by Betty Neels
‘Goodnight, Beatrice.’ He sounded as though he was laughing.
She didn’t know if he would ring on the following day, although she hoped that he would. He didn’t, however, and on the day after that she went to the crèche again.
It was a wet, cold morning but after the warmth and noise in the crèche she was glad to walk back through the rain, thinking about Krijn, wondering what he was doing and when he would be back home. Her heart leapt when she saw the car before the house, only to plummet into the foot of her shoes when she saw that it wasn’t the Bentley. She hurried her steps, intent on getting into the house. It might be someone with a message from Krijn or someone who had seen him in Brussels. Heedless of the rain-wet face and her untidy head, she cast off her jacket and headscarf as she went through a side door and gained the hall. Rabo came to meet her.
‘A visitor, mevrouw. One of the professor’s cousins, Mijnheer Andre ter Vange.’
‘Oh, yes. We met at Veenkerk. Is he in the drawing-room, Rabo?’
‘Yes, mevrouw. Will he be staying for lunch?’
‘Well, I dare say. I’ll ask him and let you know.’
She paused to smooth her hair and went into the drawing-room, to find Andre lounging in a chair by the fire while Samson sat by Krijn’s chair opposite, watching him.
He got up when he saw Trixie and so did the dog. She patted Samson’s great head and offered a hand to Andre.
‘How nice to see you, but I’m afraid Krijn isn’t here—he’s in Brussels...’
‘Yes, I know. I thought you might be feeling lonely. Am I invited to lunch?’
‘Of course...’
‘We’ll go for a drive this afternoon and perhaps you’ll invite me back for tea—even dinner? We must get to know each other.’
‘How kind of you, but I can’t do that. The dominee’s wife is coming here at two o’clock to talk about St Nikolaas—that’s the day after tomorrow. I’m going to help with the children in the village and I said I’d give a hand wrapping up presents.’
‘Good lord, Beatrice, do you have to act the matron? These people can manage quite well by themselves. I counted on us spending the rest of the day together.’
‘Well, I’m sorry but I said I would help...’
His smile held a faint sneer. ‘Oh, well, another time.’ He got up. ‘I’ll be going.’
‘I thought you were staying for lunch?’
‘I’ve just remembered I’ve a client coming at one o’clock.’ She walked with him to the door and he took her hand. ‘We really shall have to get to know each other; I shall come again. When is Krijn coming back?’
She didn’t know what prompted her to say, ‘Oh, probably today or early tomorrow.’
‘Just my luck. He’ll want you all to himself, won’t he?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said steadily. It had been kind of him to come, she reflected, waving goodbye from the steps, but she still wasn’t sure if she liked him.
The dominee’s wife was a bit overpowering; her English was good, which made her feel superior in the first place, and she had lived in the village for so long that she took it for granted that what she said was law there.
Trixie, over coffee and little sugary biscuits, refused to be browbeaten by that lady’s somewhat hectoring ways and presently accompanied her to the village where, in the dominee’s house, there were oranges and sweets and small presents waiting to be wrapped in bright paper.
‘Do people give you all these?’ asked Trixie, and blushed when the dominee’s wife told her severely that every household was expected to subscribe a small amount.
‘As it is, we are always short of money, mevrouw.’
‘Oh, then please allow me to help. I’m sure if the professor were here—’
‘Well, he is,’ said Krijn’s voice just behind her. When she turned in surprised delight, he said, ‘Forgive me, Mevrouw Kraan; the door was open.’
He bent and kissed Trixie’s cheek, observing, ‘I have returned rather earlier than I anticipated,’ and then shook hands with Mevrouw Kraan. ‘I’m glad to see that my wife is taking part in the preparations for St Nikolaas, but I must beg you to allow her to come home. I am, as I said, earlier than I expected.’
In the car, driving the short distance to the house, he observed, ‘Mevrouw Kraan is rather a dragon...’
‘Yes, I know. You didn’t phone.’
He sounded concerned. ‘It quite slipped my mind. Have I spoilt your afternoon?’
She turned a happy face to his. ‘Oh, no. I’m so glad you’re back.’
They went indoors and when she would have gone upstairs to take off her outdoor things he said impatiently, ‘Let them stay there for the moment. We’ll have coffee in the drawing-room, shall we?’
Sitting by the fire with a delighted Samson between their chairs, he said, ‘You have not been lonely?’
What would he say if she told him that she counted every minute until he returned? ‘Not a bit. I have had a Dutch lesson and Samson and I went for walks and there was the crèche.’ She paused to pour their coffee.
‘When I got back from the crèche this morning, Andre was here. He said he’d come for lunch and wanted to take me out for a drive afterwards, but of course I couldn’t because I’d already promised Mevrouw Kraan that I’d help here. I did ask him to stay for lunch only then he remembered that he had a client at one o’clock, so he went away again. I told him that you were in Brussels and...’ She paused then.
The professor asked, ‘And what, Beatrice?’
‘I do hope you don’t mind; I said you were coming back today...’
He asked placidly, ‘You had a reason?’
‘Well, I do hope you won’t be annoyed, only he said he would come back to take me out for a day.’ She gave him a direct look. ‘I know he’s your cousin, but he seemed to think that I needed company.’ She added hastily, ‘He’s very kind and friendly.’
The professor ignored that. ‘And do you need company, Beatrice?’
‘Me? Oh, no. I am going to have coffee with Mevrouw van Vliet to meet some of the ladies who were at the dinner.’
Percy had come to join them and had climbed on to her lap, and she bent to stroke him. ‘That’s unless you want me to do anything else...’
‘My dear Beatrice, I have no intention of interfering in your plans, but I must remind you that we shall be returning to England in five days’ time.’ He put down his cup. ‘There are several cases waiting for me at Timothy’s, and Mrs Grey has made a number of appointments. We will spend Christmas there, and perhaps you will let your aunt know—if you remember she suggested that we might like to dine with them.’
‘Very well, I’ll do that,’ Trixie agreed quietly, not wanting to do anything of the sort. ‘Will you be at home all day tomorrow?’
‘I’m afraid not, though I’ll probably be back in the late afternoon.’
‘Several people phoned to know when you would be back, but I said I wasn’t sure. The only invitation I accepted for us both is that birthday party in three days’ time.’
‘Ah, yes. What are you doing tomorrow?’
‘Well, there’s no crèche but I said I’d help get the place ready for St Nikolaas and then the afternoon will be taken up with several people coming to tea. They’ll be gone by the time that you get home.’
He got to his feet and she saw then that he was tired. ‘I’ll do some writing until dinner,’ he observed. ‘Will you tell Rabo not to disturb me? He’ll take any phone calls. If it’s anything urgent he will let me know.’
He went away with Samson at his heels and presently Trixie went upstairs, where, for no reason at all, she curled up on her bed and had a good cry.
Not for long, however; it would never do for Krijn to notice her red eyes and pink nose. She must remember that she was
a sensible girl who knew what was expected of her; ready to be good company if the occasion arose and fend off tiresome intruders into Krijn’s own serious world and accept gracefully his comings and goings. A kind of devoted personal assistant, she told her reflection as she inspected her face for signs of tears.
She went back to the drawing-room then and applied herself to her tapestry until Rabo brought in the tea-tray. ‘And don’t on any account disturb the professor, will you, Rabo?’ she begged.
Later, when she had come downstairs again after changing into a dress for the evening, she found Krijn sitting in his chair with the faithful Samson beside him. He got up as she went in. ‘What would you like to drink?’ and when he had poured it he sat down again, a glass of Jenever at his elbow.
‘I hope Rabo didn’t have to disturb you,’ said Trixie. ‘Dinner won’t be for another half-hour.’
She didn’t get an answer to that. The professor regarded her thoughtfully, aware that he had missed her while he had been away; it was something that he would have to think about once he had completed the chapter which needed his meticulous attention at the moment.
‘Will you be sorry to leave here?’ he asked idly.
‘Oh, yes. But we shall be coming back later...’
‘Yes, in time for New Year—we shall spend that with the family. Could you cope if they come here and stay overnight?’
She nodded her mousy head. ‘Rabo and Wolke will advise me, won’t they? Everyone will come on Old Year’s Day, I expect? For lunch?’
‘Tea, and a rather special dinner, and friends join us afterwards. Everyone goes again after lunch on New Year’s Day.’
‘Will we be back in time for us to plan meals and see to the rooms and all that?’
‘We shall be back on December the twenty-ninth. You will have rather more than a full day, but Wolke will see to the rooms while we are in London, and perhaps you could discuss the food before we go.’
‘Yes, I’ll do that.’ She would have liked more time to make plans, but there was no point in saying so; she had several days before they were to leave for England and Wolke was a tower of strength.
They dined, well-pleased with each other’s company, their talk the casual conversation of friends although it never touched upon themselves. Later, the professor went back to his writing, but before he picked up his pen he sat back in his chair to reflect upon the successful outcome of his marriage. Already Beatrice was coping with the social life he wanted, for the most part, to avoid; she was a quiet girl and a splendid listener and he found her company restful. She had slipped neatly into the niche he had envisaged for her and she seemed perfectly content with her life. He smiled a little, remembering her tumble on the ward at Timothy’s; he had barely noticed her then and yet he hadn’t forgotten her either. There was a great deal to be said for a marriage such as theirs, unencumbered by romance. That was something he had avoided since his youthful affair with a girl who had sworn to wait for him until he had qualified as a doctor and had thrown him over for an Argentinian cattle baron. He had immersed himself in his profession after that and now, after all those years, the girl quite forgotten, habit had taken over and his work was paramount.
He gladly took up his pen and began a fresh paragraph appertaining to the ductless glands.
CHAPTER SEVEN
KRIJN WAS ALREADY at breakfast when Trixie went into the dining-room the next morning and before she was halfway through her toast he got up to go. ‘I did tell you that I would be home later this afternoon?’ he asked her, and, when she assured him that he had, ‘If the ladies are still here I shall creep in through a side-door,’ and when she nodded he said, ‘What a splendid stand-in you are. Hopefully those who have felt impelled to entertain me, under the impression that a bachelor needs female company at all times, will transfer their good intentions to you, Beatrice. I believe that married women love young brides.’
Bridegrooms love young brides too, thought Trixie, but kept the thought to herself.
She had her Dutch lesson directly after breakfast, ploughing her eager way through verbs and phrases with such enthusiasm that her stern teacher felt compelled to praise her, and, at the same time, give her a great deal of studying to do before the next lesson. ‘A great pity that you will be in England for several weeks,’ she commented. ‘It is to be hoped that you will continue your studies there. We will discuss that when I come again.’
It was time to nip down to the village and finish wrapping the small presents ready for St Nikolaas to hand round on the following day. Mevrouw Kraan was disposed to be friendly and Trixie, wrapping marzipan figures in bright paper, enjoyed herself. ‘You will, of course, come to church on Sunday,’ said Mevrouw Kraan.
‘If the professor is free I shall come with him,’ Trixie told her, and hoped that she had said the right thing.
She gave some thought as to what to wear for the tea-party. Most of the people who were coming were considerably older than herself, and to emphasise the difference in years might create a bad impression. She chose a silvery grey jersey dress with a pale patterned scarf at the neck, elegant and simple, and then went to the drawing-room to await her guests.
The tea-party was a success. Wolke had made fairy cakes, cut minuscule cucumber sandwiches, and together she and Trixie had made a Victoria sponge light as air. Her guests, enjoying these dainties, told her all there was to know about life at the university and the medical school. ‘Now Krijn is a married man,’ Mevrouw van Vliet told her, ‘we no longer need to worry about him,’ and at Trixie’s enquiring look she added, ‘When he was a bachelor we felt it our duty to make it possible for him to meet as many new people as we could arrange—a man needs a wife.’ She beamed at Trixie. ‘But now he has found one for himself, and, if I may say so, a delightful bride. We are all agreed about that.’
Trixie thanked her, rather pink in the face, reflecting that Krijn’s drastic action in marrying her had certainly been the right answer to escaping from the well-meaning ladies’ efforts to marry him off. At least he had chosen a wife for himself.
She waved the last of them on their way home and went back to the drawing-room, to find Krijn sitting in his chair. He came to meet her as she crossed the room. ‘I had tea in my study,’ he told her. ‘The afternoon went off well?’
‘How long have you been home?’
‘An hour.’ He gave her a thoughtful look. ‘They were kind, Beatrice?’
‘Oh, yes, and so friendly.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘They explained that they had all been so anxious about you because you weren’t married. It seems they tried their hardest to find you a wife...’
He gave a crack of laughter. ‘Oh, indeed they did; endless dinners, invitations to have a drink and meet a niece or an old friend’s daughter.’
‘Was it as bad as that in London too?’
‘Yes. Now, about the people we must invite for drinks while we are there—quite a few from the hospital, your friends too, of course, and I have a number of acquaintances.’
‘How many?’
‘Altogether around thirty, I suppose. Mies and Gladys can cope; Gladys has a sister who will come in and help.’
‘Oh, it’s something you do each year?’
‘If I’m in England, yes. Of course on Christmas Day I go to Timothy’s to carve a turkey and do a round of the wards...’
‘Yes. I saw you last Christmas.’ She had been a first-year student nurse then, on the children’s ward and detailed to feed some of the toddlers, and he had wandered round with Sister, stopping to sit on the cots and admire the toys the children had had. She hadn’t known who he was but her friends had told her and she had glimpsed him from time to time until she had gone to work on Women’s Medical and saw him regularly. She supposed with hindsight that she had fallen in love with him then and never known it.
‘I shall be at the
hospital all day tomorrow,’ he told her. ‘St Nikolaas will arrive on his white horse with Zwarte Piet directly after lunch. I’ll fetch you about one o’clock; you’ll have time to see him before you need to be in the village. He usually arrives there about four o’clock.’
‘Not the same one?’
‘No. No. Holland is littered with him, he’ll be in every town and village and the remarkable thing is that the small children don’t realise it.’
* * *
SHE WAS REALLY all ready for him when he got home after her early lunch. It was still very cold and she had got into her new winter coat, hunter’s green mohair, and pulled on her chestnut-brown leather boots. She had arranged a matching velvet cap on her neat head of hair and collected her Gucci handbag and gloves, hoping that she would present the right image to anyone she might meet at the hospital.
Krijn got out of the car and opened her door, sweeping a pile of papers on to the back seat as he did so, whistled to Samson, mooning at the door to get in too, and drove off, casting a sidelong glance at Trixie as he did so. ‘Very nice. I like the thing on your head. You are to meet the directrice and the directeur before we greet the Sint.’
‘Oh, will there be a lot of people there?’
‘Every single soul who can be spared from the hospital. He shakes hands with everyone and then goes round the wards. I’ll bring you back before he starts, for it takes some time. I should be home around six o’clock. I’d like you to stay in the village until I come for you.’
‘I can walk back, it’s only ten minutes or so—I’ll take a torch.’
‘I prefer to collect you, Beatrice.’
‘Well, all right. I’ll wait.’
They were at the hospital by now and he parked the car in the space reserved for the consultants and walked her to the entrance. There were quite a number of people standing around, despite the cold, but inside it was comfortably warm and the dignitaries of the hospital were standing in groups, chatting. There were nurses too and medical students making a cheerful hum of talk. Krijn had taken her arm and was leading her to where several people stood together.
