On his next visit to Amsterdam, Frederik told his mother of his plan to bring Margriet at Easter, and as he had expected she was as delighted as Margriet had been. Gerda’s apartment was roomy, with spacious living and dining rooms and three bedrooms, so there was space for both Margriet and the maid.
‘Oh, how lovely,’ she said. ‘I will tell your sister and we will arrange outings for the children.’
Before he had left home Frederik had asked Florrie if she would be willing to travel with Margriet and stay for the duration of her holiday. ‘We’ll arrange temporary help here whilst you are away,’ he told her, and wondered why he was discussing this when his wife should be dealing with it. But Florrie was thrilled, even though he saw that she was trying not to show it.
‘It’ll be a pleasure, sir,’ she had said, quite flushed with excitement. ‘And – erm, I’ll speak to ’mistress, shall I, sir, as to what Miss Margriet will need to tek with her? Like we did for Scarborough?’
‘Indeed yes.’ He’d made a mental note to ask Rosamund to buy a suitable gown for Florrie and a warm coat or cloak for travelling if she hadn’t already got one.
Rosamund hadn’t been pleased, but since it wouldn’t do for Margriet to be travelling with anyone unsuitably dressed she had taken Florrie to buy a ready-made dark blue gown and a warm coat that would be eminently suitable for a governess or companion or someone in a similar situation. So that’s all arranged, he thought as he travelled once more towards Gouda. It’s something for Margriet to look forward to.
He hadn’t told Cornelia that he would be calling; the weather was cold and icy, the dykes were frozen and the roads treacherous, but the trains to Utrecht were running and he’d decided impetuously that morning that he would make the journey, hoping that he would find a driver willing to take him on the final stage to Gouda. He told his mother not to expect him back that evening; he would find hotel accommodation.
‘Yes, yes, you must do that,’ she urged. ‘Do not travel tonight – there will be a hard frost. Have you forgotten our winters?’ He kissed her cheek and said that he hadn’t forgotten, wondering how Cornelia and her children had coped over their first winter holiday period without Nicolaas.
The train was on time in Utrecht and he made a few calls, not selling or buying but simply acknowledging his thanks for his customers’ support throughout the year and assuring them of his; keeping in touch he felt was an important part of business.
The sky began to darken by mid-afternoon and he felt an icy chill, a threat of snow or a blizzard. He pulled his fur hat over his ears and looked about for a cabmen’s stand to enquire if there was a hackney driver willing to take him to Gouda. There were some who flatly refused on the grounds of the worsening weather, but eventually one offered to take him and asked for twice the usual price.
He agreed, deciding that he would find an inn or a lodging house in Gouda and travel back to Amsterdam the next day. As they began the journey the snow started to fall and soon became a blizzard, so that he could barely see his surroundings through the carriage window. The driver knew the district, and slowed his horse at the end of Cornelia’s lane to ask his passenger if he would walk the rest of the way.
‘For I won’t be able to turn round, sir, and if I got stuck you’d have to give me a bed for the night.’
‘No, this is fine, thank you.’ Frederik gave him an extra coin for his trouble. ‘Take care on the way back.’ The driver tipped his hat and cracked his whip and Frederik heard the slush and grind of wheels turning through the deepening snow.
The shutters at Cornelia’s windows were firmly closed and bolted, and he couldn’t see a light. He cursed beneath his breath for not having written to say he was coming, but he hadn’t wanted her to stay at home on his account. He knocked sharply on the door and hunched his shoulders against the bitter wind, listening for footsteps within. Then he heard her voice through the door.
‘Ja, wie is daar?’ Who is there?
‘It’s Frederik!’ he called back.
He heard the sound of the lock being drawn back and a key being turned, and the door opened. ‘I’m so sorry, Cornelia,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
‘Come in, come in.’ She was holding up a lamp, and drew the door wider when she saw him. ‘Whatever are you doing out on such a night?’ She sounded agitated, not like her usual self, and he wondered if he had alarmed her.
He tapped the snow off his boots and shook his hat before entering the hallway. ‘I was in Utrecht, and thought that—’
‘No need to explain.’ She brushed off his apologies. ‘You are welcome, as always.’ She took his coat and hat and hung them on a coat stand. ‘Come up. I have made a sitting room upstairs for the winter. It’s very warm and cosy.’
Indeed it was, he agreed. In a small room at the top of the stairs a wood stove stood on a tiled hearth and was sending out radiant heat. A small sofa with a rumpled wool blanket was where Cornelia must have been sitting, for there was an open book on it, and there were two easy chairs made welcoming with soft cushions and shawls. A brightly coloured rug lay on the wood floor, adorned by a black cat stretched out in perfect luxury who didn’t even turn her head to look at him.
‘You’re alone!’ He was perturbed.
There was a pot of coffee on a side table; after asking him to be seated she took a cup and saucer from a cupboard before answering. ‘I am,’ she said. ‘The children are staying with my mother for a few days and I’ve sent Miriam home. Her mother is sick and the weather is set to worsen. You were lucky to get here.’
She poured him a cup of thick black aromatic coffee and he drank it gratefully, warming himself by the stove. Cornelia sat on the sofa, and kicking off her slippers drew her feet up beneath her skirts.
‘I’ve disturbed you. I should have written,’ he murmured. ‘But I wasn’t sure if I would be able to come.’ Which was a lie, he thought. I knew I would come. I can’t keep away. ‘Had I known that you were alone—’
‘You wouldn’t have come?’ she said abruptly.
He turned his head to look at her directly and saw then that she wasn’t wearing black, but a plum-coloured gown. Her hair was tied back loosely with a ribbon. ‘It wouldn’t have been fitting, would it?’
She gave him a wry, derisive half-smile. ‘Fitting?’ It was almost an admonishment. ‘I suppose not, but you see that I am not wearing mourning attire, at least not at home. Going out I wear a dark cloak and bonnet, but you cannot imagine how black drags my children down.’ Her voice rose slightly. ‘They are afraid to laugh or act normally. They whisper, and tiptoe about, and so I have put aside my black clothes for their sake and I don’t care a jot what people say, for my children are more important to me than the views of any tittle-tattling gossip who doesn’t know anything about me.’
It was the first time that he had ever heard her speak with such bitterness, and he guessed it was because she was feeling the effect of being without Nicolaas; she could no longer maintain the brave face she had put on during his illness and following his death. He saw that her eyes were red, as if she had been crying.
She spoke about Hans and Klara, how she had explained to them that their father would have wanted them to continue with their lives, to have fun with their friends, and suddenly there was a great outpouring of grief, anger and hard words, as if a dam with a hairline crack had burst and a torrent of foaming water had rushed through.
She kept wiping her eyes and between sobs repeated, ‘Sorry. Sorry. Forgive me.’
Frederik put down his cup and moving towards the sofa sat down next to her, drawing her towards him so that his arm was around her.
‘Shh, shh,’ he murmured as she put her head against his chest and sobbed. ‘No need to say sorry. Let it all out.’
Her tears wet his jacket and shirt as she wept and said how sad she was, and he closed his eyes and felt the warmth and softness of her as she leaned against him and he felt no guilt whatsoever, for hadn’t Nicolaas asked him to take care of her?
‘She deserves happiness,’ he had said, and that he wanted her to find love again. But Frederik also recalled that Nicolaas had said that Cornelia would be vulnerable for some time, and that he hated the thought that someone might take advantage of her. But wasn’t that what Frederik was doing? Was holding her in his arms and offering her comfort a prelude to something less innocent? He determined that Cornelia should never be given reason to suspect his integrity.
Cornelia drew away and put her feet to the floor. Frederik gave her his large clean handkerchief and she took it and blew her nose. ‘Whatever will you think of me, Frederik?’ she said shakily. ‘I am sorry if I’ve embarrassed you. So very sorry. This has been building up and up, and I have been so cross and sharp with everyone; that’s why I sent the children to my mother. Why should they spend time with such a miserable wretch as me? And poor Miriam couldn’t do anything right for me, so I sent her home so that I could drown alone in my misery.’
He patted her shoulder in sympathy. ‘And then I came barging in and disturbed you.’
She turned a tear-stained face towards him. ‘I’m glad that you were here,’ she said, her voice hoarse with crying. ‘I’m only sorry that you had to witness my distress.’
‘It was quite natural,’ he said softly. ‘You wouldn’t be human if you weren’t able to show it.’
‘I’m so lonely, Frederik,’ she said simply. ‘I’m used to being loved, and that has been taken away from me.’
He swallowed. ‘You and Nicolaas had a very special marriage,’ he said softly, and as she nodded he saw her eyes fill up again. ‘How lucky you were.’
‘We did,’ she said. ‘And we were lucky. I know that eventually I will believe that, but at present it makes it more difficult. Do you understand what I mean?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ He did, of course. To be so close to someone and then lose them must be heartbreaking.
‘Do you have a good marriage, Frederik?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘If I’m honest, we don’t. Not like you and Nicolaas, which was why I said how lucky you were.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be inquisitive.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘I assumed …’ Her mouth formed a moue as if the idea that anyone might not have a good marriage hadn’t occurred to her, but he dismissed her apology with a shrug as if the discussion was of no account.
She offered to make them a light supper, so he followed her down to the kitchen and sat on a stool whilst she sliced up cold meat, boiled eggs and took rye bread out of the crock and pickled herrings from the larder. She put the food on to a tray and gave him a bottle of red wine to open. As he did so she put her hand over her mouth and Frederik saw her eyes fill up with tears again.
‘What?’ he said softly.
‘I’m so very pleased you came,’ she said, her voice choked. ‘I was at rock bottom and feeling so sorry for myself, when really I have no need to be. I have so much – my beautiful children, a lovely home and such good friends. Thank you, Frederik. Thank you.’
He longed to take her in his arms, to kiss her cheeks and stroke her hair, but he had to be content with reaching for her hand and gently squeezing it.
They ate at the small table by the stove upstairs in the soft glow of lamplight. He couldn’t recall a time when he had felt so content. When they had finished eating and talking the evening had lengthened, and the clock ticking on the wall told him that it was almost half past ten.
‘I should be going,’ he said.
‘You won’t get a cab tonight.’
‘I was going to walk,’ he said. ‘I’ll find a local guesthouse, won’t I?’
Cornelia gazed at him for a moment, and then turned her gaze to the flickering fire. Then she sighed and turned back to him.
‘Won’t you stay, Frederik? I’d like you to.’