Stars Through the Mist Read online

  His eyes lighted upon the plate of sandwiches before her and he helped himself to one and bit into it with relish. ‘Mike and Helen won’t be back just yet, so let’s have tea.’ He took the tray from his wife and led the way to the sitting room.

  Tea was a success, largely because Gerard joined in the conversation with an ease of manner which made him seem like an old friend of the family, and later, when they had been left together in her room—‘for of course you will want to unpack for Gerard’, her mother had said—Deborah asked him: ‘You aren’t bored? You see, we all love them very much and we don’t in the least mind when they forget things and or start talking as though we weren’t there…’

  He took her hands in his. ‘No, Deborah, I’m not bored, nor would I ever be here with your parents. They are charming people and they have found the secret of being happy, haven’t they? I envy someone like your mother, who can cast down her teacup and dash into the garden because a thrush is singing particularly sweetly—and your father…they are a devoted couple, I believe.’

  She was very conscious of his hands. ‘Yes, they are. I suppose that’s why they view the world with such kindness and tolerance and at the same time when they want to, the two of them just retire into a—a sort of shell together—they’re very unworldly.’ She looked at him a little anxiously. ‘I’m not a bit like them,’ she assured him. ‘We’re all very practical and sensible; we’ve looked after them all our lives.’ She smiled. ‘Even little Maureen!’

  He bent his head to kiss her cheek gently. ‘That’s why you’re such a nice person, I expect. You know, I had forgotten that people could live like this. Perhaps the rest of us have our values wrong, working too hard, making money we have to worry about, going on holidays we don’t enjoy—just because everyone else does.’

  ‘But you’re not like that.’ She was quite certain of it.

  ‘Thank you for saying that. I hope I’m not, but I’m often discontented with my life, though perhaps now that I have you for a companion I shall find more pleasure in it.’

  She was breathless, but it would never do to let him see that. She moved her hands ever so slightly and he let them go at once. She turned away, saying lightly: ‘I shall do my best, only you must tell me what you like and what you don’t like—but you must never think that I shall be bored or find life dull. There’s always so much to see and do and I love walking and staring round at things.’

  He laughed. ‘How restful that sounds—I like that too. We’ll walk and stare as often as we can spare the time. I have a small house in Friesland and several good friends living nearby. We must spend some weekends there.’

  Deborah turned to face him again, once more quite composed. ‘Another house? Gerard, I’ve never asked you because there hasn’t been much time to talk and it didn’t seem important, but now I want to know. You haven’t a lot of money or anything like that, have you?’

  The corners of his mouth twitched, ‘As to that, Deborah, I must plead guilty, for I do have a good deal of money and I own a fair amount of land besides.’ He studied her face. ‘Would you have married me if you had known?’

  ‘I don’t know. Yes, I do—I should have married you just the same because you would have known that I wasn’t doing it for your money—at least, I hope you would.’

  She saw the bleak look erase all expression from his face and wondered what she had said to cause it. ‘Oh dear, have I annoyed you?’

  The look had gone; perhaps she had imagined it. ‘No, Deborah, and I’m glad to hear that is how you feel about it. Now supposing I take my case to Billy’s room and unpack what I need, and then do you suppose we might have a stroll in your father’s delightful garden?’

  A suggestion to which she agreed happily enough.

  It was good to see Mike and Helen again, and even if they were surprised at her news, it was only to be expected. The evening was passed pleasantly, with some of Mr Culpeper’s prized Madeira brought out to drink the bride’s health and a buzz of family talk interrupted by excited telephone conversations with Maureen and her brothers. And as for Deborah, the evening had become a happy dream because when they had walked in the garden, Gerard had given her a ring with the matter-of-fact observation that she should have had it before they were married; he had gone to Holland to fetch it and had forgotten to give it to her. It was a beautiful ring, a diamond, an enormous one, in a strange old-fashioned setting of two pairs of hands supporting the stone on either side. She had exclaimed over its beauty, watching its rainbow colours as she turned her hand from side to side in order to see it better, thanking him nicely, trying to forget that he himself had forgotten.

  He told her that it was the traditional betrothal ring of his family. ‘At least,’ he had explained, ‘there are two, exactly alike. My grandmother left this one to me as I was the eldest grandson, and—’ he became silent and she, anxious to help him out, said: ‘What a sensible idea! The other ring will be left to—to whoever is your heir—that means,’ she hurried on, ‘that the wives don’t have to give up their engagement rings. I wonder how that all started?’

  He replied casually. ‘Oh, an ancestor of mine—he had a very youthful wife, and when their son married she was still a young woman and flatly refused to give up her ring, so because he loved her to distraction he had another made just like it.’

  They had laughed about it together, although secretly she thought it a charming story, and later the ring had been admired and discussed and admired again. Only when she was at last in her own room lying in her white-painted bed amidst her small, familiar possessions, did she allow herself to shed a few tears because the dream would never come true, of course; she would have to be sensible and make Gerard a good wife and be thankful that he at least liked her. But at the same time, she promised herself fiercely through her tears, she would never give up trying to make him love her.

  She wakened early by reason of the early morning sun shining in through the open window and was on the point of getting up when there was a tap on the door and Gerard came in. His good morning was friendly, his manner as matter-of-fact as it had been the previous evening.

  ‘I hoped you would be awake,’ he said. ‘I have been wondering if you would like to pay lightning visits to your brothers and sister before we leave for Holland? The boys are at Wells, aren’t they? Twelve miles, no further, and Wells to Sherborne is under twenty-five and on our way, in any case, for we can pick up the Winchester road from there. The ferry doesn’t sail until midnight, so as long as we don’t linger over meals, we should have ample time.’ He sat down on the end of her bed. ‘Would you like that?’

  Deborah smiled her pleasure. ‘Oh, Gerard, how kind of you to think of it! I’d simply love it—you’re sure there’s time?’

  ‘Positive.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s half past six—a little early perhaps…?’

  ‘Mother always gets up at seven. I’ll go down and make the tea and tell her. We can have breakfast when we want, no one will mind. When do you want to leave?’

  ‘Half past eight. I’ll come down with you—better still,’ he got off the bed, ‘I’ll go down and put the kettle on.’

  By the time Deborah reached the kitchen he had the kettle boiling and a tray laid with cups and saucers and milk and sugar, which surprised her very much, for she hadn’t supposed him to be the kind of man who would be handy about the house, indeed, even now, in need of a shave and in a dressing gown of great magnificence, he contrived to look more than elegant and the making of early morning tea seemed alien to his nature. There was, she guessed, a great deal to his character of which she knew nothing.

  She took the tea upstairs, whispered their plans to her mother, who thought it a splendid idea and accepted them without demur, and then went back to the kitchen to drink her tea with Gerard, and because the morning was such a beautiful one, they wandered through the back door and strolled round the garden admiring the flowers, their tea cups in their hands, stopping to take an occasional sip.


  ‘What a delightful way in which to start the day,’ commented Gerard, back in the kitchen.

  Deborah agreed. ‘And one can do it almost anywhere,’ she pointed out, ‘provided there’s a strip of grass and a few flowers, or a pleasant walk nearby…have you a dog?’

  ‘Yes, though he hasn’t seen a great deal of me lately; Wim stands proxy for me, though. And there are two cats, but they belong to Marijke.’

  ‘What do you call your dog?’

  ‘Smith, he’s a Jack Russell. He goes everywhere with me when I’m home.’

  ‘I hope he’ll like me; I could take him for walks.’

  ‘You shall.’ He took her cup from her and put it tidily in the sink. ‘Shall we get dressed? What do we do about breakfast? Shall we get our own?’

  ‘Everyone will be down—but we can always start if they’re not.’

  They left exactly on time amidst a chorus of good wishes and goodbyes and urgings to return as soon as possible, coupled with a great many messages from Mrs Culpeper for the boys and Maureen.

  All of which Deborah faithfully passed on, although her listeners were all far too excited to pay any attention to them; the boys, naturally enough, were much more interested in the car than in their sister, and she was agreeably surprised to find how well Gerard got on with them. Her notions of him were sadly out, she admitted to herself as they took a boisterous leave of Billy and John and tore down the Fosse Way towards Sherborne and Maureen. She had always thought of him as being a perfect darling, of course, because she loved him, but also a little reserved as well as being a quiet man. He was still quiet, of course, but he obviously enjoyed the boys’ company and she hadn’t expected that.

  It was mid-morning by now and Maureen came dancing out of her class to cast herself into her elder sister’s embrace. ‘Debby,’ she shrilled, ‘how lovely—tell me all about the wedding and what did you wear…?’ She stopped to smile at Gerard and then throw herself with enthusiasm at him. ‘Oh, you do look nice,’ she assured him. ‘Just wait till I tell the girls—can I come and stay with you soon?’ She plucked impatiently at his arm. ‘You’re very good-looking, aren’t you? which is a good thing because Debby’s quite beautiful, isn’t she, and thank heavens you’re so tall because now she can wear high heels if she wants to.’ She didn’t wait for him to answer but turned her attention to Deborah again. ‘You haven’t told me what you wore.’

  ‘This dress I’m wearing—it was a very quiet wedding, darling.’

  Deborah smiled at her small sister; she and the boys were all so large, but Maureen took after her mother in her smallness, although at the moment she had no looks at all, only a great deal of charm.

  ‘Shall I come and have lunch with you?’ she wanted to know.

  It was Gerard who answered her. ‘Sorry, Maureen. We’re on our way home to Holland, but how about paying us a visit in the holidays? We’ll come over and fetch you.’

  She flung her arms around him. ‘Oh, will you? Will you really? Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’ He bent and kissed her small elfin face and looked at Deborah. ‘We must go, my dear,’ and he smiled half-humorously over the child’s head.

  They had time and to spare when they reached Dover, for the big car had eaten up the miles and they had stopped only briefly on the way. Gerard parked the car in the queue and invited Deborah to get out.

  ‘There’s an hotel just outside the dock gates,’ he told her. ‘We have ample time to have dinner before we go on board.’

  When they reached the hotel it was long past the time that dinner was served, but Gerard seemed to have little difficulty in persuading the waiter that just this once he might stretch a point. They dined simply, watching the harbour below from their table in the window.

  Deborah was surprised to find that there was a cabin booked for her when they got on board; the crossing was barely four hours and she wasn’t in the least tired, but when she said so, Gerard merely smiled and told her that it would be a good idea if she were to get some sleep. ‘It can be very noisy,’ he explained. ‘Even if you don’t sleep, you can read—I’ll get you some magazines. And my cabin is next to yours, so you have only to knock if you want anything.’

  She thanked him, wishing that they could have spent the time together talking, for she suspected that once they got to his home he would be swallowed up in his work almost at once and she might see very little of him. He was going to take up the appointment which had been waiting for him in the hospital where he had been a consultant for some years; she felt sure that he would want to start at once.

  She lay down on her bunk and pulled a blanket over her and opened the first of the magazines. Long before the ferry sailed, she was asleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DEBORAH WAS CALLED with a cup of tea and a polite request from the steward that she would join her husband in the lounge as soon as she was ready. Gerard was waiting for her, looking, at four-fifteen in the morning, quite immaculate, so that she was glad that she had taken trouble with her own appearance; her face nicely made up, her hair as neat as it always was, her blue outfit fresh and creaseless from its careful hanging while she slept.

  It was still dark when they landed, but Gerard shot away as though he knew the road blindfold, which, she conceded, was probably the case. But although he drove fast he didn’t allow it to interfere with the casual conversation which he carried on, explaining in which direction they were going, pointing out the towns as they passed through them and warning her when they approached the frontier between Belgium and Holland.

  It was growing lighter now. They passed through the small town of Sluis with its narrow, twisting streets, still so quiet in the early morning and then out again on to the straight tree-lined road, making for the ferry at Breskens. ‘There is another route,’ he told her, ‘through Antwerp and Breda, but it’s usually loaded with traffic. Even with a possible delay on the ferry I find this way shorter now that the new bridges and roads are open to Rotterdam.’

  It was light enough to see by now and Deborah, wide awake, asked endless questions and could barely wait to drink the coffee he fetched for her on board the ferry, because she wanted to see everything at once as they crossed the great river. She thought Flushing disappointingly dull, although the sea-front, which she could see in the distance, was probably delightful with its long line of hotels facing the beach. But she had little enough chance to do more than glimpse it, for Gerard skirted the town and took the motorway to Goes, past factories and shipyards and a great deal of dreary flat country. She would have liked to have commented upon this, for after Somerset she found it depressing, but she held her tongue, and presently, once they were past Goes, on the fine road crossing the islands, speeding towards Rotterdam, she cheered up, for here the country was green and pretty in the morning sunlight and the houses with their steep red roofs and the solid farms looked delightful enough. Even Rotterdam, even though there was little to see but towering flats and factories and docks, was interesting and bustling with early workers, and the more so because Gerard told her a great deal about it as he eased the car through the ever-increasing traffic with a patience and good humour she was sure she would never have had.

  Once through the city and on the motorway once more, Gerard remarked: ‘We could have crossed the river lower down and gone through Europoort on the new road to Delft, but you have already seen so many factories and blast furnaces—this way is more interesting and we can stop in Delft and have breakfast. Reyndorp’s Prinsenhof will be open by now.’

  Delft, Deborah discovered at once, was quite a different kettle of fish. Gerard parked the car in one of the main streets of the picturesque little town and led her across the road to the restaurant, where they obligingly served them with an ample breakfast at a table in a window overlooking the street. There were already plenty of people going to work on their bicycles, milk carts, bread carts, carts loaded with vegetables and weaving in and out of them, hordes of schoolchildren on their motorised bikes.

>   ‘Everything seems to start very early,’ Deborah exclaimed. ‘Look, there’s a shop open already.’

  ‘A good many open at eight o’clock, sometimes earlier. I suppose we breakfast earlier than they do in England—we lunch at midday, and most people have an evening meal about six o’clock.’

  ‘That makes a very long evening.’

  His blue eyes twinkled. ‘Ah, yes—but the Dutchman likes to sit at home reading his paper, drinking his glass of gin and surrounded by his wife and children. Perhaps you find that dull, but we don’t think so.’

  Deborah shook her head; it didn’t sound dull at all. She enjoyed for a fleeting moment a vivid picture of Gerard and herself on either side of the hearth with a clutch of small van Doornincks between them. She brushed the dream aside briskly; he had told her that he had a great many friends and entertained quite frequently and that they would go out fairly often, and perhaps, as there were to be no little van Doornincks, that was a very good thing.

  They were less than forty miles from Amsterdam now and once back on the motorway it seemed even less. They seemed to come upon the city suddenly, rising abruptly from the flat fields around it and Gerard had perforce to slow down, turning and twisting through narrow streets and along canals which looked so charming that she wished that they might stop so that she might take a better look. Presently he turned into a busy main street, only to cross it and turn down another narrow street bordering a canal.