Текст книги "Britannia All at Sea"

Автор книги: Betty Neels

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

The Veskes had been very nice about it, Britannia decided as she got ready for bed that evening; they had asked the professor in for a drink, expressing discreet sympathy with her, murmuring comfortably about difficulties with language and misunderstandings. He had stayed for half an hour making polished conversation before making his farewells, not that he had bothered overmuch with his goodbyes to her; a nod, a casual tot ziens and her thanks shrugged off carelessly. And come to think of it, he hadn’t bothered to thank her for the part she had played that morning. She tugged the covers up to her chin on a wave of indignation. He was arrogant and ill-tempered and just about the horridest man she had ever met, and she loved him with all her heart. All the same, she would cut him dead when she saw him again. She began to concoct episodes in which he was made to appear in a very poor light while she ignored him coolly, but presently she got a little muddled and before she could sort out the muddle, was asleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE PROFESSOR called the next afternoon and Britannia quite forgot to be cool and ignore him. Joan had gone off for the day directly after breakfast and now, after a morning shopping with Mevrouw Veske and a lunch à deux, she had got into slacks, a thick sweater and an old anorak of her hostess’s and was on her way to fetch her bike. The weather was hardly promising, but Britannia was in no mood to bother about that; she was wondering how she could find out where the professor lived and if possible, despite her determination to ignore him, see him again, so that the sight of him striding towards her round the corner of the house sent her spirits soaring. She stood outside the garage, holding the bike, watching him coming towards her. Beautifully turned out, as always, assured, far too good-looking… She wished him a quiet good afternoon, and waited.

‘I thought we might try again,’ he said.

The urge to fling her machine to the ground and accept on the instant was very great. She clutched the handlebars with woolly gloved hands and said politely: ‘How kind of you. But as you see, I’m just off for a ride.’

He didn’t bother to answer her but took the bike from her, leaned it against the garage wall and took her arm. ‘It’s too cold to cycle. I’ve warned Zuster Vinke that you would be coming.’

Britannia stopped in her tracks to face him. ‘That was a little high-handed of you,’ she pointed out.

He grinned. ‘I am high-handed, I shout, I’m nasty, ill-tempered, irritable…I forget the rest, although you have told me often enough.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘I have never been preached at so often in my life before.’

Britannia raised large, serious brown eyes to his. ‘Oh, I don’t mean to, really I don’t; you’re a splendid surgeon…’

‘And so are thousands of others. Britannia, I’m sorry about yesterday. I was angry because I didn’t know where you were, and I was angry with myself for not having done something about it. Forgive me and come with me now.’

‘Well, I’m not dressed…’ she began, already half won over.

‘You look just the same as usual,’ he assured her, and even while she was trying to decide if that was a compliment or not, he had her by the arm, walking her briskly along the drive to the waiting car.

There was nothing to interrupt their journey to Arnhem this time and the professor whiled away the short journey in light conversation, revealing a new facet of himself to Britannia. She had had no idea that he could be such an amusing and pleasant companion; it wouldn’t last, of course; sooner or later he would get into a fine rage about something or other. It was extraordinary, she mused, that one could love someone so much even when they scowled and frowned and stared down with cold blue eyes…

‘I was saying,’ said her companion with exaggerated patience, ‘that I hope to be finished by four o’clock. Zuster Vinke will be told when I am ready.’

Such arrogance, she thought lovingly, but she could alter that. Her ‘Very well,’ was meek.

Zuster Vinke turned out to be a big bony woman, with shrewd eyes behind thick glasses and a nice smile. And her English was more than adequate; she led Britannia from one ward to the next, finishing in the Children’s Ward where Britannia was shown the small girl the professor had saved. She was sitting up in bed, playing quite happily with a doll. The pebble had been removed, she was told; as soon as the tracheotomy had healed the child would go to a convalescent home and then back to the isolated little cottage which was her home. It was while they were with her that they were joined by one of the doctors who had met them outside the hospital. Young and tall and nice-looking, he introduced himself as Tom van Essent. ‘And of course I know who you are,’ he told her eagerly. ‘You were a great help to the professor, so he tells us; without your help the child would have died. It is a pleasure to meet you. You are staying long in Holland?’

‘Under a week—not long enough.’ Britannia smiled at him, quite ready to like him because he worked for the professor.

‘Perhaps if you are not too occupied, I might take you out to dinner one evening?’

‘Well, that would be nice, thank you, I’d like that. Could you telephone me some time?’ She gave him Mevrouw Veske’s number and then, because Zuster Vinke had been called to the telephone and came back with the news that the professor would be ready in five minutes, she went with him back to the entrance hall, with Zuster Vinke striding along on her other side. They were standing together, laughing and talking, when they were joined by the professor, who, making no effort to make a cheerful fourth, bade her two guides a curt goodbye, asked her grumpily if she was ready to leave, and walked out of the hospital at a great rate, with Britannia having to nip along smartly to keep up. In the car, sliding smoothly away from the hospital, he asked: ‘You found your visit interesting? I see that young van Essent was with you.’ It was coolly and carelessly said, but she thought she detected annoyance as well.

‘Oh, he met us just before we returned to the entrance—in the Children’s Ward—and he walked down with us. I liked Zuster Vinke and it’s a splendid hospital. And how nice to see little Tinneke sitting up playing with a doll.’ She turned to look at him. ‘Doesn’t it give you a nice feeling each time you see her?’

He shot the Rolls through a knot of traffic. His voice was bland. ‘Perhaps I haven’t your youthful enthusiasm, Britannia.’

‘Oh, stuff, of course you have, otherwise you wouldn’t be a surgeon, you’d retire to your villa or whatever and mope and moulder away the rest of your days.’

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘Put like that I must admit your argument is a strong one. You liked van Essent?’

‘Oh yes. He’s young, though.’

‘And what do you mean by that?’

‘Just what I said—he made me think of my younger brother.’

‘Ah—so you have brothers. And a sister perhaps?’

‘No, only my brothers.’

‘And parents?’

‘Yes.’ Really, he asked a lot of questions! ‘And what about you…?’

‘I am touched by your interest in me, but there is nothing of interest to tell you.’

‘Unfair,’ snapped Britannia. ‘If you ask me any more questions I shall invent the answers.’

‘And I shall know if you are fibbing, Britannia. Did Zuster Vinke give you tea?’

‘No—at least she said we would have a cup of coffee when we had finished looking round, but there wasn’t time—you sent a message.’

‘Thoughtless of me.’ They were clear of the town now, racing along the quiet road, passing the cottage where Tinneke lived and then the airfield; they would be at the villa in no time at all. But at the crossroads, instead of keeping straight on, the professor turned down the road Mijnheer Veske had taken when they had gone horse-riding.

‘You’re going the wrong way,’ observed Britannia helpfully.

‘I am going to my house. So that you may have that cup of coffee I so thoughtlessly deprived you of.’ He slowed the car to turn between two stone pillars. ‘Or tea, perhaps—you English drink gallons of tea.’

‘That’s why we’re such nice people. I’d love to see your house.’

‘So you have already said.’ He didn’t sound very enthusiastic, but she didn’t care; she was going to have her wish after all, and he had been almost friendly… ‘This is someone’s park,’ she pointed out. ‘Should we be here?’

‘Of course. It belongs to me.’

She hadn’t thought of that; she peered out of the window, silent for once, her tongue held by surprise. The sanded drive wound through trees, swept round a high grass bank and then, with close-cut lawns on either side of it, made for the house. It was a grey, dull afternoon and would soon be dark, but Britannia could see it clearly enough; its gables and chimneys now wholly visible. And it was just as beautiful as she had imagined it to be when she had first glimpsed it from the other side of the park wall. It wasn’t so very large as large houses go, but its windows were wide and high, giving a hint of the spacious rooms within, and although its front was flat, the windows arranged in neat rows on either side and above its imposing entrance, there were wings on either side, red brick and one storey high. There were trees grouped behind it and great sweeps of lawn on either side, and a little formal garden just visible beyond, a miniature of the large one in front of the house.

‘Well,’ said Britannia at length, ‘you might have told me.’

‘I can see no possible reason for doing so.’

‘But I took you to see it the other day…you were there by the wall, you told me there was a better view…’

‘I still can see no reason for telling you.’ He added silkily: ‘In any case, you being you, you would have discovered it for yourself.’

‘Yes, of course I should, because I very much wanted to know who lived here. But it wasn’t very nice of you—you’ve made me feel like a busybody poking her nose into other people’s business.’

‘If I thought that I shouldn’t be bringing you here for tea, Britannia.’

They had reached the sweep before the house and he had stopped the car and turned to look at her. ‘And what have you to say to that?’

She gave him a long candid look. ‘I’m wondering why you have brought me here to tea,’ she said soberly.

He leaned across her and undid her safety belt, then kissed her hard. ‘Perhaps I want to get to know you better,’ he told her blandly as he got out.

She got out too, trying to look as though she wasn’t wildly happy, excited and completely at sea, and walked beside him to the door. By the time they had mounted the half-dozen shallow steps leading to it, it had been opened by a short stout man with a cheerful face, who answered the professor’s greeting with a beaming smile, then turned the beam on Britannia, and she, still in a delightful haze, beamed back.

The glass-walled lobby gave on to a square hall with a branched staircase at its far end and a number of doors on either side. It was a handsome apartment with a tiled floor spread with fine rugs and furnished with massive side tables bearing great bowls of flowers. Britannia looked about her with frank, unselfconscious interest, wishing her father was with her to admire the fine ormolu clock on a marble-topped commode, the exquisite chandelier above her head, and the William and Mary armchairs set against the walls. She entered the room into which the professor was urging her with a lively anticipation of still more treasures, and she wasn’t disappointed. It was large, lighted by great windows draped in claret-coloured velvet and with a polished floor adorned with still more silky rugs, but she had no time to examine her surroundings; there were two people there, sitting opposite each other beside the cheerful fire burning in the vast marble fireplace; a rather severe-looking lady who might have been in her sixties and the lovely girl who had been with the professor in church.

Britannia’s pleasure ebbed away. Both ladies were eyeing her, the elder with a thoughtful expression, the younger with a smiling contempt, making her very aware of her slacks and anorak and sensible shoes, so that the pleasure was replaced by feminine rage at being caught at a disadvantage and an even greater rage towards the professor for allowing that to happen in the first place. She had time to wonder if he had done it deliberately before he said smoothly: ‘Mama, this is Britannia Smith, without whose help I could not have saved the child I told you of. My mother, Britannia.’

Britannia shook hands and found that the severe features, relaxed in a smile, were rather charming after all; the blue eyes which looked at her so intently were very like the professor’s and she found herself smiling back, conscious that she was approved of. It gave her a little added sparkle as she turned in obedience to the professor’s suave: ‘And this is Madeleine de Venz—you will have seen each other in church, I feel sure.’

They smiled brilliantly at each other; Madeleine’s bright blue eyes were unfriendly as she looked Britannia slowly up and down. She said in a deliberate, sugary sweet voice: ‘Of course, you were sitting with a pretty girl with curly hair.’

Britannia felt a surge of dislike. Several biting remarks crossed her mind and she longed to utter them. Her calm: ‘Isn’t she lovely? She’s been a friend of mine for years,’ was a masterpiece of forbearance. But the look she gave the professor was enough to freeze his bones, although he didn’t appear to notice it.

His: ‘We’ve come back for tea, Mama—I asked for it to be brought in here,’ was uttered in exactly the right tones of a thoughtful host, as was his gentle urging that she should remove her anorak.

It was a pity that she happened to be wearing a blue guernsey, a garment which she had had for a number of years and wore solely for warmth during the winter at home. She had packed it at her mother’s instigation and now silently blamed her parent for persuading her; it was a vast, loose sweater and seemed even bigger and looser than it was in contrast to Madeleine’s slimly cut cashmere outfit, although, thought Britannia waspishly, the girl had a figure like a lead pencil, an opinion borne out when tea was brought in, for Madeleine drank only a small cup of milkless tea and ate nothing at all, while Britannia, telling herself sensibly that since she had been asked to tea she might as well enjoy it, ate the tiny sandwiches, the delicate cakes and the little sweet biscuits her host pressed upon her, carrying on a pleasant, desultory conversation with his mother while she did so, and when the professor chose to address her, answering him with cool politeness. Madeleine ignored her almost completely, addressing herself exclusively to the professor and speaking her own language until he interrupted her with a gentle: ‘Should we not talk in English, Madeleine? You can hardly expect Britannia to understand Dutch after only a few days.’

Madeleine laughed, and she had a very pretty laugh,

‘Darling Jake, I’m so sorry, you know I would do anything to please you.’

Britannia, watching him, couldn’t see any change of expression in his face, but come to think of it, she seldom did. And she had learned one thing; he was called Jake, which was a name she entirely approved of. Quite pleased with this discovery, she plunged into a discussion about china. There was a handsome bowl on the table at her hostess’s elbow—Weesp porcelain, she hazarded, and was pleased with herself when Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien, seeing her glance at it, began to talk of it; the subject led to a discussion about antiques in general until Britannia glanced at her watch and said, with real regret, that she would have to return to the Veskes’ villa, and when the professor, sitting by Madeleine and engrossed in some conversation of his own, was apprised of this, she added matter-of-factly: ‘It’s no distance, and I shall enjoy the walk.’

‘It’s dark,’ the professor pointed out flatly.

‘There’s a moon.’ She added defiantly, ‘And I like the dark.’

He took no notice of this, however, but got to his feet, while Madeleine scowled at them all and then looked taken aback when Britannia went over to her. ‘Forgive me, Juffrouw de Venz, for interrupting your talk with Professor Luitingh van Thien; it’s only a few minutes’ drive, though.’ She added with sweet mendacity: ‘I do hope that we meet again.’

But to her hostess she made no mention of hoping to see her again; she had been brought to the professor’s home through some quirk of fancy on his part, she supposed, she wasn’t likely to come again. She murmured all the right things and reflected wryly that at least she had had her wish; she had seen the house which had so taken her fancy and as an added bonus, she knew where the professor lived. She got into the anorak he was holding for her and accompanied him out to the car and got in without speaking when he opened the door. And she could think of nothing to say during the brief ride; it was all the more surprising, then, that when he stopped by the Veskes’ front door and got out to open her door, instead of wishing him goodbye she should ask: ‘Are you going to marry her?’

She wished she hadn’t been so silly the moment the words were out; he would snub her coldly or not answer her at all.

He did neither. He said in a loud, forceful voice: ‘No, I am not. Oh, at one time perhaps I considered it, but not any more—and do you know why, Miss Britannia Smith? Because of you, and God alone knows why; you preach at me, disapprove of me, constantly remind me that I am selfish and bad-tempered, and now you have seen my home, you will probably mount a campaign to persuade me to give away every penny I have…and yet I find that without you my life and my heart are empty.’

Her heart bounced into her throat, almost choking her. ‘Well, you know,’ she said soberly, ‘you may say all these things—and you have surprised me very much—but you don’t behave as though you mean any of them. No man with any regard for a girl would take her to his home to meet his mother and the girl who intends to marry him without giving her the chance of at least doing her hair.’ She added severely: ‘I looked a perfect fright, and you know it.’

He said quite seriously: ‘I thought you looked beautiful, Britannia. And I have just told you that I am not going to marry Madeleine.’

‘Yes, I know, but she doesn’t agree with that.’ She shivered a little in the cold early dark. ‘You see, she’s right for you, Professor. She comes from your background and probably you have known each other for years, she will run your great house for you and entertain your guests and wear all the right clothes. She’s beautiful, you know; all willowy and graceful…’

The professor caught her by the arm. ‘Bah—who wants willows and grace? I like women to look like women, and pray, what is to prevent you entertaining our guests and running our home and wearing what you call the right clothes?’

His hand was still on her arm and she was very aware of it. She shook her head slowly and began deliberately to tear her dreams to shreds in a quiet, steady voice.

‘I hoped that I would meet you again, even though I thought that you didn’t like me, but I wanted to be sure of it, if you can understand that. You had told me that you were rich, remember? but I didn’t bother about that, not until just now, sitting in your lovely home. But now I can see that just being rich isn’t at all the same…’ She came to a stop, anxious to find the right words. ‘You see, you aren’t just rich, Professor, it’s more than that—it’s a way of life; you live in a magnificent house which I think must have been in your family for a very long time; you drink your tea from Sèvres china and the chairs you sit on are a kind which any self-respecting museum would jump at. But you’ve been born and brought up among them, you’ve eaten from porcelain with silver knives and forks since you can remember, and that’s the difference; you take them for granted, just as your Madeleine does, that’s why she’ll be right for you. Don’t you see?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t say no in that fashion, Professor!’

She heard him sigh. ‘Britannia, before we go any further with this singlarly futile conversation, may I beg you to stop calling me Professor in that severe fashion. My name is Jake.’

‘Yes, I know. I like it—but if I call you Jake, that’s how I shall remember you…if I call you Professor you’ll always be just that.’

‘My dear girl, let us get one thing clear. I have no wish to be just a professor dwindling away in your thoughts. I’m a man called Jake who has fallen more than a little in love with you.’

‘But if you hadn’t met me, you would have married Madeleine.’

He took her gently by the shoulders. ‘I’ll give you an honest answer, Britannia, because I can’t be anything else with you, you have been honest with me. Probably I should, but not because I loved her; I’m almost forty and I must have a wife and children to live in my home after me, but having said that, I’ll repeat that now I have met you, I shall never marry her.’

‘Never’s a long time. I think this happens all the time—people meet and—and fall in love, perhaps not very deeply, and when circumstances prevent them meeting again, in time they forget and take up their lives as they were before.’

Britannia spoke with quiet conviction, not believing a word of it.

‘You don’t want to see me again?’ the professor spoke harshly.

She stirred a little and his hands tightened their grip. ‘Well, I shall never see you once I’ve gone back to England at the end of the week. Would it matter very much if we saw each other just once more, to say goodbye?’

‘It’s your own fault that we do say goodbye, you silly, stubborn, high-minded girl—and don’t expect sympathy from me, for you’ll get none.’ He caught her close and kissed her so hard that she rocked on her feet and then without another word, marched her to the door, opened it and then turning away with a brief goodnight, got into his car and drove away.

Britannia went indoors, shutting the door silently behind her. There was a good deal of laughing and talking in the sitting room so that no one would have heard her come in. Half an hour in her room would give her a chance to pull herself together; it had been harder than she could have imagined because she loved the professor so much; too much, she reminded herself, to let him make a mistake he might regret later on. He had said that he was more than a little in love with her, but she wasn’t sure if that was quite enough. Infatuation seemed like love, but it didn’t last, and they had only met a few weeks ago and then only briefly. For herself she was quite sure that she loved him, but that wasn’t enough either, although it was tempting to pretend that it was. She crossed the hall silently and was on the stairs when the sitting room door burst open and Joan ran out.

‘I saw the car lights,’ she cried. ‘Britannia, never mind about going to your room; come into the sitting room and drink our health—Dirk and I are engaged, isn’t it wonderful. He’s got to go back in a few days, but he’ll get leave and come back in six weeks’ time and we’ll get married then.’ She caught Britannia by the arm and danced her into the sitting room, which seemed full of people all talking at once. Britannia went around shaking hands, laughing and talking with an animation she didn’t feel, although two glasses of champagne did help. It was late by the time she got to bed; she had changed quickly and there had been a long-drawn-out dinner party with more champagne, so that her slightly muddled wits had been unable to cope with her own problems. But in the morning, after breakfast, it was easy enough to make an excuse about buying stamps while Joan wrote letters and telephoned her family. She put on the anorak once more and went along to get her bike. She had the morning before her, she would take one of the narrow country lanes where there was no traffic to bother her, and sort out her problems.

She was standing outside the front door, pulling up her anorak hood against the cold wind, when a Mini estate car drove up and stopped beside her, and the short stout man who had opened the door of the professor’s home got out. His ‘good morning’ was cheerful as he handed her an envelope and stood waiting. Her name was scrawled on it and she knew it was from the professor, so that her fingers shook a little as she opened it. The note inside was brief: ‘Will you come out to dinner with me this evening? Half past seven.’ It was signed J. L. T.

‘You will be so good as to give me the answer?’ asked the patient man beside her.

‘Will you please tell Professor Luitingh van Thien that I shall be delighted to accept.’ It would be their last meeting, she guessed, and she had no intention of refusing.

‘I was to tell you also, miss, that it is hoped that you will have sufficient time in which to make yourself ready.’

Britannia chuckled; the prospect of seeing the professor again had quite cheered her up, even though it hadn’t solved any problems. Let those wait, she told herself defiantly. ‘That’s very considerate of the professor. Will you thank him for me? I don’t know your name…?’

‘Marinus, miss.’ His cheerful beam swept over her. ‘Good day, miss.’

‘Good day, Marinus.’ She watched him get into the Mini and drive away and then went back to the house to tell Mevrouw Veske that she would be out that evening; she had to face a barrage of questions, of course; her hostess, with her goddaughter’s future nicely settled, wasn’t averse to her friend doing the same thing.

Britannia cycled a long way, trying to make herself think sensibly. She was aware that she was being foolish in seeing the professor again; a strong-minded girl would have said goodbye then and there… She sighed and got off her machine, leaned it against a gate and went to sit on a fallen tree. It was dim and damp along the lanes; the trees, their leafless branches arched above her head, shutting out what winter light there was. But it exactly suited her mood. Her impulse to refuse to see the professor again once she had returned home had been right, she felt sure; the reasons were good sound ones and sensible, but that didn’t make them any easier to accept for herself. As for him, very likely he would thank her in years to come.

Presently she got up again and began her ride back to the villa; there was lunch to be eaten, and the afternoon to get through before she could get ready for her evening. The pink dress, she reflected, although she very much doubted if the professor would notice it, but it would give her low morale a much-needed boost; the evening, she had determined, was going to be a success, something happy to remember for always. It was to be hoped that he wouldn’t lose his temper or raise his voice; his note had been a little terse. She patted the pocket where she had put it and started to sing cheerfully, keeping her thoughts on the evening ahead and no further than that.