THE HALL WAS exactly as Augusta had imagined it would be—black and white tiles underfoot; dark, panelled walls and a plaster ceiling of great beauty. The furniture was in keeping—there was an oak draw-table in its centre, its bulbous legs betraying its Flemish origin, and along one wall was a vast walnut cupboard, ornately carved and flanked by two chairs, which she recognised as Indo-Dutch; Burgomaster chairs in ebony and cushioned in blue velvet. Against the opposite wall was a carved oak wall table, decorated with a great deal of strap work and having a marble top upon which rested a vast Delft china soup tureen, filled with hyacinths. A large mirror, its gilded wood frame also carved, hung above it. The staircase was at the back of the hall, mounting to a half landing and then branching left and right to the floor above. All the furniture were museum pieces, but there was nothing of the museum in the atmosphere of the old house; it was warm and fragrant, and lived in. She turned to remark upon this to her host, but before she could do so, a shrill voice from somewhere upstairs cried, ‘Papa, Papa!’ and a small girl, perhaps four or five, came down the stairs at a great pace, to stop halfway and look at them and say, ‘Dag…’ and then descend the remaining stairs quite slowly.
Dr van Lindemann went to meet her, swung her off her feet, kissed her soundly and said, ‘Come and meet Miss Augusta Brown, Johanna.’
The moppet obediently offered a small hand, at the same time observing that she was delighted to make Miss Brown’s acquaintance…and Augusta, not to be outdone, answered in a similar vein before being led through one of the doors in the hall. The room they entered was presumably the drawing room and very magnificent. The walls were covered in tapestries and the marble fireplace was flanked by gilded pillars, most elaborately carved. The plaster ceiling was as fine a one as that of the hall, and there was a thin, silky carpet covering most of the wooden floor. This much Augusta was able to see without actually staring, but her surroundings were not those to be taken in at a glance—she hoped that they would have tea there, so that she could look around her. In the meantime she had another more urgent problem. Who was the small creature dancing across the room to look out of the window? The doctor hadn’t said, but she had called ‘Papa’ as she had come downstairs. The thought depressed Augusta, for although she had told herself many times that he was probably married, the concrete evidence of this was hard to accept. She would have to find out, for her interest in him was getting too great for her peace of mind. She was given the opportunity almost immediately, for the doctor, after ushering her to a chair, begged to be excused while he made an important telephone call. As soon as the door had closed behind him, she got up and wandered over to the window. It overlooked a fair-sized garden traditionally Dutch in its symmetrical neatness, and planted with row upon row of spring flowers. She exclaimed, ‘Oh, how pretty!’ and Johanna came a little nearer and looked up at her, and said with the engaging candour of extreme youth:
‘I like you, though your hair’s a funny colour.’
‘Thank you, Johanna.’ Augusta was careful not to smile. ‘I think you’re nice too.’ And then, because she wanted to know so badly, ‘Whose little girl are you?’
The small creature stared at her with round eyes. ‘Papa’s, of course,’ she uttered succinctly.
‘And Mama?’ prompted Augusta gently, the better side of her nature aware that she wasn’t behaving well—but she did want to know.
‘Mama is in Paris.’
Augusta, staring at a bed of scarlet parrot tulips and not seeing them at all, remembered that Miss Susan Belsize was in Paris—and then dismissed the thought which followed it as absurd. But was it absurd? She had seen that the doctor and Susan Belsize had been on very good terms with each other—the easy, casual terms of long friendship, or husband and wife. Perhaps Miss Belsize was an actress and preferred to be known by her maiden name. It sounded silly, but silly things had a habit of not being so silly upon occasion. The longer she reflected upon it, the more feasible it seemed.
‘You’re not talking,’ remarked a small accusing voice.
She made haste to remedy this. By the time Doctor van Lindemann returned, they were deep in lively discussion as to the exact dress Johanna intended to wear when she was grown up enough to be a bride.
Augusta found it a little difficult to meet the doctor’s eye as they sat down. He had observed as he came in that tea would be coming at any minute, and she had gone back to her chair, to find that he had taken the chair opposite her—it was an eighteenth-century sleeping chair of some magnificence, but its comfort appeared to have little effect upon its occupant, who looked wide awake and likely to remain so. He said at once:
‘What’s the matter? You look as though you’ve just had bad news.’
It came as a shock to her to realise that it had been bad news. She had allowed him to loom large in her thoughts—a state of affairs she would have to correct immediately if she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself.
She said now, sedately, ‘Bad news? How could I possibly…?’
His pale gaze held hers. ‘I’ve no idea at the moment—but I shall find out.’ He smiled suddenly at her and then transferred his attention to Johanna, who had settled herself in a winged armchair by the window. He put out a long arm and pulled a small stool close to his own chair.
‘Come and sit by me, Johanna—you’ll make crumbs in that chair and then Jannie will tear us both limb from limb.’
As he spoke the door opened and a small round woman trotted in with the tea tray. She began, as she crossed the room, ‘What nonsense you do talk, Doctor—to listen to you, one would think I was a tyrant!’
She chuckled richly at the very idea and he laughed with her, then looked at Augusta. ‘This is my housekeeper and friend, Jannie… Miss Brown is staying with Juffrouw van den Pol, Jannie—a niece from England, but her Dutch is not bad—not bad at all.’
Augusta, who was proud of her command of that language, drew an indignant breath, but before she could speak, he went on, ‘Be mother, will you, Augusta? It’s something we lack at the moment!’
She wondered, as she poured tea from the bullet-shaped silver teapot, if he had been offering her an opening for her questions, and decided not. He wasn’t a devious man—probably he had made the remark without thought. They drank their tea from Amstel china teacups, painted delicately with rural scenes, and ate paper-thin sandwiches and tiny cakes from matching plates. They talked about gardens and birds and animals, and Johanna joined in.
‘Have you any animals?’ she wanted to know of Augusta.
‘Yes, three dogs, two cats and a donkey.’ She and the child discussed Bottom at some length, while the doctor sat back in his chair, watching them.
They had almost finished tea when the door behind Augusta opened and Johanna jumped off her stool, her small face radiant. As she ran across the room she shouted ‘Papa— Papa!’ and Augusta, taken unawares, looked up, the expression on her face unguarded, to meet the doctor’s eye. Her cheeks grew pink at the thought of the mistake she had so nearly made, and pinker still under his interested gaze. Before she could look away, his expression changed—he looked at her with narrowed eyes, and began to shake with laughter.
‘Well, I’ll be damned! So that was the bad news…And you don’t have to look so guilty. After all, I was only conforming very nicely to the character you have seen fit to saddle me with, was I not? What a pity it is that I cannot live up to your lively imagination, my dear Augusta. I can admit only to being Johanna’s uncle—and despite your worst fears, she has a mother who is legally and very happily married to my brother.’
Augusta sat speechless, uncertain as to whether he was amused or hiding annoyance; it was fortunate that Johanna and her father joined them and she looked up to see a man very like the doctor, but younger and not quite as tall or broad, but his hair was the same pale straw and his eyes as light a blue. The doctor had got out of his chair.
‘Hullo, Huib. Augusta, this is my brother, staying with me at the moment. Huib, this is Miss Augusta Brown, from England, a niece of Juffrouw van den Pol.’
She shook hands, and Huib said cheerfully, ‘How nice to meet you. I’ve been wanting to improve my English.’
They both laughed, and Jannie came in with fresh tea and they all sat down again, until she glanced at the bracket clock on the wall table by her chair and saw that it was almost five o’clock, and sprang to her feet.
‘I had no idea it was late—I’m sorry, but I really have to go—my aunts…’ She babbled a little, anxious to get away and yet afraid that her haste might appear ill-mannered.
The doctor had got up too. ‘You can be home in five minutes,’ he remarked mildly. ‘The car’s outside.’
‘Oh no. Please don’t bother—it’s quite close by, isn’t it? I…’
She was interrupted with a faint impatience. ‘I have to pay an evening visit to your aunt…you might just as well come in the car, although if you prefer to walk…?’
He was laughing at her behind the placid look. Her green eyes snapped. She said with dignity, ‘Thank you. I shall be glad of a lift.’
She bade Johanna goodbye, taking care not to hope that she might see her again, for fear the doctor might think she was angling for another visit; certainly he made no mention of her doing so as they went to the car. They drove the short distance in silence, and had still not spoken when they entered her aunts’ house together. There was no one about—though a vague murmur of voices from the kitchen indicated that Tante Emma and Mevrouw Blom were doing something about supper—Maartje would be with Tante Marijna. Augusta turned to go upstairs and was restrained by a hand on her arm. A pity, for she had just reached the conclusion that the least said about the deplorable afternoon the better; now, whatever he had to say, she would feel constrained to apologise once more. She stopped reluctantly, and he said in a placid voice:
‘You always rush away…I can’t think how Archie keeps up with you.’
She looked at him in utter bewilderment. ‘How did you know about Archie?’ she managed at length.
He stood looking at her, considering her question. ‘I was at Edinburgh with Weller-Pratt, he’s one of his housemen.’
It explained a lot. ‘You asked me about Lady Belway going home and wanted to know…’ she paused, then went on with some asperity:
‘You didn’t want to know at all—you only had to ask Mr Weller-Pratt if you know him as well as all that.’
He agreed with her in the friendliest possible manner, which enraged her. She had her mouth open to ask him why he had bothered to ask her anyway, thought better of it, and closed it with something of a snap.
‘That’s right,’ he said, still very friendly. ‘Don’t ask, because I’m not sure that I’m ready to answer you.’ He smiled in such a way that her heart turned over with a lurch which she told herself was due to her extreme tiredness.
‘Do you believe in fate?’ His voice was quiet, compelling too.
She was cross—it was a silly conversation—she hadn’t understood his last remark, and the rest had been disappointing, why, she refused to admit, even to herself. She said with asperity, ‘I suppose so,’ and saw that for some reason, he was amused. ‘How grudging—but at least we agree about something. Shall we go up?’
Tante Marijna had had a restful afternoon; she was delighted to see them and ready for a gossip. She had to wait, of course, until the doctor had examined her, pronounced satisfaction at her progress, and given Augusta further instructions. These duties performed, however, he disposed himself in a chair and prepared to indulge his patient.
Augusta, once he no longer required her services, had gone to her room where she took stock of her face and hair, taking rather longer than she need have done. She didn’t particularly want to go down to her aunt’s room while the doctor was still there, but it smacked of cowardice if she didn’t…sooner or later Tante Marijna would have to know that she had spent the afternoon sleeping instead of being a pleasant companion to Dr van Lindemann. She didn’t think he was the kind of man to tell tales, even for a laugh; it would be left to her. She went downstairs again, slowly. They were chatting about Johanna and as she went in, he said easily, bringing her into the conversation, ‘You got on rather well with her, didn’t you, Augusta? She can be difficult sometimes, and of course a nurse can’t take the place of her mother, however good she is—she adores Huib.’
He looked directly at Augusta, who had gone to sit in a small Victorian lady’s chair on the other side of her aunt’s bed. ‘Your aunt wanted to know what you thought of the country, Augusta.’
So he hadn’t told. She swallowed and plunged without preamble:
‘I went to sleep—the whole time.’ She could see the look on Tante Marijna’s face. ‘It was unpardonable of me, but Doctor van Lindemann was—was kind enough not to mind. I woke up in time for tea,’ she added hopefully, with much the same air as that of a bad bridge player producing a trump card.
Her aunt said in a reproachful whisper, ‘Augusta, how could you?’ to be interrupted by the doctor. ‘I’m the one to blame, Juffrouw van den Pol, Augusta was up for a good deal of the night before last, and for the whole of last night as well. She was asleep on her feet, and I blame myself that I didn’t see it. However, you are so much better, I think that she might sleep in a room close by tonight, just in case you need her. She would have stayed with you whatever you had said last night, you know, so don’t worry on that score. I’m hoping that she will forgive me enough to allow me to take her out again.’
Augusta met his bland stare. She had no intention of going out with him again; she flashed him a look with her green eyes which told him so and which he countered smoothly by saying to her aunt, ‘The day after tomorrow—I shall have a free afternoon. A little fresh air is good for her, I think—I’m sure the same arrangement could be made.’
She watched her aunt agree with him, and when they both looked at her, smiling, she smiled herself, unwillingly, because there was really nothing else to do. ‘There now,’ said Tante Marijna with satisfaction, ‘won’t that be nice? Take Constantijn down to the door, will you, Augusta?’
Augusta got up reluctantly. ‘Maartje’s in the kitchen—she will hear Dr van Lindemann on the stairs—you wouldn’t mind, Doctor? There are some things to do for Aunt.’
It was no use; he said to infuriate her, ‘Of course I mind—besides, there’s something I forgot to tell you.’
She went to the door without a word. After all, it might be something important about Tante Marijna which he didn’t want the old lady to hear. Whatever it was, however, he kept to himself as they went down to the house door, so that she felt forced to ask, ‘You wanted to tell me something, Doctor?’
He opened the door. ‘Ah, yes, my dear Miss Brown. You don’t snore.’
He didn’t come until almost eleven o’clock the next morning, by which time, Augusta, thoroughly rested, and having had time to have a good think, had reached the conclusion that she had behaved rather stupidly. She must have given him considerable amusement, for if all his girl-friends—and her vivid imagination had allowed him at least half a dozen—were like Susan Belsize, she herself must have appeared incredibly homespun. Probably he was bored, and because she was a new face, even if not a pretty one, he was indulging in a little mild dalliance in order to pass the time until he could see the luscious Susan once again. It was a lowering thought and a depressing one too, but once she got back to St Jude’s, she would forget all about him—after all, there would be Archie. She frowned, because Archie had in all probability found another girl to take to the cinema. Her frown deepened when she realised that she really didn’t care in the least if he had.
She was careful to be very polite to the doctor when he called, saying ‘Yes, Doctor, no, Doctor’ with such meekness that when she saw him out he turned on the stairs with a suddenness which caused her to run full tilt into his waistcoat, and exploded, ‘Good God, girl! What on earth’s the matter with you? I’ve never known you so mealy-mouthed…don’t you feel well?’
She was at once indignant. ‘Well?… Of course I’m well. I’m being polite and—and professional, that’s all.’
He stared at her through narrowed lids, so that she could barely see his eyes’ pale gleam. ‘Now why in the name of thunder should you suddenly wish to be that? You’ve had time to think, of course, and you’ve probably tied a dozen ideas into a knot no man can hope to unravel.’
His voice became suddenly and unexpectedly gentle. ‘Look, dear Augusta Brown, it’s really quite simple. We met in England—hardly friends, should I say, but at least we met. And now we meet again. What is more natural than us seeing more of each other while you are here? We do no harm to Archie—or anyone else.’ He sighed. ‘You’re rather a goose.’
He bent his head and kissed her lightly upon one cheek, and then ran lightly down the remainder of the stairs and let himself out, leaving her standing alone, feeling foolish.
He had apparently forgotten all about it by the evening, for when he came to see Tante Marijna, he made a few casual references to the weather—and these delivered with the air of a man wishing to be civil and no more. Augusta was disappointed and vaguely annoyed. She toyed with the idea of declining his invitation for the following day, and decided against this, telling herself that if she did so, she would never find out anything about him. She didn’t know much as it was, and she was unlikely to set eyes on him again once she was back in London; which fact she rather illogically considered sufficient reason for finding out as much as possible while she had the chance.
When he came the following morning, it was to say, as he went again, that there was no reason for him to come in that evening. ‘Your aunt is going along well—I’ll be in tomorrow just before noon—and mind and be ready for me.’
Augusta bristled. ‘I’m always ready—when have you ever found your patient not…’
‘I said “you”,’ he interposed placidly. ‘I thought we could go somewhere and lunch.’
She blushed faintly—it was vexing the number of times he put her, in the nicest possible way, in the wrong. ‘Oh, well. That would be nice. I’ll arrange something with Maartje.’
‘I’ve already done that. When do you return to England?’
She answered with something like surprise, because she hadn’t thought about it. ‘In four days’ time. Have you been able to do anything about a nurse—I’m afraid I must go back.’
He shot her a glance which she didn’t understand at all—speculation—calculation, even. She wondered about it. He, being a doctor, must know that she had very little choice in the matter—it wasn’t as if she worked in an office and could telephone to say that she wouldn’t be coming back for a day or two and could they manage.
He said slowly, ‘Ah, yes, of course. Private Patients again, or will you be going back to Men’s Surgical? You didn’t like PP, did you?’
‘No. Although I liked some of the patients. The Brig and Lady Belway, though she was a tyr…’ She stopped. ‘I’m sorry—I forgot she was your godmother.’
‘And as you were about to say—a tyrant. You’re right, of course, but she’s a lonely old woman, too. She liked you.’
‘I can’t think why. I went and had tea with her before I came on holiday.’
He smiled. ‘Yes, I know. She wrote and told me so. I won’t tell you exactly what she said, for I don’t think we know each other well enough.’ He had been lounging against the wall, now he picked up his bag. ‘I’ve a couple more visits. Let me know if you’re at all worried.’
He nodded briskly at her and opened the door, and she stood holding it while he got into the Mini and drove away.
The following day it rained. Not a gentle spring rain, but a steady drizzle, blown hither and thither by a cool wind from off the North Sea. Augusta, who had planned what she should wear down to the last pin, realised that the only suitable attire would be a raincoat and a headscarf. She had both with her—but she had counted on wearing the outfit she had travelled over in. She looked out of the windows at least a dozen times before midday, and by half past eleven it was obvious that the rain had come to stay. Perhaps he would put the whole thing off; travelling around Holland on a very wet day was hardly enjoyable unless you were with someone so interesting that the weather went unnoticed. She was forced to admit to herself that, as far as she was concerned, the weather would be unnoticed, but she didn’t think he would feel the same. She had only to think of Susan Belsize to be sure of that.
She did all she had to do for her aunt, and then went to find Tante Emma and Maartje, to make sure that everything was going smoothly. Mevrouw Blom had just returned from a shopping expedition—the sight of her, dripping water from a plastic mac, and with wisps of damp hair hanging forlornly from her headscarf, was almost more than Augusta could bear. She went back upstairs, and to distract her thoughts, read a large slice of the day’s news to Tante Marijna, until she at last heard the doctor’s tread on the stairs.
It was almost noon, but he appeared in no hurry to go. He examined his patient, and then sat down by the bedside for five minutes or so, talking trivialities. Augusta, on the other side of the bed, had to make an effort not to fidget, which resulted in her sitting as though carved in stone. Presently, he caught her eye. ‘Ready?’ he asked casually, and as she stood up: ‘That’s a pretty dress. It suits you.’
She remembered that she had told him about Pieter—perhaps he was just being polite, but he continued, laughing, ‘No, I’m not buttering you up. I mean it.’
She bit her lip. He really was a most provoking man, and quite the most interesting one she had ever met… She smiled suddenly at him.
‘Two minutes,’ she said.
The Rolls was outside. She had expected the Mini, and said so, but as they got in, he observed, ‘The Mini’s fine for me, but I rather feel that I get the lion’s share once I’m in, which is rather hard on my passenger. Besides, this car’s so much more comfortable should you wish to take a nap.’ He flashed her a quizzical, wholly friendly smile, and she smiled back, completely at ease. ‘Where are we going?’ she wanted to know.
‘Since the weather’s against us, I thought Amsterdam—we can lunch there, and if you want to do any shopping, presents and so forth, we could do that in the afternoon. Mevrouw Blom is staying until six o’clock, so we shall have plenty of time to follow our inclination.’
They had gone smoothly through the town and were out on the Amsterdam road, but not the motorway. It was a smaller, secondary road beside the canal, which took them through Akersloot and then alongside the Alkmaarder Meer. They stopped for a few minutes to look at the water, grey under a grey sky, and whipped into fussy little waves by the wind. There were no yachts to be seen, and it all looked a little dreary, but Augusta, who wasn’t feeling in the least dreary, entered into a lively discussion about sailing with the doctor, and when he stopped her in the middle of a sentence and said impatiently, ‘Oh, do for heaven’s sake call me Constantijn,’ she said, ‘Yes, all right,’ and went on making her point about sailing dinghies. She was enjoying herself very much; after all this was the first time she had been out with him, for she refused to count the sleep she had had in his car as an outing, and they hadn’t talked much over tea. He was, she quickly discovered, amusing and excellent company, and unlike Pieter he hadn’t mentioned himself once. Which reminded her; she still had to find out about Susan Belsize, and whether he went to London very often, and if so, why. She did her best to bring the conversation round to this interesting point, but somehow it wasn’t easy—it was almost as if he knew what she was trying to do, and was deliberately hindering her. They were nearing the outskirts of Amsterdam, and she was no nearer knowing. She gave up, for the moment at any rate, and allowed herself to enjoy to the full what was undoubtedly going to be a delightful day, whatever the weather.
She wondered about parking the car as they drove deeper into the heart of the city, but she need not have worried, for Constantijn had chosen to lunch at the Excelsior, which was in the Hotel de l’Europe anyway, and the hotel had a garage. She arranged to meet him in the bar and went away to repair the ravages of the journey. The raincoat and scarf disposed of, she looked passably well turned out, even for the Excelsior, and if she hadn’t been fairly certain of this, his open admiration would have convinced her. He ordered their drinks and observed:
‘You wore those shoes with a green dress. The sun was shining—you looked like…’ he paused. ‘You didn’t belong to London at all.’
She sipped her Dubonnet. ‘Well, I don’t,’ she said matter-of-factly. ‘I was born in Dorset, and though I don’t live at home any more, that doesn’t mean to say I shouldn’t like to.’
‘Then why don’t you?’ He smiled at her, his pale eyes deepened and warmed with sympathy.
‘Well, how can I?’ she wanted to know. ‘I—I must earn my living and there aren’t any large hospitals near my home—even the small ones are too far away for me to live out. No, it has to be London, I’m afraid. I can get home once a month at least, and there’s more chance of getting on.’
‘A Sister’s post? I simply can’t imagine you—Oh, I don’t mean you aren’t capable—quite obviously you are. What about Archie?’
She stared into her glass, then took out the cherry and ate it before replying. ‘You keep on about Archie,’ she said at length.
‘Twice,’ he replied smoothly, ‘and only because we—Lady Belway and Sue and myself—decided that you were far too alive to stay in hospital for the rest of your life. Archie seemed the answer.’
She said flatly, ‘Well, he’s not. Discussing me behind my back…’ her eyes-flashed, which for some reason gave a glow to her rusty hair.
‘Naturally,’ he said imperturbably. ‘Didn’t you ever discuss us?’
She went pink under his gently mocking gaze. ‘Yes—at least, it was mostly Miss Belsize’s clothes.’
She was unprepared for his deep bellow of laughter. ‘I deserved that. But of course, Sue’s clothes are—er—outstanding.’
It was the chance she had been waiting for. She began ‘Who…?’ and he deprived her neatly of it. ‘If we’re going to bicker, let’s do it over a meal—it’s so much more comfortable and I’m famished. I was up most of the night with a baby case, and by the time I got back, it was time for morning surgery.’
She said instantly, her mouth curved in sympathy, ‘Oh, how awful for you! Why didn’t you say so—I could have made coffee for you before we left…’ She broke off, conscious that her concern had sounded rather warmer than need be. He didn’t seem to have noticed. He said mildly:
‘Nice of you to say so, but it would have delayed our trip, wouldn’t it, and I’ve been looking forward to it.’ He went on deliberately, ‘And you? Have you been looking forward to it too?’
Without hesitation she answered, ‘Oh, yes.’ And then, ‘You shouldn’t shoot questions at me like that. I didn’t have time to prevar…’ she frowned, ‘tell fibs,’ she ended.
He began to laugh. ‘The word is prevaricate. And do you find it necessary to—er—tell fibs to me? If so, you really shouldn’t.’
‘It’s of no use anyway, I’m no good at it—social fibbing, I mean. I tell just as many as everyone else, but people always know.’
They had sat down at their table; he picked up his menu and began to study it. Without looking up he said, ‘Well, I should warn you never to try it on me, for I should most certainly know. Now, what would you like to eat? How about mushrooms in cream and sherry for a starter and then the terrine of duck—and I see that there’s that delicious pudding, Marquise Montmorency, which I can recommend.’
Augusta agreed happily; she had had her fair share of going out, but rarely on this level. In a way, it seemed a waste of good food, for she was enjoying his company so much that she would have been just as happy with a cup of coffee and a plate of sandwiches. But when the food came she was forced to admit to herself that it was perfection and made more so by the right companion with which to eat it, and spiced with a conversation which never once flagged. They talked about everything under the sun, and she was much struck by the discovery that they agreed closely about everything that mattered most. It was vaguely disquieting, too, to find herself telling him some of her deeper thoughts and feelings. She stopped in mid-sentence, much struck by this fact, her green eyes wide. He said quietly:
‘You agreed with me that you believe in Fate…sometimes two people meet, you know. Perhaps only for a brief hour, sometimes for a lifetime, sharing the same star.’
Augusta stared at him. ‘How did you know what I was thinking?’ she asked breathlessly, because he had put into words something that had lain at the back of her mind like the shreds of a dream.
He lifted an eyebrow. ‘My dear Miss Augusta Brown, your face is like an open book for me to read.’ He smiled a little, his eyes twinkling, so that she was emboldened to ask, ‘Why did you ask me if my thumbs pricked?’
The smile became mocking. ‘What? Is your knowledge of Shakespeare so poor? I can’t believe that.’
‘Of course it’s not,’ she said crossly. ‘But you’re—you’re not something wicked…’
‘From the way you treated me, very off-hand and hoity-toity, I rather gathered that I was.’
She giggled; wrinkling her tip-tilted nose in an engaging manner which was all the more engaging because she was unaware of it, and paused to watch the waiter as he served their pudding. It was a glorious confection of meringue and cherries, chocolate cream and whipped cream, adorned with little cornets lined with chocolate and themselves bulging with cream. It tasted even better than it looked. She savoured the last mouthful of it and Constantijn asked:
‘Want some more, Augusta? No? Coffee, then?’
They sat over it, still talking, this time more light-heartedly, telling each other about their childhood. He asked abruptly, ‘Where exactly do you live?’
She didn’t intend to tell him. It was unlikely that he knew England all that well, and Dorset was still very rural. She was vague.
‘On the border of Dorset and Somerset…I thought I had told you. Between two villages, miles from anywhere. It’s entirely different from London. Do you like London?’
His good manners would not allow him to ignore her evasion. They talked about the theatres and discussed the parks and how delightful it was to ride on top of a bus through London, but never once did he mention Susan Belsize.
It was still raining when they decided to walk around and look at the shops. Augusta was surprised—most men loathed looking in shop windows. She said so, and he replied:
‘I couldn’t agree more, but it does rather depend on who you are with, you know.’
They strolled along, getting soaked without noticing it at all, stopping to gaze at anything which caught their eye, and presently they turned away from the main streets and wandered off down the small, old streets lining the canals. Their waters looked dull and sluggish, the trees which lined their banks dripped steadily, even the old houses with their picturesque steeple roofs looked damp and sad. They stood in the middle of a little bridge spanning the water, and looked around them.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Augusta, and meant it. ‘Water mains and electricity and cars haven’t made any difference, have they? It still belongs to its own time.’
Constantijn leaned his elbows on the bridge’s stone balustrade.
‘You like Holland.’ It was a statement, not a question, but she answered it at once. ‘Yes—very much. You see, I’ve visited the aunts regularly for as long as I can remember. I used to sit on Tante Emma’s knee while she read Sjors to me.’
They smiled at each other, sharing a remembered pleasure from their childhood. Constantijn said presently, ‘He goes on for ever and ever—just like Rupert Bear in England. You can still buy the book—a bit updated, of course. Johanna adores him—so did I.’ He laughed. ‘I suppose every child in Holland has had Sjors read to him at bedtime.’
Augusta was watching a horse and cart trundling slowly down the street, its driver stopping at each doorway to collect the food scraps each householder had left tidily in a bin for the pigs. When the doctor asked:
‘Would you like to live in Holland, Augusta?’ she answered him without taking her eyes off the slowmoving cart:
‘You mean for ever and ever? I wouldn’t mind at all. Only I’d want to go to England for holidays. I did think about it when I qualified last year, but it means doing a year over here as a student to get a Dutch qualification before I could stay as a trained nurse indefinitely…and I’ve still got my Midwifery to do, and perhaps Children’s. They’ll take up a couple of years at least.’
She turned to look at him, and found him smiling a little. ‘Ah, of course, I had forgotten your career.’ He stood up and said abruptly:
‘Would you rather have tea here or go back to Alkmaar and have it with Johanna?’
She chose the latter, because she dearly wanted to see his home again—besides that, she wanted a breathing space. She had been in his company for only a few hours; and she was fast losing her common sense, owing, no doubt, to the fact that they had been flung into each other’s company during the last week and there was nothing much else to interest her in Alkmaar. She told herself with firmness, so that she would believe it.
The rain took on a fresh fury as the doctor turned the car’s nose towards Alkmaar. Nevertheless, he said lightly:
‘Since we’re out for pleasure, I thought we’d go back through Velsen and along the coast road. You know, through Castricum and Egmond-Binnen. The dunes will be sodden…we haven’t been lucky with the weather, have we?’
They talked all the way home, and when they reached Alkmaar, Augusta admitted to herself that she hadn’t noticed the dunes at all, because she had been thinking exclusively of the man beside her, even while she carried on an intelligent conversation with him.
It was pleasant to go indoors, into the faint warmth of the old house. They were met in the hall by Johanna, who shrieked with pleasure because they had come back in time for tea, and then, obedient to her uncle’s request, led Augusta upstairs to comb her hair and repair her complexion.
The little girl took her to a bedroom on the first floor—a large room furnished simply and perfectly with a canopied bed, hung with the same patterned chintz as the curtains, and an enormous pillow cupboard against one wall. The other wall held a fireplace with a burnished steel grate and embellished with a quantity of carved wood. There was a Pembroke table between the two windows, holding a round mirror and a quantity of silver; and a number of comfortable chairs. Augusta sat down before the mirror and took the pins out of her hair, while Johanna perched on the side of the bed, watching her.
‘Your hair’s a nice colour,’ she observed at length.
Augusta smiled, and said, ‘Is this your room, Johanna? It’s very beautiful.’
‘No—my room’s along the passage and up the stairs— Nurse sleeps up there too. Susan slept here,’ she added, to shatter Augusta’s quiet thoughts, and cause her to dig a pin into her scalp and wince with pain. ‘Oh, yes, Susan Belsize,’ she answered in as careless a voice as she could muster. ‘I met her in London. Isn’t she pretty?’
The small creature nodded vigorously. ‘Uncle Constantijn says she’s just too gorgeous, but Papa doesn’t say that, because Mama’s much prettier.’ She got off the bed and came close to Augusta and peered into her face. ‘You’re not pretty exactly,’ she remarked, and added kindly, ‘But you’ve got green eyes.’
They went downstairs again presently, to find the doctor in the drawing room, standing in front of the small open fire. His gaze swept over them both and returned to Augusta. She jumped visibly when he asked:
‘And what has my small niece been telling you this time?’
Before she could reply, Johanna shrilled, ‘We talked about the bedroom. I told Augusta that Susan sleeps in it when she comes.’
She pranced across the room to him. ‘Your Susan, Uncle Constantijn, your gorgeous Susan with the black hair,’ she chanted.
He picked her up and tossed her high into the air, and she shrieked with delight. As he put her down he said easily:
‘Sit down, Augusta. Tea will be here in a minute. Come over here by the fire—it’s not cold, but it’s cheerful after all that grey sky.’
He sat down opposite her, and started to tell her about the nurse he had found for Tante Marijna, and she realised that, for some reason or other, nothing more was going to be said about the lovely Miss Belsize. She was, she discovered, boiling with rage; the fun had gone out of the day; she fought a strong desire to get up and walk out of the house, only that wouldn’t be very practical, as her raincoat and scarf had been borne away to be dried, and the rain was coming down harder than ever. It was fortunate that Huib came in at that moment and there was little need to talk very much to Constantijn. She ate her tea without appetite and got up to go soon afterwards. By then her rage had evaporated, leaving nothing but a rather sad feeling that she was just what Susan had said—a ship passing in the night, someone to whom it was unnecessary to explain things, even though for a few hours at least, she and Constantijn had reached a depth of friendship she would not have believed possible. All the same, he had no intention of allowing her to know anything of himself or his life, however pleasant their relationship had been a short time ago.
She stood making conversation, while he went to fetch her things, and when he returned, she tied the scarf rather savagely with no regard at all for her appearance and buttoned her raincoat with quick determined fingers. She said goodbye to Huib, whom she liked, to Johanna who demanded a prolonged hug, and went briskly to the door, followed by Constantijn, to whom she kept up a constant flow of meaningless chatter, partly because she was nervous, and partly because it kept her from thinking. Outside the drawing room door, he took her arm and drew her in the opposite direction to the front door.
‘There’s a rather interesting room you should see,’ he remarked conversationally, cutting through her babble as though he hadn’t heard a word of it. ‘Painted—done by the same man who did the Town Hall in Dokkum. I should like you to see it.’
He was leading her across the hall as he spoke, taking no notice of her protests. Now he opened a small door under the right wing of the staircase and led her inside. It was indeed a beautiful room, although small. Its walls were canvas, painted with Biblical scenes, and it was simply, almost austerely furnished with an oak gatelegged table and some narrow rush-seated chairs. There were two carved oak armchairs on either side of the tiled fireplace, and a corner cupboard, upon the shelves of which was displayed a collection of silver tankards. Augusta was interested despite her firm intention not to be. She walked to the centre of the room, and ran an appreciative hand over the mellow, shining wood of the table top. ‘It’s like a Pieter de Hooch painting,’ she murmured, and went to peer at the tankards. They were all different, and all, she judged, sixteenth or seventeenth century. She turned round to ask about them, and perceived that the doctor had shut the door, and was lounging against it, staring at her. He looked forbidding and a little arrogant. He said forcefully:
‘You are the most stubborn girl! I had hoped this afternoon… But no, you are determined to make me into the villain of your imagination. I thought that you might change your mind when you got to know me a little, but I see that it is useless.’ He sighed loudly, took a couple of strides across the little room, and caught her by the shoulders, not at all gently. He said, in quite a temper, ‘Well, my pretty—if you want a villain, how’s this for a start?’
No one had ever kissed her like that before. It took her breath and emptied her head of sense and set her heart thudding. When he let her go, she stood, with his hands still on her shoulders, and stared at him with huge green eyes shining with the tears she had no intention of shedding—not in front of him anyway.
‘I’m too angry to think of anything to say,’ she said icily, ‘but when I do I shall say it.’ Her voice wobbled a little and she closed her mouth tightly because it was shaking. He said nothing at all, and when she stole a look at him, it was disconcerting to find that he didn’t appear in the least ashamed of himself. Instead, he stood aside for her to pass and opened the door for her, before walking beside her to the front door. They didn’t speak at all on the short drive, but as she got out of the car at her aunts’ door, she contrived to say in a normal voice, ‘Do you want to see my aunt, Doctor?’
He already had his door open. ‘Of course I do. But don’t worry, Miss Augusta Brown, I never combine business with pleasure—you’ll be quite safe.’
Augusta tossed her head with such violence that a pin fell out, and a tiresome tress of hair fell over her face. When he laughed softly, she could have cheerfully thrown something at him, but there was nothing handy—only a valuable porcelain vase on the hall table.