by Betty Neels
In a film, she supposed, she would have tapped the driver on his shoulder and ordered him to follow the car ahead of him, but the Mercedes had a turn of speed which allowed it to dart ahead even in congested, slow-moving traffic, and the cab she was in was an elderly Peugeot. Besides, what would be the point? If he didn’t want to know her now, why should he at any other time? For the first time since she had started out on her journey, she wondered if perhaps there might have been some easier, more sensible way of meeting him again. But it was too late now, she was here, in den Haag, and here she would stay until she had seen him and at least tried to explain.
The driver turned left and slowed down to inspect the houses lining each side of the narrow, well-remembered road. ‘It’s halfway down,’ said Victoria in a voice, which, despite her best efforts, trembled slightly.
There was no sign of the Mercedes when she got out. She paid the driver, who told her to enjoy herself while she was in the city, a sentiment which she heartily reciprocated, and went slowly up the steps leading to the big door guarding the various consulting rooms within.
His rooms were on the ground floor, she remembered, and easy enough to find. She opened the door with his name upon it and looked inside. If her memory served her right, it was the waiting room, with a desk in one corner. The desk was very tidy today, with papers neatly piled and an open typewriter, and behind it sat a young woman with a long face, an uncompromising hair-style and large melancholy eyes. But when she saw Victoria she smiled and she wasn’t melancholy at all; her smile transformed her face with its charm and Victoria found herself walking eagerly towards her, sure that she would help.
‘I’m looking for Doctor van Schuylen,’ she began, then stopped, because this girl with the kind face might not understand English. She need not have worried on that score.
The smile widened. ‘You are English? A patient who wishes to consult? The doctor is booked up for today—tomorrow too—he is a busy man. If you would tell me…perhaps I could help?’
‘I’m not a patient,’ said Victoria, unhappily aware that her haggard sleepless face hardly bore this statement out. ‘I—I know Doctor van Schuylen. I—I wanted to see him. It’s important. I wondered if you could fit me in somewhere—I can wait.’
The girl looked sympathetic. ‘You are a friend—you did not telephone? He has a house at Wassenaar, it would perhaps be easier…’ The sad eyes became all of a sudden very sharp. ‘You are, I think, Miss Parsons.’
Victoria went a little nearer the desk. ‘Yes. You know of me—did the doctor…?’
The girl shook her head. ‘The doctor, no, but I hear things, though I do not speak of them, you understand?’ She smiled again. ‘Sit down, Miss Parsons, and when the doctor comes, perhaps he will spare a minute.’
Victoria sat, a little way from the door so that as he came in he wouldn’t see her immediately. She wasn’t sure why she did this, she thought probably because she was feeling cowardly. He hadn’t looked pleased to see her that morning, even allowing for shock; she hardly felt that he would welcome her with open arms. She blinked back tears, thinking how wonderful it would be to feel his arms around her once again, but that, she knew, would only happen after she had had a chance to talk to him.
He came five minutes later and by then there was someone else in the waiting room; an old lady, very thin and shaky, with a high, carrying voice and wearing what Victoria privately considered to be a vulgar display of diamonds. Alexander wished her good morning as he entered and when he saw Victoria he made a small movement and stopped dead on his way to his consulting room. For a moment she thought that he wasn’t going to speak to her at all, but finally he said: ‘Good morning, Victoria,’ and crossed the room and disappeared, followed by the girl behind the desk. She came out a few minutes later, ushered the old lady in and then came over to Victoria.
‘I am sorry,’ she began kindly, ‘but the doctor regrets that he has no time to see you, also he has appointments in the hospital after he has seen his patients. He feels that you waste your time.’
‘What I do with my time,’ said Victoria with asperity, ‘is entirely my own affair. I shall sit here until you close, and tomorrow, too, if necessary.’ She smiled at the girl. ‘You won’t mind if I sit here, will you? I’m doing no harm.’
It was awkward for the poor thing. Victoria had a pang of sympathy for her, but if she went away, who knows, he might lock the door, and that would mean going to Wassenaar, and even then he might not be home or if he was, let her in. She settled down, as quiet as a mouse, leafing through a magazine which conveyed nothing to her, while one patient after the other came in, waited and in due course was ushered into the consulting room. It was two hours or so before the last person went in and another half an hour before he finally left and Alexander came out himself. He looked thunderous when he saw her, but she had prepared herself for that. But she hadn’t prepared herself for, or expected, the gentleness with which he spoke to her.
‘Victoria, it is useless for you to sit here. I am a busy man, and there is no use in stirring over dead ashes, is there?’
That should have been enough to have sent her on her way, back to England, convinced that he didn’t love her any more, but something, a stubborn streak in her nature perhaps, kept her chained to the chair.
‘You can’t turn me out?’ she wanted to know.
He laughed a little bitterly. ‘I—turn you out? If you wish to sit here for reasons of your own, please feel free to do so. You will excuse me?’
He was gone, and Victoria ignored the cold emptiness inside her and smiled at the girl to let her see that she was quite happy. She asked:
‘May I know your name?’
‘Bep—Bep Fisscher. I am the doctor’s receptionist and secretary. I have worked for him for five years. He is a very good boss.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ said Victoria warmly. ‘Miss Fisscher, do you go out to lunch?’
‘No, I have my broodje with me and coffee I make here. The doctor comes again this afternoon and dictates his letters and if he wishes he asks me to stay until he is finished.’
Victoria resolutely dismissed a picture of Alexander with his head bowed over his desk, working, and got up to take a few turns about the room. ‘Good. You won’t mind if I stay, then? You see, I think that when he has finished his day’s work he might find time…’
‘You will be hungry.’
‘No, I’ll be all right.’ A lie if ever there was one; she would be famished. The things one did for love! ‘But I’d be grateful for some coffee when you make it.’
The coffee was hot and warm and sweet and filled up her empty inside so that she felt more comfortable. And Bep was nice; they exchanged information about their families and Bep was in the middle of an enthralling escapade of her youngest, naughtiest brother when the telephone rang. After that she had to get on with her work again and Victoria was quietly doing nothing, and even dozed off for a while. The nap refreshed her and she tried to be practical. She would have to stay somewhere for the night and she would have to eat; but surely before then she would have managed to talk to Alexander.
She sat back with her eyes closed, more sure than ever now that she had been a fool to come. Girls didn’t go rushing round after men who didn’t love them any more—or perhaps he did? But if so, why had he made that beastly remark about dead ashes? She had almost made up her mind to leave and go back to England on the night boat and never think of him again, when he came back. He nodded briefly as he passed her and she caught a whiff of tobacco and after-shave lotion and forgot her resolution in a dream which was presently shattered by the entrance of a middle-aged man who spoke to her quite sharply and when she looked at him helplessly, said whatever it was all over again, rather more snappily.
‘He only wants to know if you’re ahead of him,’ said Bep, soothing him. But the little interruption had put a stop to Victoria’s dreams. The day was getting on; just supposing Alexander wouldn’t let her talk to him? She opened
her bag, found her purse and counted her money.
It was, unbelievably, six o’clock before the last patient went, and even then Bep disappeared into the consulting room with letters to sign. Victoria tidied her already tidy person, added a little more lipstick and waited. Presently the door opened and Bep came out with Alexander hard on her heels. It was now or never. Victoria got to her feet and he stopped in front of her.
‘Have you somewhere to spend the night?’ His voice was polite.
She shook her head. ‘Alexander—’ she began, but was blandly ignored.
‘Bep, would you take a taxi and go with Miss Parsons to a hotel—let me see—the Central in Lange Poten is comfortable and only a stone’s throw away. Take the taxi on home to make up for the delay.’
This high-handed arrangement goaded Victoria into quick action. She made for the door. ‘Thank you,’ she said with tremendous dignity, ‘but I can find a hotel for myself.’
He had reached the door first. ‘Please do as I say.’ For a moment she thought that he was going to say more, but he didn’t, only took possession of her overnight bag, a strategic move she hadn’t foreseen, so that she was forced to wait meekly while Bep covered her typewriter, locked up and finally joined them. Outside Alexander hailed a passing taxi, saw them into it, said good evening with grave politeness and got into his own car. Victoria, sitting bolt upright beside Bep, didn’t look at him.
The hotel was very close and, she realised with some unease, it looked expensive. She got out, refusing Bep’s offer of help, and went inside. It was full of Americans—wealthy ones, judging from their appearance. Victoria sat down in the lounge and ordered coffee, and presently, when it came, went over to the reception desk to enquire about a room. It was, as she had so rightly guessed, wildly expensive. Alexander must have thought that she had brought her entire bank account with her, or, more likely, he hadn’t thought about it at all; rich people, she had discovered, didn’t think about money. She finished her coffee, paid for it and left. She walked for twenty minutes or more, looking at a number of hotels from the outside and finally decided on the Harrison in Spuistraat. It was simple inside, very clean and not expensive. She ate a good dinner and went thankfully to her room where she counted her money once more. She had her return ticket, of course, but very little besides, because, strangely enough, she hadn’t thought that she would be staying in a hotel. She had imagined that Alexander would be so overjoyed to see her that he would have carried her off to his mother’s house. She laughed hollowly about it as she undressed. Well, she could manage one more day, then she would have to go back. She had been a fool to come and everything that had happened to her had been her own fault. She got into bed and sobbed quietly until at last she fell asleep.
She made a good breakfast in the morning even though she wasn’t hungry, because she wasn’t sure about lunch, and upon reflection, she paid the bill—she could always go back there for another night if she could raise the money, or better still, find something cheaper, but even as she made her cheerful plans with a determination the new day had brought with it, she knew in her heart that if Alexander refused to see her today she would go back. It wasn’t a question of pride, she hadn’t any left; it was a question of knowing, at last, that he wasn’t going to forgive her for thinking that he had lied to her. They would be finished—at least, he was. And she—she hadn’t got around to thinking about the future yet. Perhaps she would go home and after a while, start life again. Another life, without Alexander.
Bep was already at her desk when Victoria arrived at Alexander’s rooms. She looked surprised and a little unhappy as she answered Victoria’s good morning.
‘He is coming, isn’t he?’ she asked.
Bep nodded, her eyes more melancholy than ever. ‘Yes—he’s due now. There are several patients, then hospital. Patients again this afternoon. He works too hard—he has no time for anything else, but you understand why, of course.’
Victoria found this puzzling. Why should she know why, unless Bep meant that as a nurse she understood how hard doctors worked? She was still considering this when Alexander walked in and when he saw her, uttered something explosive in his own language and then, in English: ‘Oh, Victoria!’ He didn’t sound angry, just exasperated, and the face he turned to her was white and weary, but he went on into the consulting room without another word.
There were quite a lot of patients after the important-looking man who went in first; a well-dressed woman with a small boy, miserable with a never-ending cough, an elderly man, very blue in the face, a young man with dreadful spots, a small girl who cried all the time despite her mother’s efforts to stop her and finally, last of all, a small shabby woman, clutching a doctor’s letter. She had a downtrodden air which stirred Victoria’s pity and she was glad to see that Bep treated her with exactly the same courtesy she had accorded the private patients and when she ushered her into Alexander’s room, she gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. And twenty minutes later, when he ushered her out again, Victoria’s unhappy heart was warmed by the kindly courtesy with which he treated her. Watching him, it struck her how little she knew of his work. How many beds did he have in the hospitals, and how many hospitals? She suddenly wanted to know and was pulled up short when she remembered that probably she never would know now, for it was no longer, and perhaps never would be, any business of hers.
There was no one else in the room now, only Bep in her corner, typing and Alexander striding back from the door which he had gone to open for his shabby little patient. His glance flickered over Victoria.
‘You’d better come in,’ he said, and sighed, and she was so taken aback that she made no effort to get up but asked stupidly: ‘Me?’
‘You.’ He held the door open for her, waved her into the chair opposite his desk and then sat down, saying mildly: ‘I have ten minutes precisely. I hope you were comfortable in your hotel? I believe the food there is very good.’
‘Is it? I daresay.’ She choked on sudden wrath. ‘I had a cup of coffee there and then went and found another hotel for the night. Have you any idea how much it costs to stay in a place like the Central?’
He looked taken aback. ‘Well, yes, a rough idea.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Never tell me you haven’t any money, dear girl. You must allow me…’
‘You dare—you just dare!’ exclaimed Victoria instantly, tiredness, missed meals and misery taking over from the calm she had imposed upon herself. ‘I’ll—I’ll throw it at you, and anything else I can lay my hands on!’ She stared round the room, intent on putting her threat into force, unaware that her fine temper had rendered her even more eyecatching than usual.
An expression hard to read passed over the doctor’s bland face. He eased himself more comfortably into his chair and studied her leisurely.
‘Tell me,’ he asked with interest, ‘why haven’t you any money?’
His calm voice did nothing to mend her temper; if anything, it made it even worse. ‘If you must know,’ she spoke through her splendid teeth, her lovely eyes flashing, ‘I didn’t expect to stay in a hotel.’ She paused and then went on in a rush, for what could it matter now what she said to him? ‘I expect you’ll find this very amusing. I thought that you would be—that you would take me to stay at your mother’s house.’
Not a muscle of his face moved, although she had the strong impression that he was hiding behind a mask of blandness. What was more, he had allowed his lids to drop over his eyes so that she couldn’t see their expression any more. He stared at her for a long minute without replying and then switched on the intercom on his desk and spoke into it. When he had finished he sat back and said gently: ‘Dear girl, I think that you and I should come to an understanding.’
She got to her feet, determined all at once to leave—a ridiculous action after she had come hundreds of miles to see him and had hung around for more than a day waiting for just such a chance as she now had. ‘I’m not your dear girl,’ her voice, taking things into its own hands, as it
were, came out in a furious wail, ‘and you’ll never understand me!’
She made for the door and was frustrated before she was halfway there by the firm grip of his hand on her arm. When he spoke his voice was very quiet. ‘No, I don’t suppose I shall ever understand you, although I shall try my best, but this I do know, you are my dear girl—you always have been and you always will be.’
Victoria scarcely heard him, and in any case she was by now in no state to believe him. ‘You won’t forgive me ever, will you, because I thought you’d gone to see Nina instead of going to the hospital—and I should like to know what I was supposed to think when you were so—so cagey about her. Go away!’ she invited him furiously. ‘Go away and marry some girl or other. I was a fool to come, and I might have known when you didn’t answer my letter…’ She choked on a sob as his hand tightened painfully on her arm.
‘What letter, Victoria?’
‘The letter I wrote to you.’ She stopped to hiccough while two tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘After I met Nina in London and she told me about you and her—and why couldn’t you have told me?’ she wanted to know furiously, the words tumbling over each other now that they could at last be released. ‘I thought…you let me believe…and all the while it didn’t matter at all…not bothering so much as to tell me, and making me sit here for days on end while you stalk about like a bad-tempered tiger. I tried to tell you,’ she hiccoughed again. ‘It was a long letter,’ she finished in a miserable voice. ‘I’ll never…’
