Cassandra by Chance Page 6

  The relief on his face rewarded her.

  Back in the sitting-room she found Jan organizing the children into a clearing up party and despite her protests, he swept the tea things and the children into the kitchen and within minutes she heard peals of laughter and the sound of him singing.

  ‘That’s right, leave him—the children do him good, he’s missed so much of life.’ The ogre’s voice was quiet and she answered him in the same quiet way.

  ‘Yes, I guessed that. He’s the nicest man. How old is he?’

  ‘Sixty-three or four, it’s not certain.’ His voice dared her to ask any more questions and in answer to his unspoken words she said defiantly, ‘I shall ask him about his life one day.’

  Mr van Manfeld nodded affably. ‘Do. What did the reverend gentleman have to say to you in the hall? Don’t tell me he was making you a proposal?’

  Cassandra rose to the bait. ‘And what if he did? Is it so funny that you have to mock him—and me? You behaved very badly.’ She stopped, remembering his kiss.

  ‘Did you accept?’

  She wasn’t a devious girl; she said instantly: ‘Of course not, how can you be so foolish?’ A thought struck her. ‘Or do you think that I should snatch at such a chance—husbands lie rather thin on the ground for plain girls.’

  ‘No, I didn’t think that. How you do harp on your lack of looks! I wonder if they’re as bad as you make out?’

  She got on to her knees and began spreading out the paper pattern again.

  ‘Well,’ she snapped her scissors defiantly, ‘it doesn’t really matter, does it?’

  ‘Meaning that I shall never see you?’

  ‘You said yourself that you were going back soon, and I shall be leaving when Rachel and Tom get back—three weeks.’

  ‘Ah, yes. You wish to further your career. Have you invited us to supper?’

  She held the scissors poised and stared at him in astonishment. ‘We’ve only just had tea! The children have their homework to do—at least Andrew has a few sums. We have dripping toast and cocoa round the fire; they go to bed at seven sharp.’ She arranged a piece of the pattern carefully. ‘Besides, it will be dreadfully dark by then.’

  ‘Jan always carries a torch and the dark doesn’t matter to me.’

  She said with swift contrition, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry! I say such dreadful things—I don’t think.’

  ‘I wish everyone behaved as you do, as though I were right in the head and a perfectly normal man. You would be surprised at the number of people who either whisper or shout at me as though I had lost my hearing as well. Supper?’

  She laughed. ‘Yes, of course, but don’t expect anything grand, because you won’t get it.’

  He smiled. ‘That’s what I like about you, Cassandra, your warm-hearted hospitality. I’ll snap up your generous invitation before we fall out and you show me the door.’

  Supper was merry and because the children had to go to bed, quickly over. Andrew, bidden to say good-night, kissed his aunt and shook hands with the gentlemen, but Penny flung her small arms round Jan’s neck and kissed him soundly. She did the same for Mr van Manfeld too, taking much longer about it, and Cassandra, watching with pleased surprise, thought:

  ‘Why, he likes children—really likes them!’ For some reason this made her feel very happy.

  The two men had their coats on when she came downstairs from tucking the children into their beds. They wished her a cordial good-night, protested that they had had one of the best evenings of their lives, and went out into the pitch darkness, Jan with his torch, his master’s hand resting lightly on his other arm. She hoped they would manage; the path was narrow and steep in places and Mr van Manfeld was so very large.

  It was a couple of mornings later, in the village shop where she had gone after taking the children to school, that she met Miss Campbell. The place was tolerably full, for no one hurried over their purchases. The pastor’s sister made her way between the bags of oatmeal, dog biscuits and mounds of tinned peaches and apricots, treading on indignant toes as she pushed past, and came to a halt before Cassandra, who wished her a polite good morning, remarked upon the weather, which was awful, and consulted her shopping list. But these innocent red herrings did nothing to deter Miss Campbell, who broke into speech without preamble.

  ‘I hear you have been seeing a lot of that peculiar Dutchman who lives like a hermit in the hill croft.’

  Cassandra, who seldom blushed, did so now. ‘You mean Mr van Manfeld. And it’s a cottage, not a croft.’

  ‘Ah, yes, you would know, of course, you have been there.’ Miss Campbell tossed her head and her severe felt hat wobbled alarmingly. ‘It’s all one,’ she spoke loudly so that everyone around them could hear. ‘And this blindness of his—is it genuine or is it an imagined thing, to draw attention to himself? I cannot think why he hides away when he could be doing useful work of some kind.’

  In the silence which followed Cassandra distinctly heard the breathing of the village ladies, waiting to hear what she would say. When she looked around her she found their eyes, to a woman, were friendly. They gave her heart, so that when she did speak her voice was clear and calm with no trace of the rage which was almost choking her.

  ‘I’m surprised at your question, Miss Campbell,’ she began. ‘It’s uncharitable, and isn’t charity a Christian virtue, one surely which you, as the pastor’s sister, must possess? I hesitate to discuss Mr van Manfeld behind his back, but I must correct you on one or two points. He is blind, or nearly so. Can you imagine a world where everything is dark blue and nothing has shape or form, only movement? And yet he jumped into the loch to get Penny and me out, you know. The pastor must have told you that, for he had tea with us all the other afternoon. Surely ploughing through ice-cold water when you can’t see is more of a Christian act than going to church and criticizing your neighbour’s hat? And what would you do if you were suddenly to lose your sight and knew that your chances of regaining it depended upon living as quiet a life as possible? And would you want to be stared at and pitied? And what work would you do in those circumstances?’

  She stopped, breathing heavily, holding back rage, aware that in Miss Campbell she had an enemy for life while at the same time everyone else in the shop was on her side. She smiled round a little uncertainly, wished Miss Campbell a cold good-day and made for the door. Jan was standing just inside it; he must have heard every word, the look on his face confirmed this. He would go back and tell Mr van Manfeld what she had said and he would come storming down to rend her with his rage and bad language for daring to interfere in his affairs.

  She returned home, expecting, at any hour, a sharp ring on the door bell heralding an irate Mr van Manfeld, but no one came—no one came the next day either. It was the day following that when Jan appeared silently beside her in the cold garden where she was sweeping up the dead leaves. It was early afternoon; the children were back at school and the short hours before teatime had to be filled, the evening would be long enough after the children were in bed and she was alone with the TV, her embroidery and her not very happy thoughts.

  He wished her a good afternoon and asked her if she would go back with him to the Relish.

  ‘Why?’ she wanted to know, leaning on her besom.

  ‘Mijnheer would like to see you.’

  ‘I’m rather busy,’ she began, fighting a strong desire to throw down the broom and tear up the path without waiting for Jan. She didn’t stop to analyse this wish. ‘Another day perhaps.’

  Jan eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Sometimes Mijnheer has severe head pains.’ He tapped his own balding head to emphasize his meaning. ‘The swim in the loch did him no good. He is better today.’

  Now she threw down the besom. ‘Oh, Jan, why didn’t you let me know sooner? Perhaps there was something I could have done. I’ll come right away.’ She glanced at h
er watch. ‘The children won’t be out of school for almost two hours.’

  She dragged on the anorak, snatched up the house keys and joined him in the garden, then saw him glance at her empty hands. ‘He’s got plenty of cakes,’ she said defensively. ‘I saw them...’

  ‘Not yours, miss. He likes them.’

  Cassandra went back into the house. She had had a baking day; she wrapped up a cherry cake, and put it into a basket and rejoined Jan. They were at the cottage in no time at all; Jan was a good walker despite his age and she had long legs which made light of the climb. Jan opened the door and Mr van Manfeld turned his head towards them from his chair by the fire. ‘There you are!’ he declared. ‘And about time—what have you been doing? Half the afternoon is gone.’

  ‘Don’t exaggerate,’ said Cassandra. ‘It’s not quite half past two and we simply tore up the path.’ She cast off her anorak and went to stand by his chair. ‘I’m sorry to hear you haven’t been well—I feel so guilty, because I’m sure that you should never have gone in after Penny and me.’

  ‘Oh, be quiet,’ he snapped. ‘It couldn’t be helped, if it hadn’t been me it would have been some other fool.’ He frowned fiercely, not troubling to turn his head towards her. She sighed soundlessly. It was to be a bad-tempered day; she wondered how Jan kept his cool as she knelt down beside the chair and said reasonably, ‘You feel rotten, don’t you? Do spew your venom over me, you’ll feel so much better for it—you’re worried that some damage has been done, aren’t you? It’s all bottled up, you know, and that doesn’t do you any good at all.’

  His hand felt for and found her shoulder. ‘Sound advice—what a girl you are! I’ve driven poor Jan almost insane these last two days, I don’t know how he bears with me.’

  ‘You bore with me, mijnheer, and I don’t forget.’ Jan’s voice was quiet. ‘I will make a cup of tea, I think.’ He went into the kitchen.

  ‘What does he mean?’ asked Cassandra.

  Mr van Manfeld frowned horribly. ‘Nothing—nothing at all.’

  Something for later, she promised herself; she would find out. She said boldly, ‘Tell me about your work, Mr van Manfeld.’

  He scowled. ‘Ear, nose and throat. I’ve a partner.’

  ‘Consultant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And beds in hospital somewhere?’ she persisted.

  ‘Yes.’ After a moment he added reluctantly, ‘Arnhem, Nijmegen—most in Utrecht.’

  ‘Not just Ts and As, then?’

  He smiled faintly. ‘I’m interested in CA of the larynx and vocal cords.’

  ‘With success?’

  ‘Sometimes. I was just getting somewhere...’

  ‘And will again,’ she said briskly. ‘You’re keeping up to date? Does Jan read the medical journals to you?’

  Before Mr van Manfeld could reply Jan answered for him. ‘I try, miss, but the medical terms I find rather difficult. There is a journal come today.’ He put down the tea tray and went to fetch it—World Medicine, not even opened. She glanced at Jan, who nodded his head, and started to unwrap the cake.

  ‘Would you like me to read it to you?’ she asked, and had her head snapped off with: ‘That’s quite unnecessary! You’ll be bringing me hot soup and a prayer next!’

  She laid the journal down on the table beside him and got to her feet. ‘I don’t think I’ll stay for tea,’ she declared cheerfully. ‘I’m wasting your time, and I’m certainly wasting mine.’ She whisked up her anorak and started to put it on. She actually had one arm in a sleeve when he said crossly, ‘I should very much like you to read to me.’

  ‘In that case I’ll stay.’

  Cassandra read, in her quiet, pretty voice, for an hour, re-reading bits here and there and getting up to hunt through the piles of books lying around the room to check some reference or other. She had to go in the end because the children had to be fetched from school. As she got ready to leave she remarked, ‘I enjoyed that. I’ve never worked in ENT theatre, although learning about it isn’t quite the same as seeing it done.’

  Mr van Manfeld was sitting back, smoking his pipe. ‘No—you would find the theatre work interesting, I believe. So many people dismiss it as tonsils and adenoids.’

  She laughed with him. ‘Perhaps I’ll get around to it later on.’

  ‘Perhaps. Cassandra, thank you for this afternoon. I do not know how you are able to turn my nightmares to day-dreams, but you do. Will you come again?’

  ‘Tomorrow, to read to you. Silly of me not to have thought of it sooner.’ She paused. ‘That’s if Jan doesn’t mind?’

  ‘Jan is delighted, aren’t you, Jan?’

  The older man nodded, his dark sombre face split in a wide smile. ‘You like me to come with you, miss?’ he asked her.

  ‘No, thanks, Jan. I’ll be up about the same time tomorrow.’

  She went every afternoon after that, reading to a surprisingly meek ogre, listening intelligently to his theories—and he had many—searching carefully for notes and references he wanted read again. It was only on the fourth afternoon, just as she was on the point of leaving, that he said, ‘Just a minute, Cassandra. Thank you for defending me so well—Jan told me. Miss Campbell is a formidable opponent, I gather.’

  ‘I thought you’d be angry, but I had to put her right—heaven knows what tale she would have spread around the village. Only I didn’t tell her what you are.’

  ‘So I gather. Thank you for being so thoughtful. They’ll forget me once we’ve left.’

  She was shaken by a dreadful sadness. ‘Oh? When’s that?’

  ‘Soon, I hope. It’s Saturday tomorrow. Will you bring the children and we might all go for a walk.’

  Cassandra went back home, telling herself that she would forget him too once he had gone and quite failing to convince herself on this point. And the children certainly wouldn’t—they were wild with delight when she passed on his invitation.

  It was the middle of the following week when Jan came down one morning and asked her not to go that afternoon. He gave no explanation and she asked for none, but she thought about it quite a bit while she did the ironing. A visitor, perhaps? She was surprised to think that she had never given consideration to the fact that Mr van Manfeld might be married; if so she didn’t think much of his wife, leaving him to solitude with only Jan for company, but perhaps there were small children. Was that why he was so fond of Penny and Andrew? She found it strangely disquieting; perhaps even at that moment his wife—or his girl-friend for that matter—was sitting up there with him and he was telling them about the plain-faced girl who had infringed upon his privacy, or perhaps he didn’t even bother to mention her? She banged the iron down too hard and made a crease where there shouldn’t have been one, so that she had to start all over again.

  She didn’t go the next afternoon either; better to wait until he sent a message. He didn’t; he came himself the following morning very early. Cassandra had returned from taking the children to school and was in the kitchen polishing Rachel’s table silver when she heard Mrs Todd go to the door, and being Mrs Todd, she didn’t show him into the sitting-room but led him across the back of the hall and into the kitchen.

  ‘Good heavens!’ exclaimed Cassandra, and felt happy surprise at the sight of him. ‘Whatever brings you here? Is Jan ill? Come into the sitting-room...’

  ‘Not even a good morning,’ complained Mr van Manfeld. ‘In your anxiety to hear about Jan, who is perfectly well—what are you doing?’

  ‘Cleaning the silver.’

  ‘In that case I will stay here with you, if I may. I wish to talk to you.’

  She glanced at his face and wished for the hundredth time that she could see his eyes. His face told her nothing, but he wouldn’t walk down at this hour of the day for no reason at all. ‘Where’s Jan?’ she asked.

 
‘Gone to the village. I had a visitor.’

  ‘I thought perhaps you had.’

  ‘I’m going back to Holland for some further tests—it seems there has been unexpected progress.’

  She picked up the coffee spoons and put them down again. ‘Oh, your doctor!’ and felt a surge of relief.

  ‘Who else?’ asked Mr van Manfeld sharply, then laughed. ‘Romantic as well as a busybody,’ he added silkily.

  ‘You have no need to be rude,’ she reminded him. ‘You know I take no notice.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I’m here. I want you to come back to Holland with me.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘As my nurse, of course.’

  Cassandra picked up the spoons again, looked at them as though she had never seen them before and stacked them neatly. ‘I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer. You see...’

  ‘Not very well,’ he interposed dryly, and the vexed colour ran into her face.

  ‘You have a horrid way of putting me at a disadvantage!’ she snapped.

  ‘My apologies,’ his voice was bland, never had it sounded so unapologetic. ‘You have applied for your midder training?’

  She hadn’t. At a disadvantage, she flared: ‘I’m—I—it’s no concern of yours what I do!’

  The dark glasses were turned on her, it was like being held in the glare of a searchlight. ‘I thought,’ he commented softly, ‘that I had the monopoly of rudeness.’

  ‘I’m sorry. The trouble is we’re both so independent, aren’t we? You see, I can think of no reason why you should want a nurse—me—to go back to Holland with you.’

  The grim look on his face dissolved. ‘In that case, have the goodness to hear me out before you start putting difficulties in the way. I need a nurse—oh, not to wash my face and lead me around, but someone who will stand between me and my impatience—my rage, if you prefer, someone to get between me and the pity I am bound to encounter, someone to remind me to use my eye-drops on time and stop me taking my glasses off, someone to listen when I blow my top, someone who has no axe to grind and no fondness for me so that she doesn’t feel the need to hedge me in from everyday things. A soft-hearted dragon, Cassandra—and you fill the bill very nicely.’ He added, suddenly irritable, ‘I can’t be as bad as all that, and it will only be for a couple of weeks, perhaps less.’