by Betty Neels
Trixie slipped into the professor’s well-ordered days without much effort. She was kept busy, what with the Christmas cards, presents for the friends at Timothy’s, the planning of their own party and visits—prompted by kindly curiosity, she felt sure—of the wives of Krijn’s colleagues at Timothy’s. They went, several days after their arrival in England, to a cocktail party at the hospital. She wore an amber crêpe dress which made the most of her pretty figure and Krijn gave her a thick gold chain necklace to wear with it. ‘I bought it to give to you at our wedding but it slipped my mind,’ he told her. She thanked him quietly.
It was strange to meet on an equal footing the senior medical staff she had never even spoken to before, although she had seen them dozens of times on the wards. Several of the older ward sisters were there too, among them Sister Snell, being very polite, eyeing her clothes and her Italian shoes and the gold chain and longing, Trixie thought with an inward giggle, to tell her to go and tidy the sluice. Krijn had behaved exactly as any newly-wed girl would wish a husband to behave. Of course his beautiful manners wouldn’t allow him to be anything else, and he had looked at her once or twice, really looked almost as though he had never seen her before.
Beautiful clothes make a difference, she told herself as she jumped into bed that night. I’m a lucky girl. She cried herself to sleep.
They went shopping together once to choose presents for Mies and Gladys and to get something to take back to Rabo and Wolke. They had wandered in and out of Liberty’s and Krijn had bought her a scarf she happened to admire before choosing a quilted dressing-gown for Mies and a leather handbag for Gladys. ‘Mrs Grey has always chosen something for the ward sisters,’ he observed. ‘She is only too glad to hand that task over to you.’
‘How many and which ones?’
‘Ah, now, let me see—the medical ward sisters and the children’s ward sisters and the theatre sisters—Matron too, of course. Half a dozen bottles of wine to the path lab and a crate of beer for the housemen...’
‘I do not know how to buy crates of beer,’ said Trixie, ‘or for that matter bottles of wine.’
‘No, no, you have no need, I’ll see to that. But I have neither the time nor the knowledge for all those women.’
‘Flower arrangements,’ said Trixie. ‘Let us find a florist and order them. Women love having flowers.’ She wished she hadn’t said that, thinking guiltily about the flowers Andre had sent, although she had no reason to feel guilty.
She peeped at Krijn but his face remained placid and all he said was, ‘Then let us see to it immediately.’
The flowers were chosen, each arrangement different, and, the astronomical bill having been paid, they turned their attention to finding something for Rabo and Wolke. ‘A tea-set,’ declared Trixie, once more in Liberty’s. ‘Something bone china and made in England.’
So a pleasant half-hour was spent choosing something exactly right and if the professor was bored or impatient he concealed it very well. It was when they arrived back home that she said thoughtfully, ‘I should think that a bottle of champagne with Matron’s flowers might be a good idea.’
The professor, who believed in distributing champagne with a lavish hand at Christmas and had done so for years, observed that it was a splendid idea and he would most certainly do that. To tell her that he had done so for years would never do; just lately he found an increasing reluctance to say anything which might bring the look of a hurt child to her small, unassuming face.
At breakfast on the day on which they were bidden to dine with Aunt Alice and Uncle William, he looked up from his letters to ask, ‘Will it be black tie this evening?’
‘Yes, it’s on the invitation. There will be other guests.’
She was quite taken aback when he asked, ‘What are you wearing, Beatrice?’
‘I thought perhaps the grey...’
‘A charming dress, but didn’t you buy something pink in den Haag? I seem to remember it. Have you got it with you?’
‘Well, yes, I have. Won’t it be too—too noticeable?’
‘My dear Beatrice, it is Christmas and party time! It will be exactly right.’
So she wore the ‘pink’ dress, a lovely soft apricot, chiffon over silk with long tight sleeves and an artfully cut bodice which made the very best of her curves. She wore the gold chain with it and when Krijn came home that evening he handed her a small velvet box. ‘An early Christmas present,’ he told her, and when she opened it there were earrings inside, gold, discreetly dangling and set with sapphires.
She held them in her hands, staring down at them. ‘Thank you, Krijn,’ she said at last. ‘They’re beautiful—I shall wear them tonight; they go so well with the chain and the ring.’
She hooked them into her ears and went to admire them in the big maple-framed mirror in the drawing-room and then turned round to say again, ‘Thank you, they’re quite lovely.’
The professor was watching her from the door. ‘Good.’ He sounded uninterested and she felt a surge of disappointment as he went away.
Aunt Alice’s house was brilliantly lit when they reached it and there was another new maid to answer the door. This time their coats and wraps were taken from them and they were announced at the drawing-room door. There were ten or twelve people there and they all looked round as they went in. Trixie smiled composedly in a general manner and made her way to where her aunt and uncle were standing. She knew now why Krijn had been so insistent upon her wearing the pink dress and why he had given her the earrings; the last time they had come Aunt Alice had treated them with discourtesy and he hadn’t forgotten. Her small chin went up and she said clearly, ‘How are you, Aunt Alice, and you, Uncle? Of course you know Krijn.’
Aunt Alice went an ugly red and murmured a greeting; it was Uncle William who took her hand and kissed her cheek. ‘Why, my dear, how well you look, and how pretty.’ He shook Krijn’s hand and then led them round the room introducing them. Halfway round the big room they came face to face with Margaret. Trixie said hello in her soft voice and her cousin eyed her up and down.
‘Oh, hello.’ Her smile was unfriendly although it changed to delight as she greeted Krijn. She tucked an arm into his and said sweetly, ‘You’re taking me in to dinner. You can tell me how you’ve managed to transform my plain little cousin.’ She paused and added lightly, ‘Clothes do help, of course.’
He moved a little way away so that she had to take her hand from his arm. He was smiling but the cool look he gave her from head to toe was all the answer he needed to give. He took Trixie’s hand in his and said blandly, ‘I see Colonel Vosper over there, my dear—we must have a word with him.’
He smiled at Margaret but his eyes were hard, so that she said hastily, ‘Of course I was only joking...’
‘Why, of course you were,’ he agreed silkily.
The evening seemed to go on forever. ‘What a waste of an evening,’ said Trixie as they drove home.
‘Certainly not, Beatrice. Your aunt now knows just what kind of a girl you are—not a mouselike little creature treated as a poor relation, but a young woman who can hold her own, who dresses well and looks charming.’
Trixie turned to gape at him. ‘Krijn—did you think of me like that, as a...mouselike poor relation?’
He glanced sideways at her astonished face and smiled. ‘No. I can’t remember what I thought, but certainly not that. When we get home we will open a bottle of champagne and drown our disastrous dinner. Your aunt’s cook must have a grudge against us all—badly cooked food smothered in nasty sauces. I shall get Mies to make us some sandwiches.’
So they spent the remainder of the evening sitting comfortably by the drawing-room fire with Gumbie on Trixie’s lap and Caesar in his usual spot by the professor’s feet, eating a pile of delicious sandwiches Mies offered and drinking the champagne he had fetched up from the cellar.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE NEXT COUPLE of days were filled from morning to night and Trixie saw very little of Krijn. He had regular visits to Timothy’s and his afternoons were frequently taken up with private patients. In the evenings he worked at his book or dictated his letters ready for Mrs Grey in the morning. Trixie, having dispatched the cards, conferred with Mies and seen to the small chores which fell to her lot around the house, took coffee or tea with those of Krijn’s colleagues’ wives who had invited her and got rather adept at evading invitations to dinner for them both, allowing their would-be hostesses to assume that, being newly-wed, they wished, for the time being at least, to spend what leisure they had together. She bore the knowing looks and little smiles with good grace, only wishing that that were the reason.
He found time to go shopping with her once more, this time in the morning, to Harrods to find presents for his family; a handbag for his mother, scent for his sisters and Chivas Regal malt whisky for his father, and over coffee he observed, ‘What shall we give my horde of nephews and nieces?’
‘Well, let’s see—there are seven, aren’t there? Six boys and one girl. She might like Little Grey Rabbit, I saw her as we came through the toy department—very nicely dressed with a shopping basket—just the thing...’ She didn’t see his little smile, but went on, ‘As for the boys, they’re more difficult. Perhaps Lego—there’s one with blocks to be hammered into a board. They’re almost three, aren’t they? And Reka’s boy—is he old enough for one of those cars you can drive by remote control?’
‘Little boys are always old enough for cars,’ observed the professor.
‘Yes, well, that leaves Soeske’s three boys.’
‘A train set—they can all play with it.’ He put down his cup. ‘If you’re ready then let’s go and get it.’
Half an hour later Trixie watched the professor write a cheque for what seemed to her to be a complete miniature railway system of the United Kingdom, together with sundry stations, bridges, signal boxes and miles of miniature track. He and the salesman had been completely absorbed in assembling it, something which had entailed trying out each piece of rolling-stock over every inch of rail.
Trixie, watching the professor’s absorbed face, loved him so much that it hurt.
They bought the rest of the toys and then went to Claridge’s for lunch where Trixie ate delicious food in elegant surroundings with the enjoyment of a child having a treat. Krijn, watching her pleasure, found, rather to his surprise, that he was enjoying himself. As for Trixie, she wondered hopefully if their morning together might be the forerunner of several.
She was to be disappointed, for the rest of that day and for the next two days she saw hardly anything of him and if it hadn’t been for the hospital ball on the day after that she would probably not have seen him then either. He found time to ask her if she needed a new dress for the occasion, left a wad of notes by her plate and later that day phoned to remind her to be ready to leave the house by eight o’clock. ‘We shall be dining first,’ he told her belatedly. ‘Some of the hospital committee...’
‘Where?’
He sounded impatient. ‘In the hospital; we shall go from there to the big hall. The dancing starts at half-past eight but it is usual for us to get there an hour or so later.’ He rang off, presumably to concentrate his brilliant mind upon the intricacies of the glandular system.
Despite her resolve to be a good wife, Trixie was put out—the ball of the year and barely two days’ notice. True, she had brought a dress with her, but was it grand enough for such an important occasion? Besides, she wished very much to impress Staff Nurse Bennett...
The notes were for a very satisfying sum; she took herself off to Knightsbridge and searched for something suitable. It took her a little while to find it, but it had been worth the search. Organza, roses on a pale green background over a silk slip exactly matching the soft pink of the flowers and to go with it pink satin slippers and a small golden-mesh bag to hang over one wrist. She had packed her gossamer fine cashmere wrap; all she needed to do was to wash her hair, and go to bed that night with a face cream guaranteed to do wonders to her complexion.
At breakfast Krijn looked up from his letters for long enough to ask, ‘All ready for this evening? I’m going to Birmingham this morning but I should be back by seven at the latest.’
She didn’t think that he had heard her when she assured him that she was quite ready, but he did look up when she suggested that he might like a few sandwiches and coffee when he got back.
‘Thank you, I’ll be glad of them. Make a good tea, Beatrice; the wine tends to flow at these functions...’
She eyed him coldly. ‘Are you suggesting that I might drink more than I should?’
He had got up ready to go. ‘Lord, no, but champagne on empty insides wreaks havoc.’ He dropped a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll see you this evening. I’ve left a phone number on my desk.’
She was dressed and in the drawing-room, working away at the tapestry, when he got back. She heard him come into the house but she stayed where she was; she had arranged herself in a chair not too near the fire, with a pink-shaded lamp at her elbow and her dress spread out around her. She wasn’t a conceited girl but she thought that she looked rather nice to come home to and she hoped that Krijn might think the same.
He came into the room with a book in his hand, bringing a good deal of the cold outdoors with him. His ‘Hello’ was cheerful and brisk and beyond a glance in her direction he didn’t pause as he crossed the room to his chair. Indeed, to a close observer, it seemed as though he was deliberately not looking at her.
Trixie swallowed disappointment, stabbed viciously at her tapestry and enquired as to his day. ‘There are sandwiches on the table beside you—Mies bought them in not five minutes ago.’
She could be forgiven for the slight tartness in her voice.
He went away presently to change and she sat forcing herself to calm down; he was tired, she told herself, and probably he was still thinking about a patient; after all, he had made it quite clear that his work was more important to him than anything else and for him the evening ahead was very likely a waste of time. By the time he came downstairs again she looked the picture of serenity.
She hadn’t been looking forward to the dinner party but it turned out to be a very convivial affair; she was seated between two of the senior consultants who called her the little lady and plied her with wine which she carefully sipped, and, although it was an official dinner, since it was Christmas it quickly turned into a jolly occasion. Krijn, sitting opposite her at the long table, with a formidable lady on either side of him, smiled at her whenever their eyes met, and she was able to study him at her leisure. For once, he didn’t look absent-minded and it was obvious that his dinner companions were enjoying themselves; the next time he smiled at her over the tastefully arranged centre-piece she gave him a cool look.
The ball was in full swing when they got to it, and, without a word, he swung her on to the dance-floor. ‘That was a nasty look you gave me at dinner,’ he said into her ear. ‘Have I done something or not done something or not said something and put you out?’
‘Nothing at all,’ said Trixie into his shirtfront. ‘What a delightful evening this is.’ She sounded frosty.
‘Delightful, and I am being complimented right, left and centre on having such a charming bride.’
She said, ‘Pah!’ into his shirtfront again, and he laughed and held her rather more tightly than was necessary.
She danced the whole evening and in between she sought out her frie
nds and even came face to face with Staff Nurse Bennett, who said snappily, ‘I suppose I have to call you mevrouw...’
‘Not if you don’t want to,’ said Trixie. ‘I’m still me, you know.’
The last waltz was struck up and since there was no sign of Krijn she was about to float away on the arm of her dinner partner when she was whisked away by the professor with a brief apology.
‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ he told her, and he sounded as though he was laughing. ‘But I had to have a word with Johnson. Have you enjoyed yourself?’
‘Yes, thank you.’ She had closed her eyes and was pretending that he loved her and that he would never let her go again; there was no harm in a little daydreaming.
It was almost two o’clock in the morning by the time they got home. She stood uncertainly in the hall and he asked, ‘Would you like a drink?’
She refused in a quiet little voice, cast her wrap down on a chair and started for the staircase. Her ‘goodnight’ was almost a whisper.
The professor, standing by the door, watching her, caught her up as she reached the first stair. ‘You are so pretty in your lovely dress and your eyes are so bright and shining. I don’t want you to think that I have only just noticed that. You were like a picture this evening when I came home, sitting by the fire in the lamplight...’
