An Unlikely Romance

by Betty Neels

  A remark which was of no help at all although she agreed quickly. After all, he had other things to think about and certainly wouldn’t want to be bothered with her clothes.

  The professor wasn’t exactly bothered, but Beatrice was a nice girl and he didn’t like to see her looking anything but cheerful. They were good friends, he reminded himself, and as such he felt called upon to do something about it. At the hospital he telephoned Mevrouw van Vliet, who was giving the dinner party.

  Trixie was arranging chrysanthemums in a Delft vase when the phone rang, and Mevrouw van Vliet wished her good morning in the precise, heavily accented English she spoke. ‘We have not met but I hear good things of you, and we look forward to meeting this evening. There will be many people to wish you well. It is an occasion, you understand? The men will wear the smoking—’

  ‘The what?’ asked Trixie, getting a word in edgeways.

  ‘You say the dinner-jacket? The ladies the long skirt, for we shall dance after dinner.’

  ‘It sounds delightful; I’m looking forward to meeting Krijn’s friends and colleagues.’

  ‘We see you at eight o’clock. May I call you Beatrice? That is your name, Krijn tells us.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mevrouw van Vliet; we look forward to the evening.’

  She put down the receiver and skipped upstairs to spend the next half-hour deciding what to wear. Mevrouw van Vliet had sounded a bit intimidating; presumably she was the senior lady at the university—if there was such a thing. She would play safe and wear something suitable for a professor’s wife. She laid her new evening gowns on the bed. On the other hand she didn’t want to look a frump, although that would be hard even in the plainest of the dresses.

  She chose a rose-patterned chiffon with a wide floating skirt, a modest neckline and elbow-length sleeves. It was a pretty dress and there was nothing about it to allow of criticism.

  Krijn wouldn’t be home for lunch. She ate hers with Percy for company and then got into the sensible rainproof jacket she had bought in den Haag, got out her stout shoes, and walked down to the village, where she bought postcards and stamps at the village shop, responded suitably to those she met—and there seemed to be a great many people about. She wasn’t to know that the news had spread like wildfire that the professor’s wife was buying postcards so that any number of housewives came into the shop to buy tea and sugar they didn’t need just to get a close look at her.

  She was, after all, a foreigner.

  Krijn wasn’t home by half-past six. Determined not to get uptight, Trixie went upstairs to dress. It was after seven o’clock when she went downstairs again. She was at the foot of the staircase as he let himself in and he stood for a moment, looking at her.

  ‘Very nice, Beatrice.’ He sounded like a good-natured brother anxious to say the right thing, she thought peevishly.

  However, her ‘Hello, Krijn, have you had a busy day? Would you like something to eat before you dress?’ was said in exactly the right kind of voice, solicitous without sounding anxious.

  ‘Nothing, thanks. I’d better change.’ He glanced at his watch as he walked to his study. ‘We don’t need to leave until eight o’clock—it’s only ten minutes in the car.’

  Samson and Percy kept her company by the fire in the small sitting-room she used when Krijn wasn’t home and she employed the time in picking out words from the advertisements in the Algemeen Dagblad. She was beginning to understand simple sentences by now and she had bought a dictionary and a grammar, although she was unable to make head nor tail of the latter. She put it down thankfully as the professor came into the room and got up with alacrity to wrap herself in the velvet coat he had picked up from a chair.

  He said, laughing, ‘You are all eagerness, Beatrice. You will find everyone very friendly, and don’t worry about your lack of Dutch—everyone there will speak English.’

  She said coldly, feeling hurt, ‘I shall ask advice as to the best teacher so that I can feel more at home...’ She saw his faint frown and added, ‘I mean—at home with the language.’

  ‘Remind me of that; I believe I know just the person. Shall we go?’

  It was a short drive into Leiden and across the Rapenburg Canal to the university and they had little to say. Trixie, sitting a little sideways so that she could see Krijn’s profile and watch his large, well-kept hands on the wheel, was content to stay silent save for the odd murmur; for her part she could have spent the rest of the evening sitting there beside him. Being in love was very upsetting, she reflected as Krijn drew up before the university and got out to open her door before the doorman had the chance. He said something to him and the man got into the car and drove it away as they went inside.

  In the vast entrance hall he gave her a friendly shove. ‘Off you go and leave your coat. I’ll be here.’

  She was led away, to return presently, scared that he might have forgotten about her and entered into some deep discussion with one of the other learned gentlemen present, but he was there, just exactly where he had said that he would be, and they went together to be greeted by the various members of the university. In no time at all she had forgotten the names of the people to whom she was introduced, but Mevrouw van Vliet, who had sounded rather awe-inspiring on the telephone, was kindness itself. True, she was a formidable figure, draped in plum-coloured velvet and with a severe hairstyle, but her small blue eyes twinkled nicely as she took Trixie away from Krijn and led her round the other ladies already there, and then left her with her husband, who was to take her in to dinner. ‘For you are the guests of honour,’ she explained kindly. ‘We at the medical school are so delighted that Krijn has married. He has had his nose buried in his books and papers for far too long.’

  Dinner was long and formal and Krijn was at the other end of the long table, sitting next to his hostess. Trixie thought that her host was very like old Colonel Vosper and she gave him her full attention, so that he told his wife later that evening that Krijn had done very well for himself.

  ‘She is right for him, perhaps a little old-fashioned but deftig,’ and his wife nodded in agreement. Beatrice would do very well; she had dignity, decorum and obviously came from a respectable background and that, after all, was the essence of deftigheid.

  An opinion the rest of the company shared, and lost no time in telling Krijn what a very fortunate man he was to have such a delightful wife. He accepted their congratulations gravely and when everyone had gone into the adjoining room, cleared for dancing, he took her arm and said quietly, ‘I believe that we are to start the ball rolling...’

  They circled the room, and she trembled a little in his arms.

  ‘Are you cold? No—nervous. No need, you are a great success, you know.’

  He looked down at her and smiled and she said, ‘Oh, good,’ and everyone clapped and started dancing as well.

  She danced for the rest of the evening, and was handed from one scholarly gentleman to another. None of them was young; there were several about the same age as Krijn but for the most part they were dignified and with a proper sense of their worth, but to a man they were kind and she couldn’t help but see they admired her. Their wives were kind too; mindful of Krijn’s advice, she accepted invitations to coffee and tea but was politely vague about evening engagements. ‘Krijn has to go to Brussels,’ she told the various ladies. ‘I’m not at all sure how long he’ll be away and when he returns he will have a backlog of work...’ She explained ‘backlog’ carefully and received their sympathetic glances.

  ‘But naturally, we do understand,’ they chorused. ‘And besides, you have so little chance of being alone together.’

  On their way home she told him what she had said.

  ‘Splendid,’ he observed. ‘Go to all the tea parties you want. When I am home we shall be left to ourselves for a few weeks at least. I hope to get another chapter written before we go
back to England.’

  Trixie sought for a suitable answer to this and decided that there wasn’t one. She loved him—she was in love with him too—but surely he was the most selfish man on earth—or the most single-minded one. Did he never think of anything but his work? She asked rather tartly, ‘And in England?’

  ‘I have no doubt that you will contrive to avoid too many social occasions. We shall, of course, be expected to give a dinner party, or perhaps, since it will be Christmas, we might have people in for drinks?’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Trixie. ‘I liked your friends.’

  ‘They liked you too. I can safely leave the social life to you, Beatrice.’

  They were home now, standing in the hall in the silent house. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she said again. ‘Krijn, was there one particular girl or were there several girls who—who got between you and your work?’

  He said without conceit, ‘Not one in particular, but yes, there were several. You see, they all thought that I would be so much better off married. You know the argument: someone to come home to, children, visits to the theatre, dinner out, entertaining...’

  ‘Of course they all came between you and your book.’ She spoke in her usual calm manner, but he gave her a keen look.

  ‘Yes. You find that difficult to understand?’

  ‘No, at least not unless you were in love with any of them.’

  He paused to think. ‘In love—perhaps a little, but that is hardly the same as loving a woman to the exclusion of all else and that I imagine is the only valid reason for marrying.’

  ‘But you married me...’

  ‘An entirely different matter.’ He had picked up a handful of messages left on the wall table and was reading them. ‘Goodnight, Beatrice. I don’t expect I shall see you at breakfast but I should be home soon after midday tomorrow.’

  She asked in a voice devoid of expression, ‘You will have lunch here?’

  He glanced up. ‘That rather depends—don’t wait for me, I may get a sandwich at the hospital.’

  He smiled suddenly with such charm that she blinked at him and said meekly, ‘Goodnight, Krijn.’

  He watched her cross the hall and start up the staircase. He reached it at the same time as she did. ‘Beatrice, you are happy here? Is there anything you want? You are not lonely or homesick?’

  She climbed two or three treads so that she was on a level with him. ‘I am very happy, thank you, Krijn, and certainly not lonely or homesick.’ It seemed prudent not to tell him that what she wanted more than anything else on earth was him. She sensed that he wasn’t satisfied with her answer, though.

  ‘I should very much like to have Dutch lessons,’ she told him, ‘and I wonder if there is something I could do? I mean, a day nursery or visiting old people or...’ She faltered for a moment. ‘You see, I’m not used to doing nothing.’ Her voice died away; she sounded like a priggish do-gooder.

  His hand came down on hers in a firm clasp. ‘Of course you shall have Dutch lessons—I’ll arrange them for you tomorrow. There is a crèche in the village—quite a few of the younger women go to Leiden to work and I think the women who run it would be glad of help. Leave it to me.’

  He bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Sleep well.’

  It was a surprise to her when he came home the next afternoon accompanied by a severe-looking lady of middle years and introduced her as Juffrouw van der Bos who had agreed to give her lessons each morning at a time convenient to Trixie and suggested that directly after breakfast might be a good time before Trixie needed to take up her household duties.

  Trixie, whose household duties were negligible, agreed at once. Juffrouw van der Bos, after drinking coffee with them, was driven away by Rabo in the Jaguar which was housed with the Bentley and the small Fiat Rabo used for running errands.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Trixie, ‘I’m awfully grateful.’

  Krijn was on his way to the door, Samson at his heels. ‘Juffrouw van der Bos looks fierce, but she’s a splendid teacher. I have to make a phone call, but perhaps you might like to walk down to the village with me presently and have a look at the crèche.’

  ‘Oh, Krijn, yes please.’

  It had turned very cold; she got into her quilted jacket, dragged a cap over her neat hair and found a pair of old woolly gloves. She was waiting for him when he came out of his study and presently they set out with Samson pacing beside them.

  There was a short cut through the grounds of the house which brought them out very close to the village square, so that their walk was a short one during which the professor kept up a steady flow of small talk. No one listening to us, thought Trixie, would believe that we were man and wife. Yet, when they reached the poky village hall where the crèche was housed, she had to admit that he gave a very good impression of a thoughtful husband. She was introduced to the two middle-aged women who ran it, and, without her doing much about it, she found herself committed to three mornings a week from nine o’clock in the morning until noon. ‘And you don’t need to worry about the language problems; the children are babies or toddlers and I imagine that you will be chiefly concerned with feeding, or changing nappies and so forth.’

  Krijn listened to what the elder of the two women had to say. ‘You’re quite sure that you want to do it?’ he asked Trixie. ‘And it is strictly on the understanding that if other commitments should arise they will take precedence.’

  ‘Yes, I understand, and I’d like very much to help if they will have me.’

  The women smilingly nodded, not understanding what she was saying but sensing that she wanted to help them. She shook their hands once more and walked back with Krijn. ‘Who runs the crèche?’ she asked. ‘I mean there’s the rent and things like kettles and basins and babies’ bottles and so on...’

  ‘I do. I regret that I seldom go there; I must rely on you to let me know if anything is needed.’

  ‘Supposing the babies are ill? Do they have to go to Leiden?’

  ‘If it’s something minor I deal with it, otherwise I send them to Leiden.’ He added, ‘I’m not a paediatrician.’

  ‘No. I know,’ she sounded a little tart, ‘though I suppose you know about a great deal besides glands?’

  ‘Well, yes, but one tends to channel one’s interest...’

  You can say that again, reflected Trixie sourly.

  On the following day he drove off to Brussels but not before asking her if there was anything she needed advice on, and warning her once again of the invitations they might expect to receive. ‘I’m sure,’ he told her smoothly, ‘that you will be able to deal with them.’

  ‘When will you be back?’

  ‘I can’t be certain. When I go to Brussels I usually call upon friends and perhaps stay overnight. I will phone you.’

  She saw him off from the steps outside the door with Samson beside her. To the casual eye, she appeared to be a happy wife speeding her husband on his way, but as she waved to the fast-disappearing car she wondered who the friends were...

  She went to the crèche that morning and despite the small difficulties of communication she enjoyed herself. It was lovely to have something else to do and the crèche was over-full. Quite small babies who needed feeding and changing, toddlers whose mothers left home early each morning and didn’t get back until late afternoon; it was surprising that in so small a village so many of the younger women went out to work. She went home to lunch feeling quite cheerful to find the post had come, and, sure enough, most of it was invitations to dinner, evening drinks and a birthday party for Professor someone-or-other. There were invitations for her too: coffee at various houses and requests for her to join various charitable societies. If she joined them all she wouldn’t have a moment to spare...

  She spent the afternoon sorting them out and then set about answering them. The dinner parties she star
ted off with, making the quite true excuse that Krijn hadn’t been certain as to which day he would return and could she let their hostess know later? The coffee-mornings she accepted; if she didn’t her new acquaintances might wonder why, and they might even dislike her for it. She additionally agreed to join several of the charity committees too because it was expected of her. It was a relief when Krijn telephoned that evening; she hadn’t expected it and she beamed at the receiver as she lifted it, so that Rabo, who had taken the call, went back to the kitchen to tell Wolke that mevrouw had shown all the proper sentiments at getting a call from the professor.

  ‘Quite right too,’ said Wolke. ‘They’ve only been married for such a short time; such a pity she couldn’t go with him.’

  Rabo muttered the Dutch equivalent to “absence makes the heart grow fonder”, and added that she would be going back to England with the professor very shortly. ‘And a nicer young lady I’ve yet to meet.’

  ‘You’re all right?’ Krijn’s voice sent a little thrill through her person. ‘How was the crèche?’

  ‘Marvellous, I loved every minute of it. There were a lot of letters...’ She told him about them. ‘The only one I’ve not answered is the birthday party.’

  ‘Accept it. He’s an old professor of anatomy—must be nudging eighty. His wife gives him a splendid party each year.’

  ‘It’s in a week’s time. Will you be back?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He didn’t add to that so she asked, ‘Have you had a busy day?’

  ‘Yes. I’m phoning from a friend’s house in Brussels. I’m dining there.’

  She curbed her tongue from uttering, Who with? and said lamely, ‘How nice.’ When he remained silent she observed that Samson was missing him. In the silence which followed she heard a woman’s voice calling him.

  ‘Well, I mustn’t keep you from your friends.’ She was rather pleased with the casual way in which she said that. ‘Goodbye, Krijn.’