The Magic of Living Page 5

The doctor received this widely known piece of information without even the ghost of a smile. He said composedly: ‘Then I am lucky. So shall we say half past ten?’

  Arabella nodded. ‘Yes, thank you. I could catch the bus afterwards, couldn’t I?’

  He looked at her with a serious face, but his eyes were alight with laughter. ‘Certainly, if you wish.’

  He got up and opened the door for her and as she went past him, laid a large hand on her shoulder. ‘Thank you, Arabella,’ said the doctor, and just for a moment she thought he was going to say something more, but all he did was to incline his head gravely.

  Arabella had few clothes with her, for at the camp she would have been busy with the children for most of the day. She had packed a skirt and some thin sweaters as well as her duty clothes, and at the last minute had flung in a jersey dress of honey and cinnamon stripes. She had had no notion of wearing it when she had packed it, but now, reviewing her scanty wardrobe, she was glad to have it with her. She did her face with great care, took a long time over her neatly piled hair, and viewed the result with mixed feelings, seeing, as always, the brilliant image of Hilary beside her in the mirror. She sighed as she caught up the sensible fawn-coloured raincoat her aunt had advised her to buy. ‘Something practical, dear,’ Aunt Maud had suggested kindly, ‘for you must never forget that although your home is and always will be with your uncle and me, you will have to manage on your own—with money, I mean.’ She had cast a contemptuous glance at the gaily coloured affairs Arabella had been looking at. ‘These are perfectly all right for a girl who doesn’t have to think too much of her future, but take my advice, Arabella, and buy something sensible which you will still be wearing in five years’ time.’

  It was only two years since her aunt had said that and she had taken her advice, albeit reluctantly, and already she hated the garment. The prospect of having to wear it for another three years or more filled her with loathing. As she went through the Home to the hospital entrance, Arabella toyed with the idea of buying some new clothes while she was in Holland—the sort of clothes she had always wanted, the clothes, came the unbidden thought, instantly suppressed, that Hilary wore. The idea animated her expression so that her eyes sparkled and her generous mouth curved into a pleased smile. She bounced past Piet, the head porter, wishing him a cheerful good morning as she went, and out into the hospital forecourt, quite unaware that she looked quite pretty.

  Doctor van der Vorst was already there, leaning on the bonnet of the Bentley with a careless negligence which seemed to Arabella to be nothing short of sacrilege; the Bentley was almost new and its gleaming, pristine dignity required nothing short of the greatest respect.

  She wished him good morning and spoke her thought. ‘You shouldn’t lean against such a super car,’ she admonished him. ‘Supposing you should scratch it?’

  He opened the door for her, laughing. ‘Then I should have to get another car, should I not?’ He got in beside her. ‘How prompt you are—I supposed all girls never to be on time for a date.’

  She gave him one of her candid looks. ‘Well, this isn’t a d-date, is it?’

  He had turned the car and was going gently down the town’s main street. ‘In the line of duty?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Well, no, not that either. It’s all right for me, because it’s my day off, but you must have heaps to do…’

  ‘No,’ the doctor contradicted her mildly, ‘it’s my day off too.’

  She sat beside him, her thoughts very clearly to be read upon her expressive face. If he had a day off, would it be easy for her to leave as soon as she intended? She had visualised half an hour’s quick inspection, a short discussion as to the best way of dealing with Billy and Sally in strange surroundings, a quick introduction to his wife and then she would make her goodbyes, while he would go back to whatever he chose to do with his free time. She had even prepared a little speech to this effect; now she would have to alter it. Perhaps too, if she mentioned the bus to Arnhem he might feel impelled to offer her a lift there; he had nice manners and he might insist. She began to think where she might go in that city so that if he insisted upon taking her there, she wouldn’t have to hesitate as to where she wanted to go—she should never have mentioned her plans, but perhaps she would be able to slip away gracefully with a muttered excuse like people did in books.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ her companion begged, so suddenly that she jumped and with the stammer worse than ever assured him over-eagerly that she wasn’t worried about anything.

  He had left the main street now and turned into a tree-lined road where the houses, large and standing in their own grounds, stood well back from the pavement. There was a canal beside the road and on its other side, open fields and wooded country. Even on the rather grey morning, it looked delightful—a pleasant place to live in, Arabella conceded, talking silently to herself as usual, and was agreeably surprised when her companion turned the car once more between high, old-fashioned wrought iron gates, and up a drive, short and well gravelled, to halt silently before the double door set in the exact centre of a brick house, whose flat face rose three stories to a gabled roof. The house was of some size, with its rows of windows, all exactly alike, so that its placid face seemed to reflect the quiet countryside before it. Arabella got out when the doctor opened the car door and saw that the house door had been opened by an elderly woman in a black dress covered by an old-fashioned print apron. Her craggy face broke into a smile and she addressed herself to the doctor, who answered her briefly, and then said in English: ‘Our housekeeper, Emma, and our guardian angel, for Larissa never worries her head about household affairs.’

  He sounded fondly indulgent; so his wife was some beautiful helpless girl who couldn’t cook a meal and doubtless didn’t want to, let alone dust. Arabella was already disliking the mythical lady as she stepped over the threshold of the doctor’s house, returning the housekeeper’s warm smile with a shy one of her own.

  She was allowed little time to look around her; she had a confused but pleasant impression of white walls and a flagstoned floor strewn with rugs, flowers in profusion, and dark polished furniture before the doctor opened one of the doors in the hall and ushered her into a large room at the front of the house. A tall, fair girl got up from one of the comfortable armchairs arranged around an enormous hooded chimneypiece and walked towards them, smiling. She was, Arabella saw with a jaundiced eye, much prettier than even her imagination had painted her, and her clothes were super.

  ‘Hullo, Larissa,’ said the doctor cheerfully. ‘Here’s Arabella.’ He turned to his visitor. ‘My sister, Larissa.’

  Arabella held out her hand and said in an astonished voice, ‘Oh…’which prompted Larissa to ask: ‘Do I surprise you? Has Gideon been telling you tales about me?’

  ‘No,’ said Arabella, ‘I didn’t know…that is, I th-thought you were his w-wife.’

  His sister laughed. ‘Gideon? Why, he’s a confirmed bachelor! Come and sit down, I have been hearing about your unfortunate journey—all those poor children—but also I hear that you are a very sensible and quick-thinking person. I am only just back home, or I should have come to the hospital to visit you all, but now there are only two children left, Gideon tells me, and you to nurse them…’ She rattled on as she poured the coffee, which gave Arabella a good opportunity to study her. She was indeed a very pretty girl; her brother’s good looks softened into near-beauty, and possessing an elegant figure which was set off to perfection by the clothes she was wearing. Arabella made polite conversation, sipped her delicious coffee and wished with all her heart that she could look just like that. She heaved a sigh, and looked up to find the doctor’s gaze bent upon her, which made her colour guiltily, and prepared to embark upon some remark or other in case he might think her rude, staring in such a fashion. Happily there was no need of this, for there was a gentle, insistent barking at the door and when Doctor van der Vorst went to open it, an Old English sheepdog bounded in. He exchanged fulsome gree
tings with his master, gave Larissa a friendly nudge with his woolly head and went to sniff at Arabella, who flung an arm around him and begged to know his name.

  ‘George,’ said the doctor, and the beast, hearing his name spoken by his master’s voice, went to loll against his knees, his eyes cast up into his face with every appearance of bliss.

  ‘Do the children like dogs?’ Larissa asked.

  ‘I hope so—though I don’t really know. They’re both intelligent children, though, and very interested in everything.’

  ‘Good. We have two cats as well—come over here and see them.’

  They were in a corner of the room in a large box; a splendid Siamese whom Larissa introduced as Crosby, a small tabby cat with no pedigree whatsoever called Tatters, because, it was explained, Gideon had found her abandoned and brought her home one winter’s night, and a quantity of kittens, all of them a curious mixture of tabby and Siamese.

  ‘Ducky, aren’t they?’ asked Larissa, ‘and so devoted. Crosby adores Tatters and he’s such a good father. They come in here during the day,’ she explained seriously, ‘but if I’m out they go into Gideon’s study with him, or into the kitchen with Emma. They like company.’

  ‘They’re beautiful!’ exclaimed Arabella, and put a gentle finger on Tatters’ commonplace head. ‘You wouldn’t think that Crosby would fall for such an ordinary little thing, would you? I daresay she has a charming disposition, though.’

  ‘Indeed she has—I imagine the two children will love her.’ She turned to say to Gideon, ‘Shall I take Arabella to see the room we think might suit?’

  The doctor got to his feet. ‘By all means, then if there is anything she wants altered it can be done before they arrive.’

  Arabella walked between them to the door. She would have liked the leisure to have looked around her, for there was a great deal meriting her inspection; paintings on the panelled walls, silver in a bow-fronted display cabinet, glass and china… She said now, desperately anxious not to be a nuisance to the doctor: ‘But surely just for an hour or two, there’ll be n-no n-need to alter… Oh, I see, they’re a b-bit messy with their m-meals, aren’t they, and other things… We could have our lunch in the garden, you know, for it’s not in the least cold.’

  Larissa stopped short in the middle of the hall. ‘But didn’t Gideon tell you?’ she wanted to know. ‘You’re coming to stay; he thinks it would be good for the children, and you’re coming with them, of course.’

  Arabella looked at the doctor. ‘Well,’ she remarked reproachfully, ‘you never said a word—I thought you meant for a few hours.’

  He had halted too, standing under the portrait of a stern gentleman in a tie wig, who looked as though he might disagree with everything anyone might say. ‘Didn’t I make myself clear? My apologies, dear girl, but what would be the use of a few hours—a day, even? We will have them here for a week or so, so that they may forget about the accident and the hospital and return home quite restored. I hear from Wickham’s that they are having difficulty with some of the children; the experience seems to have shaken them more than we thought.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ cried Arabella. ‘They try so hard, and when there’s an improvement they’re so pleased with themselves.’

  She hesitated and then asked diffidently: ‘Isn’t it putting you to a great deal of inconvenience?’

  ‘No,’ he answered coolly, ‘why should it? You will be here.’

  She felt snubbed. She replied in an expressionless voice: ‘Yes, of course.’

  The room they had gone to inspect was a large one at the back of the house, which, behind its flat façade, rambled a good deal. It had doors leading out to the garden, a small cloakroom conveniently close by, and another, much smaller room leading from it, which the doctor pointed out, would do very well for her. ‘But don’t suppose that we intend to keep you all here like prisoners. I think that breakfast together would be a splendid idea. I’m usually home for lunch at midday. If I am not, Larissa will be; we can stow the children in the car and run them round and I’ve arranged for Emma’s niece to relieve you for an hour or so each day. Perhaps not ideal, but worth a trial.’ He smiled at her. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s a wonderful idea, but are you s-sure you d-don’t mind?’ She stopped to choose her words carefully. ‘They’re n-not very easy to have around, you know.’ She gave him a questioning look and he said quickly: ‘We don’t mind,’ in a reassuring voice, but she was not quite convinced.

  ‘They’re not—they can’t help b-being careless s-sometimes,’ she persisted. ‘They might s-spoil things.’ Her eyes took in the extreme comfort of the room.

  ‘Very unlikely,’ the doctor said bracingly. ‘This house and its contents have stood up to countless generations of children banging and thumping around and dropping things all over it. Don’t worry.’

  He took her arm, and with Larissa on the other side, walked her through the French doors into the garden; a pleasant place, well shielded by trees so that no other house could be seen, and with a wide stretch of lawn beneath them, besides flower beds full of autumn flowers. George padded softly beside them as they wandered down the path to a wicket gate set in a high wall. ‘The kitchen garden,’ explained Larissa. ‘I’m a rotten gardener, but Gideon loves to dig and cut the grass, though we have Jaap to work here as well. Have you a garden at your home?’

  Without realizing that she was doing so, Arabella told them both a good deal about herself, gently led by the casual questions put to her by the doctor, only she didn’t say much about Hilary; the doctor wasn’t likely to meet her cousin, and Arabella wasn’t sure why she was deliberately reticent on the subject, although she felt mean about it.

  They had come in from the garden by now, back into the sitting room, and Arabella, with an astonished look at the clock, said rather awkwardly: ‘I’ve stayed too long. I do b-beg your p-pardon, and I’ve such a lot to do.’

  She got to her feet, feeling she had excused herself rather gracefully, and was shattered by the doctor’s abrupt: ‘What?’ She stared at him and he repeated patiently: ‘You said that you had a lot to do, and I asked what.’

  She drew breath. ‘Yes, well—I’m going to the open-air m-museum, and—and…’It was ridiculous, but she could think of nowhere else. Perhaps, she thought wildly, it was a sufficiently large place for one to remain all day there, in which case there was no need to say more.

  ‘Plenty of time to go there some other day—won’t you stay for lunch?’ He put his handsome head on one side and studied her face. ‘Larissa and I will be much more fun, you know.’

  She had to laugh at that and was borne away in triumph by Larissa to tidy herself. She was led up the carved staircase at the back of the hall, with its two wings leading to the corridor above, and shown into Larissa’s room, an apartment of such comfort that Arabella decided that it wasn’t comfort but luxury. She sat down on the little satin-covered stool before the dressing table and ordered her mousy hair and did her face, while Larissa lounged on the bed, with a shocking disregard for its splendid brocade coverlet, and talked about everything under the sun. They went down together presently, to join the doctor in the dining room; large enough to seat twenty guests in comfort round its oval table, and hung, as were so many other walls in the house, with family portraits. The doctor saw her looking at them and remarked smilingly: ‘There are a great many of us, I’m afraid, but the more forbidding of our ancestors we have in this room, for then we need only share their company at meals.’

  Arabella, sitting between her host and his sister, found herself enjoying every moment. She was hungry for a start, and the food was delicious and beautifully served, and over and above that, she felt at ease, so that her stammer disappeared completely and she laughed and talked as though they were old friends. And when, after they had had their coffee in the sitting room, she made another effort to leave, and the doctor made it clear that he intended taking her for a short drive through the Veluwe before te
a, she found herself agreeing happily to that as well. Larissa declared that she had friends coming to see her, so Arabella, forgetting her despised raincoat, got into the car beside the doctor and was driven away and out of the town, into the woods and heath of the Veluwe, where he pointed out anything which he thought might interest her, and told her titbits of history and tales of the country through which they were passing.

  Arabella hadn’t enjoyed such a delightful outing for a long time; it seemed to her that she and the doctor had known each other all their lives, and when her wretched stammer returned to lock her tongue rather more tiresomely than usual, and she declared apologetically: ‘I’m sorry about my stammer; it’s only bad when I get excited or upset,’ he had replied casually: ‘Don’t worry about it, I rather like it.’

  They were driving through woods now, the trees around them rustling in the wind, shedding their tinted leaves. ‘I always thought that Holland was flat all over,’ observed Arabella, ‘just fields, you know, and cows.’

  ‘Well, so it is, a good deal of it, although round Rotterdam there is a vast industrial complex, but here in the Veluwe we have neither—the Dutch come here for their holidays, and some of us are fortunate enough to live here. Perhaps we are a little old-fashioned in our way of life, but on the whole, we are content too.’ He glanced at her. ‘You like country life, Arabella?’

  ‘Yes—I’d hate to live in London for ever; I feel lost there.’

  ‘So what will you do when you have finished your training? Get married?’

  She stared ahead of her at the quiet road unfolding before them. ‘I should like that,’ she said soberly, ‘but chance would be a fine thing.’ She swallowed the stammer resolutely. ‘I’m rather a plain girl.’

  She liked him for not denying the fact, but saying briskly: ‘Men marry plain girls every day of the week, and nobody is completely plain, you know. When you look in the mirror you see your face completely without expression. Others see differently—besides, men may admire a pretty face, but prettiness isn’t another word for happiness, and that’s what a man wants in his marriage.’