Tempestuous April Read online

  ‘You smiled. Why?’ He gave her a hard, not too friendly stare. ‘You didn’t know me.’

  So he had seen her after all. Harriet felt her heart thudding and ignored it. She said in a steady voice,

  ‘No, I didn’t know who you were, Dr Eijsinck. It was just…I thought that I recognized you.’ Which was, she thought, perfectly true, although she could hardly explain to him that she had dreamed about him so often that she couldn’t help but recognize him.

  He nodded, and said, to surprise her, ‘Yes, I thought perhaps it was that. It happens to us all, I suppose, that once or twice in a lifetime we meet someone who should be a stranger, and is not.’

  She longed to ask him what he meant and dared not, and instead said in a stiff, conversational voice,

  ‘What excellent English you speak, Doctor,’ and came to a halt at the amused look on his face. And there was amusement in his voice when he answered.

  ‘How very kind of you to say so, Miss Slocombe.’

  She looked down at her shoes, so that her thick brown lashes curled on to her cheeks. He was making her feel awkward again. She swallowed and tried once more.

  ‘Should we go into the drawing-room, do you think?’

  He stood aside without further preamble, and followed her into the room where she was instantly pounced upon by Sieske so that she could meet Wierd and see for herself that he was everything that her friend had said. He was indeed charming, and exactly right for Sieske. They made a handsome couple and a happy one too. Harriet suppressed a small pang of envy; it must be nice to be loved as Wierd so obviously loved Sieske. She drank the sherry Aede brought her and sat next to him during the meal which followed and joined in the laughter and talk, which was wholly concerned with the engagement party. It was discussed through the excellent soup, the rolpens met rodekool, the poffertjes—delicious morsels of dough fried in butter to an unbelievable lightness—and was only exhausted when an enormous bowl of fruit was put on the table. Harriet sat quietly while Aede peeled a peach for her, and listened to Dr Eijsinck’s deep voice—he was discussing rose grafting with her hostess, who turned to her and said kindly, but in her own language,

  ‘Harry, you must go and see Friso’s garden, it is such a beautiful one.’

  Aede repeated her words in English, and then went on in the same language.

  ‘We went past your place this evening, Friso. I took Harriet for a run and we stopped while she admired your flowers.’

  Harriet looked across the table at him then and smiled, and was puzzled to see his mobile mouth pulled down at the corners by a cynical smile, just as though he didn’t in the least believe that she had a real fondness for flowers and gardens. When he said carelessly, ‘By all means come and look round, Miss Slocombe,’ she knew that he had given the invitation because there was nothing else he could do. She thanked him quietly, gave him a cool glance, and occupied herself with her peach. She took care to avoid him for the rest of the evening, an easy matter as it turned out, for Dr Van Minnen had discovered that she had only the sketchiest knowledge of Friesland’s history, and set himself to rectify this gap in her education. It was only at the end of the evening that Dr Eijsinck spoke to her again and that was to wish her good night, and that a most casual one.

  Later, in her pleasant little room, she sat brushing her hair and thinking about the evening. Something had gone wrong with her dream. It had seemed that kindly fate had intervened when she had met him again, but now she wasn’t so sure, for that same fickle fate was showing her that dreams had no place in her workaday world. Harriet ground her even little teeth—even though he had a dozen beautiful girl-friends, he could at least pretend to like her. On reflection, though, she didn’t think that he would bother to pretend about anything. She got into bed and turned out the light and lay in the comfortable darkness, wondering when she would see him again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHE AWOKE EARLY to a sparkling April morning and the sound of church bells, and lay between sleeping and waking listening to them until Sieske came in, to sit on the end of the bed and talk happily about the previous evening.

  ‘You enjoyed it too, Harry?’ she asked anxiously.

  Harriet sat up in bed—she was wearing a pink nightgown, a frivolous garment, all lace and ribbons. Her hair fell, straight and gold and shining, almost to her waist; she looked delightful.

  ‘It was lovely,’ she said warmly. ‘I think your Wierd is a dear—you’re going to be very happy.’

  Sieske blushed. ‘Yes, I know. You like Aede?’

  Harriet nodded. ‘Oh, yes. He’s just like you, Sieske.’

  ‘And Friso?’

  Harriet said lightly, ‘Well, we only said hullo and goodbye, you know. He’s not quite what I expected.’ She explained about the gravy stains and the permanent stoop, and Sieske giggled.

  ‘Harry, how could you, and he is so handsome, don’t you think?’

  Harriet said ‘Very,’ with a magnificent nonchalance.

  ‘And so very rich,’ Sieske went on.

  ‘So I heard,’ said Harriet, maintaining the nonchalance. ‘How nice for him.’

  Sieske curled her legs up under her and settled herself more comfortably. ‘Also nice for his wife,’ she remarked.

  Harriet felt a sudden chill. ‘Oh? Is he going to marry, then?’ she asked, and wondered why the answer mattered so much.

  Sieske laughed.

  ‘Well, he will one day, I expect, but I think he enjoys being a…vrijgezel. I don’t know the English—it is a man who is not yet married.’

  ‘Bachelor,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Yes—well, he has many girl-friends, you see, but he does not love any of them.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked Harriet in a deceptively calm voice.

  ‘I asked him,’ said Sieske simply, ‘and he told me. I should like him to be happy as Wierd is happy; and I would like you to be happy too, Harry,’ she added disarmingly.

  Harriet felt herself getting red in the face. ‘But I am happy,’ she cried. ‘I’ve got what I wanted, haven’t I? A sister’s post, and—and—’ The thought struck her that probably in twenty years’ time she would still have that same sister’s post. She shuddered. ‘I’ll get up,’ she said, briskly cheerful to dispel the gloomy thought. But this she wasn’t allowed to do; the family, it seemed, were going to church at nine o’clock, and had decided that the unfamiliar service and the long sermon wouldn’t be of the least benefit to her. She was to stay in bed and go down to breakfast when she felt like it.

  Sieske got up from the bed and stretched herself. ‘We are back soon after ten, and Wierd comes to lunch. We will plan something nice to do.’ She turned round as she reached the door. ‘Go to sleep again, Harry.’

  Harriet, however, had no desire for sleep. She lay staring at the roses on the wallpaper, contemplating her future with a complete lack of enthusiasm, and was suddenly struck by the fact that this was entirely due to the knowledge that Dr Eijsinck would have no part of it. The front door banged and she got out of bed to watch the Van Minnen family make their way down the street towards church, glad of the interruption of thoughts she didn’t care to think. It wasn’t quite nine o’clock; she slipped on the nightgown’s matching peignoir and the rather ridiculous slippers which went with it, and made her way downstairs through the quiet old house to the dining-room.

  Someone had thoughtfully drawn a small table up to the soft warmth of the stove and laid it with care, for cup, saucer and plate of a bright brown earthenware, flanked by butter in a Delft blue dish, stood invitingly ready. There was coffee too, and a small basket full of an assortment of bread, and grouped together, jam and sausage and cheese. Harriet poured coffee, buttered a crusty slice of bread with a lavish hand and took a large satisfying bite. She had lifted her coffee cup half-way to her lips when the door opened.

  ‘Where’s everybody?’ asked Dr Eijsinck, without bothering to say good morning. ‘Church?’

  Harriet put down her cup. ‘Yes,’
she said, with her mouth full. His glance flickered over her and she went pink under it.

  ‘Are you ill?’ he asked politely, although his look denied his words.

  ‘Me? Ill? No.’ If he chose to think of her as a useless lazy creature, she thought furiously, she for one would not enlighten him.

  ‘Well, if you’re not ill, you’d better come to the surgery and hold down a brat with a bead up his nose.’

  ‘Certainly,’ said Harriet, ‘since you ask me so nicely; but I must dress first.’

  ‘Why? There’s no one around who’s interested in seeing you like that. The child’s about three; his mother’s in the waiting room because she’s too frightened to hold him herself; and as for me, I assure you that I am quite unaffected.’

  She didn’t like the note of mockery—he was being deliberately tiresome! She put her cup back in its saucer, got up without a word and followed him down the passage to the surgery where she waited while he fetched the child from its mother. She took the little boy in capable arms and said, ‘There, there,’ in the soft, kind voice she used to anyone ill or afraid. He sniffed and gulped, and under her approving, ‘There’s a big man, then!’ subsided into quietness punctuated by heaving breaths, so that she was able to lay him on the examination table without further ado, and steady his round head between her small firm hands. Dr Eijsinck, standing with speculum, probe and curved forceps ready to hand, grunted something she couldn’t understand and switched on his head lamp.

  ‘Will you be able to hold him with one arm?’ she asked matter-of-factly.

  He looked as though he was going to laugh, but his voice was mild enough as he replied. ‘I believe I can manage, Miss Slocombe. He’s quite small, and my arm is—er—large enough to suffice.’

  He sprayed the tiny nostril carefully and got to work, his big hand manipulating the instruments with a surprising delicacy. While he worked he talked softly to his small patient; a meaningless jumble of words Harriet could make nothing of.

  ‘Are you speaking Fries?’ she wanted to know.

  He didn’t look up. ‘Yes…I don’t mean to be rude, but Atse here doesn’t understand anything else at present.’ He withdrew a bright blue bead from the small nose and Atse at once burst into tearful roars, the while his face was mopped up. Harriet scooped him up into her arms.

  ‘Silly boy, it’s all over.’ She gave him a hug and he stopped his sobbing to look at her and say something. She returned his look in her turn. ‘It’s no good, Atse, I can’t understand.’

  Dr Eijsinck looked up from the sink where he was washing his hands.

  ‘Allow me to translate. He is observing—as I daresay many other members of his sex have done before him—that you and your—er—dress are very beautiful.’

  Harriet felt her cheeks grow hot, but she answered in a composed voice, ‘What a lovely compliment—something to remember when I get home.’

  The doctor had come to stand close to her and she handed him the little boy. ‘Good-bye, Atse, I hope I see you again.’ She shook the fat little hand, straightened the examination table, thumped up its pillow with a few brisk movements, and made for the door. She had opened it before Dr Eijsinck said quietly, ‘Thank you for your help, Miss Slocombe.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ she said airily, as she went through.

  The breakfast table still looked very attractive; she plugged in the coffee pot and took another bite from her bread and butter. She was spreading a second slice with a generous wafer of cheese when the door opened again. Dr Eijsinck said from the doorway, ‘I’m sorry I disturbed your breakfast.’ And then, ‘Is the coffee hot?’

  She wiped a few crumbs away from her mouth, using a finger.

  ‘Don’t apologize, Doctor…and yes, thank you, the coffee is hot.’

  There was a pause during which she remembered how unpleasant he had been. The look she cast him was undoubtedly a reflection of her thoughts, for he gave a sudden quizzical smile, said good-bye abruptly, and went.

  They were having morning coffee when he arrived for the second time. He took the cup Mevrouw Van Minnen handed him and sat down unhurriedly; it seemed to Harriet, sitting by the window with Sieske, that he was very much one of the family. He was answering a great number of questions which Dr Van Minnen was putting to him, and Harriet thought what a pity it was she couldn’t understand Dutch. Sieske must have read her thoughts, for she called across the room.

  ‘Friso, were you called out?’ and she spoke in English.

  He replied in the same tongue. ‘Yes, for my sins…an impacted fractured femur and premature twins.’

  Sieske said quickly with a sideways look at Harriet, ‘Don’t forget Atse. Weren’t you glad that Harry was here to help you?’

  ‘Delighted,’ he said in a dry voice, ‘and so was Atse.’

  Harriet, studying her coffee cup with a downbent head, was nonetheless aware that he was looking at her.

  ‘So you didn’t get to bed at all?’ asked Aede.

  ‘Er—no. I was on my way home when I encountered Atse and his mother; I was nearer here than my own place—it seemed logical to bring them with me. I’d forgotten that you would all be in church.’

  Harriet abandoned the close scrutiny of her coffee cup. So he had been up all night; being a reasonable young woman she understood how he must have felt when he found her. And the coffee—he had asked if it was hot and she hadn’t even asked him if he wanted a cup. How mean of her—she opened her mouth to say so, caught his eye and knew that he had guessed her intention. Before she could speak, he went on smoothly,

  ‘I am indebted to—er—Harriet for her help; very competent help too.’

  Mevrouw Van Minnen said something, Harriet had no idea what until she heard the word koffie. She opened her mouth once more, feeling guilty, but he was speaking before she could get a word out.

  ‘What is Dr Eijsinck saying, Sieske?’ she said softly.

  Her friend gave a sympathetic giggle. ‘Poor Harry, not understanding a word! He’s explaining that he couldn’t stay for the coffee you had ready for him because he had to go straight back to the twins.’

  Harriet had only been in Holland a short time, but already she had realized that hospitality was a built-in feature of the Dutch character—to deny it to anyone was unthinkable. Mevrouw Van Minnen would have been upset. Friso was being magnanimous. The least she could do was to apologize and thank him for his thoughtfulness.

  He got up a few minutes later and strolled to the door with a casual parting word which embraced the whole company. She was too shy to get up too and follow him out—it might be days before she saw him again. He had banged the front door behind him when Sieske said urgently,

  ‘There, I forgot to tell Friso about the flowers for Wednesday! Harry, you’re so much faster than I—run after him, will you? Tell him it’s all right. He’ll understand.’

  Harriet reached the pavement just as he was getting into the car. He straightened when he saw her, and stood waiting, his hand still on the car door.

  She said, short-breathed, ‘Sieske asked me to give you a message. That it’s all right about the flowers, and that you would understand.’

  She stood looking at him and after a moment he gave a glimmer of a smile and said, ‘Oh, yes. Of course. Thanks for reminding me.’

  ‘I wanted to—It was lucky Sieske asked me. I’m so sorry about this morning—you know, the coffee. It was mean of me. I don’t know why I did it.’ She stopped and frowned, ‘Yes, I do. You weren’t very nice about me being in a dressing-gown, but of course I understand now, you must have been very tired if you were up all night—I daresay you wouldn’t have minded so much if you had had a good night’s sleep,’ she finished ingenuously.

  ‘No, I don’t suppose I should,’ he agreed gravely. He got into the car, said good-bye rather abruptly, and was gone, leaving her still uncertain as to whether he disliked her or not. It suddenly mattered very much that she should know, one way or the other.

  They were immersed
in plans when she got back to the sitting-room. Wierd was coming to luncheon, reiterated Sieske; they would go for a drive, she and Wierd and Harriet and Aede. Dokkum, they decided, with an eye on Harriet’s ignorance of the countryside, and then on to the coast to Oostmahorn, when the boat sailed for the small island of Schiermonnikoog.

  They set out about two o’clock, Wierd and Sieske leading the way. It was glorious weather, although the blue sky was still pale and the wind keen. Harriet in a thick tweed suit and a headscarf hoped she would be warm enough; the others seemed to take the wind for granted, but she hadn’t got used to it. It was warm enough in the car, however, and Aede proved to be an excellent guide. By the time they had reached Dokkum, she had mastered a great deal of Friesian history and had even learnt—after a fashion—the Friesian National Anthem, although she thought the translation, ‘Friesian blood, rise up and boil,’ could be improved upon. The others were waiting for them in the little town, and she was taken at once to see the church of St Boniface and then the outside of the Town Hall, with a promise that she should be brought again so that she could see its beautiful, painted council room.

  The coast, when they reached it, was a surprise and a contrast. Harriet found it difficult to reconcile the sleepy little town they had just left with the flat shores protected from the sea by the dykes built so patiently by the Friesians over the centuries. Land was still being reclaimed, too. She looked at the expanse of mud, and tried to imagine people living on it in a decade of time; she found it much more to her liking to think of the people who had lived in Dokkum hundreds of years ago, and had gone to the self-same church that she had just visited. She explained this to Aede, who listened carefully.