RATHER to Claribel’s surprise, when they arrived at her home, Marc showed no sign of wishing to hurry away. Instead, when her father suggested that they might go to his study so that he might be shown a rare hand-drawn map of the village, he agreed with alacrity, so that she, rather at a loss, followed her mother into the kitchen to help with the supper.
‘He can stay the night if he wants to,’ observed her mother, prodding the potatoes.
Claribel had been so wrapped up in her own problems she hadn’t thought about that. ‘Oh—well, I expect he’s going to his sister. I didn’t ask.’
Her mother shot her a quick look; it was obvious that her daughter had a lot on her mind and moreover it apparently had nothing to do with the bomb. That had been exclaimed over and talked about at some length, and as far as she could see Claribel, once over the shock, had recovered nicely. It had been a very nasty thing to happen. She spoke her thoughts out loud, ‘What a good thing Mr van Borsele was there.’
Claribel paused on her way to the dining-room with the plates. ‘Yes, well, you see he was with the porter when I phoned—I did tell you.’
‘I forget so easily, love.’ A remark Claribel took with a pinch of salt; her mother never forgot anything.
When she went back into the kitchen the men were there, whisky glasses in their hands, and her father was pouring the best sherry into two more glasses for her mother and her. ‘There you are, darling. Marc will stay to supper; he can’t drive all the way back to London without a meal.’
Claribel put her tray down on the table. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ she asked in a high voice, ‘that you have to go back this evening? It’s well after nine o’clock.’
He returned her icy green stare with a look of such innocence that she almost laughed. ‘I enjoy driving at night,’ he said placidly, ‘and something smells delicious.’
Mrs Brown beamed at him. ‘Watercress soup, my own make,’ she told him happily, ‘bacon and egg pie, and baked apples and cream for afters.’
Claribel, feeling that she was in the dark about something but not sure what it was, began cutting bread at the table. She very nearly dropped the knife when her father said, ‘It really is most kind of you to invite Clari—a short break after that most upsetting incident is just what she needs.’ He turned to smile at her amazed face. ‘You’ll enjoy it, my dear, won’t you?’
The villain, she thought furiously, going behind my back and settling everything. She swallowed rage and said flatly, ‘I expect I shall. I don’t even know where I’m going.’ She shot Mr van Borsele a look to burn him up, if that had been possible.
‘Surprises are always nice,’ he said smoothly, ‘but I’ll tell you. My home is in Friesland, the northern province of the Netherlands; still unspoilt, mostly farmland and lakes. The peace and quiet will do you good.’ His voice was silky. ‘You are rather uptight, only to be expected after your unpleasant experience.’
Her parents nodded approvingly and she turned away from his mocking gaze, aware that he was enjoying himself. Well, she wouldn’t give him the pleasure of seeing how angry she was. ‘It sounds delightful.’ She spoke sweetly, although it was an effort. It would have pleased her mightily to have thrown the loaf at his head.
The talk was general during supper, ranging from bomb outrages to the Friesian landscape, the easiest routes to Holland, and vague, very vague, replies on Mr van Borsele’s part to Mrs Brown’s gentle questions about his life. It was almost eleven o’clock when he left with the assurance that he would be back at the end of the week to fetch Claribel.
They were standing in the hall and she said tartly, ‘And what about Irma? Will you be able to find another girl to take out while I’m here?’
‘Tut, tut,’ he reproved her in a kindly tone to set her teeth on edge. ‘You’re being peevish. If it makes you any happier I shall be at the hospital each evening. There’s a good deal of work still to do and this bomb has thrown the theatre lists rather out of line. Mr Shutter and I will be operating each evening; very awkward for all concerned, but the only solution. If I should see our friend Irma I shall tell her that you and I will be travelling together to Holland.’ He bent and kissed her quickly. ‘Don’t worry, Claribel, no one shall take your place.’
‘Much I should care. And another thing.’ She was whispering, for her parents were in the drawing-room and the door was half open. ‘How dared you go behind my back and tell Mother and Father about—about us? I haven’t said I’ll go with you…’
‘Oh, yes you did. I expect this bomb business has curdled your wits a little.’ He gave her a wide smile and went out to his car and, without looking back, drove away.
Claribel shut the door with something of a snap, wishing that just once she might have the last word. ‘I shan’t go,’ she muttered, all the while knowing that, of course, she would. It would be interesting to see his home, even if he wasn’t going to be there for most of the time. She hoped that he would drive back carefully…
The few days passed peacefully. The weather was pleasantly warm, even if it was chilly towards evening. She combed through her wardrobe and got her father to take her and her mother into Salisbury so that she might add to it. She found just what she wanted: a pale blue pencil-slim wool skirt, a matching top in cashmere and a loose light cardigan, edged with satin ribbon, all more than she intended to spend. However, as her mother pointed out, good clothes were more economical because they looked good until they fell apart. Uplifted by this sensible remark, Claribel bought a short-sleeved silk dress which exactly matched her eyes, and which would, as she was careful to point out to her mother, come in very useful. Mrs Brown agreed; any dress likely to catch Marc’s eye and increase his interest in Claribel would be useful. Claribel had thought exactly the same thing, though, of course, she didn’t say so. Indeed she wasn’t actually conscious of thinking it.
Mr van Borsele arrived shortly after lunch on the Friday, accepting coffee from Mrs Brown, enquiring casually after Claribel’s health, passed the time of day with her father and signified his intention of leaving as soon as she was ready.
‘We’ll look in at my flat as we go,’ he told her. ‘Tilly will have my bags ready. We’re going from Harwich. I went to Meadow Road, by the way, and talked to your neighbour; she’ll keep an eye on your place while you’re away. Miss Flute sends her love; she’s off today as well. They’re still clearing rubble away at Jerome’s; it will be some time before they have put up temporary buildings and there’s almost all the equipment to install.’
Claribel, looking very pretty in the knitted outfit, went to say goodbye to her cats and collect her overnight bag. She felt excited now; she had tried to drum up some ill feeling against Marc during the week, but somehow it had been difficult. He had behaved very badly, but he had been kind, too, and he had undoubtedly saved her from injury when the bomb had exploded. She told herself that she owed him something for that; by the time she came back to England Irma would have tired of him and she would have paid off her debt to him.
She said goodbye to her mother and father and got into the car, reflecting as she did so that it was surprisingly easy to get used to comfort and luxury—travelling in a Rolls Royce, for instance.
Mr van Borsele had gone back to speak to her father and she wondered why; he had already said goodbye. Whatever it was was briefly spoken, then he got in beside her and they drove away.
He had nothing to say; she peeped sideways at his profile and found it a little stern. Perhaps he was thinking about the patients he had operated upon during the week, or the work waiting for him in Holland. She searched her head for something to say, but, since she couldn’t think of anything, stayed silent, too.
Presently he broke the silence. ‘We’ll stop for tea at Oakley. Is there any need for you to do anything at the flat?’
‘No. If you’re in a hurry there’s no need for us to go there.’
‘Not as hurried as all that. We’ll just check that everything is all right there, and we’ll have a meal at my flat; we don’t need to get to Harwich until round about ten o’clock.’
She was a little puzzled; he sounded friendly enough, but somehow remote. Perhaps he was regretting his invitation. She was a level-headed girl but given to impulsive acts upon occasion. ‘If you’re having second thoughts, do say so,’ she begged him. ‘You can drop me off at the flat and I can catch a train in the morning.’
He gave a crack of laughter. ‘Claribel, you’re letting your imagination run riot again. Here we are at the end of a most successful campaign to shake off Irma and you suddenly choose to behave like a teenager who doesn’t know her own mind.’ He added bracingly, ‘You, a grown woman of twenty-eight, with a mind of your own.’
‘There’s no need to bring my age into it,’ said Claribel crossly. ‘I only wondered.’
Just for a moment he put a hand over hers. ‘Just remember that I’m glad to have you with me.’
Which was reassuring. On the other hand, of course he was glad; she was a necessary buffer between him and the wretched Irma. If the girl got her claws into him, he would get what he deserved. She was ashamed of the thought the moment it had flitted through her head, and she frowned, trying to understand why she thought of him in such a muddled way. They had started off on the wrong foot, of course…
Meadow Road looked dingier than ever in the afternoon sunshine, and her flat, even with its brave show of flowers in the tubs and its cheerfully painted door, looked shabby. They went inside together, checking that everything was as it should be, and as they left, a few minutes later, Claribel wondered how she would feel when she returned to it. London, that part of London anyway, seemed at that moment the worst possible place in which to live.
That couldn’t be applied to Marc’s flat, she admitted to herself as he ushered her through its dignified entrance. No neighbours peered through grubby net curtains as they went in and, with the door shut, no noise from the street spoilt the quiet.
Tilly had been on the look out for them. She had the door open as they reached it. ‘’Ere you are then,’ she exclaimed cheerfully. ‘I got a nice tasty meal all ready. Just you tidy yerselves up, the pair of yer, while I dishes up.’ She turned away to go back to the kitchen, saying as she went, ‘An I’ve packed yer things like you asked, an’ that young woman ’oo’s always pestering you, she rang up, wanted to know where you were.’
‘What did you tell her?’ asked Mr van Borsele.
‘Like yer says—out of town and leaving for ’olland this evening.’
‘Good girl. What a treasure you are, Tilly.’
‘Go on with yer.’ She gave him a wide smile and went.
Sipping her sherry in his beautiful sitting-room, Claribel observed, ‘Well, that’s the last of Irma. I don’t really need…’ She caught his eye. ‘Oh, well, I suppose just to be on the safe side.’ She frowned. ‘But do you have to tell her so much?’
‘Dear girl, just think for a moment. Do you not remember as a child being forbidden something you wanted very much and for that very reason wanting it all the more, and if by some chance it was available to you, you lost all interest? The same idea applies very roughly to the tiresome Irma.’
They dined deliciously with Tilly trotting in and out, making sure that they ate what she put before them. As she put a magnificent Bavarian cream on the table by way of dessert she admonished them to eat it up. ‘For it’s something I don’t fancy, meself, not with me figure being what it is. But it’ll do you good, the pair of yer; yer need to keep plenty of flesh on them big bones of yours, sir, and as for you, miss, another ounce, or so won’t ’urt them nice curves.’ A speech which caused Mr van Borsele to smile and Claribel to blush.
He had timed their journey very well; the bulk of the passengers were already on board and the queue of cars waiting was a short one. Mr van Borsele sat back in his seat, his eyes half closed, so it was all the more surprising when he said in a tone of satisfaction, ‘I have been hoping that she would come.’
Claribel sat up straight. ‘Irma—she’s here? She’s not going to Holland, too?’
‘Ah, no, I think not. Merely making sure that we are, together. Try and look a little loving if you can, Claribel.’
Claribel arranged her features into what she hoped was a suitably moony rapturous expression, and just in time. Irma rapped on the window and Marc lowered it. There were two men with her, both looking sheepish, as well they might, thought Claribel, beaming with false sweetness at Irma’s face peering at them both.
‘You meant it,’ she cried. ‘You really are going away. You’re not married?’
‘Not yet.’ Mr van Borsele sounded patiently civil. ‘But take my word for it, it won’t be very long now.’ He smiled at Claribel, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘Just as soon as arrangements can be made. Isn’t that so, darling?’
Just as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, thought Claribel and heard her voice, revoltingly gushing, ‘Yes, dear.’ She turned the gush on Irma. ‘You would be so surprised at what a lot there is to do even for a quiet wedding.’
Irma said huffily, ‘I shall have a big wedding with bridemaids and a train and dozens of presents.’
‘Why, of course,’ agreed Claribel sweetly, ‘but Marc and I aren’t exactly young, you know, we’re rather past all that.’ She looked ahead and exclaimed, ‘Oh, look, we’re going aboard at last. Goodbye, Irma. When you marry do let us know; you’ll make a lovely bride.’
Mr van Borsele turned a snorting chuckle into a cough. ‘Yes, do do that,’ he urged and started the car. ‘Enjoy your drive back. London or Bath?’
‘Oh, London now, but I suppose I might as well go home tomorrow.’
He swept the car onto the ship’s car deck and Claribel took the smirk off her face. ‘Now that is the last time,’ she declared.
‘I hope so. I must say you were superb, Claribel. Had you ever thought of going on to the stage? You know, just for a moment I quite believed that you were looking forward to our wedding…’
It was a pity that the business of parking the car and getting out of it interrupted the white-hot remark ready on her tongue. When they met in the bar later after going to their cabins he silenced her with a bland, ‘I do think you were rather severe about our approaching middle age, Claribel. Maybe you feel your years, but I can’t say that I feel all that elderly.’ He sat her down at a table. ‘A drink before we part for the night? I hear it’s quite choppy out at sea; a brandy might be a good idea for you.’
She said strongly, ‘What a perfectly horrid thing to say. And I hate brandy.’
‘If I apologise handsomely, will you please have the brandy?’
He could be charming when he wanted. She said rather ungraciously, ‘Oh, well, all right,’ and, when her glass had been put before her, sipped at it. It warmed her nicely and she sat back and look around her.
The ferry was fairly full. There were a good many people milling around laughing and talking and she asked, ‘Do you always come this way?’
‘Usually; it gives me a night’s sleep. Sometimes I fly, but that means I haven’t got the car and have to rent one. I use the hovercraft occasionally.’
‘Don’t you want to stay in one place—your home?’
‘Frequently.’
It was obvious that she wasn’t going to make much progress in that direction. She realised that she didn’t know where he lived. In the morning she would ask him, but not now. She tried a different approach. ‘How did you find Tilly? She is a dear, but not a bit like a housekeeper.’
‘She was a patient of mine some years ago. I had just bought the flat and she told me one day that she hadn’t got a job, her husband had died and she had no family, no one who mattered at any rate. So she has been housekeeping for me ever since. You like her?’
‘Very much. I expect she looks after you beautifully.’
‘Indeed she does. Are you sleepy, Claribel?’
‘No, not in the least.’
‘You’ve never asked me where I live. Are you not interested? I have of course told your mother and father. Either you are very naïve or you have a touching trust in me.’
She said gravely, ‘Well, I do trust you, and you said you lived in the north somewhere. But I don’t know much about you, do I? I know that you have a sister…’
‘Three sisters—the other two are married and live in Holland; they’re all a good deal younger than I. There are aunts and uncles and cousins, too, scattered around but my grandmother is the only member of the family I see frequently. She lives in Leeuwarden but I live in a small village to the south of the city. The motorway to the south is close enough to be able to drive down to Amsterdam, about ninety miles away—I go there once a week to operate. I go to The Hague, too—that is a hundred and twenty miles—but I do most of the work in Leeuwarden and Groningen. I have beds in the hospitals there, and consulting rooms.’
‘You aren’t at home very often. Do—do you live alone?’
He didn’t smile but his eyes gleamed with amusement. ‘Yes. I have a housekeeper and her husband sees to the garden and the odd jobs and in fact looks after things when I’m away.’ He did smile then. ‘Now you know all about me, Claribel.’
‘Yes. Thank you for telling me.’
‘You are entitled to know. Are we not friends?’
She nodded. ‘I’ll go to bed, I think. Where do we meet in the morning?’
‘I’ve asked the stewardess to bring you tea and toast when she wakes you—we’ll stop for breakfast on the way. I’ll knock on your door just before we get in.’
She got to her feet and he got up with her. ‘Goodnight, Marc.’ She was taken by surprise when he bent to kiss her cheek. ‘So hard to break a habit,’ he murmured.
She had been remarkably silly, she thought drowsily. She had agreed to everything he had suggested without finding out how long she was to stay with his grandmother. A few days? A week? Longer? As far as she could see there was no reason why she shouldn’t go back to England within a day or so. Irma, having seen them actually board the ferry, would most certainly have gone back to Bath, and she would be able to go back home until the hospital had got something sorted out… Her thoughts became more and more muddled and she fell asleep in the middle of them.
She slept all night; if the crossing had been rough the brandy must have acted as a splendid soporific. As she ate her toast and drank her tea she hurried to dress, and she was just ready when Mr van Borsele knocked on the door.
She called him to come in, wished him a friendly good morning and collected up her gloves and handbag. ‘Are we there?’
‘About ten minutes to go. Come on deck and take a look.’
It was a fine morning, but cool. The Hook lay before them, surprisingly busy for that early hour, and Claribel looked around her with interest. It looked, rather to her disappointment, rather like any English port but there wasn’t much time to inspect it for car owners were asked to rejoin their cars.
Going ashore proved both brisk and easy; they were waved past the last official and Mr van Borsele took the road north. They were on the main road almost immediately, bypassing Delft, racing along until they were almost at Amsterdam and then changing to the Alkmaar road. Half-way there, Marc pulled in to a petrol station.
‘We can get breakfast here,’ he told her and left the car to be filled up as they crossed to a small café, with flagpoles before it and neat gingham curtains. It was just as neat inside, with tablecloths to match the curtains and a great many pot plants on the windowsills. They sat at a window and the café owner brought them coffee and a basket of rolls and croissants, thinly sliced cheese and ham, boiled eggs and small pots of jam in a dish.
Claribel, who was famished by now, enjoyed every morsel and presently, much refreshed, they got back into the Rolls.
‘Is it much further?’ she asked.
‘Over the dyke and then about twenty-five miles.’
‘Where’s the dyke?’
‘A good thirty miles from here and then the dyke—that is about sixteen miles. We shall be at my grandmother’s in about an hour.’
He had been a pleasant companion as they drove, pointing out anything which he thought might interest her, answering her questions patiently, and now, on a cross-country road, he was at pains to tell her something about Leeuwarden. Not a very big city, he assured her, but with some beautiful old houses and any number of peaceful little streets if one knew how to find them.
They reached the Afsluitdijk, the high sea dyke on one side of the wide road, the Ijsselmeer on the other, and raced across it, and presently Claribel could see the land ahead of her: Friesland, Marc’s home.
On the mainland they joined the main road again although when they reached Franeker Marc turned off and drove quite slowly through the town so that she might glimpse the narrow gabled houses by the canal and take a quick look at the Gementehuis—Dutch Renaissance at its best, he pointed out. ‘And the Planetarium is close by. Perhaps you will have the chance to come and see it while you are here; it is unique: the man who built it, Eise Eisinga, worked each evening by candlelight—it took him seven years.’
‘I wish I understood Dutch,’ sighed Claribel, suddenly apprehensive.
‘No need—almost everyone speaks or understands a little English. Besides, we speak Fries among ourselves.’
‘Oh—like the Welsh speak Welsh?’
‘Exactly. Here is Leeuwarden.’
The outskins were sober middle-class red-brick houses, each with a small garden, but soon they gave way to shops and old houses leaning against each other in a mass of small streets.
Marc had turned away from the heart of the city and presently joined a street lined with large houses set behind high walls or glimpsed through gardens, well away from the street. Half-way along he drove between gateposts and along a short semi-circle of gravel, and stopped before a fair-sized house with a flattened gable, a very large front door reached by a double pair of steps, and three rows of large windows. There were trees encircling it and formal flower beds cut into a pattern, which extended as far as the high wall shielding it from the street.
Mr van Borsele got out to open Claribel’s door and they reached the steps just as the door was opened and a white-haired man greeted them.
‘Domus—Granny’s butler; been with her man and boy, and runs the place.’ Mr van Borsele clapped the old man on the back very gently. ‘Domus, this is Miss Claribel Brown.’
Claribel shook hands and smiled and was ushered into the hall, long and narrow and lofty, its walls almost covered by paintings and with an outsize chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Mr van Borsele had a firm grip on her arm and Domus went ahead of them to open arched double doors.
It was a very large room with enormous windows draped in red velvet and a good deal of large furniture, too. The lady who came to meet them across the polished floor suited her surroundings very well: she was tall and rather stout, with a very straight back; Claribel was reminded of Queen Mary, King George the Fifth’s wife. The hairstyle was the same, too, and the rather severe expression…her heart sank. But only for a moment. Marc’s hand slid from her elbow to take her hand in his while he flung the other arm round the old lady. ‘Grandmother, my dear…’ He bent to kiss her. ‘Here is Claribel, as I promised.’ He pulled Claribel gently forward. ‘Claribel, this is my grandmother, Baroness van Borsele.’
Claribel and the old lady shook hands; they were of a similar height and surveyed each other gravely, each liking what she saw. ‘Dear child,’ murmured the baroness, ‘such a pretty name and such a pretty girl. I am so delighted to have you here. I lead a very quiet life, you know, but we will contrive to give you some amusement and it will be delightful for me to practise my English.’
Claribel murmured something; the old lady’s English was every bit as good as her own; there was only the hint of an accent, just as Marc had.
‘Let us sit down and drink our coffee. Marc, you will stay to lunch?’
‘Thank you, Grandmother, but I must go home this afternoon, there’s a good deal of work waiting for me.’
‘Of course, my dear.’ His grandmother had seated herself in a tall chair by one of the wide windows. ‘Such a pity that we shan’t see more of you, but to have a glimpse of you is delightful. I only hope that you don’t work too hard.’
He said casually, ‘I enjoy my work, my dear.’ He had seated himself opposite Claribel. ‘You will actually have a peaceful time here, Claribel, with no patients to worry about and no one to remind you of Jerome’s.’
She said doubtfully. ‘Don’t you come here? To operate in the hospital, I mean?’
‘Indeed I do. I shall be in Leeuwarden tomorrow, but I shall be too busy to come here. A good thing,’ he added blandly. ‘As I have just said, there will be no one to remind you of Jerome’s.’
She was nonplussed. ‘Oh, yes, of course, and naturally you have your friends to see.’ There was a faint waspishness about her voice.
‘That, too, but don’t worry, I’ll let you know when we’re going back, and you can always phone me. The hospital has this address so that you will be in touch with them.’
She took a sip of coffee, feeling that she needed it badly. She hadn’t expected to see him every day but she had supposed that they would have spent some time together; now she realised that he had no intention of doing anything of the sort. He had indeed told her when he had first suggested the whole thing that she wouldn’t have to see much of him, but she hadn’t taken him seriously; now she saw that she should have done. He had invited her to Holland for exactly the reason he had told her in the first place: to get rid of Irma once and for all. As usual, he had arranged things to suit himself. She gave him a charming smile while her eyes flashed green temper at him. ‘How nicely you have arranged everything. I’m sure I’m going to love being here.’ She turned to her hostess. ‘It is so kind of you to invite me, Baroness.’
The old lady has been sitting quietly listening to Marc and chuckling silently; the girl was delightful, and capable of managing her much-loved grandson, and yet, she was sure, unaware of his real purpose in bringing her to stay with her. He had always had his own way, never arrogant about it, just silently going ahead with what he intended to do, listening politely to advice and ignoring it for the most part, looking after his sisters in an unobtrusive manner until they married, ignoring their hints that he should get himself a wife. But here was someone he would listen to… She smiled kindly at Claribel. ‘My dear, I believe that we are going to have a most enjoyable time together. There is a great deal to see in Leeuwarden and we can drive out to the surrounding country, too. Domus shall drive us.’
Claribel smiled with suitable enthusiasm and reflected that she would much prefer Marc to drive her, and then felt mean at the thought. Sensibly she applied herself to giving civil answers to the baroness’s questions while Mr van Borsele sat back in his chair looking amused.
Domus came in presently, addressing himself to the lady of the house and then he turned to say something to Marc. When he had gone, Claribel said diffidently, ‘Why did he call you Baron? Aren’t you just mister?’
‘Er, no, but I don’t bother with that in England. Domus is rather a stickler for titles and so on. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Mind? Why should I mind?’ She had gone rather pink and both grandmother and grandson studied her appreciatively; she looked quite lovely when she was put out about something. ‘I mean,’ she added with chilly politeness, anxious not to be rude, ‘it really doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘Not in the least.’
Domus came in again and murmured briefly and the baroness said briskly, ‘Lunch is ready. I arranged for it to be served early, Marc, for I know you are anxious to get back to your own home.’
A remark which gave Claribel a distinctly forlorn feeling.
They lunched in a room at the back of the house, overlooking a surprisingly large garden laid out with shrubs and trees and with a small fountain at its centre. The table was covered by a thick white damask cloth and the silver was heavy and old. Claribel, eating soufflé off Delft china, wondered briefly what Marc had thought of the Woolworth’s mugs from which he had drunk his coffee at her flat. Besides the soufflé there were cold meats on a big silver dish and side dishes of salad, and more coffee afterwards.
Marc got up to go very shortly after they had finished their meal, kissed his grandmother, patted Claribel on a shoulder in a casual manner, saying carelessly that he would doubtless see her at some time or other, and took himself off.
‘Such a dear boy,’ said his grandmother as they stood at the window watching the car disappear down the drive. Claribel didn’t say anything; she was struggling with an overwhelming sense of disappointment.
Any qualms she might have had about being welcome in the baroness’s house were quickly dispelled; she was cosseted from the moment she woke each morning until she went to bed at night. Her hostess, despite her eighty-one years, carried her age lightly; the pair of them went sightseeing each day, driving at a stately pace with Domus at the wheel. Claribel and her kind hostess visited Franeker, Dokkum and the northern coast, taking narrow country roads so that she could see the villages and the prosperous farms, all built to the same pattern, the house in front, connected to a large barn by a narrow neck, the whole mostly thatched over red tiles. She had the dykes explained to her, too: the dead dykes, no longer needed because the land had been reclaimed from the sea; the sleepers, the dreamers and, nearest the sea, the watchers. In time, the baroness explained, as more and more land was reclaimed, a sleeper became dead, and they all moved back one. The villages, few and small near the coast, were mostly built along the dykes, small neat houses, too, with tiled roofs with strings of washing in their back gardens. So different from her own home but, in its way, just as peaceful and charming.
She explored the city, too, while her hostess rested after their lunch: strolling round the shops, gazing at the Weigh House, poking her pretty nose down narrow streets and going to the museums. The Frisian Museum was, to her mind, easily the best with its lovely old costumes and jewellery and the colossal sword of Grote Pier who had driven away the Saxons four hundred years earlier. Frisians, she had discovered, were large people, both men and women, but he must have been a giant among them.
It was on her fourth morning there that the baroness suggested that she might like to go off on her own. ‘I have business to attend to,’ she explained, ‘and it is too nice weather for you to stay indoors.’
So Claribel wandered off into the centre of the city, not sure what she wanted to do. The days so far had been delightful, for there had been various friends and relations calling at the house, as well as their daily excursions, but right at the back of her mind was the thought that Marc had made no effort to see her. He had phoned, so his grandmother told her, but to all intents and purposes he had removed himself to the other side of the world. She told herself that she didn’t mind in the least; he was a tiresome man, always wanting his own way and getting it, too. All the same, she missed him.
She went and leaned on the railings by the Weigh House, staring at nothing, wondering why she felt so dispirited. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come, but then Irma might have made herself troublesome.
‘Hello, Claribel,’ said Marc from behind her, and she spun round to face him, suddenly alight with happiness—a lovely feeling, she thought bemusedly, like going out of doors very early on a summer morning or going home after a hard week’s work and opening the kitchen door and seeing her mother—a lovely complete feeling in which content and delight and joy were nicely mixed.
He stared at her for a long moment. ‘Pleased to see me?’ he asked.
‘Yes, oh, yes.’ And then, aware of his intent gaze, ‘I’m having a simply lovely time with your grandmother.’
‘Good. I’ve given myself a day off. Would you like to see my home? We’ll go back and have coffee if you will with Grandmother first, and then go on home for lunch.’
She nodded her head slowly, her hair golden in the sunshine. She wanted very much to go to his home for lunch; she knew with a suddenness she didn’t try to understand that she wanted to go to his home and stay there. How could she not have known all these weeks that she loved him?
He stood quietly before her, smiling a little, his hands in his pockets, impeccably dressed as always only this time slacks and a tweed jacket replaced his more sober suits. His dark eyes were intent, watching her face. He must have found his scrutiny satisfactory for he observed softly, ‘Well, well,’ and then, ‘Shall we go?’
They had their coffee on the veranda at the back of the house, and the regimented rows of flowers glowed in the sunlight.
‘Charming, isn’t it?’ observed the baroness, ‘but of course I’m old-fashioned enough to like a formal garden.’ She glanced at Marc. ‘Will you dine here, my dear?’
‘Thank you, Grandmother, yes.’ He looked across at Claribel. ‘Ready? Shall we go?’
She had said very little while they had been sitting there, doing her best to breath normally so that her heart would stop its frantic thumping against her ribs, but she was finding it difficult. She had tried not to look at Marc, either, but once or twice his dark eyes had caught and held hers and she had had difficulty in looking away. She would have to do better than this, she told herself; the very idea of him discovering that she was in love with him made her feel quite ill. After all the fuss she had made about helping him in the first place…
They said goodbye and she got into the car beside him and, intent on being exactly as usual, embarked on a flow of small talk, something so unlike her usual manner that Marc, agreeing to her platitudes with every sign of interest, hid his amusement.