THERE were only two days left. Sophie went down to breakfast in the morning wondering if Rijk had any plans.
He had: a walk down to the village to meet the dominie and look round the church and then, since it was a clear, cold day, a walk along the lakeside to an outlying farm which he owned. ‘And in the afternoon, if you would like, we will drive to Groningen and take a look round—there’s a rather splendid church and the university.’
On the way to the village presently he told her that they would go back to his parents’ house on the following day, lunch there, and then come back and have an early dinner before driving down to the Hoek to catch the night ferry.
Sophie agreed cheerfully, thankful that she had bought her presents when they had gone to Leeuwarden. ‘Do phone your people if you would like to,’ went on Rijk. ‘We should be back around nine o’clock.’
‘Would you like to stay? There’s plenty of room—Mother will expect you for lunch, I’m sure.’
‘Lunch, by all means, but I’ve a consultation in the afternoon and I’m operating on the following day and then going to Leeds for a couple of days…’
‘But it’s almost Christmas…’
‘Which I shall have to spend away from home—I did tell you.’
‘I forgot. So we can’t see each other for a while?’
‘No.’ He tucked a hand under her elbow. ‘May I come and see you on my way home?’ He smiled at her. ‘Life is one long rush, isn’t it?’
‘In four days’ time? You want to know…’
She paused and he said easily, ‘Yes, please, Sophie.’
The dominie was a bearded giant of a man. His wife, fair-haired and blue-eyed, offered coffee and took Sophie to see the youngest of their children, a calmly sleeping baby. ‘The other three are at school. You like children?’
‘Yes,’ said Sophie and blushed when her companion said cheerfully,
‘Of course, Rijk will want a family.’
They went round the church when they had had coffee, a severely plain edifice with whitewashed walls and small latticed windows. A number of Rijk’s ancestors were buried beneath its flagstoned floor and even more in the small churchyard. His family had lived there for a very long time—centuries.
Presently they said goodbye to the dominie and his wife and took a rough little lane skirting the lake. It was very quiet there and they walked briskly, arm in arm, stopping now and then while he pointed out some thing of interest, telling her about the people and the country round them. Presently they came to the farm, a flat dwelling with a tiled and thatched roof, its huge barn at its back. ‘The cows live there throughout the winter,’ explained Rijk. ‘Come inside with me and meet Wendel and Sierou.’
The farmer was middle-aged and powerfully built and his wife was almost as stoutly built as he was. After the first polite greetings, Rijk murmured an apology and carried on the conversation in Friese. Dutch is bad enough, reflected Sophie, Friese is far worse; but she enjoyed sitting there in the vast kitchen, drinking more coffee and listening to Rijk’s quiet voice and the farmer’s rumbling replies.
They got up to go presently and walked back the way they had come, and over lunch presently the talk had been of a variety of matters, none of them personal. Rijk’s parents had been out too and lunched with them, but they didn’t linger over the meal since they were to drive to Groningen.
Rijk cut through to the motorway from Drachten to Groningen, a journey of twenty-five miles or so, which, while quick, missed a good deal of the smaller villages. ‘We shall come home through the side-roads,’ he promised her.
The city delighted her. The old houses lining the canals were picturesque and the fifteenth-century old St Martinkerk was magnificent. ‘A pity the tower is closed for the winter,’ observed the professor. ‘It is three hundred and fifteen feet high; a splendid climb.’
‘I don’t like heights,’ said Sophie baldly.
The university was a fairly modern building, its thousands of students each wearing a coloured cap to denote his or her faculty, and since the professor knew several of the lecturers there they were allowed to wander around while he patiently answered Sophie’s questions.
Presently he took her to a restaurant on the Gedempte Zuiderdiep and, while they drank their coffee, explained the layout of the city to her. ‘Of course you can see very little of it in such a short time, but we will come again.’
She let that pass. ‘Do you come to the hospitals here as well?’
‘From time to time, but of course Leeuwarden is my home territory.’
Since they had finished their coffee he took her to the Prinsenhof Gardens, which even in winter were beautiful.
True to his promise, they drove back along country roads, taking a roundabout route which went through several small villages. It was already dusk but the sky was clear and there were still a few golden rays from the setting sun. The villages looked cosy and there were lighted windows in the farms they passed. There was little traffic, but they were held up from time to time by slow-moving farm carts, drawn by heavy horses. ‘I like this,’ said Sophie.
‘So do I; this is Friesland, how I think of it when I’m away.’
Rauke, without being asked, brought in the tea-tray as soon as Sophie joined Rijk in the drawing-room. It was already five o’clock, well past the normal tea hour, but all the professor said was, ‘We will dine later—there is no hurry this evening.’ He said something to Rauke, who murmured a reply and went soft-footed from the room.
The tea was hot and quite strong. Sophie, when she had first arrived, had expected Earl Grey or orange pekoe—it was that kind of a house, she had decided—so it was delightful to find that the tea in the lovely old silver pot was the finest Assam. It hadn’t occurred to her that the professor—a perfectionist in all he did—had taken the trouble to find out her preference. There were tiny sandwiches too and fairy cakes and a plate of biscuits which Matt was allowed to enjoy, leaning his furry bulk against his master, delighted to have them home again.
‘He will miss you,’ observed Sophie, sinking her nice white teeth into a fairy cake.
‘Indeed, as I shall miss him. And you, Sophie, will you miss me?’
He was watching her intently and she wished that she knew how to give him a light-hearted answer which promised nothing. After all, he might be joking…
A quick glance at his impassive face made it clear that he wasn’t joking; she said simply, ‘Yes, I shall. I like being with you, Rijk.’
When he smiled she went on impulsively, ‘And there is no need to wait…’
The door opened and his mother came into the room and Rijk got up, to all intents and purposes delighted to see her. Sophie, on the very brink of telling him that she would marry him, wondered if it was a sign of some sort to make her change her mind at the last minute.
As for the professor, there was nothing in his manner to indicate whether he regretted the interruption; his mother sat down, declaring that they had had a cup of tea an hour or more ago. ‘I am very fond of your aunt Kinske, but she serves a poor cup of tea; she should speak to her cook.’ She turned to Sophie. ‘You enjoyed your afternoon, Sophie?’
Sophie said that yes, she had and added that she liked the villages they had driven through.
‘Not at all like your own countryside, though,’ Rijk’s mother commented. ‘I shall enjoy looking around me when we come to your wedding.’
Sophie opened her mouth to speak, caught Rijk’s eye, and closed it again. He wasn’t smiling, but she knew that he was amused. She went rather red and Mevrouw van Taak ter Wijsma, thinking that she was blushing for quite another reason, nodded her head in a satisfied manner.
Really, thought Sophie, they all take it for granted and I haven’t even said… She remembered what she had been on the point of saying only a short time ago and made some trivial remark about the English countryside without mentioning a wedding. The professor’s lips twitched and his mother thought what a nice girl Sophie was, and so exactly right for her eldest son.
The rest of the day passed pleasantly enough, but Sophie had no opportunity to speak to Rijk alone, even if she had wanted to, and, as she told herself in bed later on, she hadn’t wanted to. What a good thing his mother had joined them when she had, although it would have been interesting to see what he would have done or said. He wouldn’t do anything, she reflected peevishly, probably shake hands—wasn’t that what friends did when they agreed to do something together? She bounced over in bed and thumped the big square pillow, feeling put out and not sure why.
She felt better in the morning; after all, she was doing what she wanted: marrying someone who shared her ideas of married life as well as a mistrust of romantic nonsense, which led only to unhappiness. She went down to breakfast with a cheerful face.
They drove to Leeuwarden later in the morning, to be joined by all five of Rijk’s sisters at his parents’ house, although, rather to Sophie’s relief, the husbands and the children were absent. As were his brothers.
‘You will see them all at the wedding,’ said Mevrouw van Taak ter Wijsma in a consoling voice. She didn’t appear to expect an answer, which was a good thing, for Sophie hadn’t been able to think of one.
They sat over lunch; the talk was all of Christmas and the New Year and there was a good deal of sympathy for Rijk, although Tiele said, ‘Next year will be different, Rijk. We’ll have a marvellous family house party at your place; we can come over for the day and you can put up the rest of us.’ She glanced at Sophie, ‘You have brothers, haven’t you, Sophie? And parents. What a splendid time we’ll have…’
Sophie smiled and the professor sat back in his chair, saying nothing and looking wicked. He had put her in a very awkward position, fumed Sophie, and she would make no bones about telling him so.
Her chance came as they drove back to his home. The goodbyes had been protracted and affectionate; she had been thoroughly kissed and warmly hugged and Rijk’s father had taken her hands in his and told her that Rijk would make her happy. ‘I shouldn’t boast of my own children, but I am sure that you will suit each other very well, and that,’ he had added deliberately, ‘is just as important as loving someone.’
She remembered that now, peeping at Rijk’s calm profile. ‘Your family seem to have made up their minds that we are to marry…’
He said easily, ‘Yes, indeed. What did you think of Nanny?’
It was a successful red herring. ‘Oh, she’s an old darling, isn’t she? A bit peppery but I can quite see why you have such an affection for her.’ She paused, remembering her brief visit to the old lady, sitting cosily in the sitting-room leading from the kitchen, surrounded by dozens of photos of her charges. The room had been most comfortably furnished and Sophie had seen the bedroom leading from it.
‘She wanted to be there,’ explained Rijk, ‘within sound of the kitchen, and of course people are popping in and out all the time so that it never gets lonely. Mother quite often has coffee with her.’
Sophie remembered that she was annoyed with him. ‘You could have explained—’ she began.
‘No need.’ He sounded placid. ‘If you should decide against marrying me, then that is time enough to explain.’
‘Will you be annoyed if I do that?’
‘Annoyed?’ He considered the question. ‘Why? I thought I had made it clear that you were free to make up your mind; you are surely old and wise enough to do that.’
That nettled her. ‘How well you put it,’ she said peevishly.
He ignored the peevishness. ‘Will you mind having your tea on your own? I still have some work to clear and we must dine early. We need to leave here around half-past seven—if we dine at half-past six? Will that suit you?’
‘Yes, of course. I’ve only a few things left to pack.’ Her ill humour had vanished; indeed, upon reflection, she wasn’t quite sure why she had felt so cross in the first place.
They went on board the ferry with little time to spare, but that, she realised, was what Rijk had intended, taking Matt for a last-minute romp in the dark, cold grounds, bidding Rauke and Tyske a leisurely goodbye, and then racing smoothly through the dark evening, over the Afsluitdijk and down the motorway until they reached the Hoek with just sufficient time to go on board before the ferry sailed.
Sophie, who had watched the clock worriedly for the last fifteen minutes or so, realised that she had been anxious about nothing. Rijk was a man who knew exactly what he was doing, and she had no need to fuss. The thought was reassuring as she curled up in her bunk and went to sleep.
Her mother was waiting for them as they stopped outside her home the next morning. The door was flung wide to allow Monty and Mercury to rush out to greet them, closely followed by the lady of the house. They drank their coffee in a flurry of talk, although the professor said little.
‘You must be tired,’ said Mrs Blount. ‘Are you sure you can’t stay?’
‘Quite sure, I’m afraid. I must go to St Agnes’s this afternoon, but I’ll come in four—no, three—days, if I may.’
‘You’re always welcome.’ Mrs Blount gave his massive shoulder a motherly pat. ‘Arthur will be back presently. You can have a nice chat while you unpack, Sophie, and I can get on with lunch.’
So Sophie had little chance to be alone with Rijk, and she wasn’t sure if she was glad about that or not; certainly he gave no sign of annoyance at the lack of opportunity to be with her and presently, after lunch, when he took his leave, his placid, ‘I’ll see you in three days, Sophie,’ and the peck she received on her cheek hardly stood for any eagerness on his part to have more of her company.
The car was barely out of sight when her mother asked, ‘What have you decided, darling?’ She glanced at her beautiful daughter’s face. ‘Perhaps you still aren’t quite sure…’
Sophie sat down on the edge of the kitchen table. ‘I’m sure—I think I was sure before we even went to Holland. You see, Mother, he thinks as I do; we both want a sensible, secure marriage. We like each other and we like the same things and we do get on well together. There won’t be any violent feelings or quarrels. Rijk has had his share of falling in love and so have I. We shall be very happy together.’
Mrs Blount listened to this speech with an expressionless face. It sounded to her as though her dear daughter was reassuring herself, and all that nonsense about being sensible and secure. That was well enough, but no use at all without love. A good thing that Rijk loved Sophie so much that he was willing to put up with her ideas. Indeed, she suspected that he might even be encouraging them for his own ends, whatever they might be.
She said comfortably, ‘Now just sit there and tell me what his home is like.’
‘It’s beautiful and rather grand, a long way from everywhere, although there’s a village ten minutes’ walk away. There’s a lake close by. Mother, Rijk’s a rich man—I didn’t know that. Oh, I knew he was comfortably well off—I mean, he’s well known internationally for his brain surgery—but I had no idea. There’s a butler and a housekeeper and two maids, only he doesn’t seem to be rich, because he never mentions money or his possessions. His parents have a large house in Leeuwarden and of course he has his house in London.’ She cast a worried glance at her parent. ‘Do you suppose it will be all right? I do like him, he’s become a dear friend, and I don’t care tuppence if he’s without a shilling.’
‘Money is nice to have, love, and I’m sure it won’t make any difference to you—you’re too sensible and well brought up—and someone like Rijk who has been born into it and been taught its proper place in life isn’t likely to let it interfere with his way of life.’ She became all at once brisk. ‘I suppose you will marry quite soon? After Christmas? You will need clothes…’
‘Yes, but I won’t do anything until I see Rijk.’
‘Of course not, dear. Now come upstairs. The boys will be home tomorrow and I’ve still any number of presents to tie up; do come and help me.’
The three days went quickly; there were the preparations to make for Christmas, last-minute shopping, friends calling, and the last Christmas cards to send. Sophie was in the kitchen making mince pies when Rijk arrived. She saw that he was tired and put down her rolling-pin at once and came across the kitchen to meet him.
‘You’ve been working hard?’ And then she added, ‘It’s nice to see you, Rijk.’ She put a hand on his sleeve. ‘You’ll stay for lunch?’
He put a hand over hers. ‘No. I must get back to the hospital as quickly as possible; I’ve an out-patients clinic this afternoon and a consultation. I mustn’t miss the evening ferry.’
‘At least have a cup of coffee—it’s here, on the Aga.’
‘That would be nice.’ He sat down at the table and ate a mince pie, still warm from the oven. ‘You’re ready for Christmas?’
‘Yes.’ She put a mug of coffee before him and went to sit down opposite him. He took another mince pie. ‘I’ve come for my answer, Sophie.’
‘I’ll marry you, Rijk, and I’ll try to be a good wife—I hope I’ll be able to cope…’
‘Of course you will. I’ll get a special licence. You would like to marry here?’
‘Yes, please, and would you mind if we had a quiet wedding?’
‘I should like that myself. My mother and father and Bellamy for my best man—I was his…’
‘When will you be back here?’
‘In two weeks’ time.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Any day after the seventeenth of January will be fine.’ He smiled suddenly at her. ‘The eighteenth or nineteenth?’ And when she nodded, ‘I’ll try to come over before then so that we can see your rector.’ He put down his mug. ‘I must go…’
‘Where have you come from?’
‘Leeds.’
‘That’s miles away; you must be worn out.’
‘Not a bit of it.’
He came round the table and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘We shall be happy, Sophie.’ He bent and kissed her gently. ‘And here is a token of our happiness.’ He fished a small box from his pocket and opened it. The ring inside was exquisite; sapphires and diamonds in an old-fashioned gold setting. ‘My grandmother’s ring; she had it from her husband’s grandmother.’
He slipped it on her finger and then kissed her hand.
‘Were you so sure?’ asked Sophie.
‘Oh, yes. Tot ziens, Sophie.’ He had gone as unfussily as he had come, leaving her looking at the ring on her finger and wondering if other girls arranged their weddings in such a businesslike way, and all in the space of a few minutes. Of course neither she nor Rijk were hampered by sentimental ideas about getting married. She heaved a sigh and began cutting rounds of pastry and when her mother came into the kitchen she said soberly, ‘He’d driven down from Leeds and he’s got a full afternoon’s work…’
Her mother, who had seen the professor getting into his car and been the pleased recipient of a warm hug, said cheerfully, ‘Yes, dear, but I should imagine that he knows just how much he can do before he needs to rest. He’s a very strong man.’ She admired the ring and noted with satisfaction that Sophie was still fretting about Rijk.
‘When you are married I dare say you will be able to persuade him to work a little less hard, dear. Have you fixed a date for the wedding?’
When Sophie told her she said, ‘You might go and see the rector tomorrow before he gets tied up with Christmas. A quiet wedding?’
‘Yes. We would both like that. Just you and Father and the boys and Rijk’s mother and father and the best man—Mr Bellamy from St Anne’s—they’ve been friends for years.’
‘His sisters and brothers?’ prompted Mrs Blount.
‘I don’t know, but I dare say they’ll come—they’re a close family.’
‘How nice. What will you wear?’
They finished the mince pies together, arguing the merits of a winter-white outfit or a pale grey dress and jacket. It was bound to be cold and probably a grey day to boot. ‘Directly Christmas is over you must go shopping.’ She frowned. ‘Of course the sales will be on, but you might find something.’
The boys came home presently, wished her well with brotherly affection, stated their intention of being at her wedding, and demanded to know every detail of her holiday.
‘It sounds super,’ commented Paul. ‘We’ll all come and stay and you can be the gracious lady of the house.’
‘Why not?’ said Sophie placidly. ‘There’s heaps of room and I dare say there’ll be ice-skating if it gets cold enough.’
‘You won’t want us to visit you as soon as that,’ declared Tom. ‘You’ll need a few weeks to be all soppy with each other.’
Sophie laughed, knowing it was expected of her. She couldn’t imagine Rijk being soppy. For that matter, she had no intention of being soppy either.
She went out the next morning and bought a Dutch grammar; she must do her small best to make their marriage a success, and a good start would be to speak at least a few words of Rijk’s language. There was very little time to do more than glance through its pages, what with helping around the house and helping to cook the nourishing meals her brothers constantly needed, besides entertaining various friends and acquaintances who popped in for a drink and to admire the ring. It was amazing how quickly the news had spread through the village; it wasn’t until she picked up the Telegraph and saw the announcement of their engagement that she discovered why.
There had been no message from Rijk and although she hadn’t expected one she had hoped that he might find time to phone before he left. He would be back at his home. She corrected herself; he wasn’t going home, he was going straight to Schiphol. He would be in Greece now, bringing his skill to bear upon a patient with no thought of Christmas and certainly not of her.
She was mistaken. On Christmas Eve a basket of red roses, magnificent enough for a prima donna, was delivered and the card with it was in his handwriting too. He wished her a happy Christmas and was hers, Rijk.
She placed it in a prominent position in the drawing-room and looked at it every time she went into the room. He had thought of her even though he was so busy. Her lovely face took on an added sparkle and she bore her brothers’ teasing remarks about red roses for love with good humour. Of course, that hadn’t been Rijk’s meaning; red was, after all, the colour for Christmas. It was only much later, going to bed after going to midnight service with her family, that Sophie allowed the thought which had been nagging her to be faced. Surely Rijk could have written to her or telephoned? She had made all kinds of excuses for him, but she found it hard to believe that he couldn’t have scribbled a postcard before he got on the plane. The roses had been a lovely surprise, of course, but if he had had time to arrange for those he surely could have phoned her too? She lay awake wondering about it and when, at length, she slept she dreamt of him.
She hadn’t been home for Christmas for several years and, despite her uneasy thoughts, she found herself soothed and reassured by the ritual of giving and receiving presents, lighting the tree, going to church again and helping her mother serve up a dinner which never varied from year to year. As she ate her turkey and Christmas pudding she wondered where she would be in a year’s time—here with Rijk or in Friesland, sharing Christmas with him and his family.
‘Such a pity Rijk isn’t here,’ observed her mother. ‘I wonder what kind of a Christmas he is having?’
* * *
The professor wasn’t having Christmas at all; he was undertaking a tricky piece of surgery on his patient’s brain and, being a man with plenty of will-power, he hadn’t allowed his thoughts to stray from this difficult task. Even when the long and complicated operation was over, he stayed within call, for the next day or two were crucial. On New Year’s Eve, flying back to his home, satisfied that his work had been successful, he allowed himself to think of Sophie. He had swept her into a promise of marriage to him, but that, he was only too well aware, was only the beginning.
Rauke was waiting for him at Schiphol with an ecstatic Matt on the back seat, and he drove through the early evening back to his home, to change his clothes, wish his household a happy New Year, and then get back into his car again and drive to his parents’ house, where the entire family were celebrating. He was a tired man, but no one looking at him would have seen that; he joined in the final round of drinks before midnight, piled his plate with the delicious food, and on the stroke of midnight toasted the New Year with champagne. The ceremony of kissing everyone, shaking hands and exchanging good wishes over, the professor slipped away to his father’s study, and picked up the phone to dial a number.
* * *
Sophie and her family were still sitting round the fire, drinking the last of the port her father had brought up from the cellar and making sleepy plans to go to bed, when the phone rang and, since Sophie was nearest to it, she got up to answer it. Rijk’s quiet voice, wishing her a happy New Year, sent a pleasant little thrill through her person; she had hoped that he might phone, but she hadn’t been sure about it. She said fervently, ‘Oh, Rijk,’ and then, ‘A happy New Year to you too. Where are you?’
‘In Leeuwarden. I got back a few hours ago. I’ll be with you the day after tomorrow—I’m not sure when. You’ll be at home?’
‘Yes, oh, yes.’
‘I’ll see you then. Tot ziens, Sophie.’ He rang off and she felt vague disappointment at the brevity of his call, but it was quickly swamped at the thought of seeing him again. It surprised her that she had missed him so much.
She was in the kitchen washing her mother’s best china when Mrs Broom put her head round the door.
‘Yer young man’s at the door, love.’ She beamed at Sophie. ‘Ere, give me them plates and wipe yer ’ands, mustn’t keep ’im awaiting.’
Sophie thrust a valuable Wedgwood plate at Mrs Broom and dashed out of the kitchen, wiping wet, soapy hands on her pinny as she went. It was a deplorable garment, kept hanging behind the kitchen door and worn by anyone who needed it, regardless of size, but she had forgotten that.
The professor was in the hall talking to her mother, towering over her, immaculate in his cashmere overcoat and tweeds. He looked as though he might have come fresh from his valet’s hands, and Sophie slithered to a halt, suddenly conscious of the apron and the fact that she hadn’t bothered with her hair but tied it back with a ribbon.
The knowledge that she wasn’t looking her best made her say crossly, ‘I didn’t expect you so soon,’ and then, ‘It’s lovely to see you, Rijk.’
She rubbed her still wet hands on the apron. ‘I was just washing the best china…’
The professor’s eyes gleamed beneath their lids. ‘I like the hair,’ he said and bent to kiss her. ‘Shall I come and help you with the plates?’
‘No, of course not.’ She smiled, her good humour restored, feeling comfortable with him just as friends should with each other. ‘I’ll fetch the coffee—did you come over on the night ferry?’
‘Yes. I’ve a case this afternoon at St Agnes’s but I wondered if we might go and see your parson this morning? I’ll come back this evening and we’ll go out to dinner; there is a good deal to discuss.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Are you going to be in England for a while?’
‘I’m afraid not. Two or three days. I’ve a good deal of work waiting for me and I’d like to get it done before the wedding.’
‘Yes, of course.’ They went into the sitting-room, where her mother had prudently retired, and presently, over coffee which that lady brought, the conversation turned to the wedding.
‘A quiet one?’ her mother asked and went on, ‘Just a handful of people—we can all come back here for lunch afterwards if you would like that. I dare say you’ll want to be off somewhere or other.’
‘We shall catch the night ferry to Holland; I can spare only a couple of days.’
‘Well, let me know what you arrange between you,’ said Mrs Blount comfortably, ‘and I’ll fit in.’ She spoke cheerfully; like all mothers she would have liked to see her beautiful daughter swanning down the aisle in white satin and her own wedding veil, which she had kept so carefully for just such an occasion; it might have comforted her if she had known that Sophie had had a fleeting regret that the white satin and veil weren’t for her. Only for a moment, however; a romantic wedding would have been ridiculous in their case. All the same, she would find something suitable for a bride, however modest the wedding…
Her father and Tom came in presently and she slipped away to take great pains with her face and hair and present herself in a quilted jacket and woolly gloves, ready to go to the rectory with Rijk.
They walked there, talking idly about this and that, very much at ease with each other, and when they reached the rectory the professor, while giving the appearance of asking Sophie’s opinion about dates and times, had everything arranged exactly as he had planned it. The wedding was to be at eleven o’clock in the morning in two weeks’ time by special licence; it was to be a quiet ceremony. As they would be leaving for Holland that same day they were both most grateful to the rector for arranging to marry them at rather short notice.
‘Delighted, delighted,’ observed the old man, ‘and I trust that I may have the happy task of christening your children.’
Sophie smiled, murmured and avoided Rijk’s eye, and was a little surprised to hear his agreement, uttered in a grave voice, although she felt he meant it. Of course, she told herself, he didn’t want to hurt the rector’s feelings. That was the one doubt she had about their marriage; she liked children and she rather thought that Rijk did too, but if they kept to their agreement and lived the life he had envisaged there wouldn’t be any. Of course, perhaps later on… In the meantime, she told herself, they would share a very pleasant life together without heartbreak and the pitfalls of falling in love. She walked back with Rijk, quite content with her future.
He left shortly after they got back with the reminder that he would be back in the early evening. As he got into the car he asked her, ‘Have you any preference as to where we should go?’
‘Must it be a restaurant?’ she asked diffidently. ‘Would it be a bother to Percy and Mrs Wiffen if we dined at your house?’
She was rewarded by his pleased look. ‘No bother at all; they’re all agog at the idea of a wedding and I’m sure they’re longing to see the bride again.’ He kissed her cheek lightly, got into the car, and drove off, leaving her to go into the house and go through her wardrobe for something suitable to wear. The brown velvet skirt and ivory silk blouse with the frilled collar would do nicely…
The evening was a great success; Percy and Mrs Wiffen had presented them with a delicious meal and afterwards they had sat in the drawing-room by the fire, talking. Waking in the night, Sophie had been unable to remember what they had talked about, only the satisfying memory of it. It was only when she woke again just as it was getting light that she knew without any doubt at all that she had fallen in love with Rijk.