Текст книги "Britannia All at Sea"

Автор книги: Betty Neels

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

‘We shall be able to search for treasures together,’ he observed, and stopped to kiss her before picking her up and carrying her down a small staircase. ‘This is the oldest part of the house and on a different level. There’s a games room and a garden room and here at the end is the music room. Do you play the piano, Britannia?’

She hobbled to the baby grand piano in the big bay window. ‘A little.’ She ran her fingers up and down the yellowed keys and then sat down on the wide stool and tried a little Chopin. She played with spirit if a bit inaccurately, but she stopped when Jake sat down beside her and took over the tune.

‘No, go on, my love—I come here sometimes for half an hour, now we can share an added pleasure!’

He played well and with no tiresome mannerisms; they thundered through a mazurka and then skimmed through a waltz, and when they stopped Britannia said: ‘Jake, you play very well—I had no idea…’

He gave her a wicked glance. ‘We shall probably have a child prodigy.’

‘Oh, no,’ cried Britannia, ‘not a musician, they’ll all be brilliant surgeons like their papa.’

‘So I am to be rivalled in my old age?’

She answered him seriously. ‘Not rivalled, for you will have handed on your skill, just as your father did to you. And you’ll never be old.’

‘My darling, there is fifteen years’ difference between us.’ He had closed the piano and was leaning on it, looking at her with a little mocking smile.

‘Pooh, what’s fifteen years,’ cried Britannia with some asperity, and then suddenly: ‘You don’t think it’s too much? You don’t think that I… Jake, perhaps after we’re married you’ll wish we weren’t. You don’t know much about me and nothing of my family, would it be better if we waited?’

‘You have second thoughts?’ His voice was faintly cool and she hastened to protest.

‘Of course I haven’t, not for me.’ She frowned a little. ‘I think what it is, I wanted to marry you so much and now I’m going to and it doesn’t seem possible, it’s like a lovely dream and I’m afraid of waking up.’

‘Then I must convince you that you are wrong.’ Which he did to such good purpose that Britannia forgot all her doubts and kissed him back.

The garden room was full of colour even on the grey winter’s afternoon; they wandered around while Britannia admired the chrysanthemums and the forced spring flowers and an enormous assortment of house plants.

‘But it’s one person’s work,’ observed Britannia.

‘More or less—old Cor sees to this side of the greenhouses. When you can manage it, we’ll go and look at the gardens and the hothouses. Shall we join the family for tea, or would you like it here?’

‘They’re all going tomorrow, aren’t they? And they haven’t seen much of you.’ She would have liked to have stayed there alone with Jake, but it might look as though she wasn’t prepared to share him with his family. They went slowly through the house again and into the sitting room, full of people. The children were there too, the little ones under the wing of the two nannies, the babies on any lap which came handy, while everyone talked their heads off. Britannia, settled on a sofa with her foot up once more, was instantly absorbed into the cheerful gathering and now they spoke quite openly about her joining the family, laughingly warning her that New Year would be a splendid opportunity for her to meet even more of them. ‘You’ll have to open up all the bedrooms, Britannia, there are hordes of us; Emmie cooks for days before and Jake gives a dance; it’s tremendous fun.’

Britannia suppressed a tiny qualm; supposing she couldn’t cope with entertaining on that scale? There would be any number of things she wouldn’t know, and would Jake expect her to know them? Just for a moment she thought of Madeleine, who would know exactly what to do on such an occasion and be relied upon to be a perfect hostess. And supposing she did something silly and Jake felt ashamed of her? She looked up and found the professor’s eye on her and he shook his head slightly at her and smiled, just as though he guessed what she was thinking.

He took her with him the next afternoon; he had patients to see at his consulting rooms and as he explained, it would be a good opportunity for her to see them and meet Mien, his secretary, and Willa, the receptionist and nurse. There were his two partners whom she must meet, too, he told her, but not just yet; one was on holiday, the other in Luxembourg. So Britannia, wrapped up against the cold wind and the fine powdering of snow which had begun to fall, was made comfortable beside him when he came to fetch her after lunch.

‘Warm enough?’ he wanted to know, sending the car towards Arnhem. And when she nodded, for who wouldn’t be warm in such a magnificent car? he went on: ‘I should like to wrap you in furs, my darling, but I think that you wouldn’t like that—not just yet.’

He manoeuvred the car past a string of air force jeeps. ‘I haven’t given you a ring, have I? But a ring is binding.’

Britannia didn’t know why his words should make her suddenly cold inside; after all, she had asked him to wait. She peeped sideways at him and saw that his profile was stern. She said meekly: ‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ and when he didn’t say anything else she forbore from further speech. But when he drew up before one of the tall, narrow houses in a quiet side street of the city, the face he turned to her was quite free from any sternness.

‘Wait while I get you out,’ he cautioned, ‘and I shall have to carry you up the stairs—there’s a lift, but it’s out of order.’

His rooms were on the first floor, indeed they occupied the whole of it, three consulting rooms, a most comfortably furnished waiting room, a tiny office for Mien, a bespectacled, rather plain girl with a charming smile, and another small room used by Willa for any small treatment which might be necessary. Britannia was enchanted by it all and spent the ensuing hours sitting with Mien, whose English was really rather good, while Jake went away to see his patients.

‘It is a large practice,’ explained Mien, ‘and as well as his work here, the professor has many beds in the hospitals. He operates several times a week and also goes to Utrecht and to London and sometimes Vienna.’

And Britannia, anxious to know all there was to know about Jake, listened to every word. There was still so much to discover about him and not a great deal of time before they married. With Mien on the telephone beside her, Britannia went into a pleasant daydream; being married to Jake was going to be fun.

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE OLD HOUSE seemed very quiet after everyone had gone the next day, leaving only Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien behind. The professor had left before breakfast and it was after that meal that his mother suggested that she might take Britannia over the rest of the house. ‘That’s if you can manage the stairs, my dear,’ she added. ‘Jake would not forgive me if I suggested anything which might harm your ankle.’

‘I can hop,’ declared Britannia cheerfully. ‘It’s much better, you know, and the elastic stocking supports it. I’d love to come with you.’

Their tour took most of the morning, there was so much to see: magnificent bedrooms furnished with what Britannia could see were valuable antiques, cunningly concealed bathrooms and clothes closets and a dear little room which had been called ‘Mevrouw’s kamertje’, a name which had been handed down from one generation to another without anyone really knowing why it should be so. It had a work table, its original silk lining still intact, though faded, and some small high-backed chairs which her guide assured her were most comfortable. There was a games table too, exquisitely inlaid with applewood, and a sofa table in the window, as well as an escritoire with its accompanying chair. The curtains were brocade in muted greens and blues and the highly polished wood floor had a scattering of fine rugs upon it. The only concession to modernity were the table lamps; little silver stands with peach shades which blended exactly with the room.

They sat there for a little while carrying on a placid conversation about nothing in particular until Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien remarked unexpectedly: ‘I have said nothing to you as yet, my dear, for Jake has told me that you want a few days in which to think over his proposal—indeed, he tells me that nothing has actually been settled, but I hope very much that you will accept him. I do not mind telling you now that I—in fact, all of us, have been very much against him marrying Madeleine de Venz.’ She sighed. ‘Not that he would have taken any notice of anything we might have had to say. You can imagine my delight, Britannia, when after years of dreaded expectation that he would marry her, he should meet you and fall in love with you at your first meeting.’

‘He intended to marry her.’ Britannia wasn’t asking a question but stating a fact.

Her companion corrected her, ‘No, my dear, she intended to marry him.’

Which remark merely substantiated what Britannia herself already knew. She picked up a dainty little figurine, admiring its vivid blue glaze and then looked at its base. ‘Longton Hall,’ she said absentmindedly, ‘mid-eighteenth century and quite charming. Madeleine hates me.’

‘Naturally, Britannia. You’re not afraid of her?’

‘Goodness me, no, mevrouw, not of her. She has become a habit with Jake—habits are hard to shake off. She has a lot that I haven’t—breeding and knowing how to do things and what to say, she knows all his friends and, I daresay, how he likes his house run…’

Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien snorted elegantly. ‘His servants dislike her, did you know that? Even the dogs avoid her.’ She glanced round at the two faithful beasts who had accompanied them silently and were now sitting between them. ‘And as for breeding, Britannia, I find your manners much more to my taste. She is sophisticated, certainly, and probably able to cope with any social occasion, but there is no warmth in her; her love for Jake, if one can call it love, is purely selfish; if he were to lose his possessions overnight or fall victim to some incurable illness, she would have no more to do with him. You, I know, would love Jake under any circumstance.’

‘Yes, I would,’ said Britannia baldly. ‘I’d starve for him. And if I thought I wouldn’t make him happy, then I’d go away.’

She frowned, for she hadn’t meant to be quite so dramatic about it; one’s thoughts sometimes sounded silly spoken aloud. But apparently Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien didn’t think so; she said approvingly, ‘I have always been sure of that, my dear.’

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes and then went on with their inspection: the remainder of the bedrooms on the first floor, and at the back of the house, in the older part, the large nursery, very much as it must have looked when the professor was a small boy; there was a night nursery too, and a bathroom and tiny kitchen and several smaller bedrooms. They inspected it in silence until Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien remarked softly: ‘Jake’s nanny married when Corinne left the nursery—she has a daughter who is also a nanny—a pleasant homely girl, like her mother.’

Britannia went a bright pink, but spoke up in her honest way. ‘You mean she would come to us if we wanted her.’

‘Yes, my dear, that is what I meant. We had better go back the way we came; there is a small staircase at the end of this passage, but it is too narrow for you. We will leave the top floor until you can walk in comfort. There is a wonderful view from the parapet and when the children were young, we turned one of the rooms into a games room where they could play those noisy games young people love. The other rooms are for the servants—they have a sitting room there too, and Emmie and Marinus have a small flat, and there are the attics, of course, full of the odds and ends families accumulate over the years.’

They were making their way back as she talked and now Britannia was making her way clumsily down the staircase. At the bottom she said politely: ‘Thank you for showing me round; it’s quite beautiful. Would you mind if I put my leg up for half an hour before lunch? It’s a little uncomfortable.’

Which it was, but she wanted a little time to think, too. At the back of her mind she was worrying about Madeleine. She couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t do all she could to get Jake back, if she had ever had him… Britannia lay back on the sofa, determined to be sensible about it, think the whole thing out in a rational manner and make up her mind what to do. She didn’t get very far, of course; she knew what she wanted to do; she wanted to marry Jake and when he brought the subject up again, she would tell him that. Having settled everything in this simple fashion, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

The professor came home after lunch, examined her ankle and pronounced it to be progressing splendidly, then suggested that they might drive to the outskirts of Hilversum and visit a friend of his, Reilof van Meerum. ‘He has an English wife, Laura—I think you might like each other.’

‘Don’t you have any more patients today?’

‘Lord, yes, but not until half past six at my rooms—I’ll have to go on to the hospital after that to take a look at one of my patients there, but I’m free this afternoon. Like to come?’

Of course she liked to go with him. Madeleine was forgotten, she put on her outdoor things and limped downstairs under his watchful eye. ‘You’re making astounding progress,’ he observed, ‘but go easy on the stairs, my darling, and use a stick for another day or two.’

It was a cold, crisp day and the road to Apeldoorn was beautiful in the thin sunshine. Britannia occupied the few miles before they joined the motorway in telling Jake about her morning, and they passed the time pleasantly enough as they raced towards Amersfoort, and if she was a little disappointed because he had nothing to say concerning their future, she was careful not to let it spoil her happy mood. They left the motorway at Amersfoort and took the road to Baarn, and a mile or two beyond that pleasant town, along a fine avenue lined with great trees, he turned in between brick pillars and along a short drive, to stop before a large square house with a stone balustrade and a massive porch.

As Jake helped her out, Britannia asked: ‘Are they expecting us?’

‘I saw Reilof this morning and we are expected, my love.’

As if to substantiate his remark the door was flung open and a smallish girl with mousy hair and pretty eyes ran out. ‘Reilof said you would be coming—what a lovely surprise.’ She put up her face for Jake’s kiss and turned to Britannia. ‘I’m Laura,’ she said. ‘Reilof and Jake are old friends and I hope we’ll be friends too.’ She smiled and instantly looked pretty. ‘Come in—Reilof’s in the sitting room, guarding the twins—Nanny’s got a day off.’

She led them indoors, where a white-haired man took their coats and exchanged a few dignified remarks with Jake and was made known to Britannia as Piet, without whom, Laura declared, the house would fall apart. ‘We’re in the small sitting room.’

Reilof van Meerum was standing by the window, a very small baby over his shoulder. The baby was making a considerable noise, but his proud parent was quite unruffled by it. He came forward to meet his visitors, shook Jake’s hand as though he hadn’t seen him in weeks and then turned to Britannia. ‘Jake and I are such old friends that I don’t suppose he’ll mind if I kiss you.’ He grinned. ‘He always kisses Laura.’ He glanced at his small wife with such devotion that Britannia caught her breath and then smiled as he went on. ‘We’re fearful bores at present, you know—we’ve only had the twins a month, and our days revolve round them.’

Britannia took a look at the baby on his arm; dark like his father and at the moment, very ill-tempered. The other baby, sleeping peacefully in its cradle, was dark too. ‘A girl?’ essayed Britannia, and Laura nodded. ‘Yes—isn’t it nice having one of each? She’s called Beatrix Laura, and he’s Reilof, of course.’

Reilof junior stopped screaming presently and was put to sleep in his cradle and the two men wandered off to Reilof’s study while the two girls settled down for a gossip. There was a lot to talk about, as they had much in common, for Laura had been a nurse before she married Reilof. It wasn’t until Piet had been in with the tea tray and gone to fetch his master that Laura asked diffidently: ‘I’m not being nosey, but are you and Jake going to get married?’

‘Yes,’ Britannia told her, ‘I hope so. But there’s nothing definite yet.’

There was no time to do more than exchange smiles, for the two men came into the room then and the rest of the visit was taken up with light-hearted conversation. They left presently and started their journey back to Hoenderloo, travelling fast because Jake hadn’t much time; perhaps it was because of that he had little to say in answer to Britannia’s cheerful remarks about their afternoon, and when she took a quick peep at him it was to see that he was deep in thought, his mouth set sternly, and a faint frown between his eyes, so that her efforts at conversation dwindled away into silence. Something was annoying him—was still annoying him. At last, unable to bear the silence any longer, she said forthrightly: ‘You look vexed. Have I done something?’

They were travelling very fast and he didn’t look at her. ‘No.’ And then: ‘I’m glad you enjoyed your afternoon.’ But it was uttered in such an absentminded fashion that she knew that he wasn’t really thinking about that at all.

She didn’t say any more then until they had reached the house once more and he had helped her out of the car and they were indoors, and although he was as kind and considerate as he always was towards her she sensed his impatience. ‘I’ve a mind to climb the staircase by myself,’ she told him lightly, ‘and it’s a good chance, because you want to be off again, don’t you?’

She didn’t wait for his reply but started off across the hall, walking quite firmly with her stick so that he would be able to see that she was independent now. But when she heard his footsteps cross the hall towards his study she paused thankfully to lean on the carved banisters before mounting the wide stairs. Jake had forgotten to shut the study door, she thought idly, and then froze as she heard the faint tinkle of the telephone as he lifted the receiver and said: ‘Madeleine? Ik moet met je spreken—morgen middag—zal je thuis wezen?’

He spoke clearly and Britannia, who had picked up a little Dutch by now, understood him very well. He wanted to speak to Madeleine the following afternoon and would she be home. She started up the staircase while she pondered the unwelcome thought that possibly it had something to do with his ill-humour in the car. It took her a few minutes to dismiss the idea as nonsense; he had every right to telephone whom he wished and just because it had been Madeleine there was no reason for her to feel as she did—coldly apprehensive. It hadn’t been such a good day after all, she decided as she took off her outdoor things and did her hair and face. Perhaps he had had an extra busy day and hadn’t really wanted to go to see his friends. She went downstairs again to find him gone and his mother sitting by the fire, looking so normal that Britannia called herself an imaginative fool and embarked on a cheerful account of the afternoon. Everything, she told herself, would be all right when Jake got home later on.

Only he didn’t come. There was a message just before they sat down for dinner to say that he had an emergency operation that evening and would get something to eat in hospital, and although Britannia sat up long after Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien had gone to bed, he didn’t come, so presently she too went to bed, to lie awake and listen for the car. She slept in the end without hearing its return in the early hours of the morning.

She was surprised and pleased to find him at the breakfast table the next morning, and then not quite so pleased to see that he was still in a thoughtful mood; something was on his mind and she longed to ask him what. Instead she wished him a cheerful good morning, hoped that he hadn’t had too busy an evening and asked if he was going to the hospital that morning.

He glanced up from the letter he was reading. ‘Yes, and I don’t expect to be home until after tea. Have you any plans for today? Don’t, I beg of you, over-exercise that ankle. It’s made a very rapid recovery, it would be a shame to spoil it.’

She waited for him to say something else; something about their future. Perhaps that was why he was so preoccupied and it would be for her to say what she was going to do next. But how could she before he had asked her definitely to marry him? And would they marry soon, or was she to go back to the hospital for a while? When he didn’t speak she said cheerfully: ‘Oh, I’ll take care—I’m going to have a lazy morning anyway, because your mother is going to visit a friend in Hoenderloo.’

‘Oh, Jonkvrouwe de Tielle, they’re great cronies.’ He picked up his letters and stuffed them into his jacket pocket, came round the table to kiss her, said easily: ‘I’ll see you this evening then, Britannia,’ and went away, leaving her determined to ask him what was the matter and what was more, to get an answer.

She frowned as she poured herself more coffee. He could have told her that he was visiting Madeleine that afternoon, he could have told her even why he wanted to see her in the first place. Surely two people who were going to marry didn’t have secrets from each other—not that kind of secret, anyway. But perhaps, because she hadn’t been quite definite about marrying him, he didn’t feel bound to tell her such things. She told herself that she was being a little unreasonable and admitted that she was jealous.

And later that day, as she was getting ready for dinner in her room, she could see that it was she who had been at fault; Jake had come home, rather late it was true, but his usual charming self, and although his kiss had been a casual one, he had joined in the talk and when she had peeped at him, the frown had gone; he looked relieved…so it had been something to do with Madeleine, and whatever it was had been settled. Britannia, viewing herself in the green dress in the cheval mirror between the windows, decided that she didn’t look at all bad; it was wonderful what relief did to one’s face. She went carefully downstairs, with due regard to the ankle, and spent a pleasant evening. Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien had brought her friend back with her and after dinner the four of them played bridge—not a very serious rubber, which was a good thing, because Britannia was a more than indifferent player.

When she got down to breakfast the next morning it was to find Jake already gone. ‘The professor was called out in the night, miss,’ Marinus informed her, ‘a nasty accident on the motorway. He came home to change and shower and eat his breakfast and was gone again by half past seven. A busy day ahead of him, I understand, miss.’

She agreed and thanked him, adding: ‘Marinus, you speak such very good English—have you lived in England?’

He coughed in a gratified way. ‘My family lived in Arnhem, miss. I had a good deal to do with the British soldiers at one time.’

‘Underground?’ asked Britannia, very interested.

‘You might say so, miss. Everyone in these parts was more or less involved. I came here as a young man and the professor’s father saw to it that I had English lessons; he found it a waste that I should have picked up so much of the language, and not always as correct as it should be.’

‘Oh, Marinus, how nice—and isn’t it fortunate for me and anyone else here who can’t speak Dutch?’

‘It has had its uses, miss. Can I fetch you some fresh coffee?’

‘No, thanks. The professor suggested that I went to the library and had a good look at the books. I think I’ll do that. Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien will be out, won’t she?’

‘Yes, miss. I will serve your coffee in the library presently, and I think that lunch in the little sitting room might be more comfortable for you.’

Britannia got up and went to the door. She wasn’t using her stick any more now; her ankle was just about cured. ‘Thank you, Marinus, that does sound nice.’ She smiled at him as she went out and he beamed back. She was a nice young lady, he thought, and would make a good mistress to work for.

Britannia spent a pleasant morning; she had never seen so many books outside a public library before, not only rare first editions but a comprehensive collection of all the most readable books, and a reference section which had her absorbed until Marinus, coming quiet-footed to remove the coffee tray, told her that her lunch was about to be set on the table.

She had intended to go back to the library after the meal, but the sitting room was cosy and an armchair and a book by the fire was very appealing; she fetched an old crimson-bound volume of Punch and settled down happily for the afternoon. The house was quiet and already the winter dusk was creeping into the room. She switched on a reading lamp and opened the book. Perhaps Jake would be home in time for tea; he had had a long day, if he wasn’t too tired she would ask him about the future. She hadn’t done it yesterday; somehow there hadn’t been the chance.

The doorbell rang almost before she had turned the first page and she looked up, wondering who it could be; Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien was still out and didn’t intend to return until the early evening. If it was a visitor it would be awkward, for her few words of Dutch would prove quite inadequate when it came to conversation. Perhaps whoever it was would speak English or even go away.

She turned to look over her shoulder as the door opened and Marinus came in, but before he could speak Madeleine had swept past him and shut the door in his face.

Britannia felt a quiver of rage which changed to amazement; this wasn’t the Madeleine she knew, despite the tempestuous entry; this was a subdued, rather untidy girl who hadn’t bothered much with her face or hair either. She stared at her, quite startled, hardly recognising her, and got out of her chair. ‘You’re ill!’ she exclaimed.

Madeleine shook her head. ‘No, I’m all right. I’ve been worried—I am worried now, for I have been trying to make up my mind to come and talk to you, but I think that you may not believe me, and why should you?’ She shrugged her shoulders in a resigned way. ‘Even now I do not think that it will be of any use, but I must try…’

‘It’s about Jake.’ Britannia felt cold as she said it.

Madeleine nodded. ‘Yes—you see, I wish to be honest with you—it’s about Jake.’

‘And this—whatever it is you want to tell me—is it important to you, or to him? And I’m not sure I want to hear it. And why can’t you wait until he is here and tell him too?’

‘He already knows.’

They were facing each other across the charming room. ‘You want to make trouble,’ declared Britannia, not mincing matters.

Madeleine came a step nearer. ‘I don’t like you, Britannia, why should I? But it is necessary that we talk; I do not wish to make trouble, but if I do not speak now, then there may be much unhappiness later on.’

Britannia was puzzled; Madeleine sounded sincere and she looked white and strained. Perhaps she had misjudged her after all. ‘I’m listening,’ she said steadily.

Madeleine didn’t sit down. ‘You must know that I expected to marry Jake, and I own that it was a shock when I heard that it was you whom he had chosen… You see, we have known each other for years.’ She looked away for a moment. ‘But there’s more to it than that; are you quite sure that he wants to marry you? I mean, does he love you—a lasting love one needs for marriage?’

She looked briefly at Britannia, her face solemn. ‘You are pretty and you amuse him because you speak your mind to him and he finds that diverting, but perhaps in a little while he will not be diverted any more, only irritated. You see, there is a gulf between you, Britannia. You do not come from his circle of friends. He met you in an unusual manner, did he not, so you are—how do you say?—attractive to him, but if that wears thin, what is there left? You do not know how to run a large house such as this one, nor how to entertain guests as he would want them entertained; you do not dress very well, you do not even speak his language. Even if he thinks that he loves you now, will there not come a day when these things will prove a barrier between you? Can you honestly tell me that this will not happen?’

Britannia got up and walked over to a window and looked out. The grey day outside reflected her feelings. ‘I don’t think that one can be certain of anything,’ she said, and forced her voice to sound reasonable. Madeleine had touched unerringly on her own doubts, but she wasn’t going to let her see that. And she hadn’t said anything she hadn’t herself already thought of.

Madeleine went on: ‘I expect you thought that it was I who wanted to marry Jake, and that he has never loved me, but I can prove that he does—that his love for you isn’t love at all, only infatuation, that he is already regretting…’

Britannia didn’t look round, so that she didn’t see Madeleine’s quick glance, calculating and sly as she opened her bag and took out an envelope and crossed the room to give it to her. It was addressed to Madeleine in the professor’s writing and it had been opened, and the letter she pulled out was in his writing too; Britannia would have recognised that atrocious scrawl anywhere.

‘It’s in Dutch,’ said Madeleine, ‘but I’ll translate it and it will explain everything to you.’ She held out the letter to Britannia with a sudden gesture which Britannia quite misinterpreted, and she saw the first words: ‘Mijn lieveling…’ She couldn’t see any more, because of the way the letter was folded, but she knew that it meant ‘my darling’, just as she knew that unlike the English word, the Dutch used it only as a term of real endearment between two people. And as though Madeleine had read her thoughts, she said quietly: ‘You must know that we don’t use the word lieveling in the social sense as the English do—it means much more to us than that.’ She unfolded the letter and came a little nearer to show Jake’s name at the end of the page, and Britannia, looking at it, thought dully that there must be a mistake. She drew a breath and said: ‘I don’t think I want to hear it, thank you.’