Stars Through the Mist Read online

  They laughed together as they entered the room and the two men looked up. Coenraad said: ‘There you are, darling—do you girls want another drink before dinner?’

  The meal was a splendid one. Deborah, looking round the large, well appointed dining room, reflected how well the patrician families lived with their large old houses, their priceless antique furniture, their china and glass and silver and most important of all, their trusted servants who were devoted to them and looked after their possessions with as much pride as that of their owners.

  She was recalled to her surroundings by Adelaide. ‘So you’re going to Friesland,’ she commented. ‘I expect Gerard will take you to see Dominic and Abigail—she’s English, too—they live close by. They’re both dears. They’ve a house in Amsterdam, of course, but they go to Friesland when they can. Abigail is expecting a baby in about six months.’ She grinned happily. ‘Won’t it be fun, all of us living near enough to pop in and visit, and so nice for the children—they can all play together.’

  Deborah agreed, aware that Gerard had stopped talking and was listening too. ‘What are the schools like?’ she heard herself ask in a voice which sounded as though she really wanted to know.

  They stayed late; when they got back home the house was quiet, for Wim and Marijke had long since gone to bed, but the great chandelier in the hall still blazed and there were a couple of lamps invitingly lighting the sitting room. Deborah wandered in and perched on the side of a chair.

  ‘You enjoyed the evening?’ Gerard wanted to know, following her.

  ‘Very much—what a nice person Adelaide is, and so is Coenraad. I hope I did the right thing, I asked them to join our dinner party next week.’

  ‘Splendid. Coenraad and I have known each other for a very long time.’ He went on: ‘He and Addy are very devoted.’

  ‘Yes.’ Deborah didn’t want to talk about that, it hurt too much. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting Abigail too.’

  ‘Ah, yes, on Saturday. We’ll leave fairly early in the morning, shall we, go to the house first and then go on to Dominic’s place in the afternoon. Probably they’ll want us to stay for dinner, but as I’m not going in to the Grotehof in the morning, it won’t matter if we’re late back.’

  She got up. ‘It sounds delightful. I think I’ll go to bed.’ She put a hand up to the pearl necklace. ‘Thank you again for my present, Gerard. I’ll treasure it, and the earrings.’

  He was switching off the lamps. ‘But of course,’ he told her blandly. ‘They have been treasured for generations of van Doorninck brides, and I hope will continue to be treasured for a long time to come.’

  She went upstairs wondering why he had to remind her so constantly that married though they were, she was an—she hesitated for a word—outsider.

  Deborah half expected that something would turn up to prevent them going to Friesland, but it didn’t. They left soon after eight o’clock, travelling at a great pace through Hoorn and Den Oever and over the Afsluitdijk and so into Friesland. Once on the land again, Gerard turned the car away from the Leeuwarden road, to go through Bolsward and presently Sneek and into the open country beyond. Deborah was enchanted with what she saw; there seemed to be water everywhere.

  ‘Do you sail at all?’ she wanted to know of Gerard.

  He slowed the car and turned into a narrow road running along the top of a dyke. He looked years younger that morning, perhaps because he was wearing slacks and a sweater with a gay scarf tucked in its neck, perhaps because he had a whole day in which to do as he liked.

  ‘I’ve a small yacht, a van der Stadt design, around ten tons displacement—she sails like a dream.’

  She wasn’t sure what ten tons displacement meant. ‘Where do you keep her?’

  ‘Why, at Domwier—I can sail her down the canal to the lake. I’ve had no time this summer to do much sailing, though, and it’s getting late in the year now, though with this lovely autumn we might have a chance—would you like to come with me?’

  ‘Oh, please, if I wouldn’t be a nuisance; I don’t know a thing about boats, but I’m willing to learn.’

  ‘Good—that’s a dare, if the weather holds. We’re almost at Domwier—it’s a very small village; a church, a shop and a handful of houses. The house is a mile further on.’

  The sun sparkled on the lake as they approached it, the opposite shore looked green and pleasant with its trees and thickets, even though there weren’t many leaves left. They drove through a thick curtain of birch and pine and saw the lake, much nearer now, beyond rough grass. She barely had time to look at it before Gerard turned into a short sandy lane and there was the house before them. It looked like a farmhouse without the barn behind it, built square and solid with no-nonsense windows and an outsize door surmounted by a carving of two white swans. The sweep before the house was bordered by flower beds, still colourful with dahlias and chrysanthemums, and beyond them, grass and a thick screen of trees and bushes through which she glimpsed the water again. Smith tumbled out of the car to tear round the garden, barking ecstatically, while they made their way rather more soberly to the front door. It stood open on to a tiled hall with a door on either side and another at its end through which came a stout woman, almost as tall as Gerard. That she was delighted to see them was obvious, although Deborah could discover nothing of what she was saying. It was only when Gerard said: ‘Forgive us, we’re speaking Fries, because Sien dislikes speaking anything else,’ that she realised that they were speaking another language altogether. Her heart sank a little; now she would have to learn this language too! As though he had read her thoughts, Gerard added: ‘Don’t worry, you won’t be expected to speak it, though Sien would love you for ever if you could learn to understand just a little of what she says.’

  ‘Then I’ll do that, I promise. Do you come up here often?’

  He corrected her gently: ‘We shall, I hope, come up here often. Once things are exactly as I want them at the hospital, I shall have a good deal more time. I have been away for two years, remember, with only brief visits.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but must you work so hard every day? I mean, you’re not often home…’ She wished she hadn’t said it, for she sensed his withdrawal.

  ‘I’m afraid you must accept that, Deborah.’ He was smiling nicely, but his eyes were cool. He turned back to Sien and said something to her and she shook Deborah’s hand and, still talking, went back to the kitchen.

  Gerard flung an arm round Deborah’s shoulders and led her to the sitting room. ‘Coffee,’ he invited her, ‘and then we’ll go round the place.’ His manner was friendly, just as though he had forgotten their slight discord.

  The room was simply furnished in the traditional Friesian style, with painted cupboards against the walls, rush-seated chairs, a stove with a tiled surround and a nicely balanced selection of large, comfortable chairs. There was a telephone too and a portable television tucked discreetly in a corner. ‘It’s simple,’ Gerard had seen her glance, ‘but we have comfort and convenience.’

  Most decidedly, she agreed silently, as Sien came in with a heavy silver tray with its accompanying silver pot and milk jug and delicate cups. The coffee was delicious and so was the spiced cake which accompanied it. They sat over it and Deborah, determined to keep the conversation on safe ground, asked questions about the house and the furniture and the small paintings hung each side of the stove. She found them enchanting, just as beautiful in their way as the priceless portraits in the Amsterdam house; the ancestors who had sat for Paulus Potter, the street scene by Hendrik Sorgh and the two by Gerrit Berckheyde; she had admired them greatly, almost nervous of the fact that she was now in part responsible for them. But these delicate sketches and paintings were much smaller and perfect to the last hair and whisker—fieldmice mostly, small animals of all kinds, depicted with a precise detail which she found amazing.

  ‘They’re by Jacob de Gheyn,’ Gerard told her. ‘An ancestress of mine loved small animals, so her husband commissioned these for her
, and they have been there ever since. I agree with you, they’re quite delightful. Come and see the rest of the house.’

  The dining room was on the other side of the hall, with a great square bay window built out to take in the view of the lake beyond, comfortably furnished with enormous chairs covered in bright patterned damask. There was a Dutch dresser against one wall, decked with enormous covered tureens and rows of old Delftware. There was a similar dresser in the kitchen too which Deborah could see was as up-to-date as the latest model at the Ideal Home Exhibition, and upstairs the two bathrooms, tiled and cosily carpeted, each with its pile of brightly coloured towels and a galaxy of matching soaps and powders, rivalled the luxury of the town house. By contrast the bed-rooms were simply furnished while still offering every comfort, even the two small attic rooms, reached by an almost perpendicular flight of miniature stairs, were as thickly carpeted and as delightfully furnished as the large rooms on the floor below.

  As they went downstairs again she said a little shyly: ‘This is a lovely house, Gerard—how wonderful to come here when you want peace and quiet. I love the house in Amsterdam, but I could love this one as much.’

  He gave her an approving glance. ‘You feel that? I’m glad, I have a great fondness for it. Mother too, she comes here frequently. It’s quiet in the winter, of course.’

  ‘I think I should like it then—does the lake freeze over?’

  They had strolled into the dining room and found Sien busy putting the finishing touches to the lunch table. ‘Yes, though not always hard enough for skating. I can remember skating across to Dominic’s house during some of the really cold winters, though.’

  ‘But it’s miles…’

  He poured her a glass of sherry. ‘Not quite. Round about a mile, I should suppose. We shall have to drive back to the road presently, of course, and go round the head of the lake. It’s no distance.’

  They set off after a lunch which Deborah had thoroughly enjoyed because Gerard had been amusing and gay and relaxed; and she had never felt so close, and she wondered if he felt it too. It was on the tip of her tongue to try and explain a little to him of how she felt—oh, not to tell him that she loved him; she had the good sense to see that such a statement would cook her goose for ever, but to let him see, if she could, that she was happy and contented and anxious to please him. But there was no chance to say any of these things; they left immediately after lunch and the journey was too short to start a serious talk.

  Dominic’s house, when they reached it, was a good deal larger than their own but furnished in a similar style. Dominic had come to meet them as they got out of the car, his arm around his wife’s shoulders. He was another large man. Deborah found him attractive and almost as good-looking as Gerard, and as for his wife, she was a small girl who would have been plain if happiness hadn’t turned her into a beauty. She shook hands now and said in a pretty voice:

  ‘This is a lovely surprise—we heard that Gerard had married and we had planned to come and see you when we got back to Amsterdam. We were returning this week, but the weather’s so marvellous, and once the winter starts it goes on and on.’

  Inside they talked until tea came, and presently when Gerard suggested that they should go, there was no question of it. ‘You’ll stay to dinner,’ said Abigail. ‘Besides,’ and now she was smiling, ‘I mustn’t be thwarted, because of my condition.’ There was a general laugh and she turned to Deborah. ‘Well, I’m not the only one, I hear Adelaide van Essen is having another baby—isn’t she a dear?’

  Deborah agreed. ‘It’s wonderful to find some other English girls living so close by.’ She added hastily, ‘Not that I’m lonely, but I find Dutch rather difficult, though I am having lessons.’

  ‘Professor de Wit?’ asked Abigail. ‘Adelaide went to him. I nursed his brother before I married Dominic.’ The two girls plunged into an interesting chat which was only broken by Dominic suggesting mildly that perhaps Abigail should let Bollinger know that there would be two more for dinner.

  Abigail got up. ‘Oh, darling, I forgot. Deborah, come and meet Bolly—he came over from England with me, and he’s part of the household now.’

  She smiled at her husband as they left the room, and Deborah, seeing it, felt a pang of sadness. It seemed that everyone else but herself and Gerard was happily married. Walking to the kitchen, half listening to Abigail’s happy voice, she wondered if she had tried hard enough, or perhaps she had tried too much. Perhaps she annoyed him in some way, or worse, bored him. She would have to know. She resolved to ask him.

  She did so, buoyed up by a false courage induced by Dominic’s excellent wine. They were half way home, tearing along the Afsluitdijk with no traffic problems to occupy him.

  ‘Do I bore you, Gerard?’ she asked, and heard the small sound he made. Annoyance? Impatience? Surprise, perhaps.

  But when he answered her his voice was as cool and casually friendly as usual. ‘Not in the least. What put such an idea into your head?’

  ‘N-nothing. I just wondered if you were quite satisfied—I mean with our marriage; if I’m being the kind of wife you wanted. You see, we’re not much together and I don’t know a great deal about you—perhaps when you get home in the evening and you’re tired you’d rather be left in peace with the paper and a drink. I wouldn’t mind a bit…’

  They were almost at the end of the dyke, approaching the great sluices at its end. Gerard slowed down and gave her a quick look in the dark of the car.

  He said on a laugh: ‘I do believe you’re trying to turn me into a Dutchman with my gin and my paper after a hard day’s work!’ His voice changed. ‘I’m quite satisfied, Deborah. You are the wife I wanted, you certainly don’t bore me, I’m always glad to see you when I get home, however tired I am.’ His voice became kind. ‘Surely that is enough to settle your doubts?’

  Quite enough, she told him silently, and quite hopeless too. An irrational desire to drum her heels on the floorboards and scream loudly took possession of her. She overcame it firmly. ‘Yes, thank you, Gerard,’ and began at once to talk about the house in Friesland. The subject was threadbare by the time they reached Amsterdam, but at least she had managed not to mention themselves again.

  It was late and she went straight to bed, leaving Gerard to take Smith for his last perambulation and lock up, and in the morning when she came down it was to hear from Wim that he had been called to the hospital in the very early morning and hadn’t returned. It was almost lunchtime when he did, and as his mother had been invited for that meal, it was impossible to ask him about it; in any case, even if they had been alone, he would probably not have told her anything. She applied herself to her mother-in-law’s comfort and after lunch sat in the drawing room with her, listening to tales of the family and making suitable comments from time to time, all the while wondering where Gerard had got to. He had gone to his study—she knew that, because he had said that he had a telephone call to make, but that was more than two hours ago. The two ladies had tea together and Deborah had just persuaded the older lady to stay to dinner when Gerard joined them with the hope that they had spent a pleasant afternoon and never a word about his own doings.

  He told her the reason for his absence that evening after he had driven his mother back to her flat.

  ‘Before you ask me any of the questions I feel sure are seething inside your head, I’ll apologise most humbly.’

  ‘Apologise? Whatever for?’ She put down the book she had been reading and stared at him in astonishment.

  ‘Leaving you with Mother for the entire afternoon.’

  ‘But you had some calls to make—some work to do, didn’t you?’

  He grinned suddenly and her heart thumped against her ribs because he looked as she knew he might look if he were happy and carefree and not chained to the hospital by chains of his own forging. ‘I went to sleep.’ And when she goggled at him: ‘I know, I’m sorry, but the fact is, I had some work to do after we got home last night and I stayed up until two o’c
lock or thereabouts, and I had to go to the Grotehof for an emergency op at five.’

  ‘Gerard, you must have been worn out! Why on earth didn’t you tell me, why won’t you let me help you…’ That wouldn’t do at all, so she went on briskly: ‘And there was I telling your mother that you never had a minute to call your own, working at your desk even on a Sunday afternoon.’

  He was staring hard at her. ‘You’re a loyal wife,’ he said quietly, and she flushed faintly under his eyes.

  ‘I expect all wives are,’ she began, and saw the expression on his face. It had become remote again; he was remembering Sasja, she supposed, who hadn’t been loyal at all. ‘Shall we have dinner early tomorrow evening so that you can get your work done in good time? Have you a heavy list in the morning?’

  ‘That was something I was going to tell you. I’ve changed the list to the afternoon—two o’clock, because I thought we might go for a run in the morning.’

  A little colour crept into her cheeks again, but she kept her voice as ordinary as possible. ‘That sounds nice. Where shall we go?’

  ‘Not too far. The river Vecht, perhaps—we could keep off the motorway and there won’t be much traffic about this time of the year.’

  Deborah agreed happily, and later, in bed, thinking about it, she dared to hope that perhaps Gerard’s first rigid ideas about their marriage weren’t as rigid as they had been. She slept peacefully on that happy thought.

  They were out of Amsterdam by nine o’clock the next morning, driving through the crisp autumn air. Gerard took the road to Naarden and then turned off on to the narrow road following the Vecht, going slowly so that Deborah could inspect the houses on its banks, built by the merchant princes in the eighteenth century, and because she found them so fascinating he obligingly turned the car at the end of the road and drove back again the same way, patiently answering her questions about them. They had coffee in Loenen and because there was still plenty of time before they had to return to Amsterdam he didn’t follow the road to Naarden again, but turned off into the byroads which would lead them eventually back to the city.