ALETHEA WISHED the children good morning when they got down to breakfast with her usual serenity and tried not to see the apprehension in their blue eyes, and when their father wasn’t looking she had more than her fair share of glowering looks too. She wondered exactly what they would be up to next if she were mean enough to voice her suspicions as to how the musical box had got broken. She ate her breakfast with a calm she didn’t feel, answering Sarre’s casual remarks with a brightness which sat ill upon her pretty face, pale from her weeping, the nose still just a trifle pink despite her careful make-up, and then read her letters while he read his. They had almost finished when Sarre asked carelessly: ‘And how is our little dancing lady? Did the children like her? Perhaps we should have bought one for them instead of Neptune.’
There was a chorus of dissent and Alethea was glad of it because it saved her having to answer him, but her relief was shortlived; Sarre laughed and then suggested that the musical box should be fetched there and then and the children be allowed to see it. ‘Al can go up and get it,’ he said easily.
Alethea’s voice came out too loudly. She said baldly: ‘It’s broken.’ She didn’t look at the children, although she was aware that their eyes were fixed on her. ‘I—I was going to tell you…I dropped it yesterday evening.’ She added rather wildly: ‘I was silly enough to put it on the little drum table by the window, I expect the wind caught it…’
Sarre was sitting back in his chair, watching her, his eyebrows raised just a little. He didn’t comment upon her contradiction but said in a placid voice: ‘Well, shall we have a look at it? Probably I can find someone to mend it.’ He turned to Al before Alethea could think of anything to say. ‘On the drum table in Mevrouw’s bedroom—would you fetch it, please?’
Al, who had been hovering by the sideboard with his ears stretched, was gone with a brief: ‘Will do, Guv,’ and was back again while Alethea was still trying to decide what to say next; too late she had realised that she had told two lies when one would have done, and the blandness of Sarre’s expression gave her the uneasy feeling that he might have come to the same conclusion. But his expression didn’t change when Al put the poor crushed thing on the table beside him. He picked it up, examined it carefully and then set it down again. ‘I should hardly describe it as broken,’ he observed in a thoughtful voice. ‘Pure guesswork, of course, but I should imagine that it has been stepped on—several times.’
He looked at the children, who sat without a word, staring back at him. Alethea could see that they had no intention of saying anything. What was more, she suspected that Sarre wasn’t going to ask them if they knew anything about it, because that wouldn’t be his way; he would wait with monumental patience until they told him what they knew of their own accord. Well, three can play at that game, she told herself bracingly, and when he asked: ‘What do you think, Alethea?’ she said at once:
‘I have no idea.’ She looked at him defiantly as she spoke and he smiled a little so that she added: ‘I’m very sorry…I was careless, and it was kind of you to give it to me.’
He said still thoughtfully: ‘You cried about it, Alethea, didn’t you?’
She had forgotten the children for the moment. She said unhappily: ‘Yes, I did. You see, I…it meant something to me.’
He stared at her hard. ‘Yes?’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I must go.’ He picked up the little ruin and got up. ‘I’ll be home this evening, perhaps for tea, my dear.’ He touched the children lightly as he left the room, but he hadn’t given her the usual swift kiss she had come to expect.
When the front door had closed behind him Alethea got up too. ‘Are you both ready?’ she asked the children. ‘It’s almost time for you to go to school. Do you want me to do anything for Neptune while you’re away?’
They had got up too and stood looking at her. Sarel shook his head. ‘Nanny said she’d feed him.’
Alethea smiled. ‘Oh, good. I’ll just take Nero as usual, then. See you both after school.’
They slid from the room, looking so guilty that if she hadn’t been sad about it she would have laughed, and surely Sarre, who was their father, would have seen their guilt too? She wondered what he was going to do about it and then dismissed it from her mind; she had Mrs McCrea to see, and the flowers to arrange and the dogs to take for a walk. And over and above all that she had Sarre to think about; she would have to be careful never to let him find out that she loved him, and that would mean not minding about Anna because of course if she hadn’t been in love with him, Anna wouldn’t have mattered at all. It was going to be horribly difficult. And what about the children? They knew that she knew that they had something to do with the destruction of the musical box. They must hate her. Her mind boggled at the future before her common sense took over; let the future take care of itself for the moment, was she not married to Sarre and wasn’t he the only man in the world as far as she was concerned? She made her way to the kitchen and listened carefully to Mrs McCrea weighing the advantages of an apple torte against a dish of apple and honey moscovite. In the end they decided to have them both, with one of her renowned liver pâtés for starters, followed by Canard Sauce Bigarade, which when she described it in her soft Scots voice sounded mouthwatering as well as presenting an elegant appearance. Alethea nodded her approval and Mrs McCrea went on: ‘It’ll be an engagement dinner party, no doubt, ma’am, with Mr Wienand and Miss Irene coming.’
‘Well, I’m not quite sure about that, Mrs McCrea, but we rather hope it will be, but nothing’s been said, you understand.’
‘Not a word shall be said, ma’am, though I’m sure we’ll all be glad. The girls he’s had, young Master Wienand, and such strange lassies. Now this one’s a good girl. The master’ll be glad, him being such a good man himself.’ She gave Alethea a lightning glance. ‘It’ll be good to have a few bairns in the family again.’
Alethea went bright pink. She couldn’t agree more; little brothers and sisters for Sarel and Jacomina. Heaven knew there was room enough for them in the old house and money enough to give them all they wanted. She sighed. What a frightful waste, and she would have to watch Irene and Wienand producing a family…she would have to learn to be a simply splendid aunt. She frowned so fiercely at the idea that Mrs McCrea asked anxiously: ‘You approve of the duck, ma’am?’
Alethea brought her mind back to the dinner party. ‘Oh, rather,’ she agreed, ‘and I was just wondering if we could have some bits and pieces with the sherry—those lovely nutty things you make, Mrs McCrea.’
The nutty things were a great success. The whole dinner party was a success, with Wienand at the top of his form because, sure enough, Irene had said she would marry him. She would be a darling sister-in-law, Alethea decided, watching her wrinkling her ordinary little nose over the champagne Sarre had produced, and tonight, because she was so happy, she looked pretty with colour in her cheeks and wearing a blue dress which matched her eyes. Alethea, in the grey-patterned crêpe, beamed at her with genuine delight. It was after dinner, while they were all sitting around discussing the wedding over coffee and Sarre’s best brandy, that Irene said in her clear voice: ‘I think that it is because of you, Alethea, that I wish to marry Wienand.’ She flushed brightly. ‘Oh, I would have married him, I think, but seeing you and Sarre so happy together when we were here, I thought that if you can be so content, then so can I.’ She added, ‘They are not alike, but they are brothers, if you see what I mean?’
Alethea thought that she saw very well and said so, which emboldened Irene to go on: ‘You are not jealous?’
Neither of them had noticed that the men were listening. ‘Why should I be jealous?’ asked Alethea serenely.
‘Well, it is perhaps…but we are going to be sisters, are we not? Wienand has taken out very many girls, but I think that he will not do so now that he has me. And Sarre, of course, he has had friends too; they did not matter, there is only Anna.’ She looked apprehensively at Alethea. ‘You are not angry that I speak like this?’
‘Of course not.’ She braced herself to utter the lie about Anna; jealousy at that very moment was rocking her so violently that she had to take a calming breath. She let it out with a rush when Sarre said quietly: ‘You’ll have no cause to be jealous of Wienand, Irene, just as Alethea knows that she has no reason to worry about me.’ He smiled at them both. ‘We’ve been listening quite shamelessly to you, you know. I’m glad that Alethea and I have—er—influenced you.’
They saw their guests to the door presently and stood by it in the cool evening, watching the car disappear down the street. ‘She’s such a nice girl,’ said Alethea chattily, anxious to break the silence. ‘They’ll be very happy.’
Sarre flung an arm round her shoulders. ‘Oh, yes, and why not? That’s a pretty dress you’re wearing.’
‘It’s getting old now,’ she said shyly, ‘but you said you liked it and I wanted everything to be just right for Irene…’
He seemed to understand this obscure remark. ‘Yes, I know.’ He sighed and took his arm away, so that she felt instantly lonely. ‘I have to be at the clinic early in the morning…’
She went indoors at once. It was always the same, whenever they were together he had some good reason for leaving her. She said now in a colourless voice: ‘It was a lovely evening. Will you be in to lunch tomorrow?’ She was already walking ahead of him, making for the stairs.
‘No—tea, perhaps. Alethea…’
She cut in ruthlessly, longing to stay with him but determined to get away as quickly as she could. ‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’
She flew up the staircase without even looking at him.
She was in her dressing gown, brushing her hair, when she saw the musical box. It was on the drum table and she stared at it unbelievingly.
When she picked it up she wasn’t certain if it was the same one, miraculously repaired, or another one just like it. It didn’t matter; Sarre had done it for her, he must have known that she had been upset.
She flew from the room and across the gallery and knocked on his door, the dainty thing held carefully in one hand. Sarre was standing in the middle of his room in his shirtsleeves, taking off his tie. His: ‘Yes, my dear?’ was quite unsurprised.
‘Sarre, my little dancing lady—I found her. You did it, didn’t you? You never got her mended?’
‘Yes, I did. There’s an old instrument maker who sees to my instruments and is an expert in repairing the irreparable. He spent the day on her.’
She blinked back tears. ‘Oh, Sarre, how can I ever thank you? You don’t know…after my carelessness…that you should have bothered.’
He was leaning against a tallboy, his hands in his pockets, staring at her. He said deliberately: ‘You can show it to the children now.’
She said a little breathlessly: ‘Yes, of course—they’ll love it.’ She edged towards the door. ‘Well, thank you again, Sarre. I really did mind about her being broken.’
He left the tallboy and came towards her. ‘Yes, I know that.’ He took the musical box from her and set it down. ‘I find it quite encouraging.’ He swept her close and kissed her hard, put the toy back into her hand, and opened the door. ‘Sleep well,’ he said.
Alethea got ready for bed, wondering what he had meant. Why should he find it encouraging that she had minded? And he had kissed her…he’d kissed her before, of course, but this time it hadn’t been a cool peck on one cheek. Perhaps he had felt sorry for her. She wound the musical box and sat listening to its tinkling tune; she would have to play it for the children in the morning and not betray her feelings for one second, but there was no one to watch her now, no blue van Diederijk eyes staring at her. She played the tune again, snivelling like a small girl.
But there was no sign of that at breakfast the next morning. She set her treasure on the table and without looking too closely at the children’s surprised faces, wound it up, talking about it all the time, and when it had finished its tune, she enquired after Neptune and Nero, reminded the children that it was their swimming lesson that morning, observed that it looked like rain and somehow contrived not to offer a cheek for Sarre’s duty kiss. After the way he had kissed her last night, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.
She went about her chores presently, having her daily chat with Mrs McCrea, peering into the linen cupboards, paying a visit to Nanny, who received her with tight-lipped courtesy and stood by while she played with the kitten and collected Nero for his walk with Rough, and that done, she went along to the small room at the back of the house where she had her daily Dutch lessons now. It was a dear little room; rather cluttered, because everyone used it and it had a lovely view of the garden. Alethea spent an hour struggling with the simple sentences which would help her most, at least to begin with, and then thankfully bade her teacher goodbye and wandered into the drawing room. It was then that she realised that she hadn’t seen Al all the morning.
Mrs McCrea, busy with the making of a Dundee cake, looked at her reproachfully. ‘You only had to pull the bell rope, ma’am,’ she pointed out, ‘there’s no call for you to come all this way. Is it something you want?’
‘Only to ask about Al—he doesn’t seem to be here…he’s not ill?’
There was a little pause. ‘He’s got his day off, ma’am. Is there anything Nel can do in his stead?’
Alethea picked up a handful of almonds and munched them. ‘Oh, no, thank you.’
‘It must have slipped his mind to tell you,’ observed Mrs McCrea comfortably.
It was at lunchtime that the children told her that they couldn’t find Neptune. They looked at her so accusingly that she guessed at once that they supposed that she had hidden him in revenge for smashing the musical box. She said with deliberate calm: ‘No, I haven’t taken him; he was safe in the playroom when I was there this morning and I haven’t been there since. Of course I know that you smashed the musical box; I expect you had some reason for doing it, but I don’t intend to tell anyone, nor do I intend to take revenge—certainly not at the expense of a kitten.’ She went on bracingly: ‘Now, who saw him last? Was he alone for any length of time? Did anyone leave the door open?’
‘Nanny said he was there asleep—she had to go down to the kitchen for something and when she got back she can’t remember if he was there or not.’
‘Then probably he’s in a cupboard.’ Alethea glanced at the clock. ‘Look, if we hurry over lunch, we’ll have half an hour before you have to go back to school; we’ll search the house, room by room—perhaps Nanny will help us.’
They stared at her silently and she added gently: ‘Look, I’m on your side, you know,’ and was rewarded by the speed with which they polished off their meal.
The search disclosed nothing, at least nothing of Neptune. True, a ball which had been missing for months came to light in a great chest on the landing outside the playroom, and a pair of woollen mitts which Jacomina had been missing since the winter were found in the pillow cupboard in the hall. By the time the children had to go back to school, they had peered and poked into almost all the house; there were still the kitchens, the drawing room and their father’s study, but Alethea said that she would take a look there and then search the garden. She hoped devoutly that she would find Neptune in the house, because it was pouring with rain and the gardens were quite large with potting sheds, wheelbarrows and the like, all of which would have to be searched.
But there was no sign of him indoors; it had taken a long time to look around the drawing room and even longer in the kitchens, even with the help of Mrs McCrea and Nel. There was nothing for it but to search the garden. But first Alethea decided to go back to the playroom and make sure he hadn’t turned up.
For once Nanny didn’t scowl at her, but shook her head, and Alethea crossed to the window to look unhappily at the teeming rain outside. It was the faintest possible movement in the big ash tree which towered close to the house wall outside the playroom which made her throw up the window and lean out. She couldn’t see anything, what with the rain whipping the hair round her face and the wind blowing, but she was almost sure that she heard a faint mew. It was quite possible that Neptune had gone on to the windowsill and jumped the short distance from it into the tree. She wondered if she dared to do the same thing, and decided against it. She hadn’t climbed a tree in years and it wasn’t something she enjoyed doing, but Al wasn’t there, Nel had gone home for the afternoon and Mrs McCrea was hardly the build…
She managed to convey to Nanny where the kitten was and went downstairs. Slacks first and something to tie up her hair, and gloves in case Neptune took exception to being rescued. She went to the kitchen next to tell Mrs McCrea, but since that good soul was having a doze by the Aga, Alethea hadn’t the heart to wake her, so she scribbled a note on the kitchen pad and went out of the back door.
For a summer day, the weather was shocking. She bent her head to the wind and the rain, gained one of the sheds, found a short ladder and carried it to the ash tree, where she found that it reached only half way up its great trunk. She would have to stretch upwards and pull herself up to a higher branch. She wasn’t very good at it; it took several attempts before she was actually astride one of the lower branches, and now she could see Neptune, clinging to a much smaller branch above her head, his fur in spikes, his eyes like saucers. She would have to climb higher.
That took a long time too, or so it seemed and now she was up there, she wasn’t so keen on heights. She forbore from looking down and wondering how she was ever going to reach the ground again, and concentrated on getting hold of Neptune. She managed that too, more by good luck than skill, for the little creature slipped and as he hung she was able to catch hold of him.
But now how to get down? She took one horrified peep below her and then averted her eyes. She would need both hands for a start, so where was she to put Neptune? She had on a thick sweater over her slacks, but it had no pockets. She would have to stay where she was; Mrs McCrea would wake up and someone would come and look for her; Nanny knew where she was. She looked up hopefully, but the leaves were too thick and she could see nothing, and unless Nanny had the window open, which she strongly doubted, no one would hear her shout. But she did shout all the same, just in case. Nanny might hear.
Of course Nanny didn’t, but all the same her powerful cries were heard; she nearly fell off her branch when Sarre let out a bellow below her.
‘What the hell are you doing up there?’ he wanted to know, and she was so surprised to hear the rage in his voice that she didn’t answer for a few seconds.
‘Neptune’s up here—I’ve got him safe, but I’m not sure how to get down.’
She heard what sounded like a rumbling laugh. ‘Just stay where you are,’ commanded Sarre. ‘I’m coming up.’
He was obviously better at climbing than she was. He was there, close beside her, within seconds, and while she was still wondering what they would do next he had scooped Neptune up and tucked him inside his jacket. ‘Now come down,’ he told her. ‘You can’t fall, I’m right behind you and you’d have to knock me over first. Let go of that branch, you can’t take it with you. Now catch hold of that stump and let yourself slide.’
If Alethea hadn’t been so breathless with fright she would have rounded on him; ordering her about in such a callous fashion when she was petrified! She set her teeth and did as she was told. After what seemed aeons of time Sarre said: ‘Here’s the ladder, stretch out your left foot.’
She slid it cautiously downwards and felt the rung beneath her shoe. Which was all very well, but that foot was stretched to its utmost and the rest of her was sprawled on the tree trunk.
‘You can’t fall,’ said Sarre’s patient voice, ‘I’ve both feet on the ladder and my arms are stretched on either side of you.’ He sounded amused. ‘Have you got your eyes closed?’
‘No, but I wish I had.’ She lowered herself a few inches and felt Sarre right behind her, he felt a bit like a tree trunk himself and she suddenly didn’t mind any more, and when he said abruptly: ‘Jump now,’ she did so, landing neatly in his arms.
He didn’t let her go at once, and she stayed squashed up against him, listening to the steady thud of his heart and Neptune’s urgent mewing. She could have stayed there for ever, rain and all, but after a few moments Sarre let her go and hurried her in through the kitchen door to be met by Mrs McCrea and Nanny. He handed the kitten to Nanny with directions to dry and feed him and then turned to look at Alethea.
‘All right,’ she said crossly, ‘I know I look quite awful.’
Sarre laughed, ‘I think you look rather nice,’ and kissed her wet face. ‘Run along and get into a hot bath and then come and have tea in the study. I’ve some work to do, but I can drink my tea at the same time.’
Normally she would have stayed in the bath for hours, now she was in and out again in minutes, deciding what to wear. Sarre had never asked her to have tea with him before while he worked. It smacked of intimacy, a cosy state of married bliss…she put on a linen dress of pale green, did her face and her hair and skipped downstairs.
Mrs McCrea was coming out of the study as she went down the hall and she thought the housekeeper looked put out. She called: ‘I’ll be down presently, Mrs McCrea,’ as she tapped on the door and went in.
Sarre was at his desk. He had changed his wet clothes for slacks and a cotton sweater and he had a pen in his hand and a pile of papers before him. Sitting opposite him was Anna, talking in a low urgent voice.
Alethea stopped short, disappointment swamping her, so that she found it difficult to speak. ‘So sorry, I didn’t know you were busy.’
She smiled brightly, looking just above their heads and backed out again, although Sarre had got to his feet and was saying something. Let them have their tea, she told herself savagely, and raced upstairs to the playroom where Neptune, quite himself again, was lying in his basket while Nanny mounted guard over him. She was still there when the children came home and she stayed where she was, on the floor beside the kitten while Nanny talked at length.
Sarel came over to her at last. ‘Nanny says you rescued Neptune from the tree. Thank you.’ He sounded polite but unfriendly.
She got to her feet; she wasn’t wanted here either. ‘That’s all right, I’m glad he’s OK. Will you have your teas up here? Your father’s working in his study.’
It was Jacomina who answered her. ‘Yes, we know, we went to see him. Doctor Anna’s there too.’
Back in her room Alethea sat down and wondered what she should do. Go downstairs and have tea by herself? Share it with the children? They wouldn’t like that. She got up slowly and fetched her bag and went to find Mrs McCrea.
‘I’m going out for a little while,’ she told her. ‘I want to match up some embroidery silks.’
Mrs McCrea nodded; the shops had been shut half an hour or more, but she wasn’t going to say so. Alethea wandered off and after a little while stopped and had coffee at a café in the city and then wandered on again. She went so far that she had to take a taxi back to be in time for dinner.
She went to say goodnight to the children first and then went down to the drawing room. Sarre was standing by the window, but he came towards her as she went in. ‘You didn’t come and share my tea,’ he observed mildly.
‘No. You had Anna to share it instead.’
His face took on the bland expression which she recognised covered any feelings he didn’t want to show. ‘So I did. There was tea enough for three, though.’
‘Two’s company, three’s none,’ she reminded him flippantly.
‘In that case Anna is the third.’
Alethea had missed her own tea and strong feelings were bubbling over inside her. She said snappily: ‘No, she’s not. I am.’ She added: ‘After all, that’s what I expected.’
She watched his face change. The blandness was still there, but his eyes glittered with what she felt sure was rage. ‘Are we quarrelling?’ he asked her in a voice so cold she could hear the ice tinkling.
‘Why not?’ she asked a little shrilly. ‘At least you might notice me…’ She raced to the door. ‘I’m not hungry, I think I’ll go to bed.’
By the time she had torn off her clothes and had another bath, she was famished as well as frightened at what she had said. She had been stupid shouting like that; now Sarre wouldn’t be just casually friendly, he’d begin not to like her. She cried herself to sleep worrying about it.
He had gone when she got down to breakfast in the morning. Only the children were still at the table. They wished her good morning and looked at her wan face with some curiosity. They looked doubtful too, and she couldn’t think why—and really, she thought wearily, it didn’t matter; they had made up their minds not to like her and they showed no signs of changing them. She drank her coffee, saw them off to school and went into the garden. It was beautiful and peaceful there; she felt better after a while and went in search of Mrs McCrea.
‘Isn’t Al back?’ she asked when they had settled the meals for the day.
‘He’ll be here before lunch,’ declared Mrs McCrea. She volunteered no further information, so presently Alethea took the dogs for their walk while she pondered over the situation between herself and Sarre. Well, it was hardly that. Sarre wasn’t an easy man to quarrel with, he just stood there looking horribly calm; it was like hitting her head against a feather bolster.
It was still damp from the rain in the park although it was a glorious morning; mindful of muddy paws, she took the dogs round the little steeg which led to the garages and the back garden gate and went into the house through the kitchen, drying the dogs on the way. ‘I’ll bring up the coffee presently,’ Mrs McCrea told her. ‘Nel’s busy upstairs.’
‘I’ll come down for it,’ offered Alethea. ‘It’s only me to have it—my teacher doesn’t come this morning.’
‘I’ll bring it all the same, ma’am,’ said the housekeeper in much the same sort of voice that Mrs Bustle used when she disapproved of something Alethea wanted to do, so that she took herself out of the kitchen, the dogs running ahead of her. As soon as she opened the service door they began to bark. Sarre was in the hall, sitting on one of the marble-topped wall tables; they rushed at him and he fended them off gently as he got up.
‘Hullo,’ said Alethea, and then searched around for something else to say. To plunge into an apology for the previous evening seemed a little premature, besides, she had no idea what she would say. ‘Have you forgotten something?’ she asked brightly.
‘No, I find myself with a couple of hours to spare. Shall we have coffee in the garden?’
She had the absurd notion that he was laughing at her. ‘Yes, why not? It’s a lovely day. I’ve just taken the dogs…’ What a silly remark, she thought vexedly, and turned with relief as the front door opened and Al stood back to admit someone.
‘Granny!’ screamed Alethea, and hurled herself at her elderly relative.
‘Yes, dear,’ said Mrs Thomas, straightening her hat. ‘It is I. Sarre sent Al to fetch me—just for a couple of days, you know.’
‘Sarre,’ Alethea had turned to look at him, ‘how kind of you! I can’t begin to thank you… Mrs McCrea said Al had a day off…’
‘Well, so it were, as one might say,’ said Al cheerfully. ‘Keep it dark, says the guv; so off I creeps at first daylight an’ ’ere we are, all safe and sound.’
‘Oh, Al!’ Alethea smiled at him because she was too excited to say more. ‘Sarre, you never said a word…’
He only smiled and spoke to Mrs Thomas. ‘Shall we have coffee in the garden first, then Alethea can take you to your room.’
Sarre went back to his rooms shortly afterwards. He had patients to see, he told them, and a hospital round in the afternoon, so he wouldn’t be home until the evening. ‘You can have a good gossip,’ he told them, looking hard at Alethea.
But when later her grandmother asked her if she were happy, she found she couldn’t talk about it very easily. She described her life, dwelling on the luxury in which she lived, she skimmed over the children, who had appeared at lunch and behaved like angels, but she had a little more to say about Nanny but nothing about Sarre. When she had finished her grandmother sat back in her chair.
‘Yes, dear, and now supposing you tell me all about it.’
Alethea dissolved into tears, something she hadn’t meant to do. ‘Oh, Granny, I’m so hopelessly in love with him and there’s this awful Anna…’
She talked about Anna at some length and her grandmother listened carefully, tutt-tutted at the end and remarked dryly: ‘You’re his wife, my dear.’
Alethea agreed unhappily. ‘Yes, I know, but there are the children…’ She explained about them too. ‘They hate me,’ she declared, ‘and I’ve tried so hard, Granny; they’re darlings and they’re Sarre’s, so I love them…’
‘Love is a great deal stronger than anything else,’ pronounced Mrs Thomas. ‘Just bear that in mind, child.’
The visit lasted two days, no longer because Mrs Thomas said that she couldn’t leave Mrs Bustle for longer than that, but Alethea crammed a good deal into it. She took Mrs Thomas on a sightseeing tour in her Colt, conducted her round the house, accompanied her shopping, and made sure that she saw as much of Sarre and the children as possible. The children liked the old lady and she liked them, and when Mrs Thomas suggested that they might like to spend a few weeks with her later on, they were wildly enthusiastic. Just as enthusiastic as Sarre was about having both his grandmother-in-law and Mrs Bustle over for Christmas. And on the last evening of Mrs Thomas’s visit, they had guests for dinner, Wienand and Irene and Anna. Sarre had suggested her casually, with his eyes on Alethea, who instantly said: ‘Oh, yes, of course we must have Anna,’ and volunteered a good deal of information about her, just as though she hadn’t already done so. Sarre had smiled a little and contributed nothing to Alethea’s eulogy. He had treated her with unfailing courtesy since their unhappy conversation about Anna and even if Alethea had wanted to bring the matter up it would have been difficult.
Arrogant man, thought Alethea crossly. Just like him to decide that no more would be said on either side, without giving her a chance to utter a word.
She wore a new dress that evening; the colour of honey, quite beautiful and wildly expensive. But at the end of the evening, when the house was quiet and she had time to think, she came to the conclusion that she might just as well have worn an old sack and she was still seething inwardly from Anna’s playful: ‘Why, Alethea, you’re getting plump.’
She had replied suitably and, she hoped, with suitable lightness, furious to see Sarre’s lips twitch. It had helped a little when her grandmother remarked that it was a good thing, because she had always been too thin. ‘Such a big girl,’ she told the assembled company. ‘I don’t hold with beanpoles.’
Sarre had agreed with her and everyone had laughed, and Alethea had felt like the fat woman at a fair. She had, she considered, behaved beautifully, even when Anna had kissed Sarre in greeting and again when she left; better than little Irene who had looked worried and embarrassed.
Alethea got up from the window seat where she had been sitting and kicked a fallen cushion quite viciously round the room; it relieved her feelings enormously. And she wasn’t getting fat; she took a good look at herself in the bathroom looking-glass to make sure.
She felt lost and lonely after her grandmother went home, especially as Sarre went to Amsterdam on the same day. Probably, he told her, he would have to spend the night. She had looked at him blankly and asked stupidly: ‘Must you—stay away?’ and when he had said quietly that he thought it might be better to drive back to Groningen in the very early morning, she had cried much too loudly: ‘Of course you’ll have Anna with you.’
His face, usually so placid, had shown anger, but all he said suavely was: ‘No, but when you make remarks like that, Alethea, I’m tempted to do so.’
He had left the house then and she had mooned around until Mrs McCrea had asked her if she would mind going to the grocers’ for her. There was still an hour left till lunch and the children’s return from school; she gathered together her smattering of Dutch and went upstairs to talk to Nanny. It was high time she asserted herself over various matters. Her Dutch might not have been very grammatical, but she certainly got the gist of her wishes over to Nanny; in future she would take the children shopping for their clothes and when they were naughty they were to be punished—not severely, but enough to make them realise that they had done something wrong. And Nanny wasn’t to shield them from punishment, either.
‘You don’t love them,’ declared Nanny.
‘Oh, yes, I do—I want them to grow up like their father, Nanny. You love them, but you spoil them.’ She hoped she had the right words; she had looked them up earlier. ‘You haven’t helped me, have you? I should like to be friends…’
‘You wish to take my place,’ Nanny snorted. ‘Never, mevrouw!’
‘Of course I don’t want to take your place, why should I and how could I? The children love you, you fill a gap.’ She said hole because she didn’t know the Dutch for gap and anyway her Dutch was beginning to peter out. But Nanny seemed to understand. She looked surprised and then pleased before her face resumed its usual disapproving look.
The children were unusually talkative at lunch, telling a rather involved story about a cottage, uninhabited now, which had at one time belonged to Nanny. ‘It’s not far from here,’ said Sarel, ‘in the Langestraat, there’s a steeg on the left. We’ve always wanted to go there, but Papa won’t let us because he says it’s dangerous.’ He eyed Alethea thoughtfully. ‘Why is it dangerous?’
‘I don’t know,’ observed Alethea, only half listening, ‘but if your papa says it is and you mustn’t go there, then you must obey him.’
‘We could go and look at it from the outside.’ Sarel gave her a quick look.
‘Well, no, I don’t think that’s a good idea, I’d much rather you didn’t.’
‘We obey Papa, but we don’t have to obey you,’ muttered Sarel.
Alethea paled a little. ‘No,’ she said steadily, ‘I don’t suppose you do unless you want to. All the same, please wait until your papa gets home—he’ll be here tomorrow.’
She managed to smile at them both; Sarel looked defiant, but Jacomina looked scared and shamefaced.
She saw them off to school presently, reflecting ruefully that she hadn’t done much good, either with them or with Nanny.
She took the delighted dogs for a long walk that afternoon, getting back much later than usual. The children would have had their tea, which was perhaps just as well. She had hers in the little sitting room, planning something to do that evening. The children missed their father when he was away, she knew that; perhaps if they were quick with their homework, they could all go to the cinema, there was a Disneytime film on… She went upstairs and found Nanny alone and when she asked where the children were, she got a blank stare and a spate of Dutch she couldn’t follow. She gave up presently and went down to find Mrs McCrea who would probably know, but she didn’t know either.
‘Their pa’s away,’ she commented severely. ‘That Nanny’s a dear good woman and dotes on them, but they twist her round their thumbs.’
Alethea went uneasily to her room. It was almost seven o’clock and they never stayed out as late as that unless they were with friends and someone knew where they were. She went to the window and looked out and then glanced round the room. There was an envelope propped up against the musical box and she was across the room like a flash to open it and read.
Sarel’s written English was peculiar but understandable. They had gone, he and Jacomina, to explore Nanny’s cottage. That was all. Alethea was out of the room and shutting the front door behind her within seconds—she hadn’t been listening very well to what Sarel had told her about the little house, but she could remember the name of the street and he had said that it was close by. She didn’t know why she was so scared. True, the children had been gone for two hours and that was a long time, but it wasn’t only that. Sarre had forbidden them to go there, so probably it wasn’t safe.
She had to stop and ask several people how to get to Langestraat and when she did reach it she wasn’t very impressed. It was narrow and old and most of the cottages in it were condemned, and in the steeg they were even worse; some of them already tumbled to the ground. Sarel had said something about it being on a corner and sure enough there it was, its windows boarded up although most of the boards had been carried off long since. Alethea tried the door and found the key in the lock as she pushed it slowly open.
The little place was a ruin indeed, with plaster all over the floor from the walls and ceiling, broken floorboards and a gaping hole where once the stove had stood. It was filthy dirty too and smelled dreadful. She picked her way from the tiny hall and down a few broken stairs to the kitchen at the back where it was almost dark because the only little window was completely covered over. She held the door open behind her and called in what she hoped was a normal voice, then jumped out of her skin when she heard Sarel answer.
His voice quavered a good deal and sounded hollow, quickly explained when he told her that they had both fallen into the cellar below the kitchen. ‘I dropped the matches and we couldn’t see, and there isn’t a stairs any more, so we fell…’
Alethea stood just where she was. ‘Are you hurt, my dears?’
Their shouts were reassuring. ‘Then hang on, I’ll pull you up.’
She had moved cautiously as she spoke and saw in the furthest corner the dark hole which should have been the cellar stairs. She got down on her knees and peered over the edge and caught a glimpse of the two faces below. Rather a long way down, but if she could find a chair and pass it down to them and they stood on it… The door behind her banged shut and left her in almost complete darkness. It just needs a rat or two, she thought wildly, and asked with all the calm she could muster if Sarel knew where the matches had been dropped. Somewhere in the middle, he told her vaguely, so she crawled around on her hands and knees on the filthy floor until she found them. The box wasn’t full, she had used almost all of them before she found a broken old chair in a corner. She picked it up with a triumphant cry and it fell to pieces in her hands. She had to tell Sarel, of course, who suggested that she should go for help. ‘We’ll be all right,’ he assured her in a voice that sounded as though he needed reassuring rather badly, and certainly she could think of nothing else to do; it would be a waste of time to wring her hands and moan if only they had a light…
The door had jammed, but after a good deal of furious kicking on her part it gave way and she ran up the rickety little stairs to the hall. The door was shut, locked, and she had left the key on the outside. And this time it didn’t yield to her blows and thumps. It took a little while for her to admit that it was useless and when she tried the only window she couldn’t make any impression on the boards. She went back slowly to the children and explained. ‘I’m a fool to leave the key outside,’ she told them, ‘but at least when someone comes they’ll be able to get in.’
‘Who’ll come?’ asked Jacomina tearfully.
Alethea remembered that she had put the note they had written in her pocket and she hadn’t seen anyone before she left the house; probably no one would come. ‘Your papa,’ she said with loud conviction.
‘But he’s in Amsterdam.’
‘I know, but he might come back this evening.’ It was a forlorn hope; he was much more likely to stay away after what she had said to him.
‘I’m coming down,’ she called cheerfully. ‘We might as well be together.’
There were no matches left. Alethea crept cautiously towards the top of the non-existent stairs and lowered herself very slowly, terrified out of her wits. She dangled for a few seconds, feeling nothing below her. ‘Sarel,’ she called in a carefully calm voice, ‘can you stretch out a hand and touch me? Come carefully, and then both of you get as far away as you can while I jump.’
She felt his fingers brush her shoe a moment later and heard the children creeping away. ‘I’m coming now,’ she called, and jumped. She landed on a pile of rubbish which slipped and slithered away from her feet as she scrambled upright. ‘Can you come over here?’ She was ashamed of her shaky voice. ‘I think it would be better if we kept together, but first I’m going to explore a bit.’
The children reached her and she touched them reassuringly before making her way inch by inch away from them. Once or twice she tripped over piles of stone and bricks and twice she found herself up to her ankles in water. She remembered that a great many houses were built on piles driven into the water; perhaps the piles were giving way…as though to answer her thought the ground shifted under her feet and there was a wet, sucking sound and the rattle of stones falling into water. She tried not to hurry back to where the children were, panic catching at her throat that even in that small space she might put a foot wrong and go the way of the stones.
The children’s hands were cold but somehow welcoming. Alethea put an arm round each of their shoulders and said cheerfully: ‘Well, here we are, I don’t think we had better move, it’s a bit wet here and there. What shall we talk about while we’re waiting?’
‘Will Papa be long?’ asked Jacomina, and gave a great sob.
‘I don’t know, my dear, but he’ll come—I’m sure of that.’ And she was.
Sarel’s voice had changed; it was friendly. ‘I think he’ll come too. It’s our fault, Alethea—we came here on purpose, we wanted you to come and we were going to lock you in just for a little while. I—I’m sorry, and so’s Jacomina, you mustn’t be angry with her. She’s always liked you and I think I did too, only I didn’t want to, so we pretended we hated you…’
Alethea squeezed his shoulders. ‘I’m not angry with either of you,’ she assured him warmly. ‘I used to play pranks when I was a little girl, and this is only a prank.’
‘No, not really, but it’s nice of you to say so.’ His voice was very earnest and put her in mind of Sarre. ‘You’re sure Papa will come?’
‘Positive.’ She had read somewhere that if one thought hard enough about someone they would think about you. Well, she was thinking very hard about Sarre and miracles happened. Jacomina began to cry and Alethea bent down and kissed her. ‘Let’s talk,’ she said hearteningly. ‘Let’s talk about Christmas and what we’ll do then and the presents we’ll buy, and I’ll tell you about the hospital…’ She had a momentary picture of Nick; what would he have done in such a situation? she wondered, and found that she didn’t care in the very least. She took a deep steadying breath. It was beastly down there in the dark, but at least the children were safe and she was absolutely certain that Sarre would come. She began to tell the children just how an English Christmas pudding was made.