Sun and Candlelight Page 11

  He initiated her into the serious matter of the family silver, too, a collection of great age and beauty which made her eyes sparkle. ‘The Guv likes it used every day,’ explained Al, ‘’e says wot’s the use of ’aving it if we ain’t goin’ ter use it.’

  But Nanny avoided her and although the children had their lunch and tea with her each day, they remained strangers to her; always polite, always watching her. She did her best to ignore the fact and she said nothing to Sarre—indeed, when he was there too their manner towards her, on the surface at least, was friendly. All the same, she was fast coming to the conclusion that they didn’t like her. And Anna—there had been no whisper of her—and no sign. For an old friend she was very reluctant to visit the house. Perhaps she and Sarre had quarrelled, perhaps Anna was upset because he had married again. Alethea longed to ask Sarre about her, but if she did he might think that she was jealous of someone he had quite reasonably called an old friend.

  She had been married for just three weeks when she and Sarre were invited to dine with the burgermeester.

  ‘Get yourself a pretty dress,’ Sarre suggested in his kind way. ‘Never mind if you’re extravagant, I want you to look nice.’

  So she went to town, combing the boutiques and the fashionable stores until she found something she thought Sarre would consider ‘nice’. It was a pale lavender silk with a high frilled neck, long full sleeves gathered into tight cuffs, and delicate lace frills outlining its square yoke. The price made her feel quite faint, but mindful of Sarre’s words, she bought matching slippers and a little dorothy bag, an extravagant trifle of lavender silk and lace to match the gown. She bore them home in triumph, deciding not to let Sarre see them until the next evening at the very last moment before they left the house. It was as well she had made up her mind to this, because he didn’t come home all day and when she went down to breakfast the next morning, he had been home, Al told her, slept for an hour or so, had an early breakfast, and gone again. Alethea ate her breakfast unhurriedly, talked to the children, although they had very little to say in return, and wished that she saw more of Sarre. They hadn’t been out together once, and although he was pleased to have her with him when he was home, it was never more than for an hour or two. It wouldn’t have been lonely if Wienand had been there, but he was away in New Zealand, visiting his parents.

  Sarre didn’t come home to lunch either, and the children were gloomy and inclined to be peevish. She felt peevish herself; for some reason she had been thinking about Nick all the morning, although she had been making valiant efforts not to do so. It was silly and a little dangerous, she knew that, and if only she saw more of Sarre she might be able to forget him more easily.

  Intent on cheering up the children and herself as well, she asked:

  ‘Would you like to see the dress I’ve bought for this evening?’

  The response was hardly enthusiastic, but she persevered. ‘I’ll come up to the playroom before we go, shall I?’

  They agreed half-heartedly, looking at her with their inimical eyes and she thought suddenly how pathetic they were; so determined not to like her. If only she knew the reason…

  But at tea time, out of doors in the garden with a tea tray on the elegant wrought iron table under the trees, they were surprisingly friendly, reminding her that she was to dress early for their benefit, asking her what jewellery she was going to wear.

  That was easy to answer; she had none, only her engagement ring and the heavy gold chain she had inherited from her mother, and that wouldn’t be suitable. ‘But it’s such a pretty dress,’ she explained, ‘I don’t think I shall need any.’

  Sarre had telephoned to say that he would be delayed, that she was to dress whether he was home or not, so she made a leisurely toilet, soaking herself in a hot bath for far too long, brushing out her newly washed hair, making sure that her nails were just right. But at length she was ready and the result, she had to admit, was more than satisfactory; her hair shone with a rich brown gloss, her make-up was just enough, excitement had given her a nice colour. She swept upstairs to the floor above, quite pleased with herself.

  The children were waiting for her, and so was Nanny, who got up from her chair, giving her a look from pebble-hard eyes as she muttered a greeting, so that a little of Alethea’s pleasure faded. She advanced rather awkwardly into the centre of the room, and asked: ‘Well, do you like my dress?’ and then added a few words in her stumbling Dutch to Nanny.

  The children murmured something or other and Nanny said quite a lot, although Alethea didn’t make sense of any of it. ‘May I touch?’ asked Jacomina.

  Alethea walked over to where the little girl was standing. ‘Of course—look, take some in your hand—it’s silk. Perhaps Papa will buy you a dress of the same stuff—it would be pretty for parties.’

  Jacomina put out a hand and caught hold of the wide skirt. ‘Nanny won’t let me have a pretty dress, she says it’s a wicked waste for a little girl.’

  Alethea glanced at Nanny and smiled, glad that she couldn’t understand.

  ‘I’m sure we can persuade Nanny to change her mind,’ she observed diplomatically. ‘You see, you’re not a little girl any more, you know how to keep your clothes clean and I think it might be nice if you helped choose them too.’

  Jacomina smiled widely. Just for a moment she forgot that she didn’t like Alethea. ‘Oh, may I? Would Papa mind?’

  ‘I don’t think so, I’ll ask him—better still, we’ll ask him together.’

  Sarel and Nanny had been standing silent. What happened next took Alethea completely unawares. Sarel picked up the vase of flowers on the mantelpiece, marched across the room and threw it at Alethea’s dress. Fortunately he had aimed badly; the flowers missed altogether, only the water cascaded down the front of her lovely dress.

  She stood like a statue for a second or two, unable to believe what had happened, looking from Sarel to Jacomina and then at Nanny, who stood, making no effort to do anything about it. Why, she wanted him to do it, thought Alethea, she’s not going to say a word. At the same instant she made up her mind what she was going to do. ‘That’s just the sort of thing I do myself,’ she said cheerfully. ‘What good luck it’s only water—it’ll dry, I’m sure. I’ll go and see what I can do.’

  She even managed a smile, a smile which she kept pinned on her face even when Sarel said roughly: ‘I’m glad—I hope your dress is spoilt—I hope there’s a great big stain! You won’t be able to wear it… Papa will scold you…’ He went a little pale. ‘You’ll tell Papa?’

  Alethea gave him a long, considered look. ‘No, I don’t sneak. I know that you did it deliberately and I think that Nanny is as pleased as you are, but rest assured that I never tell tales, Sarel.’

  She swept out of the room, leaving the door open and hurried back to her own room to examine the damage. It wasn’t too bad, but she would have to get it dry. There was a hairdryer in the bathroom. She switched it on and with infinite care and her heart in her mouth in case it should leave a mark, dried the great wet patch. She succeeded: perhaps there was the faintest mark along the margins, but she was sure that only she could see it because she knew where the patch had been. She put the hairdryer back, just in time, because Sarre knocked on the door and came in.

  He hadn’t changed yet and he had only fifteen minutes in which to do so, but he showed no sign of haste. ‘That’s a charming dress,’ he remarked, and stood to study her before crossing the thick carpet to where she stood with her back to the window. He had a flat case in his hand; he opened it now and laid it down on the dressing table. There was a necklace of Russian sapphires and diamonds inside, a delicate thing, glowing with colour. He put it round her neck and fastened it and stood back to have a look. ‘Very nice. I hope you like it, my dear. It was my grandmother’s. There are earrings too—are your ears pierced?’

  Alethea said yes in a rather dim voice. The magnificence of the necklace had left her without words. She took the jewels he handed her and s
lipped them into her ears; pear-shaped drops, surrounded by diamonds, matching the necklace and ring.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she began. ‘I’ve never had anything so lovely in my life before.’

  He smiled. ‘Grandmother would have loved you in them,’ he said. ‘They become you very well. Have we time for a drink before I dress?’

  ‘No—but we’ll have one.’ She added with a smile: ‘I think I need one—I’m a bit scared!’

  They went downstairs to the drawing room and he poured their drinks. ‘Is that what it is?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re—er—ruffled. You are such a serene person, Alethea, but this evening something is upsetting you.’

  She hadn’t known that he noticed her like that. She said quickly: ‘No—I’m just very excited.’ She sat down in a little armchair, her silken skirts billowing around her.

  ‘Have the children seen your dress?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes—I went upstairs a little while ago. Nanny saw it too.’ It was an effort to keep her voice light, but she managed it. ‘Jacomina would like a silk dress too, but Nanny thinks it’s a waste for a little girl. She’s quite right, of course, but do you suppose Jacomina could have one for her birthday or Christmas? Something she could choose for herself.’

  Sarre looked surprised. ‘Well, of course, I had no idea…’ he broke off to smile warmly at her. ‘You see how badly I needed a wife and the children a mother. They’ve got all the right clothes, I hope?’

  ‘Oh, rather, but you know what children are; they get a taste for fashion when they’re quite young these days.’

  He put his glass down. ‘Do exactly what you like, my dear—buy them what they want and like. If Nanny doesn’t approve, I’ll smooth her down.’ He paused on his way to the door. ‘She gets on well with you?’ His eyes were very searching.

  ‘Oh, yes!’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Everything’s just fine. Will you have time to see them before we go?’

  He nodded and went out of the room and straight up to the playroom.

  The children were at the table, doing their homework, and Nanny was in her usual chair. There was a large damp patch on the floor near the door, and the bedraggled flowers had been thrust back any old how into the vase.

  The children rushed at him and he nodded to Nanny, who had got to her feet, looking uneasy. He enquired after their day and then asked casually:

  ‘Who has been throwing the flowers around?’

  Both children went scarlet, staring at him tongue-tied. It was Nanny who began a long rambling explanation. When she had finished, all Sarre said was: ‘Well, a good thing there wasn’t anything or anyone in the way.’ He picked up Nero and fondled the puppy and watched his children relax. Someone had been up to something, he decided. It would be no good asking now; Nanny would only embark on another long-drawn-out fib. He bade them a cheerful goodnight and went away to dress.

  The evening was a tremendous success; the burgermeester and his lady were elderly, kind and delighted with Alethea. They handed her round the roomful of guests as though she had been something precious and breakable, and after a few minutes of pure terror, she began to enjoy herself. Sarre stayed with her until they went in to dinner and as her partners were both middle-aged, rather learned gentlemen intent on entertaining her, she became quite easy with them, and afterwards, in the vast, grand drawing room, she found the ladies just as friendly.

  They drove the short distance home in silence, but once indoors with Al hovering with coffee and the lamps alight in the drawing room, Sarre suggested that they should sit together for a little while before going to bed.

  They were drinking their coffee when he remarked gently: ‘You have never looked lovelier, Alethea. I’m very proud of you—you caused quite a sensation.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re pleased.’ She eyed him over her coffee cup. He looked quite a sensation himself.

  He got up and crossed over to where she was sitting on one of the sofas and sat down beside her. She nearly dropped her cup when he picked up a fold of her skirt. ‘I’m sure no one else could see it, perhaps it’s because I’ve been studying you so closely this evening—there’s a very faint mark on your skirt—water, perhaps?’ He smiled at her, his eyebrows raised slightly.

  She put the cup down, unaware of the deep breath she took before she spoke. ‘Oh, lord, can you really see it? I thought it had gone completely. I—I spilt some water while I was dressing—such a butterfingers—does it show very much?’

  ‘It’s almost invisible,’ he assured her easily. ‘So that’s why you were uptight this evening.’

  She was quite unaware of the relief in her face. ‘Yes—I hoped no one would see it…’ She looked at him. ‘I hope it’s not spoilt.’

  He sounded positively soothing. ‘Let Mrs McCrea have it; she’s a wizard with catastrophes. Did she like the dress?’

  Happy to be off dangerous ground, Alethea said: ‘Yes, and so did Al. They’re dears.’

  ‘You’ve seen more of them than of me, I’m afraid. Things should be easier next week, though, Wienand will be back and I’ll be able to take some time off. I have to go to Hamburg shortly, though, but remember that you’re coming with me.’

  She got to her feet, and he stood up, towering over her. ‘I’ll simply love that,’ she told him, ‘and it was a lovely evening.’ She touched the necklace. ‘And thank you for these.’

  Sarre bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I’ve neglected you shamefully—we’ll go to see my solicitor next week and there are several aunts and uncles…’ He smiled down at her. ‘Goodnight, Alethea.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LIFE WAS SUDDENLY more fun, Alethea discovered during the next week. Sarre came home each day to lunch, and once or twice he came home for tea as well, and on two evenings, after dinner, he had taken her out in the Bristol, into the country to the north of the city where it was mostly farmland and not much traffic, and handed the car over to her, sitting beside her without saying a word while she got over her initial nervousness and then, once she had discovered that the Bristol was as easy to drive as her Colt, still saying nothing when she went much too fast and narrowly missed sending them into a canal. At the last minute he had laid a hand over hers and turned the wheel and remarked on a laugh: ‘You’re a demon driver, aren’t you? Who taught you?’

  ‘The village blacksmith, only he doesn’t shoe many horses any more.’

  ‘You ride?’

  ‘I used to—when I was a child before my mother and father died. And on and off since, if there was a horse which needed exercising…’

  ‘I’ve got a cottage in the Veluwe. We go there sometimes in the autumn—with the children, of course; they ride quite well. We might go for a week this year.’

  Alethea said in a surprised voice: ‘Oh, have you got another house as well as the one in Groningen?’

  He said almost apologetically: ‘It’s really quite small, and I have to have somewhere where I can keep the horses and the children’s ponies.’

  Cottages and horses and ponies; he took them so very much for granted, but each one was a fresh surprise to her.

  She had more surprises when they visited the solicitor, too—a dry-as-dust old man with a bald head and pale blue eyes which were still shrewd. He received them in an office on the top floor of an old house in the heart of Groningen and offered them a glass of sherry while he and Sarre discussed money. Presently Sarre turned to her, switching to English. ‘The little matter of your allowance, my dear.’ He mentioned a sum which made her dizzy, and then went on to explain about wills and bequests and funds. ‘And I thought that next time we go over to England we might look around for a house—we’ll put it in your name, of course.’

  ‘But why should I want a house?’ she asked.

  ‘It will all come under the marriage settlements,’ he told her soothingly.

  ‘But the children…?’

  He gave her
a gentle smile. ‘They’re already provided for.’

  She said in a whisper: ‘You’re very rich, aren’t you?’ Just as though she didn’t already know.

  He nodded. ‘I did tell you, my dear.’

  ‘Just you—or all your family?’

  ‘I’m afraid all the family, my dear.’ He took her hand absentmindedly in his. ‘You don’t need to worry about it, Alethea.’

  His hand felt cool and firm and she wanted to leave hers there for ever. Suddenly she knew that she would never have to worry about anything again because Sarre would do all the worrying for her; he would look after her too. A pleasant feeling crept over her and she wasn’t sure what it was, but she had no chance to find out because Mijnheer Smidt began reading something out loud and presently she had to sign some papers, and when they got home the children demanded their father’s attention. They needed help with their homework, they declared, and he went away with them, up to the playroom. Alethea could hear their voices and laughter echoing through the house while she sat in the little sitting room, looking through the textbooks she had been given by the nice little old lady whom Sarre had found to teach her Dutch. It would be lovely, thought Alethea wistfully, if she could have been there too, laughing and joining in the family jokes.

  The children still treated her as though she were an unwelcome guest, but only when their father wasn’t there, and once or twice she had caught them looking at her in a puzzled way. She had ignored that, though, trying to behave as she imagined any new stepmother would behave, never taking anything for granted, taking care not to intrude into their lives unless she was invited. Which she seldom was.

  It was only a few days later when Sarre told her that he was going to Hamburg in two days’ time and how did she feel about going with him.