Grasp a Nettle Read online

  The Professor bent to lift her from the street and she protested fiercely—a waste of time and breath, for he didn’t even bother to answer her, just settled her in the taxi, lifted Oliver into the seat by the driver, and then got in beside her.

  ‘We can’t go home,’ she muttered.

  ‘Not at once. You are going to have that head attended to and then we will have lunch—a meal will do you good. We can go home later.’

  She would have argued about that, but her head was beginning to ache again. All the same, she asked: ‘How did you know where we were?’

  ‘Dobbs had already told me where you intended to go, and if you remember, you mentioned it yourself during dinner yesterday evening. And now stop talking and give that headache a chance.’

  Jenny hadn’t really bothered to think where she was being taken. It was only as the taxi drew up before a quite obvious hospital entrance that she exclaimed: ‘Oh, there’s no need for me to go here!’

  ‘Be quiet,’ said the Professor, and lifted her out, keeping an arm round her while he paid the driver. ‘Go the other side of Jenny,’ he told Oliver, ‘and take her hand.’

  For such a small cut she felt that a great deal of fuss was being made; perhaps because the Professor was known; he would be a consultant there, of course, which accounted for the immediate response to his wishes. She was provided with tea, sat comfortably in a chair and had her head examined carefully under his watchful eyes before the wound was cleaned, covered, and her hair combed and tied back neatly. She felt quite herself by now and was able to exchange a few words with the Sister and nurse who had helped her, given her an ATS injection and assured her that she had nothing to worry about before handing her back to the Professor with a tender care which he, however, didn’t reflect. His casual: ‘OK?’ was presumably all that he felt it necessary to say before walking her out to the forecourt. True, his arm was under hers, but he would have done that for anyone who had just knocked themselves out…

  The Panther de Ville was there; he must have fetched it from somewhere—the hospital itself perhaps? That made sense. What didn’t make sense was the direction they took, for in a very few minutes they were driving down the Singel, the innermost semi-circular canal of the four principal ones which ringed the city, and Jenny wasn’t so silly that she didn’t know that travelling into the city’s heart wouldn’t get them on the road to den Haag. He had said something about a meal; perhaps he had a favourite restaurant. She felt hungry then, although she hoped that it wouldn’t be too noisy, thoughts which led naturally enough to remembering the state of her dress. She couldn’t possibly be seen in it—only a man, she thought crossly, would ignore such an important point.

  Only the Professor hadn’t ignored it; he turned into a narrow street lined with elegant houses and small shops and stopped outside one of them. He got out, saw Oliver safely on to the pavement and then opened the car door again. ‘Feel up to buying a dress?’ he asked casually. ‘You can’t go round in that thing.’

  She stiffened; ‘that thing’ had cost her a pretty penny not so long ago, although she had to admit that now it wasn’t fit to be seen. She allowed herself to be escorted into the shop—and a very elegant shop too—and wondered how he knew of it in the first place. The saleswoman knew him too; she smiled and chattered for a few moments and then broke into very fair English.

  ‘I have just the dress for you, miss—not such a charming blue, but elegant.’ She beamed widely. ‘Miss has a charming figure.’ A remark which drew no response from any of them as Jenny was led away to the fitting room.

  The dress was pretty, duck egg blue jersey, with wide sleeves and an open neck and with a silk blouse of a paler shade to wear beneath it. It was a perfect fit too, but when Jenny asked its price the saleswoman seemed suddenly bereft of all knowledge of English so that Jenny was forced to ask the Professor’s help. But before he answered her request, he took a long look, said: ‘I like it, don’t you, Oliver?’ and then went on: ‘I’ll settle for it now, you can pay me later.’

  Which he proceeded to do without waiting for her reply. She thanked him as they got back into the car, but he only nodded carelessly and said: ‘Now for lunch.’

  She wondered where they were going next. He had reversed the car smartly and was back in the Singel, only to turn away from it again down a quiet, treelined street, bordered by tall, narrow houses, each with double steps leading to an imposing door. There was a canal running down the centre of the street and the willow trees beside it rustled gently in the wind. It was a charming backwater, left over from the Golden Age, and Jenny exclaimed: ‘Oh, how delightfully peaceful!’ and then looked enquiringly at the Professor when he stopped before one of the houses.

  ‘My mother and father live here,’ he observed as he got out of the car, helped her out and then gave Oliver a hand. ‘They will be delighted to invite you for lunch.’

  Jenny uttered a surprised ‘Oh,’ and then racked her brain for something else to say—something graceful and polite as befitted the occasion. She could think of nothing suitable, so contented herself with: ‘Well, I am surprised.’

  ‘Why?’

  They were crossing the brick pavement with Oliver prancing along beside them. ‘Well, I didn’t suppose—that is, you never mentioned your family…’

  ‘There are quite a few things I haven’t mentioned.’ He smiled his mocking smile and Jenny frowned and looked away. ‘I had no idea that you were interested. Should I feel flattered?’

  ‘I’m quite sure that you get all the flattery you could wish for,’ she told him crossly as he banged the brass knocker on a door strong enough to withstand a siege.

  An elderly woman, very tall and thin and dressed in black, admitted them. She greeted the Professor warmly, smiled at Jenny and Oliver and waved a hand towards one of the doors in the narrow panelled hall. Jenny found herself borne along, the Professor’s large, cool hand under her elbow, Oliver hanging on to her other hand. She supposed it was the bang she had had on her head which made the morning’s happenings seem so unreal. It was like being in a dream where one had no power to do what one wished; the Professor had taken charge without so much as a by-your-leave—not that she would have been capable of doing much about anything. She felt sick just remembering her fright when she had discovered that Oliver had gone, and something of her feelings must have shown on her face, for her companion asked unexpectedly: ‘Do you feel all right? Would you prefer to lie down?’

  ‘No—thank you.’ She gave him a grave look. ‘Aren’t you angry with me?’

  His face was grave too. ‘Yes, but probably not for the same reasons—and this is hardly the time or the place, is it?’

  He opened the door and stood aside to let her pass him. The room was long and lofty and rather dim, with a big window at either end of it. Its dark panelled walls were hung with paintings and the polished wood floor was covered with fine silk carpets. The furniture was dark and solid and the chairs deep and comfortable. There were two people in the room; an elderly man, white-haired and as outsize as his son, and a small plump lady with a pretty face and dark hair only just beginning to turn grey. She appeared considerably younger than her husband and was dressed with great elegance; she came hurrying across the room to embrace her son and greet Jenny and Oliver with a charm devoid of curiosity. Jenny liked her; she liked the Professor’s father too. He had blue twinkling eyes and a slow smile which put her at her ease at once as Mevrouw van Draak te Solendijk sat her down on an outsize sofa, sat down beside her, made room for Oliver to settle between them, and began a pleasant undemanding conversation.

  The Professor hadn’t said much when he had introduced them, but presently he interrupted the talk he was having with his father to ask: ‘Shall I let Truus know that there will be three more for lunch, Mama?’ And Jenny made haste to say: ‘Oh, please—it’s awfully kind of you, but we simply can’t…’

  The Professor ignored this and his mother smiled at her nicely while it was left to his father
to say: ‘Of course you must stay—we are delighted to meet you and Oliver, my dear, we have heard so much about you. And we don’t go out a great deal; if you could bear with our elderly company?’

  He was a poppet; perhaps his son would be like that in another three decades or so… Jenny blinked rapidly and assured him that they would love to stay.

  Several hours later, driving back in the Panther, sitting in the back this time, while Oliver sat proudly beside the driver, Jenny mulled over her afternoon. It had been very pleasant; the Professor might be a bad-tempered, arrogant man, but not with everyone, it seemed. She had seen a different side of him and he had seemed ten years younger. They had lunched at a round table in a richly sombre dining room and Oliver had behaved beautifully. The food had been delicious, served by a cheerful, round-faced girl who called Oliver schatje and brought him a special ice-cream in place of the elaborate dessert served to his elders. He had shared Jenny’s lemonade too, for the Professor had suggested mildly that after such a crack on the head, anything stronger might give her a headache again. She had agreed so meekly that he had given her a surprised look, this time quite without mockery.

  Her thoughts occupied her nicely until they reached Kasteel te Solendijk, while she studied the back of the Professor’s head and thought how handsome he was, even from that angle, but they received a severe jolt when she remembered that he was angry with her. He would save his rage until she had quite recovered from her tumble, of course, and then she would get the full force of it. Well, there was no point in dwelling upon it. She closed her eyes and when she opened them again they were almost there.

  It was as they were going indoors that she asked him: ‘Why doesn’t your father live here? This is the family home, isn’t it?’

  He stopped to answer her. ‘Oh, yes—although the house in Amsterdam is a family home too. But it is more convenient for my parents to live there now that they are older—besides, this place is more suitable for a married man with a family.’

  Her world spun around her. ‘You’re married—and a family…’

  She didn’t see the gleam in his eyes. He answered smoothly: ‘Not yet.’ He held the door open for her and when she was inside: ‘I should go and lie down for an hour or two if I were you. I’ll take Oliver with me in the car— I’ve a couple of calls to make.’

  ‘Aunt Bess…’

  ‘Leave her to me. Go upstairs like a sensible girl.’

  Jenny did as she was told and fell asleep almost at once, to wake an hour or two later, immediately worrying away at the Professor’s remark about getting married, so that her rest did her no good at all. She got up at last. A breath of air would clear her head and help her to be her usual sensible self before she dressed for the evening. She tidied herself quickly and went through the house, seeing nobody, although she could hear voices in the drawing room; she was intent on slipping into the garden through a side door. She had it half open when the Professor said from behind her: ‘Ah, there you are…slipping away…’

  Jenny was up in arms at once. ‘I was not—I merely wanted to walk in the gardens. How dare you…’

  He sounded amused. ‘My dear girl, how you do take me up!’ He took her hand off the door handle and closed the door, and she braced herself. He was going to take the lid off his temper and tell her off for being careless about Oliver. She made herself look at him and said snappily:

  ‘All right, you’re bursting to pick holes in me, aren’t you, just because Oliver went off like that—well, you don’t have to! I know that I shouldn’t have let him go out of my sight for one single second, but I don’t need you to tell me.’

  ‘I wasn’t going to.’ His voice was mild.

  ‘Oh, yes, you were!’ Her cheeks were indignantly pink by now. ‘You were fuming—and how was I supposed to whistle when I’d knocked myself on the head. You—you swore at me and you called me silly…’ Her voice had risen a little and the desire to burst into tears was so great that she had to stop to gulp them down and found that she couldn’t any more. ‘I hate you!’ she blazed and flew back across the hall and upstairs to her room. She stayed there, pleading a headache through the closed door to Aunt Bess, and refusing the tray sent up to her. What with hunger and weeping she passed a miserable night.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  JENNY LOOKED AT her pale, puffy-eyed face with distaste in the morning. She was a fright, and no make-up could quite disguise her pink nose and red eyes. She did the best she could and was thankful to find that only Oliver was at breakfast. The Professor was leaving the house as she went down, but beyond giving her a quiet good morning as he shut his house door, he had nothing to say.

  Aunt Bess had, though. Surveying her from her bed where she was enjoying breakfast, she observed. ‘You’ve been bawling your eyes out, Janet, and I should like to know why. If you’re still fussing about Oliver’s little adventure yesterday, you may forget it—no one attaches the least blame to you.’

  ‘Oh, yes they do,’ cried Jenny. ‘Professor van Draak was beastly—you have no idea! I wish I’d never come—I wish Margaret had come instead of me in the first place, then perhaps he’d be better tempered.’

  Her aunt buttered toast with deliberation. ‘You think that Eduard—and I do wish you would stop calling him Professor in that absurd fashion—is pining for her?’

  She obviously wanted an answer. ‘Well, Oliver said…and I saw them together at Dimworth…I mean, Aunt Bess, it’s rather hard on him that I’m here and not Margaret. He’s not had much chance she’s very pretty and someone will marry her sooner or later.’

  ‘I should have thought that he had had a very good chance; he is rich, successful and good-looking—everything Margaret considers important in life. However, I do see what you mean.’ Aunt Bess looked thoughtful and a little crafty. ‘But there’s no point in this discussion, is there, Jenny? And we shall be going home in a few days now. Eduard has asked me to stay for a further day or so and I’ve told him that we shall be delighted to do so. I should like the opportunity of seeing something of the country again and he would like me to meet his parents. A pity that his brother and sisters are away.’

  ‘Brother and sisters?’ repeated Jenny, just like a parrot. ‘I didn’t know that he had any—he doesn’t look the kind of man to have any family at all. I was surprised to find that he had a mother and father…’

  ‘Don’t be absurd, Janet. There are three sisters and one brother, all younger than he,’ said Aunt Bess briskly. ‘The brother is at present in Ottawa—he is also a doctor, on some course or other. His three sisters are all married, two of them are living in Friesland, the youngest is travelling with her husband in France.’

  ‘Well, I never!’ muttered Jenny. Somehow the fact that the Professor was the eldest of quite a large family gave her a different idea of him; she had always thought of him as being withdrawn and solitary, and here he was in the bosom of a loving home circle. Her thoughts were interrupted by her aunt.

  ‘I shall get up now and we will go for a drive. I feel very well, although I shall be glad to know the results of all those tests. Supposing we go to Scheveningen? We could have lunch there and Oliver can do his shopping.’ She pushed the bedtable away from her. ‘Now go along, my dear, and keep him amused until I’m ready.’

  Jenny had been gone quite a few minutes before Miss Creed lifted the telephone receiver beside her bed and asked for an English number.

  Scheveningen was fun, even though Jenny saw Eduard van Draak’s face wherever she looked. If this was being in love, she thought morosely, then the quicker she found a cure for it, the better. They had lunch at the Corvette in the Kurhaus, a lively, noisy place which delighted Oliver and made conversation of a serious nature well-nigh impossible, which from Jenny’s point of view was very satisfactory. And after lunch Aunt Bess stayed in the car while she and Oliver went to the shops to buy a present for his mother.

  There were a great many things to choose from, but his choice fell on a gaudy table lamp in the shap
e of a Dutch girl in costume which, when the right button was pressed, played ‘The Bluebells of Scotland’. It cost a good deal more money than he possessed and Jenny obliged with the difference, inwardly uneasy as to its reception by Margaret. But surely she would realise that Oliver found it a splendid gift and at least pretend to like it?

  They bore the thing back to the car and unwrapped it to show Aunt Bess, who gazed at it with a wooden face before remarking warmly: ‘Why, Oliver, what a lovely present—just what your mother would like to have. Did you choose it all by yourself?’ She gave him an unexpected kiss. ‘Clever boy! Now we will return to Kasteel te Solendijk and have our tea, I think.’

  Jenny and Oliver were in the drawing room, trying out the lamp’s raucous tune, when the Professor returned home. He flung the door wide with a thunderous face and a: ‘What on earth…?’ and Jenny could have hugged him for his swift: ‘That’s something quite out of the ordinary—is it for your mother, Oliver?’

  The little boy looked at him anxiously. ‘Do you like it?’ he enquired. ‘I chose it myself, and Jenny says Mummy will love it because I found it specially for her.’

  ‘Jenny is quite right—presents chosen for someone you love are always doubly precious. Shall we have that tune again?’

  He got down on his knees beside the child and listened to ‘The Bluebells of Scotland’ again, and when it was finished spoke to Jenny for the first time. ‘Delightful, isn’t it? Have you had a good day?’ His voice was polite and formal.

  ‘Yes, thank you. Aunt Bess enjoyed herself very much—I think it did her good. She’s resting now.’ Equally polite, she added: ‘I hope you had a good day too.’