Britannia All at Sea Page 13

  As Jake helped her out, Britannia asked: ‘Are they expecting us?’

  ‘I saw Reilof this morning and we are expected, my love.’

  As if to substantiate his remark the door was flung open and a smallish girl with mousy hair and pretty eyes ran out. ‘Reilof said you would be coming—what a lovely surprise.’ She put up her face for Jake’s kiss and turned to Britannia. ‘I’m Laura,’ she said. ‘Reilof and Jake are old friends and I hope we’ll be friends too.’ She smiled and instantly looked pretty. ‘Come in—Reilof’s in the sitting room, guarding the twins—Nanny’s got a day off.’

  She led them indoors, where a white-haired man took their coats and exchanged a few dignified remarks with Jake and was made known to Britannia as Piet, without whom, Laura declared, the house would fall apart. ‘We’re in the small sitting room.’

  Reilof van Meerum was standing by the window, a very small baby over his shoulder. The baby was making a considerable noise, but his proud parent was quite unruffled by it. He came forward to meet his visitors, shook Jake’s hand as though he hadn’t seen him in weeks and then turned to Britannia. ‘Jake and I are such old friends that I don’t suppose he’ll mind if I kiss you.’ He grinned. ‘He always kisses Laura.’ He glanced at his small wife with such devotion that Britannia caught her breath and then smiled as he went on. ‘We’re fearful bores at present, you know—we’ve only had the twins a month, and our days revolve round them.’

  Britannia took a look at the baby on his arm; dark like his father and at the moment, very ill-tempered. The other baby, sleeping peacefully in its cradle, was dark too. ‘A girl?’ essayed Britannia, and Laura nodded. ‘Yes—isn’t it nice having one of each? She’s called Beatrix Laura, and he’s Reilof, of course.’

  Reilof junior stopped screaming presently and was put to sleep in his cradle and the two men wandered off to Reilof’s study while the two girls settled down for a gossip. There was a lot to talk about, as they had much in common, for Laura had been a nurse before she married Reilof. It wasn’t until Piet had been in with the tea tray and gone to fetch his master that Laura asked diffidently: ‘I’m not being nosey, but are you and Jake going to get married?’

  ‘Yes,’ Britannia told her, ‘I hope so. But there’s nothing definite yet.’

  There was no time to do more than exchange smiles, for the two men came into the room then and the rest of the visit was taken up with light-hearted conversation. They left presently and started their journey back to Hoenderloo, travelling fast because Jake hadn’t much time; perhaps it was because of that he had little to say in answer to Britannia’s cheerful remarks about their afternoon, and when she took a quick peep at him it was to see that he was deep in thought, his mouth set sternly, and a faint frown between his eyes, so that her efforts at conversation dwindled away into silence. Something was annoying him—was still annoying him. At last, unable to bear the silence any longer, she said forthrightly: ‘You look vexed. Have I done something?’

  They were travelling very fast and he didn’t look at her. ‘No.’ And then: ‘I’m glad you enjoyed your afternoon.’ But it was uttered in such an absentminded fashion that she knew that he wasn’t really thinking about that at all.

  She didn’t say any more then until they had reached the house once more and he had helped her out of the car and they were indoors, and although he was as kind and considerate as he always was towards her she sensed his impatience. ‘I’ve a mind to climb the staircase by myself,’ she told him lightly, ‘and it’s a good chance, because you want to be off again, don’t you?’

  She didn’t wait for his reply but started off across the hall, walking quite firmly with her stick so that he would be able to see that she was independent now. But when she heard his footsteps cross the hall towards his study she paused thankfully to lean on the carved banisters before mounting the wide stairs. Jake had forgotten to shut the study door, she thought idly, and then froze as she heard the faint tinkle of the telephone as he lifted the receiver and said: ‘Madeleine? Ik moet met je spreken—morgen middag—zal je thuis wezen?’

  He spoke clearly and Britannia, who had picked up a little Dutch by now, understood him very well. He wanted to speak to Madeleine the following afternoon and would she be home. She started up the staircase while she pondered the unwelcome thought that possibly it had something to do with his ill-humour in the car. It took her a few minutes to dismiss the idea as nonsense; he had every right to telephone whom he wished and just because it had been Madeleine there was no reason for her to feel as she did—coldly apprehensive. It hadn’t been such a good day after all, she decided as she took off her outdoor things and did her hair and face. Perhaps he had had an extra busy day and hadn’t really wanted to go to see his friends. She went downstairs again to find him gone and his mother sitting by the fire, looking so normal that Britannia called herself an imaginative fool and embarked on a cheerful account of the afternoon. Everything, she told herself, would be all right when Jake got home later on.

  Only he didn’t come. There was a message just before they sat down for dinner to say that he had an emergency operation that evening and would get something to eat in hospital, and although Britannia sat up long after Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien had gone to bed, he didn’t come, so presently she too went to bed, to lie awake and listen for the car. She slept in the end without hearing its return in the early hours of the morning.

  She was surprised and pleased to find him at the breakfast table the next morning, and then not quite so pleased to see that he was still in a thoughtful mood; something was on his mind and she longed to ask him what. Instead she wished him a cheerful good morning, hoped that he hadn’t had too busy an evening and asked if he was going to the hospital that morning.

  He glanced up from the letter he was reading. ‘Yes, and I don’t expect to be home until after tea. Have you any plans for today? Don’t, I beg of you, over-exercise that ankle. It’s made a very rapid recovery, it would be a shame to spoil it.’

  She waited for him to say something else; something about their future. Perhaps that was why he was so preoccupied and it would be for her to say what she was going to do next. But how could she before he had asked her definitely to marry him? And would they marry soon, or was she to go back to the hospital for a while? When he didn’t speak she said cheerfully: ‘Oh, I’ll take care—I’m going to have a lazy morning anyway, because your mother is going to visit a friend in Hoenderloo.’

  ‘Oh, Jonkvrouwe de Tielle, they’re great cronies.’ He picked up his letters and stuffed them into his jacket pocket, came round the table to kiss her, said easily: ‘I’ll see you this evening then, Britannia,’ and went away, leaving her determined to ask him what was the matter and what was more, to get an answer.

  She frowned as she poured herself more coffee. He could have told her that he was visiting Madeleine that afternoon, he could have told her even why he wanted to see her in the first place. Surely two people who were going to marry didn’t have secrets from each other—not that kind of secret, anyway. But perhaps, because she hadn’t been quite definite about marrying him, he didn’t feel bound to tell her such things. She told herself that she was being a little unreasonable and admitted that she was jealous.

  And later that day, as she was getting ready for dinner in her room, she could see that it was she who had been at fault; Jake had come home, rather late it was true, but his usual charming self, and although his kiss had been a casual one, he had joined in the talk and when she had peeped at him, the frown had gone; he looked relieved…so it had been something to do with Madeleine, and whatever it was had been settled. Britannia, viewing herself in the green dress in the cheval mirror between the windows, decided that she didn’t look at all bad; it was wonderful what relief did to one’s face. She went carefully downstairs, with due regard to the ankle, and spent a pleasant evening. Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien had brought her friend back with her and after dinner the four of them played bridge—not a very serious
rubber, which was a good thing, because Britannia was a more than indifferent player.

  When she got down to breakfast the next morning it was to find Jake already gone. ‘The professor was called out in the night, miss,’ Marinus informed her, ‘a nasty accident on the motorway. He came home to change and shower and eat his breakfast and was gone again by half past seven. A busy day ahead of him, I understand, miss.’

  She agreed and thanked him, adding: ‘Marinus, you speak such very good English—have you lived in England?’

  He coughed in a gratified way. ‘My family lived in Arnhem, miss. I had a good deal to do with the British soldiers at one time.’

  ‘Underground?’ asked Britannia, very interested.

  ‘You might say so, miss. Everyone in these parts was more or less involved. I came here as a young man and the professor’s father saw to it that I had English lessons; he found it a waste that I should have picked up so much of the language, and not always as correct as it should be.’

  ‘Oh, Marinus, how nice—and isn’t it fortunate for me and anyone else here who can’t speak Dutch?’

  ‘It has had its uses, miss. Can I fetch you some fresh coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. The professor suggested that I went to the library and had a good look at the books. I think I’ll do that. Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien will be out, won’t she?’

  ‘Yes, miss. I will serve your coffee in the library presently, and I think that lunch in the little sitting room might be more comfortable for you.’

  Britannia got up and went to the door. She wasn’t using her stick any more now; her ankle was just about cured. ‘Thank you, Marinus, that does sound nice.’ She smiled at him as she went out and he beamed back. She was a nice young lady, he thought, and would make a good mistress to work for.

  Britannia spent a pleasant morning; she had never seen so many books outside a public library before, not only rare first editions but a comprehensive collection of all the most readable books, and a reference section which had her absorbed until Marinus, coming quiet-footed to remove the coffee tray, told her that her lunch was about to be set on the table.

  She had intended to go back to the library after the meal, but the sitting room was cosy and an armchair and a book by the fire was very appealing; she fetched an old crimson-bound volume of Punch and settled down happily for the afternoon. The house was quiet and already the winter dusk was creeping into the room. She switched on a reading lamp and opened the book. Perhaps Jake would be home in time for tea; he had had a long day, if he wasn’t too tired she would ask him about the future. She hadn’t done it yesterday; somehow there hadn’t been the chance.

  The doorbell rang almost before she had turned the first page and she looked up, wondering who it could be; Mevrouw Luitingh van Thien was still out and didn’t intend to return until the early evening. If it was a visitor it would be awkward, for her few words of Dutch would prove quite inadequate when it came to conversation. Perhaps whoever it was would speak English or even go away.

  She turned to look over her shoulder as the door opened and Marinus came in, but before he could speak Madeleine had swept past him and shut the door in his face.

  Britannia felt a quiver of rage which changed to amazement; this wasn’t the Madeleine she knew, despite the tempestuous entry; this was a subdued, rather untidy girl who hadn’t bothered much with her face or hair either. She stared at her, quite startled, hardly recognising her, and got out of her chair. ‘You’re ill!’ she exclaimed.

  Madeleine shook her head. ‘No, I’m all right. I’ve been worried—I am worried now, for I have been trying to make up my mind to come and talk to you, but I think that you may not believe me, and why should you?’ She shrugged her shoulders in a resigned way. ‘Even now I do not think that it will be of any use, but I must try…’

  ‘It’s about Jake.’ Britannia felt cold as she said it.

  Madeleine nodded. ‘Yes—you see, I wish to be honest with you—it’s about Jake.’

  ‘And this—whatever it is you want to tell me—is it important to you, or to him? And I’m not sure I want to hear it. And why can’t you wait until he is here and tell him too?’

  ‘He already knows.’

  They were facing each other across the charming room. ‘You want to make trouble,’ declared Britannia, not mincing matters.

  Madeleine came a step nearer. ‘I don’t like you, Britannia, why should I? But it is necessary that we talk; I do not wish to make trouble, but if I do not speak now, then there may be much unhappiness later on.’

  Britannia was puzzled; Madeleine sounded sincere and she looked white and strained. Perhaps she had misjudged her after all. ‘I’m listening,’ she said steadily.

  Madeleine didn’t sit down. ‘You must know that I expected to marry Jake, and I own that it was a shock when I heard that it was you whom he had chosen… You see, we have known each other for years.’ She looked away for a moment. ‘But there’s more to it than that; are you quite sure that he wants to marry you? I mean, does he love you—a lasting love one needs for marriage?’

  She looked briefly at Britannia, her face solemn. ‘You are pretty and you amuse him because you speak your mind to him and he finds that diverting, but perhaps in a little while he will not be diverted any more, only irritated. You see, there is a gulf between you, Britannia. You do not come from his circle of friends. He met you in an unusual manner, did he not, so you are—how do you say?—attractive to him, but if that wears thin, what is there left? You do not know how to run a large house such as this one, nor how to entertain guests as he would want them entertained; you do not dress very well, you do not even speak his language. Even if he thinks that he loves you now, will there not come a day when these things will prove a barrier between you? Can you honestly tell me that this will not happen?’

  Britannia got up and walked over to a window and looked out. The grey day outside reflected her feelings. ‘I don’t think that one can be certain of anything,’ she said, and forced her voice to sound reasonable. Madeleine had touched unerringly on her own doubts, but she wasn’t going to let her see that. And she hadn’t said anything she hadn’t herself already thought of.

  Madeleine went on: ‘I expect you thought that it was I who wanted to marry Jake, and that he has never loved me, but I can prove that he does—that his love for you isn’t love at all, only infatuation, that he is already regretting…’

  Britannia didn’t look round, so that she didn’t see Madeleine’s quick glance, calculating and sly as she opened her bag and took out an envelope and crossed the room to give it to her. It was addressed to Madeleine in the professor’s writing and it had been opened, and the letter she pulled out was in his writing too; Britannia would have recognised that atrocious scrawl anywhere.

  ‘It’s in Dutch,’ said Madeleine, ‘but I’ll translate it and it will explain everything to you.’ She held out the letter to Britannia with a sudden gesture which Britannia quite misinterpreted, and she saw the first words: ‘Mijn lieveling…’ She couldn’t see any more, because of the way the letter was folded, but she knew that it meant ‘my darling’, just as she knew that unlike the English word, the Dutch used it only as a term of real endearment between two people. And as though Madeleine had read her thoughts, she said quietly: ‘You must know that we don’t use the word lieveling in the social sense as the English do—it means much more to us than that.’ She unfolded the letter and came a little nearer to show Jake’s name at the end of the page, and Britannia, looking at it, thought dully that there must be a mistake. She drew a breath and said: ‘I don’t think I want to hear it, thank you.’

  ‘But you must,’ insisted Madeleine, ‘otherwise you will never believe me. Why should you when you know that Jake and I…’ She shot another look at Britannia, who had gone back to her chair, sitting there with her hands folded so quietly in her lap. ‘I owe it to us all to be honest, and I am trying to be that.’ She sounded very sincere.

  She opened the l
etter and went to the window to read it. ‘It begins: “My darling…”’

  ‘No,’ said Britannia sharply, but Madeleine took no notice. “‘We see so little of each other and there is so much that I want to tell you—to explain how I could have imagined myself in love—but only a little—with someone else when you were there, waiting for me, for you knew it sooner than I. I intend to see her and tell her that it is you I will marry, and I think that she will understand, for her feeling for me cannot be deep. Perhaps you are wondering why I have not told you this instead of writing it, but somehow the time and place have never been right.” It ends: “All my love, Jake.”’

  ‘When did you get this letter?’ asked Britannia in a dry little voice.

  ‘Marinus brought it round this morning.’ Madeleine walked deliberately to the bell rope by the fireplace. ‘I’ll ring for Marinus to come here—you will believe him.’ Her voice was so bitter that Britannia said at once:

  ‘There’s no need for that. I’ve seen the letter, haven’t I?’ She stirred in her chair. ‘Jake went to see you yesterday, didn’t he?’

  ‘Yes, and I had to see you first…’

  Britannia glanced at the clock. Jake would be home soon and she wondered what he was going to say. Madeleine said quietly: ‘Men like new faces even though they still love the old.’ She was putting on her coat, ready to go, and Britannia got to her feet and said in a polite voice:

  ‘Thank you for coming. I’m—I’m sure you have done what you think is right and at least I know what to do…’ She drew a breath to steady her voice. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very happy together,’ and then: ‘I didn’t know that you loved each other.’