Stars Through the Mist Read online

  She explained about the sharps, and even as she was speaking he had taken them from her and put them on the desk. ‘Later. I have to go again in a few minutes. I just wanted to make sure…’ he paused and studied her with cool leisure. Apparently her calm demeanour pleased him, for he said: ‘I told you that everything would be all right, didn’t I?’ and when she nodded, longing to tell him that indeed nothing was right at all, he went on: ‘I’ve seen about the licence—there’s a small church round the corner, St Joram’s. Would you like to go and see it and tell me if you will marry me there?’

  Her heart jumped because she still wasn’t used to the idea of marrying him, although her face remained tranquil enough. ‘I know St Joram’s very well, I go there sometimes. I should like to be married there.’

  He gave a small satisfied sound, like a man who had had a finicky job to do and had succeeded with it sooner than he had expected.

  ‘I’ll be back on Monday—there’s a list at ten o’clock, isn’t there? I’ll see you before we start.’

  He took her hand briefly, said goodbye even more briefly, and retraced his steps. Deborah stood in the empty corridor, listening to his unhurried stride melt into the distance and then merge into the multitude of hospital sounds. Presently she picked up the instruments and started on her way to the surgical stores.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE WARMTH OF the early September morning had barely penetrated the dim cool of the little church. Deborah, standing in its porch, peered down its length; in a very few minutes she was going to walk down the aisle with Gerard beside her and become his wife. She wished suddenly that he hadn’t left her there while he returned to lock the car parked outside, because then she wouldn’t have time to think. Now her head seethed with the events of the last ten days; the interview with Miss Bright, the Principal Nursing Officer, and the astonishing ease with which she found herself free to leave exactly when Gerard had wanted her to; the delight and curiosity of her friends, who even at that very moment had no idea that she was getting married this very morning; she had allowed them to think that she and Gerard were going down to her parents in Somerset. She had even allowed them to discuss her wedding dress, with a good deal of friendly bickering as to which style and material would suit her best, and had quietly gone out and shopped around for a pale blue dress and jacket and a wisp of a hat which she had only put on in the car, in case someone in the hospital should have seen it and guessed what it might be, for it was that sort of a hat. But the hat was the only frivolous thing about her; she looked completely composed, and when she heard Gerard’s step behind her, she turned a tranquil face to greet him, very much at variance with her heart’s secret thudding.

  He had flowers in his hand, a small spray of roses and orange blossom and green leaves. ‘For you,’ he said. ‘I know that you should have a bouquet, but it might have been difficult to hide from your friends.’ He spoke easily with no sign of discomposure and proceeded to fasten them on to her dress in a matter-of-fact manner. When he had done so, he stood back to look at her. ‘Very nice,’ was his verdict. ‘How lucky that we have such a glorious morning.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’re a few minutes early, shall we stroll round the church?’

  They wandered off, examining the memorials on the walls and the gravestones at their feet, for all the world, thought Deborah, slightly light-headed, as though they were a pair of tourists. It was when they reached the pulpit that she noticed the flowers beautifully arranged around the chancel. She stopped before one particularly fine mass of blooms and remarked: ‘How beautiful these are, and so many of them. I shouldn’t have thought that the parish was rich enough to afford anything like this.’

  She turned to look at her companion as she spoke and exclaimed:

  ‘Oh, you had them put here. How—how thoughtful!’

  ‘I’m glad you like them. I found the church a little bare when I came the other day—the vicar’s wife was only too glad to see to them for me.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Deborah. She touched the flowers on her dress. ‘And for these too.’

  They had reached the chancel at exactly the right moment; the vicar was waiting for them with two people—his wife, apparently, and someone who might have been the daily help, pressed into the more romantic role of witness.

  The service was short. Deborah listened to every word of it and heard nothing, and even when the plain gold ring had been put upon her finger she felt as though it was someone else standing there, being married. She signed the register in a composed manner, received her husband’s kiss with the same calm, and shook hands with the vicar and the two ladies, then walked out of the little church with Gerard. He was holding her hand lightly, talking quietly as they went, and she said not a word, only noticed every small detail about him—his grey suit, the gold cuff links in his silk shirt, the perfection of his polished shoes—who polished them? she wondered stupidly—and his imperturbable face. He turned to smile at her as they reached the door and she smiled back while hope, reinforced by her love, flooded through her. She was young still and pretty, some said beautiful, men liked her, some enough to have wanted to marry her; surely there was a chance that Gerard might fall in love with her? She would be seeing much more of him now, take an interest in his life, make herself indispensable, wear pretty clothes…

  ‘My dear girl,’ said Gerard kindly, ‘how distraite you have become—quite lost in thought—happy ones, I hope?’

  They were standing by the car and he had unlocked the door as he spoke and was holding it open for her, his glance as kind as his voice. She got in, strangely vexed by his kindness, and said too brightly: ‘It was a nice wedding. I—I was thinking about it.’

  He nodded and swung the car into the street. ‘Yes, one hears the words during a simple ceremony—I have always thought that big social weddings are slightly unreal.’

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if his previous wedding had been just such a one, but it seemed hardly a fitting time to do so. She launched into a steady flow of small talk which lasted until they were clear of the centre of the city and heading west.

  But presently she fell silent, staring out at the passing traffic as the car gathered speed, casting around in her mind for something to talk about. There was so much to say, and yet nothing. She was on the point of remarking—for the second time—about the weather when Gerard spoke. ‘I think we’ll lunch at Nately Scures—there’s a good pub there, the Baredown. I don’t know about you, Deborah, but getting married seems to have given me a good appetite.’

  His manner was so completely at ease that she lost her awkwardness too. ‘I’m hungry too,’ she agreed, ‘and I didn’t realise that it was already one o’clock. We should be home by tea time.’

  It was during lunch that one or two notions, not altogether pleasant, entered her head and quite unknown to her, reflected their disquiet in her face. They were sitting back at their ease, drinking their coffee in a companionable silence which Gerard broke. ‘What’s on your mind, Deborah?’

  She put some more sugar into her cup although she didn’t want it, and stirred it because it gave her something to do. She began uncertainly: ‘I was just thinking—hoping that Mike, my elder brother, you know, will be home for a day or two with Helen—his wife.’

  He smiled very faintly. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, I was thinking about—about rooms. You see, the house is very old and there aren’t…’ She tried again. ‘There is Mother and Father’s room and a big guest room, all the other bedrooms are small. If Mike and Helen are there they’ll be in the guest room, which makes it easy for us, because then we shall have our own rooms and there won’t be any need for me to make an excuse—I mean for us not sharing a room.’ She gave him a determinedly matter-of-fact look which he returned with an urbane one of his own. ‘I don’t suppose you had thought about it?’

  ‘Indeed I had—I thought a migraine would fill the bill.’

  ‘Do you have migraine?’

  ‘
Good God, girl, no! You.’

  She said indignantly: ‘I’ve never had migraine in my life, I don’t even know what it feels like. I really don’t think…’

  He gave her an amused glance. ‘Well, it seems the situation isn’t likely to arise, doesn’t it? We can hardly turn your brother and his wife out of their room just for one night.’ He had spoken casually, now he changed the subject abruptly, as they got up to go.

  ‘It was nice of you not to mind about going straight back to Holland. We’ll go away for a holiday as soon as I can get everything sorted out at the Grotehof.’

  She nodded. ‘Oh, the hospital, yes. Have you many private patients too?’

  He sent the car tearing past a lorry. ‘Yes, and shall have many more, I think. I’m looking forward to meeting your family.’

  She stirred in her seat. ‘Father is a little absentminded; he doesn’t live in the present when he’s busy on a book, and Mother—Mother’s a darling. Neither of them notices much what’s going on around them, but Mother never questions anything I do. Then there’s Mike—and Helen, of course, and John and Billy, they’re fourteen and sixteen, and Maureen who’s eleven. There are great gaps between us, but it’s never seemed to matter.’

  They were almost at Salisbury when she ventured to remark: ‘I don’t know anything about your family and I’m terrified of meeting them.’

  He slowed the car down and stopped on the grass verge and turned to look at her. ‘My dear Deborah—you, terrified? Why? My mother is like any other mother, perhaps a little older than yours; she must be, let me see, almost sixty. My two brothers, Pieter and Willem, are younger than I, my sister Lia comes between us—she’s married to an architect and they live near Hilversum. Pieter is a pathologist in Utrecht, Willem is a lawyer—he lives in den Haag.’

  ‘And your mother, does she live with you?’

  ‘No, she didn’t wish to go on living in the house after my father died—I’m not sure of the reason. She has a flat close by. We see each other often.’

  ‘So you live alone?’

  ‘There is Wim, who sees to everything—I suppose you would call him a houseman, but he’s more than that; he’s been with us for so long, and there is Marijke who cooks and keeps house and Mevrouw Smit who comes in to clean. Mother took Leen, who has been with us ever since I can remember, with her when she moved to the flat.’

  ‘Is your house large?’

  ‘Large?’ he considered her question. ‘No—but it is old and full of passages and small staircases; delightful to live in but the very devil to keep clean.’ He gave her a quick, sidelong glance. ‘Marijke and Mevrouw Smit see to that, of course. You will be busy enough in other ways.’

  ‘What other ways?’ asked Deborah with vague suspicion.

  ‘I told you, did I not, that I need to entertain quite a lot—oh, not riotous parties night after night, but various colleagues who come to the hospital for one reason or the other—sometimes they bring their wives, sometimes they come on their own. And there is the occasional dinner party, and we shall be asked out ourselves.’

  ‘Oh. How did you manage before?’

  He shrugged. ‘Marijke coped with the odd visitor well enough, my mother acted as hostess from time to time. Remember I have been away for two years; I spent only a short time in Amsterdam each month or so, but now I am going back to live I shall be expected to do my share of entertaining. You will be of the greatest help to me if you will deal with that side of our life.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, though it’s rather different from handing instruments…’

  He laughed. ‘Very. But if you do it half as well you will be a great success and earn my undying gratitude.’

  She didn’t want his gratitude; she wanted his love, but nothing seemed further from his thoughts. Dinner parties, though, would give her the opportunity to wear pretty clothes and make the most of herself—he might at least notice her as a person. She began to plan a suitable wardrobe…

  The road was surprisingly empty after they had left Salisbury behind. At Warminster they turned off on to the Frome road and then, at Deborah’s direction, turned off again into the byroads, through the small village of Nunney and then the still smaller one of Chantry. Her home lay a mile beyond, a Somerset farmhouse, with its back tucked cosily into the hills behind it, and beautifully restored and tended by Mr Culpeper and his wife. It looked delightful now in the afternoon sun, its windows open as was its front door, its garden a mass of colour and nothing but the open country around it. Deborah gave a small sigh of pleasure as she saw it. ‘That’s it,’ she told Gerard.

  ‘Charming,’ he commented. ‘I hope your parents will ask us back for a visit. I can see that it is a most interesting house—those windows…’ he nodded towards the side of the house, ‘their pediments appear most interesting.’

  He brought the car to a halt before the door and as he helped her out she said with something like relief: ‘Father will be delighted that you noticed them, they’re very unusual. Probably he’ll talk of nothing else and quite forget that we’re married.’ They were walking to the door. ‘Do you really know something of sixteenth-century building?’

  ‘A little.’ He smiled down at her and said unexpectedly: ‘You look very pretty in that blue dress. Shall I ring the bell?’

  For answer she shook her head and let out a piercing whistle, answered almost immediately by an equally piercing reply followed by: ‘Debby, is it really you? I’m in the sitting room. Come in, darling. I can’t leave this…’

  The hall was cool, flagstoned and bare of furniture save for an old oak chest against one wall and a grandfather clock. Deborah went through one of the open doors leading out of it and walked across the faded, still beautiful carpet to where her mother was kneeling on the floor surrounded by quantities of manuscript.

  ‘Your father dropped the lot,’ she began, preparing to get up. ‘I simply have to get them into some sort of order.’

  She was a great deal smaller than her daughter, but they shared the same lovely face and pansy eyes. She leaned up to hug her daughter with a happy: ‘This is a lovely surprise. Are you on holiday or is it just a couple of days?’ Her eyes lighted upon Gerard. ‘You’ve had a lift—who’s this?’ She added thoughtfully, just as though he wasn’t there: ‘He’s very good-looking.’ She smiled at him and he returned her smile with such charm that she got to her feet, holding out a hand.

  ‘Mother,’ said Deborah with the kind of cheerful resignation her children had acquired over the years, ‘this is Gerard van Doorninck. We got married this morning.’

  Her parent remained blissfully calm and shook hands. ‘Well now,’ she exclaimed, not in the least put out, ‘isn’t that nice? Debby always has known her own mind since she could handle a spoon. I should have loved to have been at the wedding, but since I wasn’t we’ll have a little celebration here.’ She studied the tall quiet man before her. ‘If I’m your mother-in-law, you’re quite entitled to kiss me.’

  And when he had: ‘I hope Debby warned you about us. You see, my husband and I seldom go out, we’re far too happy here and it’s so quiet he can work undisturbed—and as for me, the days are never long enough. What do you do for a living?’ she shot at him without pause.

  ‘I’m an orthopaedic surgeon—I’ve been at Clare’s for two years now. Deborah was my Theatre Sister.’

  Mrs Culpeper nodded her slightly untidy head. ‘Nasty places, operating theatres, but I suppose one can fall in love in one just as easily as anywhere else.’ She spun round and addressed her daughter. ‘Darling, how long are you staying, and when did you get married?’

  ‘Just tonight, Mother, and we got married this morning.’

  ‘In church, I hope?’

  ‘Yes—that little one, St Joram’s, just round the corner from Clare’s.’

  ‘Quite right too. Your brother’s here with Helen—they’re in the guest room, of course.’ She handed Gerard the manuscript in an absentminded manner. ‘Where am I to put you both?’
>
  ‘Don’t worry, Mother,’ said Deborah in a hurry. ‘I’ll have my own room and Gerard can have Billy’s—it’s only for tonight—we couldn’t think of turning Mike and Helen out.’

  Her mother gave her a long, thoughtful look. ‘Of course not, dear, and after all, you have the rest of your lives together.’

  Deborah agreed with her calmly, not looking at Gerard.

  ‘Good, that’s settled—two such sensible people. Gerard, will you take these papers into the study across the hall and tell my husband that you’re here? You may have to say it twice before he pays any attention; he found an interesting stone in the garden this morning—I believe it’s called a shepherd’s counting stone. You have a Dutch name.’

  ‘I am Dutch, Mrs Culpeper.’ And Deborah, stealing a look, was glad to see that Gerard wasn’t in the least discomposed.

  ‘I saw Queen Wilhelmina once,’ Mrs Culpeper went on chattily, ‘in London, during the war.’ She turned to Deborah. ‘Your father will be most interested, Debby. Come and put the kettle on for tea, dear.’

  Deborah tucked her arm into her mother’s. ‘Yes, dearest, but wouldn’t it be nicer if Gerard had me with him when he meets Father?’

  ‘He looks perfectly able to introduce himself,’ declared her volatile parent. ‘I meant to have had tea hours ago. Come along, dear.’

  Deborah looked across the room to where Gerard was standing, his arms full of papers. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked him.

  ‘Not in the least. In fact it’s an eminently sensible suggestion.’ He smiled at her and she realized with astonishment that he was enjoying himself.

  They all met again ten minutes later. She was standing at the table in the large, low-ceilinged kitchen, cutting sandwiches and listening to her mother’s happy rambling talk while she arranged the best Spode tea service on a tray, when the door opened and the two men came in. Mr Culpeper was a tall man, almost as tall as his new son-in-law, with a thin upright body and a good-looking face which wore its usual abstracted expression. He was almost bald, but his moustache and neat Van Dyck beard were still brown and thick. He came across the room to where Deborah stood and flung an arm around her shoulders and kissed her with fondness. He said without preamble: ‘I like your husband, Debby—no nonsense about him, and thank God I’ve at last found someone in the family who is interested in pediments.’