The Little Dragon Page 10

  She had thought how kind and hardworking he was. When they were married she would see if it were possible to get a daily help, someone to clean the shoes and the floors and do the rough work; she had never seen Rietje doing that, and yet there was never a speck of dust. She frowned at the thought and Jeroen, sitting across the table from her with the children between them, asked quickly: ‘What’s the matter, my dear?’

  ‘I was just wondering how Rietje managed—the floors and furniture, they’re always spotless—she must be worn out. I—I don’t want to interfere, but perhaps if you suggested to her that I could do some of it.’

  He didn’t answer her for a moment and then said carelessly: ‘I’ll speak to her, if you like—she likes you very much, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to persuade her. I’m going to telephone these brats’ mother, would you like to come with us?’

  She went, wanting to be part of the family as quickly as possible.

  Regina, the doctor’s elder sister, was in California, the children had told her that, while her husband negotiated big business there. The doctor leaned against his desk, waiting for the call to come through.

  ‘You’ll like Gina,’ he told Constantia, ‘she’s older than you but great fun—they should be home soon.’

  He began an unhurried conversation into the telephone, and when he had finished beckoned Paul and then Pieter, and finally Elisabeth. All three of them talked for some minutes and Constantia’s mind boggled at the expense, and even when Elisabeth was finally prised loose from the receiver she herself was beckoned.

  ‘Here is Constantia,’ said Jeroen, and put the receiver to her ear.

  Regina sounded a dear, and nothing could have been kinder than her welcome into the family. Constantia, put at her ease, chatted for some minutes and then suddenly bethought herself of the time and raised conscience-stricken eyes to Jeroen, who laughed gently, took the receiver from her and talked himself for at least another three or four minutes.

  He was called out shortly after that and she saw the children to their beds and then went to set the table for dinner. Rietje, apparently inspired by the news of the engagement, had surpassed herself; there was lobster soup on the Aga, Oeuf poché Carème in the fridge with a crisp salad, and profiteroles with a dish of cream beside them. Such a splendid meal justified her best dress—a velvet skirt and little matching waistcoat in sapphire blue, with a cream silk blouse. She was on her way down the staircase when she heard the key turn in the front door and Jeroen came in.

  He tossed his coat into a chair, put his bag on the console table and came towards her. She paused on the bottom step, hoping that he would say something nice, notice that she had changed her dress, but he didn’t, only stared at her for a long minute.

  ‘Am I late?’ he asked. ‘I’ll be with you in five minutes—pour me a whisky, will you?’

  She nodded and smiled and went into the sitting room; after all, why should he behave differently? There was to be no difference in their relationship.

  Dinner was a success, nonetheless; they laughed and talked and made vague plans and drank the champagne Jeroen fetched from the cellars.

  ‘That’s the second bottle today,’ remarked Constantia, and smiled at him over her glass.

  He put down his glass. ‘Where shall we marry, Constantia, and when?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t had much time to think, but my aunt lived in Surrey—Guildford, you know. I used to cycle to a little village called Compton, I had a friend there. There was a church… Would it be silly to get married there?’

  ‘It sounds exactly what we want. You don’t remember the name of the church, by any chance?’

  She did. She told him, and the name of the rector too.

  ‘Good—I’ll get on to that at once. Would Saturday or Sunday week suit you?’

  ‘The weekend after next?—Would there be time to make arrangements about the children? Isn’t it rather soon?’

  He raised his brows. ‘There’s no reason for delaying our wedding, is there? I’m not on call that weekend, we could go over on the Friday night, get married on the Saturday and return on Sunday.’

  There was no point in arguing and of course he was right, there was no reason why they should delay. She agreed quietly and presently, when he was called out again, wished him goodnight just as quietly.

  The days flew by and with each succeeding one the idea of marrying Jeroen seemed more and more normal. Constantia had her passport back now, and emboldened by the knowledge that she had her little nest-egg in the bank in England, she spread most of her money over a hat in which to be married, new gloves and a handbag. Her shoes would have to do and she could wear the tweed suit she had brought with her. The tweed was a woven pattern of dark green and blue and she had found a hat to match it very well; a soft, plain felt, not perhaps very bridal, but its tiny brim framed her pretty face and the jaunty little silk bow at one side relieved its plainness. She would have liked a whole wardrobe of new clothes, but there was, of course, no necessity for that, because Jeroen obviously considered their wedding to be something to be dealt with in the simplest and quickest way.

  All the same, she dressed with extra care when Friday evening arrived; they were to travel by the last Hovercraft from Calais and spend the night at Compton before being married early on Saturday morning. She supposed that they would spend another night there and return to Delft on the Sunday; she could have asked, but Jeroen had been busy. He had said something about going shopping, but there wouldn’t be time.

  Everyone gathered in the hall to see them off; the children and Rietje, Tarnus and Bet, the girl who came to do the washing. The dogs were there too, and Butch, sitting aloof as a cat would. Constantia went running down the staircase, intent on being on time, just as Jeroen came out of his study. He was wearing a sober grey suit, his best, she supposed, and in place of the sheepskin jacket had a camel car coat over his arm. He looked, she considered, more like a bridegroom than she did a bride, but it wasn’t any good repining about that now; she hadn’t had enough money to buy a new outfit and she had had no intention of asking him to lend her any—she could have paid him back once she got to England—she had written to her bank and asked them to arrange for her to have the money, but it would take time and she could hardly expect Jeroen to wait until it arrived.

  She sighed briefly for another kind of wedding—white satin and chiffon and bridesmaids and a church full of family and friends—but only briefly, for Jeroen had come to the bottom of the staircase and held out a hand to her.

  ‘How very charming you look,’ he observed, and the rest of them crowded round with a cheerful chorus of good wishes as she was swept to the door in a hubbub of handshaking and hugs from the children. It was early evening and still light and they all stood in the open doorway saying their final goodbyes as Jeroen took her arm and crossed the pavement to where the car stood waiting. Only it wasn’t the Fiat, it was a gleaming Daimler Double Six.

  Constantia stopped short. ‘But this isn’t your car,’ she protested.

  ‘Er—no.’ His manner was as placid as always. ‘But the Fiat hardly did justice to the occasion.’

  Constantia did exactly what he must have known she would do; jumped to conclusions. ‘Oh—it’s that nice old uncle again, isn’t it? What a darling he is—when I meet him I’ll give him a simply super hug.’

  ‘He’ll like that,’ said the doctor softly. ‘In you go—we have quite a drive.’

  Their journey to Calais was smooth and rapid, for they were able to use the motorway to Vlissingen where they were just in time to get on to the Breskens ferry. Constantia, to whom all this was new, was enchanted when Jeroen suggested that they should leave the car and go on deck for the twenty-minute crossing of the Maas. She hung over the rail staring round her while he pointed out anything of interest, her cheeks nicely pink from the fresh breeze and excitement, her new hat for the time being discarded. She was enjoying herself; she had forgotten for the moment that she was on her way to
her wedding, and there was nothing in her companion’s manner to remind her of that fact. They accomplished the journey to Calais at speed, the Daimler covering the kilometres with no trouble at all. Jeroen, she had to admit, was a splendid driver, which reminded her to ask: ‘Is this car difficult to drive after the Fiat? I mean, doesn’t one have to get used to a car? You drive this one as though you had been doing so all your life.’

  The doctor looked as though he was going to laugh, although he looked wary too. He said carelessly: ‘Oh, once you can drive one car is very much like another, and this one is very easy to handle.’

  They had a little time to spare before they needed to board the Hovercraft; they had coffee while they waited and Constantia, despite her interest in their cross-channel trip, slept soundly for the length of the short trip, her head comfortably pillowed on the doctor’s great shoulder. He wakened her gently as they neared Dover and she sat up in a surprised way.

  ‘I’ve been asleep and I had no idea—I’m so sorry, Jeroen.’

  ‘No need, my dear—I had plenty to think about.’ His tone was mild and soothing, so that she said in a relieved way: ‘Oh, good,’ and then: ‘You must tell me if I talk too much.’

  ‘I think that’s hardly likely, we aren’t likely to be alone together long enough for that to be possible.’

  She agreed thoughtfully. Of course, when they were back in Delft he would go about his busy day and she would have the house and the children and the dogs—an hour or so in the evening, perhaps. She would look forward to that; indeed, she would look forward to every minute of her new life.

  They had less than a hundred miles to go when they left Dover, and a great part of that on the motorway. They were more than half way through that distance when Constantia, feeling foolish because she hadn’t thought of it before, enquired: ‘Where are we to spend the night?’

  ‘In Godalming—it’s only a few miles from Compton, we can have our breakfast in comfort and drive over to the church in plenty of time.’

  ‘Half past nine?’ She did her best to sound as nonchalant as he did.

  ‘Yes—we should be away from there by ten o’clock. We can be in London by lunch time, do some shopping, have dinner somewhere and dance, or go to a theatre, whichever you would like.’

  ‘A wedding treat,’ she observed happily. ‘I’d love to dance.’

  ‘Then we’ll dance.’

  ‘And come back to Godalming for the night, or are we going straight back on a night ferry?’

  ‘I’ve booked rooms at an hotel in London.’ He glanced at her and smiled. ‘It is, after all, something of an occasion. We’ll go back on Sunday afternoon and get home in the evening. I’m afraid I have one or two appointments for Monday morning, and a hospital round in the afternoon.’

  She made her voice bright. ‘That’s all right, there’ll be the children to get off to school and Bet comes to do the washing, and there’s bound to be some shopping.’

  He laughed outright. ‘My dear, you sound as though we’re well and truly married already!’

  The hotel was comfortable and on the outskirts of the town, set in its own spacious, quiet grounds. Constantia, tidying herself in her room, realized that she was tired. Immediate bed would have been nice, but Jeroen had told her that he had arranged for them to have a late supper in the dining room, and as well as being tired she was hungry too. She joined him presently and did full justice to the delicious soufflé and the light-as-air fruit tarts which followed it.

  She drank the wine Jeroen poured for her and when he suggested it, had a liqueur brandy with her coffee. By then she was in a sleepy haze and only too willing to go to her bed. They left the dining room together, but he said goodnight to her at the foot of the stairs, merely remarking that he had asked for her to be called at half past seven—‘And they’ll bring you your breakfast in bed,’ he added. ‘Goodnight, Constantia.’

  She wished him goodnight too and went to her room to prepare sleepily for her bed. It wasn’t until she was in it that she allowed the little thought which had been nagging at her from the back of her mind to show itself. It was silly to mind, she told herself with common sense, but she would have liked Jeroen to have kissed her goodnight. After all, friendship could be warm, as well as love, and she, who had been lonely for so long, needed reassurance of his friendship.

  But it was all right in the morning; he was waiting for her when she went downstairs and his light kiss on her cheek was all that she needed. The vague doubts wreathing themselves to and fro in her mind disappeared, and she said simply: ‘It’s going to be all right, isn’t it, Jeroen?’

  ‘I promise you it will be, my dear.’ His voice was its usual calm self, but it was firm and carried all the reassurance she had wanted.

  They didn’t talk much as they drove to the church at Compton, only about the glorious morning and the signs of spring in the countryside. And at the church he gave her no time to hesitate, but helped her out of the car and caught her hand in his and pushed open the half-open door.

  The rector was already there, waiting for them, and two people sitting quietly in the front pew—their witnesses. Constantia gave a gulp and clutched at Jeroen’s hand, and felt his reassuring squeeze, and ‘Just a moment,’ he murmured, and picked up a bunch of violets from the porch seat and pinned them to her jacket. ‘Flowers for the bride,’ he said, and smiled so kindly that she felt tears prick her eyelids.

  So silly, she thought wildly, to want to cry at one’s wedding, and then took his arm and walked beside him down the aisle to where the rector stood waiting.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SURELY SHE SHOULD HAVE felt different, mused Constantia, as the car took them with smooth speed towards London something over half an hour later. She was married now, although she had hardly heard the words of the marriage service and she still didn’t quite believe that the plain gold ring on her finger was really hers. But Jeroen had put it there, and she had given him a wedding ring too, a little shy about doing it although he had raised no objection when she had suggested that she should.

  She glanced sideways at him now; he looked as placid as was his wont and she wondered just what it would take to ruffle his calm. Without looking at her he said in a matter-of-fact voice: ‘That went off very smoothly, didn’t it? I like the church; exactly right for our kind of wedding, I thought.’

  He was right; the church had been small and old, its stained glass windows throwing coloured sunshine into its dimness; it hadn’t seemed empty at all. She touched the violets gently and all of a sudden felt happy. ‘Where do we go now?’ she asked.

  ‘Could you manage to go without coffee? We have some shopping to do.’ He turned to smile briefly at her. ‘Shall we go straight to the hotel and get the shopping over before lunch? I daresay most of them close as it’s Saturday.’

  She was dying to ask him which shops he wanted to visit, but instead she said: ‘Oh, yes—a good many do. I expect you know your way?’

  ‘Er—yes, I believe so.’ They had slowed their pace now as London closed in around them, and when they had crossed the river she was a little surprised to see him turn the car into Whitehall and thence to Piccadilly. When he turned off into Berkeley Street and turned again into Mount Street she gave him a questioning glance. ‘Here we are,’ he said, and drew in before the entrance of the Connaught Hotel.

  ‘Here?’ Constantia uttered the question in a faint voice. ‘This is the Connaught—it’s five-star and heaven knows what else besides.’

  Jeroen was on the point of getting out. ‘My dear, getting married is no ordinary occasion; it seemed to me that a mild celebration was in order.’

  Constantia skipped out happily enough when he opened her door; perhaps he had been saving up, and after all it was only for one night. They went in together and she was impressed with the manner in which they were received; anyone would think, she decided, that Jeroen was a millionaire at least. She waited quietly while he signed the book and then accompanied him to a lift,
a porter trailing behind with their cases.

  They were on the first floor; she surveyed her luxurious room with mounting delight and then went through the bathroom to talk to Jeroen. ‘I say,’ she exclaimed, ‘isn’t this lovely?’ and then remembering: ‘It’s most awfully kind of you, Jeroen, I didn’t expect a treat like this.’

  He was standing at the window looking out, but he turned to look at her as she stood in the doorway. He said mildly, ‘Well, my dear, I had to make up the lack of trimmings at our wedding. Are you too tired to go out at once? We’ll lunch presently.’

  Constantia said happily that there was nothing she would like more than a browse round the shops. She skipped back to her own room to do things to her face, adjusted the hat to a more becoming angle and pronounced herself ready.

  ‘Where do you want to shop?’ she asked as they walked up Bond Street.

  ‘Here.’ He whisked her into Susan Small’s, and while she was still drawing a surprised breath to protest, asked a saleswoman to show his wife jersey suits. Constantia, still struggling to catch her breath and making hideous faces of warning at him behind the lady’s back, was swept away to a fitting room, to be shown and to choose the kind of outfit she had so often coveted; a skirt and sleeveless shirt in pale coffee jersey with a matching jacket striped with darker coffee. It had the simplicity of expensive clothes and she hadn’t dared to ask the price.

  She went into the showroom to let Jeroen see it and glowed under his approval and then went cold at his: ‘And a dress, I think, my dear. Something crêpey and pleated.’ He gave her a bland look which challenged her to speak, so she went mutely back and presently, deliciously bemused by the gorgeous colours and fabrics, she managed to make up her mind to a crêpe-de-chine dress; tiny pleats falling from a round yoke and belted by a cord, it was a dim strawberry pink, exactly right for the rubies in her ring.