A Happy Meeting Read online

  The doctor drove himself and the dogs north. It was a cold evening and already getting dark and there was little to see of the country through which he travelled, only the dim outline of farms with their great barns attached to them and the gleam of the water from time to time. He had gone over the Afsluitdijk and taken the road towards Leeuwarden, turned north again before he reached the town and joined the road to Dokkum, to turn off again, this time on to a narrow brick road which led him at length to a small village, seven or eight miles from the Waddenzee: a cluster of small houses, a large, austere church and a small school building, all shrouded in darkness, and half a mile beyond the wrought-iron gates which were the entrance to his home.

  Wester was waiting for him, a stoutly built, very tall man with a rugged face and blond hair with a heavy sprinkling of grey. He had the door of the house open before the doctor reached it and the two men shook hands. Wester was the best part of ten years older than the doctor and they had known each other since boyhood; Wester’s father had been house steward to the doctor’s father and when his own father had died he had stepped into his shoes, and since he had married the doctor’s cook some five years previously and had two sons it stood to reason that when their time came one or other of them would take over from his father, an arrangement which was satisfactory to everyone concerned.

  They stood in the open doorway for a few minutes while the dogs roamed free and the doctor slipped naturally into the language of his youth and spoke Fries, looking around him at the large hall beyond the vestibule where the portraits of his ancestors hung on its white walls, and the wide staircase swept up to the gallery above his head. It was good to be home, he reflected, and the unbidden thought that Cressida would like it crossed his mind. She would like the house in Leiden too, he conceded, small compared with this but charming and old and splendidly furnished. He frowned, whistled to the dogs and went inside while Wester fetched his case from the car and then drove it round to the garage at the back of the house.

  He was halfway across the hall when Tyske, Wester’s wife, came through the door at the back of the hall to meet him. She was a tall strongly built woman with mild blue eyes and a wide smile, and she broke into speech when she saw him; it was a delight to have him home again and there was a splendid supper waiting for him, he had only to say...

  He flung a great arm round her shoulders and lapsed into Fries once more, asking her about the children and whether the cat and the pet rabbits were well, and presently he crossed the hall to his drawing-room, a vast room with a lofty ceiling and tall wide windows draped in russet velvet. There was a stone fireplace, hooded, at one end of the room and some magnificent bow-fronted display cabinets filled with pretty porcelain and silver. The chairs and sofas were large and comfortable, there were lamp tables and a vast rent table between the windows and amber shaded lamps. A log fire burned brightly and the lamp-light cast shadows on the silk-panelled walls hung with more portraits and landscapes. The doctor stood a moment, enjoying the room, and then went to sit by the fire; this was his home, he had been born there and lived in it as a boy and although he traveled a good deal nowadays he came back to it with content.

  It was a large house and very old, with its steepled roof and odd little towers, rows of small windows under the tiles and chimneys, too large for a man to live in alone, but his father had died within the last few years and his mother was on a long visit to one of his sisters in France, and when she returned, she had told him, if he were to marry, she would prefer to live in the house at Dokkum which she had inherited from her father. ‘I hope you will marry soon, my dear,’ she had told him. He had smiled and said that at the moment he had no wish to marry; his work took him to major hospitals in his own country as well as in Europe and beyond, true, he was a lecturer at Leiden Medical School and had a number of beds at the hospital, he lectured in Groningen too and he had beds at Leeuwarden, but he went frequently to England for consultations, and, indeed, had travelled on various occasions to America, the Far East and Russia; none the less most of his work was in Holland, a small enough country for him to live, if he wished, here, in his house, and travel with ease to Leiden, Amsterdam and den Haag.

  He was summoned presently by Wester and crossed the hall to have his supper in the small room he used as a dining-room unless he had guests. It was cosy, with an old-fashioned stove, a round table and a small sideboard, lighted by wall sconces. He ate an excellent meal, a dog on either side of him, and then went to his study, a room at the back of the house overlooking the gardens, bare now at the approach of winter, merging into the polder land beyond. Here he settled down to work, preparing for a series of lectures that he was to give in Groningen and checking his appointments in Leeuwarden. It was late when he went upstairs to bed and the house was very quiet, the dogs, coming in from a last run in the grounds, settled down in their baskets in the warm kitchen. Wester and Tyske had long since gone to bed and the wind sighed in the trees and when he opened his window the air was crisp and very cold. Winter could be hard in Friesland but the doctor liked it that way. He slept the sleep of a tired man without thinking once of Nicola. He did, however, dream of Cressida.

  * * *

  CRESSIDA DIDN’T DREAM of him, but she did think of him quite a lot. She had settled down very nicely to her duties, none of them heavy—most of them weren’t duties, anyway; she didn’t consider that taking the dogs for a walk was a duty, and since she shared Lady Merrill’s taste in literature reading out loud was a pleasure. Here were all the books she had never had the time to read during the last two years and in variety. Lady Merrill’s taste was catholic; Cressida read Trollope, P.D. James, Alastair Maclean and then large chunks of John Donne, Herrick and Keats and then back to romance—Mary Stewart, and odd chapters of Jane Eyre interlarded with books on antiques, about which Lady Merrill knew a great deal, and when these palled Cressida was bidden to fetch the heavy leather-covered albums filled with photos of Lady Merrill’s youth.

  They talked too, long conversations about clothes, the theatre and how to put the world to rights, but none of their talks revealed anything of Lady Merrill’s own family and Cressida was too polite to ask.

  She hadn’t been so happy for a long time; her days were nicely filled, she was being useful but she wasn’t being browbeaten, meals were delicious and Baxter and the rest of the staff were kind. She lost her thinness after the first week and her cheeks were delicately pink. In her purse she had a week’s wages as well as the hundred pounds and in response to Lady Merrill’s delicate hints she took herself off to Yeovil and bought a tweed skirt, a couple of blouses and a pretty woollen jumper and, since she had become sensitive about the only decent dress she owned and which she donned each evening to compliment Lady Merrill’s dark silks and velvets, she went to Laura Ashley and bought a dark red velvet dress, long-sleeved and simple but suitable for the dinner table. She spent rather more than she had meant to but she consoled herself with the thought that when she left Lady Merrill’s she would have the nucleus of a suitable wardrobe for the kind of job she could do. She suspected that not all companion’s jobs would be as pleasant as this one, but she would have a roof over her head and money in her pocket.

  Studying her much improved reflection in her bedroom looking-glass, Cressida allowed herself to think about Dr van der Linus. It was a pity that he couldn’t see her now in the red dress. The suspicion that he had pitied her rankled rather; she would have liked to show him that she wasn’t normally a wispy creature with a sprained ankle...

  Which wasn’t how Lady Merrill described her a few nights later, sitting up in bed, chatting with the doctor on the phone. ‘Of course I’m not asleep, dear,’ she protested, ‘you know that I never sleep so early in the night. You want to know about Cressida?’ She rearranged her bedjacket and smiled to herself. ‘Yes, I quite understand that you still feel responsible for her. She is well and, I believe, happy. She is a delightful companion and such a h
elp to us all. She seemed to me to be a plain girl but she has improved in looks during these last few days. A good thing; she has a far better chance of finding employment now that she has a little colour in her cheeks and is putting on weight. It is surprising what good food does for one.’

  ‘I’m grateful to you, Grandmother, and I hope you will shortly be able to go back to your usual way of life. I mentioned her to Nicola and she tells me that she knows just the person to employ Cressida. An aunt of hers, lives at Noordwijk-aan-Zee and needs a companion. She sounds just what is needed and so much more satisfactory if she is someone who is known to Nicola. You don’t think that I am interfering with Cressida’s future? I should like to think that she had a good job...’

  ‘Well, Aldrik, the alternative is to cast the girl loose into the world to find her own way. She might be lucky; on the other hand she might not. At least we shall know where she is.’ Lady Merrill frowned thoughtfully. ‘This aunt, have you met her?’

  ‘Not yet, but I shall go and see her with Nicola when I get back to Leiden. I’ve a clinic there next week.’

  ‘You will write and let her know?’

  ‘No. I fancy that if she knew what we have contrived she might well refuse. How about getting hold of Mrs Sefton again?’

  ‘A good idea—mutual friends in Holland and so on. That should do very well. Let me know your plans in good time. You’re happy at Janslum?’

  ‘Yes, Grandmother. I’ve been at Groningen all day; tomorrow I shall be in Leeuwarden and plan to go back to Leiden at the end of the week.’

  ‘When will you be over here again?’

  ‘There’s a seminar in a month’s time—I shall see you then.’

  She said goodnight and lay back on her pillows, her elderly mind busy. Somehow she didn’t like the sound of Nicola’s aunt, but there was nothing much she could do about that; perhaps she was misjudging Nicola, a young woman she didn’t like and who, as far as she knew, had never put herself out to do anyone a kindness unless it was of benefit to herself.

  Lady Merrill lay and thought about that until at last she went to sleep.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  OCTOBER HAD SLIPPED into November, bringing colder weather and dark evenings. Lady Merrill was content to sit indoors or walk, well wrapped up, in the grounds of the house. It was Cressida who took the dogs for their walk each morning and evening, bundled in her old mac and wearing a scarf over her mousy locks. She enjoyed these walks, her head full of plans, mostly about clothes and, rather worriedly, about her future. Lady Merrill hadn’t told her how long she was to stay and when she mentioned the companion to anyone they were vague as to when she would return. Surely she would be given a week’s notice at least? she thought. All the same, given the day off, she took herself to Yeovil, purchased a copy of the Lady magazine and studied the adverts. There was no lack of urgent requests for mother’s helps and nannies and a fair sprinkling of appeals for kind persons to cope with old ladies, old gentlemen or the housework. It shouldn’t be too difficult to find another job. She marked the most promising of these over a cup of coffee and a bun and took herself off to the shops. She had another week’s wages in her purse, to be laid out with care; shoes—she couldn’t afford boots—and undies. She still had the hundred pounds intact so that next week’s wages could be spent on another sweater, gloves and a handbag. Thus equipped, she felt, she would pass muster for a start, gradually gathering together a suitable wardrobe. When her father had been alive, she had bought nice clothes, for he had been generous to her, but now they had seen their best days although her coat was well cut and of good quality and was good for another winter or so.

  She went back to Lady Merrill, well pleased with her modest prudent purchases, ate dinner in the old lady’s company and spent an hour allowing her to win a game of cribbage before Elsie came to help her to bed.

  ‘I shall miss you,’ declared the old lady as Cressida wished her goodnight.

  ‘I shall miss you too, Lady Merrill, but you’ll have your companion back again and I’m sure you will be glad to see her once more.’

  Lady Merrill looked vague. ‘Yes, yes, I suppose I shall.’ She trotted off on the faithful Elsie’s arm and Cressida, with nothing better to do, went to her room and tried on the new shoes.

  Once in her bed, nicely propped up with pillows and the necessities for the night on the bedside table, Lady Merrill picked up the telephone. It was barely ten o’clock and high time that she had a chat with Audrey Sefton. A night-bird herself, the old lady had no compunction about rousing such of her friends with whom she wished to gossip; fortunately Mrs Sefton hadn’t gone to bed and listened with growing interest to what Lady Merrill had to say.

  ‘But my dear, I don’t know this woman...’

  ‘Well, of course you don’t,’ said Lady Merrill testily, ‘But if Aldrik says she’s all right then that’s all that matters. The thing is to let Cressida think that it is a job that someone you know, however vaguely, happened to have heard about—mutual friends and so on. Go on, Audrey, Aldrik is anxious to get the girl settled.’

  ‘Yes, but why in Holland?’

  ‘He won’t lose touch...’ Lady Merrill chuckled and heard her friend draw a breath.

  ‘You don’t mean...?’

  ‘I don’t mean anything. Will you do it?’

  ‘Very well, although I dislike subterfuge as you very well know.’

  ‘There is a very good reason. I’ll let you know what Aldrik says. Goodnight, Audrey, and thank you.’

  The old lady settled back into her pillows, well pleased with herself.

  * * *

  IT WAS THE best part of a week before the doctor returned to Leiden and had the leisure to visit Nicola’s aunt. It was a cold grey afternoon when he picked her up from her parents’ house in den Haag and drove up the coast to Noordwijk-aan-Zee, and the house, when they reached it, looked as bleak as the day, wilting rapidly into an even colder evening. It was a fair-sized villa, built some fifty years previously; red-brick and a great deal of fancy stonework, and surrounded by a garden, meticulously neat, bordered by shrubs and empty flowerbeds. The doctor found it dispiriting.

  Jonkvrouw van Germert received them graciously, offered weak milkless tea and minuscule biscuits and assured them that she was delighted to see them. ‘I lead a secluded life,’ she observed, ‘and at times I am lonely.’

  Nicola sipped her tea, with every appearance of enjoyment. ‘Tante Clotilde,’ she began hesitantly, ‘you say you’re lonely. I suppose you wouldn’t consider having a companion?’

  Her aunt looked surprised. She did it very well, having rehearsed the whole conversation with Nicola. ‘A companion?’ She tittered. ‘Am I quite old enough for that, Nicola? I don’t need anyone to pick up my dropped stitches or read aloud; my eyes are still good.’

  Nicola laughed gently. ‘I didn’t mean that kind of companion, Tante, but someone to accompany you on walks and drive the car, an intelligent woman who can listen as well as talk—in fact, someone to be in this house with you.’ She added lightly, ‘You told me yourself that you were considering it.’

  Jonkvrouw van Germert appeared to think. ‘I must say that put like that it sounds attractive, especially during the winter months. But why do you ask, Nicola?’

  The doctor hadn’t spoken. Now he said, ‘I know of an English girl who is anxious to find a pleasant situation. She is at present with my grandmother, who is very pleased with her. She doesn’t speak Dutch, of course, but that might be of added interest to you. She is, for lack of a better word, that old-fashioned thing, a lady, intelligent, and, from what my grandmother tells me—and she usually knows—a very kind and considerate girl.’

  ‘Surely she would prefer to stay in her own country?’

  ‘She has few friends and no immediate family. Aldrik thinks that it might benefit her to have a change of
scene. However, I won’t bother you further, Tante; Aldrik has any number of friends, he can ask around...’

  Her aunt appeared to consider. ‘I must say that the idea appeals to me. Not permanently, of course, but for the winter months, and by then this girl may find employment which is more suitable or start to train for something. I’d like to think about it.’ She gave the doctor a gracious smile. ‘I’ll let you know within the next day or so.’

  ‘I’m sure Tante Clotilde will decide to employ this girl,’ said Nicola as they drove back to den Haag, ‘and if she doesn’t you can still ask the van der Bronses to look around. I hear Charity is expecting a child.’

  ‘In a couple of months. They’re delighted.’ They began to talk of other things until he dropped her off at her home, refusing to go in with her with the plea of work to be done and a late visit to an ill patient in the hospital.

  Nicola pecked his cheek—she disliked what she called ‘demonstrative behaviour’—and he got into his car again and drove back to Leiden, dismissing her from his thoughts. He felt uneasy; Jonkvrouw van Germert was the answer to his scheme, and yet he wasn’t satisfied. He didn’t like her, although there had been no reason for his dislike. Her home was hideous, he considered, over-furnished and yet uncomfortable; on the other hand the surroundings were pleasant and he would be near enough to make sure that Cressida was happy. If she wasn’t it would be easy enough to find something else. Of course she might refuse to leave England, but he thought it unlikely; she had had no experience at finding work and she had little money. There was no need for him to worry; he parked the car at the hospital and went to see his patient.

  Although he told himself time and again that his interest in Cressida was purely derived from a wish to see someone unfortunate made happy, he might have felt the need to worry if he had overheard the conversation Nicola had with her aunt over the phone.