The Fateful Bargain Page 6

  There was plenty to see, and Emily, careless of the rain, hung over the rails, trying to see everything at once. Unlike most girls of her age, she had had very little chance to travel—France, years ago with her parents, but since then holidays had been few and far between. Mr van Tecqx, standing beside her, studied her intent face under its sensible woolly cap. She looked a good deal younger then her years, partly due to her eagerness and partly due to her unfashionable clothes. All the same, when she turned to say something to him, he had to admit that her eyes were very beautiful; they cancelled out everything else.

  Emily gave him an enquiring look and put a hand up to her hair, he was studying her so intently, but then he smiled and she forgot about her hair. Her friends at Pearson’s would die if they could see her now, standing with Mr van Tecqx, looking as faultlessly turned out as though he was about to do a ward round. And it wasn’t just his clothes, he looked distinguished and completely at ease, and she fancied he was always like that whatever the circumstances; a self-control which made him difficult to know.

  He was still watching her, not smiling now, and she said awkwardly, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare, I was thinking about some of my friends at Pearson’s—they’d give anything to be in my shoes, working for you…’

  She went slowly red under his raised eyebrows and thinned mouth, and turned away quickly before he should speak. But when he did a few seconds later it was to point out the flat coastline just becoming visible in the dark morning. It spread away from the lights of the harbour, disappearing into a grey nothingness.

  ‘Den Haag is only a few miles along the coast. Delft lies inland, about the same distance away, so we shall be home in good time for breakfast.’

  His voice was reassuringly bland, so that her hot cheeks cooled and she was able to make some sort of reply in her quiet voice.

  Half an hour later they were driving through the still quiet town. The rain had turned to a steady drizzle, dimming the street lights so that there was little to see. A few miles further on they left the main road and took a side road and Mr van Tecqx said, ‘If you look straight ahead you will see Delft.’ Sure enough, deceptively near because of the flatness of the land, Emily could see its churches and towers outlined against the fairly grey sky. A little shiver of excitement went through her. Very soon now she would meet her patient. A sudden thought made her ask, ‘Does your sister live with you?’

  ‘Since her illness, yes. Normally she lives with my mother in a village a few miles from Delft.’

  He said no more than that, leaving her with a head full of questions which she didn’t like to ask. But she forgot them as they crossed over the motorway between Rotterdam and den Haag and entered the town.

  Its outskirts were modern, well-laid-out, spacious streets with blocks of flats and small neat villas lining them—not at all what Emily had expected, but Mr van Tecqx followed a canal running beside the road and in moments they were in the town’s heart. Before her she could see the towering spires of several churches and without thinking she said, ‘Oh, look!’

  ‘The Oude Kerk,’ explained her companion, ‘and the Nieuwe Kerk—that’s the one with the very tall spire. The Town Hall is opposite across the Market Square. Delft is quite small—that is, the old town. There are any number of canals and bridges, but it’s very easy to explore.’

  They crossed one of the narrow hump-backed bridges as he spoke and turned into a narrow street facing yet another canal, with trees, bare now, on either side of it. Along one side of the street were tall, massive houses, red brick with ornate front doors enriched by elaborate plasterwork, their tall wide windows, their small panes gleaming in defiance of the gloomy morning. They stopped half-way down the short street before a house with a rococo façade, its windows in orderly rows on either side of the door.

  ‘Here we are.’ Emily could hear the warmth of his voice as he got out and opened her door, crossed the narrow pavement and mounted the three steps to the front door. It was opened as they reached it by a small frail old man who didn’t look as though he would have had the strength to budge the heavy carved door. Mr van Tecqx greeted him in his own language before taking Emily’s arm. ‘This is Bas; he looked after my mother and father, and now he looks after me.’

  Emily shook hands and said, ‘How do you do?’ because she didn’t know what else to say, and Bas smiled gently and bowed his head gravely.

  ‘Bas doesn’t speak English, but my housekeeper, who is his daughter, has rather more than a smattering. Here she is.’

  They had gone from a small lobby into a square hall with doors in either side and an oak staircase with carved banisters facing the door. Emily hadn’t expected anything like it: a fair-sized, comfortable house, she had supposed, since Mr van Tecqx seemed prosperous enough, but this house was old and splendid. There were paintings on the panelled walls and a chandelier with sparkling drops, and the room she glimpsed as Bas opened its double doors almost took her breath.

  It faced the street, its two large windows taking up almost all of that wall, its lofty ceiling a splendid example of strapwork. It was furnished with a pleasing mixture of comfortable chairs and sofas, lamp tables, and taking up the whole of one wall, a William and Mary cabinet displaying a vast collection of china.

  Emily could have stood and gasped and gaped if she had been given the chance, but Mr van Tecqx had thrown his coat down on one of the sofas in what she considered to be a very careless manner and taken up his stance before the brightly burning fire in the big hooded hearth. It was obvious that he was home and pleased to be there.

  After a moment he crossed the room to her. ‘Let me have that coat. We will have coffee before Anneke takes you to your room. Then if you will come back here I will introduce you to my sister before breakfast.’

  He tossed her coat beside his and pulled forward a small armchair. ‘Did I tell you her name? I didn’t— Lucillia; English is her second language, you will have no difficulty there. When you have met her, I will give you her case history, but I should like you to draw your own conclusions first. Ah, here is coffee. Will you pour?’

  Emily thought of the thick mugs of coffee he had been offered at her home as she lifted the silver coffee pot to fill the delicate china cups. She said thoughtfully, ‘It was kind of you—I mean, when I gave you coffee at home in a cheap pottery mug…’

  He understood her. ‘You make excellent coffee,’ he said kindly, ‘and it never crossed my mind! Have one of these little biscuits. Anneke is proud of her cooking, they are called sprits.’

  He rambled on, quietly putting her at her ease, so that presently when the door opened and a stout woman of forty or so came in, Emily was able to shake hands with her usual calm manner. She supposed she would see a good deal of Anneke, and it was a relief to find her a cheerful, smiling person, delighted to air her English, and obviously anxious to make her welcome.

  They went upstairs together and she showed Emily into a room on one side of the gallery which encircled the hall. It was a very pretty room, furnished in a golden mahogany, the one window curtained in a pale pink damask which matched the bedspread. The carpet was a deeper pink and there were flowers on the little dressing table. Anneke went past her and opened a door to reveal a bathroom, nodding and smiling as she did so. ‘Juffrouw Lucillia is there.’ She pointed to a door on the other side of the bathroom. ‘You come down soon, yes?’

  Emily nodded, and as soon as she was alone made a hasty tour of the room. It was charming, and the bathroom held everything a girl could possibly want. She washed her face and hands, put on powder and lipstick, brushed her hair smooth and went back downstairs to where Mr van Tecqx waited for her. His gaze swept over her and he sighed gently. Emily looked half her age and far too meek, and yet when he had first met her he had known that she was right for Lucillia, there was something about her… He shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Shall we go up, then? I have to go out presently and perhaps that will give you time to get acquainted.’
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  Emily didn’t answer but walked across the hall with him and up the stairs once more, and this time he turned down a short passage leading from the gallery and knocked on the door at its end, at the same time giving Emily an encouraging push as he opened it. His large hand on the small of her back was comforting and reassuring; she needed both at that moment.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT WAS A LARGE ROOM with two tall windows opening on to a balcony overlooking the surprisingly large garden behind the house. The carpet under Emily’s feet was thick and soft and the furniture was almost fragile—Regency mahogany, beautifully inlaid. There was a chaise-longue by the windows and comfortable chairs with circular lamp tables placed in exactly the right places.

  Emily took it all in while she stood for a few seconds just inside the door until Mr van Tecqx’s hand firmly urged her forward towards the bed. Its occupant was having her breakfast, a bedtable across her knees, but she made to push it away when she saw them.

  ‘Sebastian—oh, you’re here at last!’ She switched to Dutch, her face alight with pleasure. Such a pretty face too, a feminine version of her brother’s with bright blue eyes and fair hair, only her hair curled on her shoulders and her mouth, a softer version than his, drooped at its corners.

  Mr van Tecqx sat down on her bed and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I did say I would come,’ he observed reasonably, ‘and I’ve brought Emily with me; someone your own age—you can laugh and gossip together until you are well again. How are the legs?’

  His sister shrugged her shoulders. ‘Oh, all right, I suppose…’

  Obedient to a look from Mr van Tecqx, Emily advanced to the bed. She said politely, ‘How do you do? It must be very boring for you, getting well again. It would be nice if you were able to dance at Christmas…’

  She held out a small capable hand and Lucillia took it reluctantly.

  ‘Oh, that’s impossible, I get so tired.’ She studied Emily’s quiet face. ‘You look nice. I dare say we shall get along well enough.’

  ‘I dare say we shall,’ agreed Emily cheerfully. ‘You must tell me exactly what you can do. I’ll come back presently, shall I? When you’ve had your breakfast.’

  She didn’t look at Mr van Tecqx but smiled at her patient and slipped out of the room with the speed and quiet of a mouse.

  Lucillia looked at her brother. ‘She is very plain, but I like her voice.’

  ‘I thought you would. She is like that all the time. I dare say she can get into a towering rage like all women, but I haven’t encountered it so far. She isn’t much older than you, liefje, but I want you to do what she says. I know how boring it is getting well again, and very likely she will take some of that boredom away. I for one will be delighted if you dance, even for a couple of minutes, at Christmas.’

  They were speaking in Dutch now and he asked, ‘Have you seen Mama lately?’

  ‘Yesterday. She hopes you will go and see her before you go back to England. How long are you staying?’

  ‘I’ve several cases to see and an outpatients’ clinic tomorrow in Leiden—four or five days, I expect.’

  Lucillia nibbled at a croissant. ‘Have you met any beautiful girls in London?’

  ‘Several.’ He smiled at her, but she knew him well enough not to ask any more questions. She said flippantly, ‘Well, remember I want to be a bridesmaid at the wedding.’

  ‘Then you had better work hard at your physio.’ He got up off the bed and wandered to the door. ‘We are going to have breakfast. Emily will be back in a little while.’

  Emily was downstairs, doing a round of the portraits in the drawing-room. She had not known where to go and she hadn’t liked to look in any of the rooms leading from the hall. The house was very quiet save for a subdued clatter of pans from behind the baize door at the side of the staircase. Perhaps she should have stayed in her room.

  She turned from admiring a family group, circa 1820 or so, and saw Mr van Tecqx watching her from the door. ‘Breakfast?’ he asked mildly.

  She went with him very willingly. Her insides were rumbling in a hollow manner, and breakfast was most welcome. Not quite what she had expected, though: a basket of rolls and croissants, toast, a dish of cheese and another of thinly sliced ham, and a stand of boiled eggs, arranged with great elegance on a round table drawn up to the open fire in a small room on the other side of the hall. It was a pretty room, cosily furnished, the wall sconces defeating the grey morning outside, their gentle glow highlighting the silver coffee pot on the table.

  Emily, invited to sit down, did so, her small nose wrinkling with pleasure at the aroma from the coffee pot.

  ‘You must be hungry,’ observed Mr van Tecqx with detached kindness.

  ‘Well, yes, I am,’ she smiled across the table. ‘I expect you are, too. While we’re eating, will you tell me about your sister? Her treatment and so on?’ She took a piece of toast and buttered it. ‘She’s very pretty—how very hard it must have been for her. There’s no reason why she shouldn’t get quite well, is there?’

  ‘None at all. She’s bored and won’t try very hard at the moment. That will be your job, to keep her nose to the grindstone, as it were. She may possibly be left with a very slight limp, but she’s not to be told that at present. She has a good deal of movement, but she’s lazy about her exercises—the physiotherapist comes each day, but I think that once you have settled in I shall cut her visits down—Lucillia doesn’t like her and I suspect that she doesn’t like Lucillia, who can be very tiresome. She may do more for you. She becomes very impatient with her crutches and loses heart easily.’ He passed his cup for more coffee. ‘You see, Emily, your side of the bargain is to be a hard one.’

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  ‘I know that, otherwise would I have asked you to take on the job?’

  Bas came in with fresh coffee and Mr van Tecqx said, ‘I shall drive over to see my mother after I have seen my patients. Ask for anything you may need, Anneke will give you all the help you need, and Bas will look after you. We will discuss your free time when I get back. The physiotherapist comes at eleven o’clock. Be there and watch what she does. There is no reason why you shouldn’t take over the simple exercises. If you have finished…?’

  Emily had been thrown in at the deep end, and perhaps that was a good idea. The sooner she got to know her patient the better, and it was evident that Mr van Tecqx intended her to find out things for herself. Well, she would. She rose from the table, murmured suitably and went up to her room, where she had a shower, changed into one of the overalls and went along to Lucillia’s room.

  The voice that answered her knock was cross, and she found Lucillia lounging in bed, staring at the ceiling.

  ‘Hello,’ said Emily. ‘Could you be bothered to tell me about your day? Do you get up before the physiotherapist comes?’

  ‘I get up if I feel like it.’ Lucillia sounded sulky. ‘I don’t feel like it!’

  ‘Too bad,’ observed Emily briskly. ‘I haven’t a clue where everything is, I shall get lost in this house if you don’t help and I can’t speak a word of Dutch. I was counting on getting you into your chair and pushing you around to show me everything.’

  ‘Sebastian should have done that—or told Anneke…’

  ‘I dare say he was too busy to think about that.’ Emily strolled to the window. ‘Oh, well, I’ll go and unpack. I don’t suppose anyone will mind if I explore on my own?’

  ‘I can’t go anywhere except on this floor,’ grumbled Lucillia.

  ‘True. Though I expect when your brother comes home he might carry you downstairs—your chair folds up, doesn’t it? I can carry it down and we could whisk round the ground floor—if it would only stop raining we might go out into the garden too. I don’t suppose you’ve tried to walk?’ Emily put the question idly.

  ‘Oh, once or twice, but it’s such a bother—those silly crutches!’ Lucillia still sounded cross, but she had pulled herself up in the bed and was looking at Emily. ‘Tell me about yo
urself. When I spoke to Sebastian and asked him about you, he said it was difficult to describe you— I can’t think why.’

  Emily came back from the window and sat down on the bed. ‘Well, I can,’ she said sensibly. ‘I don’t suppose he’s really looked at me. I mean, I’m hardly a raving beauty, am I?’

  Lucillia laughed. ‘You know, I think I’m going to like you, Emily. I might even do some of the things you want me to do. Now tell me about yourself.’

  So Emily told, being deliberately light-hearted about it, describing Podge, even making a joke of her room at Mrs Winter’s.

  ‘Just one room?’ asked Lucillia, in horror. ‘But you can’t live and sleep in one poky room!’

  ‘Lots of people do. Now tell me, who has been looking after you? Someone must have bathed you and got you in and out of bed…’

  ‘Zuster Brugge—she left yesterday evening. Anneke saw to me this morning. I hated Zuster Brugge, she had hard hands and she was always telling me about the patients in hospital who had to do what they were told and no nonsense.’ Lucillia looked at Emily. ‘Do you think I am spoiled?’

  Emily laughed. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said comfortably, ‘but I shan’t hold that against you. The physiotherapist comes soon, doesn’t she? May I stay and watch? Your brother thought that perhaps she need not come quite so often if I could learn the exercises you need to do.’ She got off the bed. ‘I’ll get a bowl and you can wash your face and hands and do your face, and when she’s finished, we’ll see about getting you under the shower.’

  ‘Zuster Brugge said I couldn’t have a shower until I learnt to help myself.’

  ‘Well, let’s make her eat her words!’

  Lucillia bore the physiotherapist’s treatment very badly; she complained that she was being hurt, that it was all useless, anyway, and that she was going to die. Emily, listening soberly, sighed inwardly. Mr van Tecqx had spoken nothing but the truth. His sister was going to be a handful.