LIFE WAS SUDDENLY more fun, Alethea discovered during the next week. Sarre came home each day to lunch, and once or twice he came home for tea as well, and on two evenings, after dinner, he had taken her out in the Bristol, into the country to the north of the city where it was mostly farmland and not much traffic, and handed the car over to her, sitting beside her without saying a word while she got over her initial nervousness and then, once she had discovered that the Bristol was as easy to drive as her Colt, still saying nothing when she went much too fast and narrowly missed sending them into a canal. At the last minute he had laid a hand over hers and turned the wheel and remarked on a laugh: ‘You’re a demon driver, aren’t you? Who taught you?’
‘The village blacksmith, only he doesn’t shoe many horses any more.’
‘You ride?’
‘I used to—when I was a child before my mother and father died. And on and off since, if there was a horse which needed exercising…’
‘I’ve got a cottage in the Veluwe. We go there sometimes in the autumn—with the children, of course; they ride quite well. We might go for a week this year.’
Alethea said in a surprised voice: ‘Oh, have you got another house as well as the one in Groningen?’
He said almost apologetically: ‘It’s really quite small, and I have to have somewhere where I can keep the horses and the children’s ponies.’
Cottages and horses and ponies; he took them so very much for granted, but each one was a fresh surprise to her.
She had more surprises when they visited the solicitor, too—a dry-as-dust old man with a bald head and pale blue eyes which were still shrewd. He received them in an office on the top floor of an old house in the heart of Groningen and offered them a glass of sherry while he and Sarre discussed money. Presently Sarre turned to her, switching to English. ‘The little matter of your allowance, my dear.’ He mentioned a sum which made her dizzy, and then went on to explain about wills and bequests and funds. ‘And I thought that next time we go over to England we might look around for a house—we’ll put it in your name, of course.’
‘But why should I want a house?’ she asked.
‘It will all come under the marriage settlements,’ he told her soothingly.
‘But the children…?’
He gave her a gentle smile. ‘They’re already provided for.’
She said in a whisper: ‘You’re very rich, aren’t you?’ Just as though she didn’t already know.
He nodded. ‘I did tell you, my dear.’
‘Just you—or all your family?’
‘I’m afraid all the family, my dear.’ He took her hand absentmindedly in his. ‘You don’t need to worry about it, Alethea.’
His hand felt cool and firm and she wanted to leave hers there for ever. Suddenly she knew that she would never have to worry about anything again because Sarre would do all the worrying for her; he would look after her too. A pleasant feeling crept over her and she wasn’t sure what it was, but she had no chance to find out because Mijnheer Smidt began reading something out loud and presently she had to sign some papers, and when they got home the children demanded their father’s attention. They needed help with their homework, they declared, and he went away with them, up to the playroom. Alethea could hear their voices and laughter echoing through the house while she sat in the little sitting room, looking through the textbooks she had been given by the nice little old lady whom Sarre had found to teach her Dutch. It would be lovely, thought Alethea wistfully, if she could have been there too, laughing and joining in the family jokes.
The children still treated her as though she were an unwelcome guest, but only when their father wasn’t there, and once or twice she had caught them looking at her in a puzzled way. She had ignored that, though, trying to behave as she imagined any new stepmother would behave, never taking anything for granted, taking care not to intrude into their lives unless she was invited. Which she seldom was.
It was only a few days later when Sarre told her that he was going to Hamburg in two days’ time and how did she feel about going with him.
She was brushing Rough, sitting on the lawn at the back of the house and sat back on her heels to answer him. ‘Oh, Sarre, I’d love to. Shall you be there long?’
‘Three or four days. I shall be at the hospital for most of the time, but we should have the evenings together. I’ll drive up, it will be a good opportunity to try out the Bristol.’
‘What sort of clothes shall I need?’
‘Well, we may go out one evening—it’s not a very big hotel, but I expect you’ll want a pretty dress for dinner.’
Alethea thanked him, thinking privately that it had been a waste of time asking him, men never noticed…
‘Have you got that grey thing with the patterns?’
‘Grey crêpe with an amber and green pattern. Yes. Why?’
He spread himself out on the grass beside her and closed his eyes. ‘I should like you to wear it.’
‘Oh—all right. Does Al pack for you, or shall I do it?’
He opened one eye. ‘Al rather fancies himself as a valet, you might hurt his feelings.’
She said slowly: ‘I don’t feel that I’m being of much use to anyone…’ She wasn’t looking at him, so she didn’t see the sharp glance he gave her downcast face.
‘You’re being of the greatest use. Besides, you’re not only useful, you’re ornamental as well.’
She allowed Rough to wander away. Sarre looked very placid lying there; perhaps it was the right time to ask about Anna.
‘I thought Anna might have called to see us,’ she said at length, keeping her voice casual.
‘She sees me every day.’
‘Yes, I know that,’ persisted Alethea, determined to keep to the subject at all costs now she had started it. ‘But you did say that she was a very old friend. I expected her to…I thought we might see more of her—she hasn’t been at all.’
Sarre had his eyes closed again. ‘Jealous, my dear?’ he asked softly.
She flared up at once. There was no expression on his face at all, and she suddenly wanted to stir him up.
‘No,’ she told him waspishly. ‘How could I be? One must love someone to be jealous of them.’
‘You’re wrong, my dear. If one loves enough, there is no jealousy.’ He sat up. ‘What about tea out here? The children will be home presently.’
Alethea got to her feet. ‘I’ll go and see Mrs McCrea—it’s Al’s half day, he’s gone to the cinema.’
‘He’s a keen filmgoer. Is it too short notice if we ask Wienand and his girlfriend round to dinner tomorrow evening? He’s had a lot of work to catch up on, but he tells me he can’t wait to see you again.’
‘I’ll tell Mrs McCrea now—she loves dinner parties. Is it the same girl? Marthe?’
‘Er—no. The current favourite, and I fancy the final one, is Irene, a small mouselike girl with no looks to speak of. He’s known her for years—her parents are great friends of the family, but he’s always treated her like a rather tiresome small sister.’ He got to his feet and stretched widely. ‘Love is no respecter of persons.’
Alethea paused on her way. ‘Do you like her?’
‘Yes, she’s right for Wienand.’
And Alethea had to agree with him when Wienand and Irene arrived the following evening. Wienand greeted her extravagantly. ‘And what do you think of my Irene?’ he wanted to know when he’d finished hugging her.
Alethea smiled at the girl and put out a hand. ‘What an impossible question to answer!’ she laughed, and slipped an arm through Irene’s. ‘I think you must be an angel to put up with Wienand in the first place—come over here and tell me how you manage to do it.’
Sarre had been right, Irene was mouselike; small and dainty with a face that just failed to be pretty and soft brown hair, she was also desperately shy. Alethea set herself the task of making her feel at home and succeeded so well that by the time they sat down to table Irene was quite enjoying herself. Alethea, watching Wienand, decided that he really was in love this time, and with someone who would suit him very well. Irene might be shy, but she had a lovely smile and a charming voice and she dressed well. The evening passed off very well and when their visitors had gone, Alethea said in a satisfied voice: ‘He’s really in love with her, isn’t he—and she’s a dear.’
‘Matchmaking, Alethea?’ Sarre sounded amused.
‘No, it’s just nice to see two people so happy…’ She looked away, thinking of Nick.
‘You still think of him, Alethea?’ Sarre’s voice was as placid as usual.
‘Not often.’ She smiled at him. ‘I think I’ll go up to bed, I’ve a lot to do tomorrow before we go.’ She wished him goodnight and went to her room, and only when she was on the point of getting into bed did she remember that she had promised Jacomina that she would ask her father if he would drop her off at school in the morning because her bike needed repairing. She slipped into her dressing gown and pattered downstairs; she hadn’t heard him come up to bed, he would be in his study still.
She made no sound, although the old house creaked and sighed all around her and the tick-tock of the great Friesian clock in the hall dripped with soft deliberation into the silence. She gained the hall and slipped down its length to where she could see the study door, half open. The powerful reading lamp on Sarre’s desk was on, shining on to his head and face, and she paused to look at him. He looked bone weary, every line of his face highlighted. He looked sad, too, and the sudden surge of feeling which gripped her was so strong that she stopped dead in her tracks. It was with the greatest difficulty that she prevented herself from rushing madly to him and throwing her arms round him and begging him not to look like that. It was more than she could bear, she told herself, and how could she ever have thought that she was in love with Nick when all the time it was Sarre she loved?
She stood, staring her fill at him, sitting there, unconscious of her peering at him from the darkened hall until presently, unable to trust herself to speak to him about something so mundane as a bicycle, she turned and crept back to her room where she climbed into her enormous bed, to sit up against her pillows and think what to do. Why, for a start, did Sarre look so dreadfully unhappy? Had something gone wrong at the hospital? Was he worried about a patient? Was he thinking about Anna? She shied away from the idea, but it persisted, thrusting itself into the forefront of her thoughts, so that presently that was all she was thinking about. She took a long time to go to sleep, because she had to go over all the conversations she had had with Sarre to try and find some clue, and then, tired out, she gave up worrying and allowed herself the luxury of a little daydreaming. She woke once during the night and promised herself that she would try and find out in the morning if there was something worrying him.
But when she got downstairs, a little earlier than usual because she was so anxious to be with him, she found it quite impossible. His good morning was as placid as usual, not a trace of worry was on his face, his manner towards her was just as usual, friendly. He received her request about Jacomina with perfect equanimity, wanted to know if she were ready to leave with him directly after lunch and made a few casual remarks about his appointments for the morning. With eyes made sharp by love, she studied his face covertly, loving every line of it. Whatever had been making him look like that the night before, he had thrust out of sight—her sight.
He got up to go presently, stopping to drop a swift kiss on her cheek. She felt herself stiffen as he did so and could have wept when he drew back quickly and with a brief: ‘I’ll see you at lunch,’ left the room, calling to Jacomina as he did so.
She was ready and waiting when he got back, with a cold lunch on the table, her overnight bag in the hall and her case in Al’s care ready to load. She was wearing a new outfit, a blue patterned skirt and blouse with a little matching quilted waistcoat, and she had taken great care with her hair and face, not admitting to herself that it was a kind of insurance against the swift coolness she had felt when Sarre had left that morning. Her fault too. She need not have worried; he greeted her in his usual placid way, enquired if she would be ready to leave as soon as they’d had lunch, informed her that he had decided to take the Jaguar instead of the Bristol, and asked where the children had got to. Before she could answer him, they arrived, launched themselves at him boisterously, begged him to bring them a present from Hamburg and sat down to eat their lunch. Alethea, working away at a pleasant general conversation, found them ultra-polite, ready to answer if she spoke to them, careful to see that she had all she wanted and at the same time, just when she thought that she was getting somewhere, switching to Dutch, so that she was left out of the conversation. Never for long, of course, Sarre saw to that. She only hoped that the cold-shouldering she was getting wasn’t as obvious to him as it was to her.
It was a relief to be in the car at last, with the prospect of several days with Sarre. It was exciting, and she tried not to show it too much, asking questions about their journey and his work in Hamburg, talking about the children because she sensed that he would like that, and presently, when they reached and crossed the German border, there were questions to ask about the country they were going through. They stopped for tea at a pleasant little café outside Oldenburg, half way through their two-hundred-mile journey, and soon after joined the motorway.
The Hamburg skyline was clear against the early evening sky as they neared the city; lovely slender spires and the ugly rectangles of modern buildings thrusting up into the blue above them. Alethea took her interested gaze off them long enough to look admiringly at Sarre and exclaim: ‘You do know your way around, don’t you?’
‘I’ve been before—oh, several times, and I only know the main streets of the city. We’re going to the hospital first, if you don’t mind—it’s over there, you can see it already, that large square building; it has more than a thousand beds. Then we’ll go on to the hotel.’
He invited her to go in with him when they reached the hospital, but she refused nicely and was glad of it when she saw the faint relief on his face.
‘I’ll be about ten minutes,’ he told her. ‘If I’m much longer than that I’ll send someone out with a message.’
He was as good as his word and Alethea jeered silently at herself for the panic she had been in until she had seen him coming unhurriedly out of the hospital again. He had two men with him, who accompanied him to the car and who were introduced as two of his colleagues, who bowed over her hand and looked her over with interest, expressing the wish that she would enjoy her brief stay. On their way once more, she waited for Sarre to tell her something of them, but his laconic: ‘Well, that’s settled,’ seemed to be the sum of any information she could expect.
She murmured something she hoped sounded like wifely agreement and then as they reached the Binnenalster, exclaimed excitedly: ‘Oh, Sarre, look, all that beautiful water and the yachts!’
‘It’s rather nice, isn’t it? The Outer Alster is very much larger. The street we’re in now is called the Virgin’s Passage. In the Middle Ages it was very select; all the rich merchants lived here, and their daughters took their daily walks by the lake. It was so select that no one was allowed to carry a basket or have a dog with them. It’s still considered select. There’s a very good hotel here, but an even better one—much quieter and smaller—on the shores of the Aussenalster.’
He turned into a busy city street and Alethea caught a glimpse of shops before seeing the lake again, this time stretching out of sight, its banks lined with trees and grass, its smooth water ruffled by small ferry boats going from side to side, and any number of sailing boats.
‘Now we’re in the Alsterufer,’ Sarre told her. ‘It leads to the Harvestehuder Weg—the hotel’s just along here, in front of the park alongside the lake.’
It looked delightful, white-painted, its windowsills ablaze with red geraniums, set amidst a formal garden. Sarre turned the car off the road into the short drive and stopped before the entrance and while a porter saw to the luggage, ushered her inside.
They had rooms overlooking the lake, and in the gathering twilight, it looked quite beautiful. Alethea, hanging over her balcony in order to watch the swans and ducks on the water, turned when Sarre spoke to her from the door.
‘I’m operating in the morning,’ he observed, ‘and I’m afraid I shall have to go back after dinner for a consultation. Will you be all right here on your own? If you like you could go shopping in the morning—I can drop you off as I go. You’ll find the shops very good, only please take a taxi back here. I hope to get away in the afternoon, but it’s possible that I shan’t be free until seven o’clock or thereabouts.’
She wasn’t going to let him see how disappointed she was at the prospect of a whole day without him. ‘I’d love to poke around,’ she assured him cheerfully. ‘I’ve been reading up a lot about Hamburg, and there’s a street of little frame houses I want to go and look at.’
‘The Kramer Amtsstuben,’ he replied. ‘I know where they are. I don’t have to be at the hospital until nine o’clock. If you don’t mind getting up early I’ll take you there and then drop you off in the Monckeberg Strasse—that’s where the shops are.’
She would at least see him for a short time; she agreed readily and, she hoped, not too eagerly, and agreed again when he suggested a stroll by the lake before they changed for the evening.
It was incredibly peaceful, right in the heart of the city and yet surrounded by trees and shrubs, the grass under their feet going to the water’s edge. The sailing boats and dinghies had finished for the day, and there, by the quiet lake, they might have been miles from anywhere, only as they retraced their steps Alethea could see the lights of the city shining over the far end of the water. They stopped for a minute and she pointed across to the opposite shore. ‘That looks delightful over there.’ And indeed it did, the grass and the trees and beyond them the dim outlines of large villas against the sky.
‘Bellevue,’ Sarre told her. ‘Napoleon stayed here once and remarked “Quelle belle vue” when he saw it for the first time, and it’s been Bellevue ever since. A very wealthy neighbourhood, so I understand.’
As wealthy as the neighbourhood in which they lived in Groningen, thought Alethea wryly.
‘Do you speak German?’ asked Sarre casually as he took her arm and they walked on.
‘Bitte,’ said Alethea promptly, and he roared with laughter.
‘One of the most useful words in the language,’ he assured her, ‘and you’re so pretty that you don’t need to know even that.’
She was glad of the gathering darkness so that he wouldn’t see how red her face was. ‘Oh, well,’ she stammered, ‘that’s nice of you to say so…’ and hoped he would say more, but he only suggested that it was time they returned to the hotel.
She put on a new dress, pink crêpe patterned in a deep rose, and her heart gave a little leap of pleasure at Sarre’s approving look when she joined him in the bar. It went on leaping for most of that evening, for he kept looking at her with open admiration during their dinner and said presently, when they got up to dance: ‘I think I’m the envy of every man in the room, my dear.’
Alethea could have danced the night through after that, but when for form’s sake she suggested that she should go to bed, he agreed so readily that she wondered if she had imagined the look on his face just because she had so much wanted him to admire her. She wished him a rather brief goodnight and only then remembered that he hadn’t returned to the hospital. But he hadn’t forgotten, it seemed; he had arranged to go late in the evening, so that she hadn’t needed to be alone. She said ‘Oh’, in a startled little voice, and felt tears prick her eyelids. ‘Now I feel selfish…’
He smiled down at her. ‘It is I who am selfish, keeping you to myself all the evening, my dear.’ He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Goodnight.’
It was a glorious morning and Alethea was up early to dress and knock on Sarre’s door half an hour later. He was sitting at a small desk writing and she said at once: ‘Oh, sorry—I’ll go down, shall I?’
He had got to his feet at once. ‘I was filling in time. I hope you slept?’
She nodded. ‘And you? They didn’t keep you too late at the hospital?’
He told her a little of what he intended doing that morning; a shattered arm and shoulder which he hoped to piece together again. ‘Probably it will take a good deal of the afternoon as well,’ he told her, ‘and after that there is a foot they’ve asked me to repair.’
She listened carefully, deeply interested because she was a nurse, and wanting to know everything just because she loved him. But she kept an eye on the clock so that they were away in good time for him to take her to the Kramer Amtsstuben.
He parked the car by St Michael’s church and crossed the road with her, to lead her down a narrow alley to the old merchants’ houses, lining a small cobbled street, and looking, she supposed, exactly as they must have looked centuries ago. They had been expertly restored and although they were shops or cafés now, their charm was still very evident. Alethea went from side to side and back again, trying to see everything at once, mindful that Sarre had very little time to spare. When he looked at his watch she hurried back to him.
‘I’m sorry, Alethea, but if I’m to drop you off at the shops, we must go.’
Well, ten minutes with him had been better than nothing at all, she mused beside him in the car once more, although she was out of it again in no time at all. ‘Remember to take a taxi back to the hotel,’ cautioned Sarre, changing gear, ‘and if you’re short of money, there’s some in the top drawer of the chest in my room.’
He had gone, easing the big car into the morning traffic, disappearing far too quickly from her view.
Alethea shook off the feeling of being lost without him and took herself to the nearest store, where she whiled away an hour before finding her way to the pavilion by the Binnenalster and drinking a cup of very expensive coffee. She went back to the shops after that, to buy presents for the children, and her grandmother, Mrs Bustle and lastly for the staff in Groningen, an exercise which kept her busy until lunch time, when she obediently took a taxi back to the hotel, had her lunch and then went for a walk by the lake. The afternoon was as brilliantly fine as the morning had been. She walked the considerable length of the lake, keeping to the narrow path running round its edge, and then turned to hurry back, afraid that Sarre might have got back early after all.
He hadn’t, of course; she was ready, dressed in the grey-patterned crêpe, when he got back, to knock on her door and ask her if she had enjoyed her day.
She told him yes, very, and how had his gone?
‘Very satisfactory.’ He strolled across to the bed and sat down on it. ‘Everything just as it should be, provided there are no complications. I hope it will be a hundred per cent success.’
‘And the foot?’
‘Now that was tricky…’ He went into some detail as to the operation and she listened with her usual careful attention. When he had finished, she said: ‘You must be tired—do you want a drink before you change?’
‘Thoughtful girl. Yes—ask them to send up a whisky, will you? What about you?’ He got to his feet and stretched hugely. ‘What a heavenly evening. Shall we dine later and go for a stroll first?’
She hadn’t had any tea and she was starving, but that didn’t matter. ‘I’ll wait on the balcony,’ she told him, ‘I’m not a bit hungry.’
There were plenty of people about, strolling along the paths beside the lake, exercising the dog, playing ball with their children, or just walking and talking as they were. Sarre tucked her hand into his arm and explained the difficulties he had had, getting the shattered shoulder into alignment, and she listened happily. The conversation wasn’t romantic, but at least they were together and he was talking to her as though he were enjoying it. It more than made up for her lonely day.
The next day followed more or less the same pattern and the one after it, and she did a little more shopping and a good deal of exploring, the highlight of each day being their evening walk together. And on the last day Sarre went with her in the morning, declaring that he need not go to the hospital until lunch time and then only briefly, and he could make a final call on their way home. And since he obviously expected her to go shopping, she hastily invented a list of presents to buy and as the morning was as beautiful as its predecessors, they walked to the Monckeberg Strasse, stopping on the way to drink their coffee in the pavilion by the Binnenalster and then strolling along by the enticing shop windows. It was in a small, expensive shop that Alethea saw a musical box, a dainty little dancing lady, exquisitely dressed in eighteenth-century costume, and when she remarked on its charm, Sarre took her inside, where they listened to its silvery, tinkling tune before he bought it for her. It was wildly expensive, even for a rich man, and she protested faintly as they left the shop, only to hear his placid: ‘But I haven’t bought you a present since we married, my dear.’
She thanked him again and then said, because there was a look on his face she didn’t quite understand: ‘I bought chocolates for the children, but I saw a game of Monopoly, do you suppose they’d like that?’
They bought that too, and more sweets for Mrs McCrea, who had a sweet tooth, and cigars for Al, who rather fancied the best brands. ‘I’ll collect the children’s present as we go,’ Sarre told her, and would say no more than that.
Alethea ate her lunch alone, for Sarre was due at the hospital at one o’clock and intended to eat there, but he was back after an hour or two and they were ready to leave by mid-afternoon. She got into the Jaguar after a last look at the quiet water; it had been a lovely few days. True, she hadn’t seen very much of Sarre, but when they had been together, she had loved every second of it. They didn’t speak much as he drove through the city, but as he stopped before the hospital he leaned over to open her door. ‘I should like you to come in with me,’ he told her.
The hospital was impressive inside as well as out. They crossed the crowded entrance hall, making their way through the visitors waiting for admission to the wards, and took a lift to the third floor. It was quiet here, a quietness explained by Sarre. ‘The administrative block,’ he told her. ‘The various meeting rooms are here as well as the offices.’ He opened a door and ushered her in to a large apartment, furnished with a long table and chairs, and half filled with people. ‘Some of my colleagues wished to meet you,’ said Sarre, and she began a round of hand-shaking and trivial conversation, interrupted at last by Sarre declaring that if they were to reach home that evening, they would have to leave, so Alethea went round shaking hands once more and only as they reached the door saw that he had a basket with a lid in one hand. Sarre saw her looking at it. ‘The children’s present,’ he told her blandly as they got into the lift.
It wasn’t until they were in the car that he opened the lid and lifted out a very small Siamese kitten. It curled up at once on Alethea’s lap and she stroked it gently with a finger tip. ‘It’s adorable. Will Nero mind?’
‘I don’t imagine so, he’ll have something to play with. They’ve been asking for a kitten, it’s about the only animal they haven’t got.’
The journey back was far too quick for Alethea. In no time at all they were on the outskirts of Groningen and she began to worry about the children and Nanny. Supposing they didn’t like the presents she had brought them? Supposing Nanny refused the big box of sweets she had brought back for her?
‘Why are you so nervous?’ Sarre’s voice sounded searching.
‘Me? Nervous? I expect I’m excited,’ she answered brightly. ‘It was a lovely few days, Sarre, thank you for taking me.’
They had stopped before the house and he turned to her, about to speak, but the door opened and the children spilled out on to the pavement, laughing and calling to them. Alethea wondered what he had been going to say while she waited quietly until their first raptures over the kitten had died away. In the hall they stood for a few minutes while Mrs McCrea bustled up to greet them and Al went to fetch the luggage.
‘What shall we call him?’ the children wanted to know.
It was Sarel who shouted: ‘Neptune, of course,’ and when Alethea asked him why, gave her an impatient look. ‘We’re reading “The Little Mermaid”,’ he explained, as though that made everything clear.
The children were to stay up for dinner; Alethea, in her room with Nel unpacking her case, wandered round looking for the exact spot upon which to put the musical box. The little drum table near the window, she decided; it would be safe there because it was out of the way. She would let the children see it presently. She had already told them about it and they had listened politely and she had been encouraged by Sarel’s: ‘Did Papa buy it for you?’
‘Well, yes,’ she had told him carefully, ‘we saw it in a shop window and I found it enchanting, so he got it for me. I shall take care of it always; it’s so beautiful.’
Dinner was almost a celebration, with ice cream for the children and a good deal of talk about Neptune, now cosily asleep upstairs in the playroom with Nero, a little suspicious, but friendly enough, beside him. They went quite eagerly to bed as a consequence, thanking Alethea for her presents in polite voices, reminding her that Nanny was having her day off, so she would have to give her the sweets in the morning. Alethea watched them go upstairs and then turned away with a little sigh of relief. Everything was going to be all right; she had worked herself up for no reason at all. Even Nanny might be goodnatured in the morning. She went back to the drawing room to find Sarre on the point of leaving it. He said a little absentmindedly: ‘You’ll forgive me, my dear, I have quite a lot of post to read and I want to catch up on some reading.’ He paused to drop a kiss on her cheek. ‘A very pleasant little break,’ he added, ‘we must do it again some time.’
He went into his study, leaving the door open, and she heard him lift the receiver and dial a number, and seconds later: ‘Anna…’ She couldn’t understand any more of what he was saying. She turned out the lights and went up to bed. During the last few days she had quite forgotten Anna. Half way up the staircase she paused to encourage herself with the reflection that at least the children seemed more friendly.
The bedside lamps were on when she got to her room, her nightgown was lying on the bed and her gown and slippers had been put ready. How different it was from her little room at her grandmother’s house! She kicked off her shoes and wriggled her toes into the thick pile of the carpet; she would telephone in the morning and tell her grandmother about her stay in Hamburg. Sarre had suggested that later on she might like to have her stay…her thoughts were cheerful as she wandered round the room. She was brought to a sudden halt by the little drum table. The musical box wasn’t on it; it was on the floor, broken and twisted as though someone had stamped on it.
Alethea picked it up slowly and saw that it was a hopeless wreck, and putting it on the table went to the window. It was open at the top but there was no breath of wind. She was closing the curtains again when Nel came in to see if she had everything she wanted and Alethea turned a distressed face to her, and in her fragmental Dutch asked her if she had found the musical box on the floor. But Nel knew nothing about it; Alethea had known that before she asked. She wished the girl goodnight and undressed slowly. It was too late to go and ask the children and possibly a waste of time, and she couldn’t tell Sarre because he would get to the bottom of the matter and that would do no one any good, least of all herself.
She got into bed and sat up against her pillows. For the first time in a long while she allowed herself to cry; first Anna, waiting at the other end of the telephone for Sarre to come home, and now the only present he had bought her broken in pieces. What was the use of a lovely home and luxury and money in her purse, although she certainly hadn’t married for those? She hadn’t married because she loved Sarre either, but here she was, head over heels in love with him, and what, she asked herself fiercely, was the use of that with the wretched Anna so firmly entrenched? She sobbed herself to sleep.