and Lilith last of all and when he saw her face he asked: ‘You, Lilith?’
She pouted prettily and gave him a laughing look which changed to apprehension. ‘It was—well, I thought she was with Jan—how was I to know?’
His voice was silky. ‘You sent her back for something?’
‘Yes, I had a terrible headache and I didn’t want to spoil the party by feeling rotten.’ She looked round for sympathy and got none. ‘I—I left my sunglasses somewhere in the trees, where we changed. Tabitha went back for them. I couldn’t possibly have gone all that way with my head. I suppose she couldn’t find them—she was always silly like that…’
Marius stretched out a hand and took her beach bag from her. ‘These?’ he wanted to know; his voice was soft, almost gentle, and when Lilith began to speak he cut her short, still in that same gentle voice: ‘You shall apologise to Tabitha later.’ He tossed the bag to her, turned to Mrs Crawley and said with his usual casual charm: ‘Mrs Crawley, don’t let this upset your dinner party.’
She smiled though her eyes were wary. ‘No, I won’t. Tabby will be all right—I expect someone’s picked her up by now.’
Marius didn’t reply, but said over his shoulder to Mr Raynard: ‘Bill, you see to things, will you? Hans will run you all up to the hotel in the car.’
Hans was standing at his back, large and solid and as placid-seeming as his master. Marius spoke to him in Dutch and no one knew what he said, except perhaps old Knotty, who, as usual, had his eyes closed.
Marius whistled to Smith and with a careless ‘See you later,’ went back on board, and Lilith, who had been standing silent, ran forward crying:
‘Marius, don’t go! Mother said Tabitha will have got a lift by now—but if you must go, take me with you.’ She added desperately: ‘It was a joke.’
He was bending over the diesel, but he straightened up to look at her. His voice was mild. ‘What, and spoil your dinner party? Besides, you should rest and get rid of that headache.’ He turned his back and a minute later the Piet Hein was edging her way out into the lake once more.
Tabitha sat where the trees and sand merged into each other; very erect, with her back against a tree trunk, her eyes constantly scanning the water. There had been passing boats earlier and she had waved and shouted, but the wind had freshened, carrying her voice with it, and besides, anyone seeing her would very likely think she was a camper going for an evening stroll. But there had been no boat for some time now, although she could still see pale triangles of sail merging into the evening mist. She looked at her watch and made out that it was almost nine o’clock; even if someone came back for her, it would be at least another hour—in the meantime the evening was growing cool as the sky dimmed slowly to a darker blue; only the vivid orange and red of the sun’s bedding gave light to the water and a pale gleam to the sands around her. The trees at her back were already in gloom; she glanced over her shoulder and shivered, telling herself not to be silly. She wasn’t a nervous girl, but this was a strange country and she was getting hungry and chilled, which somehow made her solitude more obvious.
She searched through her beach bag once more, in the hope that, by some minor miracle, there would be an apple or biscuit tucked in amongst her towel and bikini and other odds and ends, all so useless now. She had even left her cardigan on board when they had first landed. She sighed, and got up and began to walk briskly up and down the beach, stopping to look over the darkening water each time she turned.
It was a good half hour later when she first heard the steady thud of an engine and then saw, silhouetted against the pale sky in the west, the Piet Hein, carrying full sail, coming in fast with the inshore wind. She stood watching it, and not until the sails were reefed and the yacht was edging slowly towards the jetty did she go down its rickety length. She knew it was Marius on board, because she had heard Smith’s short bark and Marius’s voice speaking to the dog, and the fury which had consumed her died a little, swamped in the delight and relief of seeing him. He made the boat fast and the next moment she felt his arms holding her close, while Smith whined softly at their feet. She didn’t know what Marius would say; she only knew that she was disappointed when he spoke.
‘Poor Tabby—I blame myself for not making certain that you were with Jan.’ His voice was quiet and kind and unruffled. ‘Were you frightened? You’re cold—come aboard quickly.’
He led the way down into the cabin and said cheerfully: ‘Coffee in a minute. Here, put this on—it’s getting fresh.’ He threw her a thick sweater, many sizes too large, and she got into it obediently. She hadn’t said a word so far, knowing that once she started she wouldn’t be able to stop, and she didn’t know what had been said; probably Lilith had managed to lay the blame on her. Marius didn’t seem to notice her silence; he gave her a mug of coffee, liberally laced with brandy, before he sat down on a locker opposite her. ‘Lilith did it for a joke,’ he explained, his voice very even. ‘I suppose she thought you would be missed soon after we sailed, but of course I thought you were with Jan…’
Tabitha, her temper stoked by the brandy, interrupted him. ‘You said I was to go with you because of Mr Bow’s cramp—didn’t you notice that I wasn’t on board?’ Her voice, a little shrill, tailed off—of course he hadn’t noticed with Lilith there.
He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘I was given to understand that you had decided to go with Jan after all. None of them knew that you had gone back on shore, naturally Jan and I each thought you were on the other boat.’ He leaned forward and took the mug from her. ‘I’m sorry, Tabitha, it was a dreadful thing to happen. Lilith was upset…’
Tabitha said stonily: ‘I was upset too.’ She got up. ‘Are you ready to go? I’ll cast off, shall I?’
She didn’t wait for him to answer but went quickly out of the little cabin and went to untie the mooring rope. They didn’t speak much as Marius steered the boat away from land; the sails were still reefed and he was using the diesel until they rounded the curve of the shore to take advantage of the wind once more. But once they had done this and the sails were set Marius turned on the automatic steering. ‘Hungry?’ he asked.
Tabitha was coiling rope neatly on deck. ‘Yes—I’ll go below and make some sandwiches, shall I?’
He followed her. ‘You make the tea, I’ll see to the food.’
They had hot bacon sandwiches and great mugs of milky tea, sitting in the stern, side by side. The stars were ou
t by now, and a sliver of moon, and here and there lights twinkled along the shores of the lake. They had finished the sandwiches and had begun on a large wedge of cheese Marius had thoughtfully provided, when he spoke.
‘You’re furious, aren’t you, Tabby? I am too.’ She gave him a look of surprise, although his face wasn’t easy to see in the dusk. ‘I don’t look angry, do I, but I believe that I am angrier than you. Our evening has been spoilt.’
‘I’m sorry you had to miss the dinner party,’ Tabitha rejoined waspishly, and was furious when he laughed.
‘I’m happy as I am, Tabby, although you sound as though you’re going to scratch out my eyes at any moment! As for the dinner party, we’ll have one of our own to make up for it—just us two.’
She thought he was being conciliatory, and she was no child to be coaxed into good humour. ‘It’s kind of you to suggest it,’ she said stiffly, ‘but there’s no need…’ She stopped because her bottled-up feelings and temper and fright exploded inside her, so that the tears cascaded down her cheeks and all she could do was sob. She went on crying for some time, the feel of Marius’s arm warm and comforting around her shoulders, but presently she whispered into his shoulder: ‘I’m sorry to have been such a fool—I’ve made you v—very wet.’
She sniffed and sat up and dried her eyes on the sleeve of the sweater she was wearing and he said in a kindly voice: ‘Here, have mine,’ thrust a large handkerchief into her hands and when she had used it, asked: ‘Feel better now?’
She nodded into the dark, thankful that he couldn’t see her sodden face. She wasn’t in the habit of crying often; when she did, she did it wholeheartedly, just as she danced and swam and ran her ward and, for that matter, fell in love.
Hans was waiting for them. Smith greeted him with a quiet bark as Marius turned on the powerful deck light and slid into the little harbour. Hans’s enormous hand steadied Tabitha as she jumped off the boat. ‘Not too bad, miss?’ he asked anxiously. ‘I have food waiting.’ He turned to speak to Marius who spoke to him low-voiced before he took Tabitha’s arm, whistled to Smith and walked her over to the house. Hans had left the door open and they went through the hall quietly to the kitchen at its end. The light was bright here and Tabitha turned her head away from it sharply because she knew how awful she must be looking—a useless precaution, because Marius stopped under the old-fashioned brass hanging lamp and turned her round to face him, a hand under her chin.
He stared down at her for several moments, his eyes hooded so that she had no idea what he was thinking. Unable to bear it, she muttered: ‘Oh, don’t—please don’t look at me. I’ll go straight upstairs.’
He smiled a little. ‘Why do you set such store on a pretty face, Tabitha? Perhaps no one has ever told you that a pretty face isn’t always a beautiful one, and you, my dear girl, are beautiful at this moment, red nose, puffed eyes, tear-stained cheeks notwithstanding. Now sit down—Hans will be here in a minute and we’ll have supper together, the three of us, and don’t mind him seeing you like this—he’s your devoted slave already.’
He looked as though he was going to say something else, but he didn’t, only kissed the top of her head and ruffled her already very ruffled hair.
The day, which had been so disastrous, ended with unexpected satisfaction, at least for Tabitha. Hans, beaming all over his broad, goodnatured face produced a magnificent supper which they ate at the kitchen table, decked with a very white cloth and deep blue pottery plates. They had soup first—potage Parmentier, which, Hans told them with some pride, he had made himself, and followed it with a great dish of little fried pancakes stuffed with prawns and oysters and tasting most delicately of cheese and white wine and Pernod. They were so delicious that when Hans got up from the table and returned with a chocolate soufflé Tabitha vowed she couldn’t eat another morsel, whereupon he looked so dejected that she rapidly changed her mind and then had a second helping from sheer healthy greed. Marius had gone down the little crooked staircase to the cellar under the kitchen and brought up a bottle of claret, which had the pleasing effect of making her surroundings even more pleasant than they were, a circumstance heightened by her two companions, who, in some way she was too happy to bother about, contrived to make her feel that having supper with her at one o’clock in the morning was the one thing they liked doing most. Moreover, Marius had called her beautiful—a palpable lie, of course, but very soothing to hear after her miserable day.
Warm, sleepy and full of good food and excellent wine, she thanked them both and wished them good night, to sleep the moment her head touched the pillow. She woke once in the night and decided that she would thank them again in the morning, for they had been very kind. She slept again even as she thought it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TABITHA wakened early and listened to the faint sounds of the little town stirring, and because it was already a beautiful day, she got up and dressed in pink denim slacks and a pink and white checked shirt, then went downstairs, intent on finding Hans and Marius so that she could thank them once more.
Hans was already in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee from a blue enamel pot of vast dimensions. He put it down, however, when he saw Tabitha and said: ‘Miss Tabitha, good day—you are soon, I make tea.’
Tabitha perched on the table. ‘Good morning, Hans. The coffee smells good, may I have a cup, Hans, please?’
He smiled widely. ‘Already so Dutch,’ he chuckled, ‘that is good.’ He handed her a blue mug which matched the pot. ‘You don’t sleep?’
‘Yes, very well, thank you, only I woke early and I don’t think I thanked you or Mr van Beek nearly enough for being so nice last night. I do thank you, Hans—you were like a fairy godmother…’
‘Would that by any chance make me the prince?’ asked Marius from the door. She turned to look at him; he had been on the yacht, for he had a handful of tools in one hand and was wearing nothing more than a pair of oil-stained shorts. He saw her look and said mildly: ‘Well, perhaps not—I’m hardly dressed for the part, am I?’ He smiled and held out a hand for the coffee Hans had poured. ‘You’re up early, Tabitha, didn’t you sleep?’
‘Very well. I was explaining to Hans—I wakened early and it seemed to me I hadn’t thanked either of you enough for—for last night.’
She looked at him, lounging in a high-backed, painted chair a couple of feet from her, and her heart did a somersault because, despite the shorts and the oil stains, he looked very like a prince should. He stared back at her, a smile curving his mouth, and she said hastily, going pink under his look: ‘It was a great nuisance for you having to go back for me—in the dark too,’ and stopped because his smile had broadened into a wide grin as Hans said: ‘Never worry about the dark, miss. Mister Marius, he lived on the water from when he was a little boy—he sails it blindfold if he must—he knows every square metre.’
Tabitha digested this, then: ‘And you let us plan our trips just as though you didn’t know your way about—you must have known all the places like the back of your hand.’ She frowned, and opened her mouth again to speak her mind when he stopped her.
‘Why not, Tabby? Bill loves navigating and planning, even old Knotty, although he remembers it all quite well, enjoyed it, and I’ve enjoyed it as much as any of you, perhaps more.’ He stretched hugely. ‘I don’t know what’s planned for today, but how about a run in the car before breakfast? Give me ten minutes.’
He was gone before she could reply and Hans took the mug from her hand and refilled it, remarking in his placid voice: ‘It will be good to drive now—later too hot.’
Tabitha sipped her coffee. ‘Hans,’ she asked, ‘have you always lived in Veere?’
He nodded. ‘Thirty-five years, but for a year in Rotterdam. First I was chauffeur and house steward to old Mijnheer van Beek, and friend too for Mister Marius and his brother and sister—we had good times together. I teach them to drive, you understand? But this one, he is best of them. He travels much, but always he comes back to his
home which he loves. He is a good man. You like him, Miss Tabitha?’
His question was asked without guile. Tabitha put down her mug.
‘Yes, Hans, I like him.’ She didn’t say any more because she could hear Marius coming down the stairs, and anyway there wasn’t much more she could say. She got to her feet and stood waiting for him. He came through the door looking as though he had never held a tool in his life, let alone used it; he had on immaculate slacks, beautifully tailored and an open-necked shirt with a silk scarf tucked inside it. More of a prince than ever, thought Tabitha, wishing she looked more spectacular herself and then reversing the wish when he said idly: ‘You look nice, Tabby—you have the happy knack of wearing the right clothes at the right times.’
The car was just across the cobbles, close to the harbour’s edge. As they got in Marius asked: ‘Shall we just wander—there are some delightful roads.’ So they went straight along the shore of the lake to Vrouwenpolder and then turned off to weave a way through the narrow, badly surfaced country lanes running between the flat fields, until they came to Domburg, larger than Veere but not nearly as picturesque, for it had a great many hotels and camping sites, but as Marius pointed out, that was inevitable as it was a popular seaside resort amongst the Dutch. From there the coast road was a good one; Marius followed it for several miles and turned inland again, short of Middelburg, going slowly through the quiet country. Afterwards Tabitha couldn’t remember what they had talked about, only that she had enjoyed every moment of it. As they drew up opposite the house once more, Marius turned to look at her.
