The Doubtful Marriage Page 12

  The drive round the island took almost all day, for they loitered to admire the views, wander round the cathedral at La Laguna, and drink coffee in a pavement café before following the road down the east coast, stopping again at Candelaria so that Matilda might marvel at the black sand and the statues of Guanches lining the sea front. The country began to change, its vivid greenness giving way to dry earth, although the coastline was enchanting. They didn’t stop at El Medano—obviously it was a budding tourist centre—but went on to the Costa del Silencia, with its rocky coast and peace and quiet. They had lunch at the charming little hotel there, then found a small cove, nicely sheltered from the sun, and presently they swam.

  When they drove on later they didn’t stop at Los Cristianos but paused to drink their tea in Los Gigantes before making their way back to the hotel. A lovely day rounded off with a delightful evening.

  The last day came too soon and they decided to go to the lido once more and do nothing but lie in the sun and swim. They had explored the island thoroughly and wandered round the shops and now next day they would fly back to Holland and she would be lucky if she saw Rauwerd for more than an hour or so each day. They wandered down to the pool and found long chairs, and Matilda, in a vivid bikini, veiled by a thin matching wrap, her dark hair crowned by a large straw hat, was unaware of the stares of the men around her.

  Rauwerd settled himself beside her, chuckling. ‘I’m not surprised that you are collecting leers from all sides, Tilly—you look good enough to eat, which is more than I can say for those around us. I’ve never seen so much bare flesh so unwisely exposed, and I’m not speaking as a medical man.’ He turned over on his back and looked sideways at her.

  ‘Have I ever told you that you’re a beautiful young woman?’

  She was glad of the wide brim of her sunhat; it screened her face nicely from his stare. She said quietly, ‘No, you haven’t and I’m not—it’s just the blue sky and the sun and a very expensive beach outfit…’ She went on slowly, ‘I’m the same girl as I always was, only dressed differently.’

  ‘Not quite the same girl,’ he reminded her. ‘You’re married now.’ He spoke silkily and she bit back the retort which sprung to her lips. It would never do to destroy the still shaky foundations of a deeper friendship between them. She rolled over and smiled widely at him.

  ‘I like being married and I’ve loved our holiday. I hope we’ll be able to do it again some time!’

  He said lazily, ‘I’m a busy man, but we’ll see what we can do.’

  ‘Have you enjoyed it, too?’

  His eyes were half shut. ‘Oh, indeed, yes.’ And then, ‘Shall we swim?’

  It was raining at Schiphol when, well on schedule, they landed, and Holland looked flat and uninteresting after the mountains of the Canary Islands, but once in Leiden Matilda forgot all that. Jan had met them at the airport with a wide smile, but that was nothing compared with the warmth of their welcome home: Bep and Emma waiting on the doorstep and the two daily maids hovering in the background. Matilda tidied herself and hurried downstairs to join Rauwerd in the drawing-room, to find the tea tray already there and him immersed in a great pile of letters.

  She poured the tea and he accepted his cup with a vague nod, so that she went to sit opposite him, as still as a mouse, sipping from her own cup. It was with a sinking heart that she realised that he had become immediately immersed in his correspondence. She drank a second cup of tea and, since he seemed unaware of her, went upstairs to her room and unpacked her things, while Emma fussed gently around, collecting things for cleaning and the laundry. That didn’t take long; Emma went away presently and Matilda sat down before her dressing-table, did her face and her hair and then changed into a pretty dress. It was almost time for dinner; surely Rauwerd would have finished his post by now. She was half way down the staircase when she heard his voice; she couldn’t understand what he was saying but she heard him exclaim ‘Nikky’ in a laughing voice and then ‘Tot straks’, and that meant, near enough, presently.

  She went on down the stairs and her heart went down into her pretty slippers as she went; Nikky had seemed far away and forgotten while they had been on holiday, but of course that wasn’t the case; she had been there all the time, ready to pounce the moment they got back to Leiden. She went into the dining-room, outwardly serene, inwardly seething.

  Rauwerd was standing by the window, looking into the street. ‘Ah, there you are, my dear. Will you forgive me if I leave you to dine alone? Something has come up which needs dealing with at once.’

  ‘The hospital?’ asked Matilda mildly.

  ‘Nikky. She has become so used to me helping her when she gets into difficulties about something; I can’t let her down.’ He poured their drinks and handed her a glass of sherry. ‘Nice to be home, isn’t it?’

  ‘Delightful,’ said Matilda evenly. ‘Don’t let me keep you if you want to leave right away. I’ll just go to the kitchen and tell Bep to do something about dinner.’ She flashed him a brilliant smile, put down her untouched sherry and left him there.

  Bep was puzzled and put out. She had planned a splendid meal for their homecoming and when Matilda told her that the doctor wouldn’t be there to eat it, she almost burst into tears.

  ‘But I shall enjoy it,’ declared Matilda stoutly, ‘and I’m famished. Perhaps you would leave sandwiches for the doctor? I don’t know when he will be back; very late I expect.’

  She was crossing the hall as he opened the front door. ‘Have a nice evening,’ she said flippantly. ‘It’ll make a welcome change for you.’ She swept into the drawing-room and shut the door on his surprised face.

  Matilda had plenty of time to think the situation over. She had dined in solitary state, eating something of everything so as not to upset Bep and then, after a suitable interval, going up to her room. But not to sleep. She settled into one of the comfortable chairs and, clearing her head of rage, envy and near panic, made plans for a future which, at the moment, didn’t look too rosy. Obviously she had been living in cloud cuckoo land, so she must forget the two weeks that they had just spent together. Rauwerd had wanted a wife to run his house, and come home to, someone who would cope with the social side of his life without bothering him so that he could get on with his work. And Nikky, said a small voice, interrupting her thoughts. So she would have to be just that. She might not have his love but she was his wife; she would do all the things expected of her: entertaining, get to know all the right people at the medical school, join all the committees she was asked to, take an interest in local charities, be a good daughter-in-law, and, when he wanted her company, comply willingly.

  ‘Mid-Victorian,’ said Matilda loudly to the empty room. ‘Only I’m not sitting back and taking it lying down, even if it takes me a lifetime.’ He liked her; she was sure of that. He enjoyed her company, they liked doing the same things and they shared a sense of humour; the only thing missing was his love.

  She got ready for bed and closed her eyes resolutely. She would begin how she intended to go on; she would go to sleep and not lie awake wondering when he would be home. She didn’t hear him come in hours later and make his way to his room.

  After breakfast she was friendly and suitably quiet while he read his letters, answered his brief remarks with a few placid ones of her own and wished him a pleasant day when he got up to go.

  ‘I’ll be home for lunch.’ He told her as he went and she said with just the right touch of warmth, ‘Oh, good.’

  She had post of her own. An invitation to coffee at the medical director’s house—a friendly little note from his wife apologising for the short notice but saying that she was anxious that Matilda should meet a few people already known to Rauwerd. There was a letter from Rose, too, asking her to go to lunch in a couple of days’ time, and another invitation from a local charity. There was a telephone call after breakfast from Rauwerd’s mother asking if they were free to go and see them the following Sunday. Matilda said that she would have to ask Rauwerd, b
ut if he were free, she was sure that they would be delighted.

  Quite a good beginning, she decided; the busier her days were, the better. Rauwerd had wanted a wife to come home to, but there wasn’t much point in that if he was going to turn tail and rush off to Nikky at the drop of a hat. She must contrive to be away from home from time to time.

  She went to the kitchen and consulted with Bep, had a chat with Emma, took the shopping list she was offered and walked to the shops. The list was a short one; she was back with time to spare before setting out for the medical director’s house on the other side of the canal.

  It was a large, old-fashioned house set in a pleasant garden and close to the medical school. Matilda was ushered into a large drawing-room filled with ladies of all ages. She had expected half-a-dozen fellow visitors and she paused in the doorway, feeling shy. Mevrouw van Kalk surged towards her, a large elderly woman with a kind face, and shook her hand.

  ‘My dear Mevrouw van Kempler, I am so delighted to meet you, come and be introduced—you know Rauwerd’s partners’ wives, do you not? Here is Mevrouw Troost, our Senior Medical Officer’s wife, and this is…’

  The introductions took a long time but once they were over Matilda began to enjoy herself. They were kind, all of them, putting her at her ease and swamping her with invitations to coffee and tea in their own homes. Presently the talk turned to the Spring Ball.

  ‘You will, of course, be coming?’ said Mevrouw van Kalk. ‘It is a splendid affair and it will be so nice to see Rauwerd partnering his wife at last. We were all beginning to think that he was going to remain a bachelor for the rest of his days.’

  Matilda smiled and nodded and answered questions and talked for a while with Beatrix and Marie and Gerda, inviting them to tea. ‘Friday?’ she wanted to know. ‘I have a Dutch lesson in the morning so I shall be able to practise on you all.’

  She walked back home and found Rauwerd already there.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ She greeted him cheerfully, while her heart thudded against her ribs at the sight of him. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t at home. You’re early. I’ve been having a coffee with Mevrouw van Kalk and I met ever so many wives—it’ll take me weeks to work off all the invitations to coffee and tea. It was great fun, too. I must work hard at my Dutch. I’ve a lesson tomorrow. I’ll just go and tidy before lunch.’

  She skipped away rather breathless, without giving him a chance to get in a word edgeways. But at lunch she asked after his morning, expressed the wish that he would have a good afternoon and mentioned that Rose wanted her to have lunch. ‘So you won’t mind if I go to Amsterdam?’ she asked matter-of-factly. ‘Mevrouw van Kalk says there is a splendid train service.’

  ‘Jan will drive you; you can phone when you are ready to come back. Taking revenge, Tilly?’ He spoke quietly, watching her unsmiling.

  It was wonderful how easy it was to conceal one’s feelings when one really wanted to. She opened her eyes wide. ‘Revenge, Rauwerd? What do you mean? If you don’t want me to go to Amsterdam, then I won’t.’ She gave him a questioning smile.

  ‘By all means go to see Rose. I can’t take Dickens with me this afternoon. Would you mind taking him for a walk later on? He is obedient, but perhaps you’d better keep him on a lead.’

  ‘Oh, good, I’d love to. We’ll go to the end of Rapenburg and up the other side. Will that be long enough?’ She refilled his coffee cup. ‘Your mother would like us to visit them on Sunday. I said I’d ask you and ring her back.’

  ‘Lunch? Yes, I’ll be free, though I may have to go out on Sunday evening.’

  Matilda’s insides came to a halt. Nikky again. She said pleasantly, ‘Oh, then I’ll let her know, shall I?’ And then, ‘You have so many friends, Rauwerd, and they all have wives; I’m sure I’ll never be at a loss for something to do.’

  He gave her another keen glance. ‘I am glad you are happy, Matilda.’

  He got up to go and rather surprisingly dropped a kiss on her cheek as he went.

  He was home by five o’clock, a circumstance which gave Matilda great satisfaction, unhappily short-lived, for after less than half an hour’s desultory talk he observed that he had several phone calls to make and he went off to his study. Matilda closed the Dutch grammar she had been worrying over with something of a snap and wandered upstairs; it was early to change her dress but she had no intention of sitting there waiting for him to return. She mooned around, discarding first one dress and then another, and finally settled on a silvery grey woollen crêpe, very demure, very becoming and wickedly expensive. The dress called for extra care with her face and hair and it wanted but ten minutes to dinner time by the time she went back to the drawing-room. Rauwerd was there, sitting in his chair and surprisingly doing nothing. He got up when she went in and poured her a drink.

  ‘That’s a pretty dress,’ he commented, and then, ‘I must go out after dinner…I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You don’t have to be sorry,’ said Matilda matter-of-factly. ‘I quite understand.’

  He raised his eyebrows and although his face was grave she had the impression that he was secretly amused. ‘Do you? So I don’t need to explain?’

  ‘Heavens, no. After all, you explained everything very clearly before we married.’ She gave him a sweet smile and tossed off her sherry.

  Over dinner they discussed giving a dinner party; the partners and their wives, of course, Rose and Sybren, Professor Tacx and, it went without saying, Nikky.

  ‘Next week?’ suggested Rauwerd. ‘Tuesday? Will you write the notes and I’ll get them posted tomorrow? Don’t forget it’s the Spring Ball at the end of next week, an annual event of some splendour. Get yourself a new ball gown, Tilly; get Jan to drive you to den Haag. A pity your car hasn’t been delivered yet.’

  She made a pleasant rejoinder, poured his coffee and said equally pleasantly, ‘If I’m to write those notes, I’d better begin straight away. I can do them in English? Good, then I’ll go into the sitting-room. I’ll say goodnight, Rauwerd.’

  She had slipped through the door before he could get to his feet.

  The days slid by; everyone accepted for the dinner party and she went to den Haag and spent a good deal of money on a new dress for the ball—satin, the colour of clotted cream, with a wide skirt pleated into a narrow waist and a cunningly cut bodice which showed off her splendid figure to its fullest advantage. She bought matching slippers and a marabou wrap, too, bore them back to the house and didn’t mention it to Rauwerd. Hanging the dress in the wardrobe she reflected that normally she would have rushed home and showed Rauwerd the lot, but she doubted sadly if he would be interested.

  There was no good wallowing in self-pity. She plunged into the preparations for the dinner party, shared her breakfasts with Rauwerd and took care to be home in the evening when he got back, even though he seldom spent the evenings with her. She was finding her feet, by now, and was acquiring a smattering of Dutch and a casual acquaintance with the wives of Rauwerd’s colleagues and friends. She walked Dickens, shopped, took an interest in the running of the house without interfering with Bep, and schooled herself to assume a casual, lighthearted manner when she was with Rauwerd, never asking him where he went or what he did. He was highly thought of in the medical profession, everyone was at pains to tell her so, but since he never mentioned his work other than casually, she didn’t ask him about it.

  Dressing for the dinner party, she reviewed their married life so far. There was no doubt about them getting on well; they did, but only up to a point. They liked the same things, shared a sense of humour, and, on the face of things, were a happily married couple; on the other hand it had been disastrous that she should have fallen in love with him when all he had to offer was friendship. Life could be very difficult, thought Matilda, slipping into the rose-pink dress and clasping the pearls around her neck, but she had no intention of giving up hope.

  Dinner was a success, even with Nikky there in a slinky black dress that did nothing for her lack of curves. Matilda, c
onfident that she looked nice, smiled and chatted and tried out her Dutch—which pleased Professor Tacx mightily, even when she said it all wrong—and received the compliments about her party with shy dignity. No one hurried away; indeed, they lingered until almost midnight and, when they left, reminded her that they would see her at the ball.

  She hadn’t had much time to talk to Rose. Only as everyone was getting ready to leave and Nikky said, ‘You’ll run me back, Rauwerd?’ did Sybren, obedient to his small wife’s eloquent eye, say, ‘No bother, Nikky, we’ll drop you off. It’s not out of our way.’

  He clapped Rauwerd on the shoulder in a friendly fashion, kissed Matilda and swept Nikky out to his car while Rose kissed Rauwerd and then Matilda. She didn’t say anything, only winked.

  Which meant, thought Matilda, standing in the hall beside Rauwerd, that Rose and Sybren and possibly any number of the other people knew about Nikky. She was going to ask Rose next time they met.

  Which was at the ball, when, of course, there was no time for private talk. Matilda, resplendent in the cream satin, danced the first dance with Rauwerd and after that didn’t see him again until the supper dance when he came to fetch her from a circle of his colleagues who were chatting her up in the nicest possible way.

  ‘What a lovely time I am having; aren’t you?’ she asked as they went along to the supper room. ‘I do like your friends, Rauwerd.’

  ‘They appear to like you, my dear. I must say, that dress is quite charming.’

  They joined a party of friends for supper and then went back to dance until the small hours. As they circled the floor for the last waltz, Matilda said, ‘Shall I ask your mother and father over for lunch in a day or two? I’m sorry they decided not to come, but I’m sure your mother would like to hear about it.’

  ‘And see the dress, of course.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I told her about it, of course, when we went there to lunch.’

  He leaned back a little to look at her. ‘You didn’t tell me, Tilly.’