The Little Dragon Page 7

  She said rather shyly: ‘Well, I expect you’ve found three children rather a handful—I can’t think how you managed.’

  His voice was bland. ‘Which is just as well.’ He got up and went over to a console table against one wall. ‘What will you have to drink? Sherry?’

  She knew nothing at all about wines; her aunt had offered an indifferent sherry to her rare guests and Constantia, treated to a glass, hadn’t thought much of it. In hospital, of course, if one went out for the evening with one of the young doctors, one was mostly given a lager and not asked. Once or twice she had spent an evening out with a registrar, and not knowing that not all sherries were like her aunt’s, had asked for Dubonnet; she hadn’t liked that very much either. The doctor watched her hesitating and said blandly: ‘Try a medium sherry. If you don’t like it you can have something else.’

  It was like golden velvet on her tongue, and she took an appreciative sip and said, ‘Oh, this is lovely—I didn’t know sherry could taste different.’

  He had poured himself a Genever and sat down again. He didn’t smile but said: ‘Er—yes, they do vary enormously.’

  She eyed the well-stocked silver tray with an unconsciously questioning gaze, and he went on smoothly: ‘The owner of this house kindly allows me the run of his cellars.’

  She took another sip. ‘He must be a poppet—I should like to meet him,’ and then, afraid that she had vexed him, ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that—it’s none of my business.’

  ‘You shall meet him one day, Constantia. How pleasant it is to have someone to talk to.’

  ‘Oh, would you like to talk? Have you had a busy day? Do you have a great many patients?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve been busy and I do have quite a number of patients—quite a few of them live in the surrounding villages. The older ones don’t go to the doctor as often as they should, and quite often when they call me I can’t do very much for them.’

  ‘There was one today?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘Yes, an old man…’

  The doctor talked well and Constantia was a good listener, moreover she asked the right questions and understood what he was saying; it was some considerable time later that he looked at the carved Friesian clock on the wall and observed: ‘I’ve been boring on and on, and you must be famished. Let’s get some supper.’

  She got to her feet at once. ‘Look, stay here, I’m sure I can manage in the kitchen. There was some soup left over from the children’s meal, and there are bound to be eggs and cheese…’

  ‘Rietje will have left something—soup, yes, and a quiche lorraine in the ijs kast—there’ll be a salad, too, and some kind of pudding.’

  She was at the door. ‘I’ll call you when it’s ready,’ she said, happy to be useful.

  The soup was simmering nicely, and the quiche, which she considered looked quite cordon bleu, was quickly in the oven. The salad was already mixed in a beautiful china bowl and there was a caramel custard too. Constantia, whistling cheerfully to herself, laid the table, put the plates to warm, peered at the quiche and went in search of the doctor.

  He was still sitting where she had left him, his eyes shut. He opened them as she went in, however, and she said contritely: ‘I’m sorry, you were asleep.’

  He shook his head. ‘No—dreaming.’ He got to his feet and stretched hugely. ‘There’s a bottle of Moselle, did you find it?’

  ‘No, but then I didn’t look for it.’ She hesitated. ‘Isn’t that a white wine? Shouldn’t it be chilled?’

  He was strolling beside her across the hall. ‘Quite right. I’ll wring Rietje’s neck if she’s forgotten to put it in the ijs kast.’

  It was there all right. They had their soup and then, while Constantia dished the quiche, he opened the wine and poured it into two beautifully engraved glasses.

  ‘This is a very nice wine,’ said Constantia, ‘it’s rather like the parsnip wine my aunt used to make.’

  The doctor suppressed a shudder at her description of his really splendid Lieserer Niederberg Sussenberg, and observed mildly that he had never had the pleasure of sampling parsnip wine.

  ‘Well, it’s easy to make and it doesn’t cost much,’ said Constantia helpfully, nicely relaxed, what with having a roof over her head and a well-cooked meal inside her, not to mention the sherry and the Moselle. ‘If you like, I could make some for you.’

  A spasm passed over her companion’s handsome features. ‘That would be delightful, but would you have the time?’ he wanted to know. ‘And that reminds me, we have a good deal to discuss. Routine first, I think.’

  He became businesslike and very precise, making her quickly conversant with the running of his house, the comings and goings of the children and his own irregular hours. ‘I do try and have breakfast with them, but it doesn’t always work out that way. You’ll find Rietje in the kitchen about seven o’clock, though, and if I’m not here she’s to see them off to school—now you’ll be able to do that, if you will.’

  As far as she could make out, her days were going to be well-filled, if not downright busy, for meals would have to be kept hot, children dealt with, and the housework done as well as the shopping. Just for a moment Constantia felt daunted, and it must have shown on her face, for the doctor said: ‘It’s not nearly as bad as it sounds. Rietje gets through a great deal of work and if you like she’ll do the shopping. There’s a niece who comes in to do the washing, too.’ He smiled at her encouragingly. ‘If you’ll see to the children…?’

  ‘Yes, of course, and anything else—it’s a very large house, isn’t it? I’ve only seen some of it, but looking after it must take up hours of time.’

  ‘We don’t use all the rooms.’ He cleared the plates and fetched their pudding and poured some more wine for them both. ‘Now, as regards your salary. Would the same amount as Mrs Dowling gave you be agreeable to you?’

  ‘Salary? I don’t want any money. Gracious, Doctor van der Giessen, you’ve taken me in and given me a home, just like that—I’m an extra mouth to feed and extra work and washing. I’m very grateful for that, and even if the police don’t get my money back, I’ll go round to Mrs Dowling and get my last week’s salary and that will be enough to get back to England.’

  ‘I’ll see to that for you, Constantia, but I hope very much that even if your passport is returned you will stay with us for a little while. I have no idea where to start looking for someone; I’m not even sure what she would be called.’

  He served her with a second helping of pudding and sat back in his chair. ‘And another thing, why am I suddenly Doctor van der Giessen? I thought I had become Jeroen.’

  Her grey eyes twinkled at him. ‘You sounded a bit like Doctor van der Giessen.’ She added vaguely: ‘Salaries and things, you know.’

  He laughed. ‘I’m sorry. But what I said stands; you’ll work very hard, you know, and I daresay you’ll not get much time to yourself during the day.’

  She said a little wistfully, ‘I shall like that. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to live with a large family, and dogs and cats and children running in and out.’

  ‘Were none of your cases with families?’

  Constantia shook her head. ‘No—all of them lonely and unhappy and far too rich.’ She pointed out: ‘It was because they had so much money that they were unhappy, I expect. I couldn’t live with someone like that, you know.’ She paused and added carefully: ‘I’d rather not have any money, Jeroen; Mrs Dowling said…well, she said that you hadn’t any, and three children to see to…’

  The doctor’s placid face remained placid, only his eyes gleamed very bright. ‘Now, I wonder how she got to hear about that?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, but if it’s true—and we are friends, you said so—then it would be most unfair…’

  He strolled over to the sink with their plates and she began to clear the table. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said, ‘I’ll let you know if I’m pressed for cash and we can trim your salary accordingly.’

/>   And with that she had to be content.

  They washed up together and then went upstairs to have their coffee in the sitting room and when presently Constantia tidied the lovely little Meissen cups on to the tray with its silver coffee pot, the doctor said: ‘You said you hadn’t seen the whole of the house. Shall we go round it now?’

  It wasn’t late and she wasn’t tired, so she went with him out into the hall, and when he opened a door behind the sitting room she went in. It was a small room with a long narrow window, furnished with one or two small armchairs, a drum table, a worktable and an inlaid cabinet along one wall. It had a needlework carpet on the floor and thick silk curtains of the same shade at the window; the furniture was of the Regency period, very delicate and graceful, and yet somehow the room was restful and cosy.

  ‘Oh, what a dear little room!’ declared Constantia, quite enchanted. ‘I can just imagine sitting here…’

  ‘As often as you like,’ promised her host, and when she protested that she hadn’t meant that at all, said: ‘But I do, Constantia.’

  He led the way through a double door, ornately carved, which opened on to a small balcony with steps leading down to yet another room. A large apartment, this, its walls lined with bookshelves and with comfortable red leather chairs arranged around circular tables decorated with marquetry. Constantia, who liked reading, heaved a great sigh.

  ‘How super,’ she breathed, ‘all those books—though I suppose they’re in Dutch.’

  ‘Not all of them—there are quite a few English works. You’ll find them in the catalogue on the centre table.’

  ‘It’s all very grand, isn’t it? And yet it’s a home too. Mrs Dowling has enormous rooms and a great deal of hideous furniture, and it isn’t home at all.’

  Jeroen merely smiled and led her down the steps to the floor of the library and through another, very small door in one of its panelled walls. They were in a narrow passage now, one arm leading back to the hall, the other to the back of the house. The doctor turned down it and opened a door at its end; a conservatory, a fairy-land of spring flowers and shrubs.

  ‘Do you have a gardener?’ asked Constantia, awed.

  ‘Yes—the owner likes it to be maintained. We’ll go along here and through the other door.’ Which led into what she rightly guessed to be a ballroom, all white and gold and with an elaborately painted ceiling. She had no words for it as the doctor opened another door into the dining room, in the Palladian style and furnished in the early Georgian manner. It had an eye-catching chimneypiece of green and white marble, elaborately inlaid with coloured marbles. ‘Very old,’ the doctor pointed out, ‘sixteenth century. I find it ugly—it’s from Milan.’

  They went back into the hall and he opened the last door. ‘We don’t use this often,’ he observed, and really she wasn’t surprised. The tables and chairs were delicate and gilded, with needlework seats, and the carpet was a huge Aubusson in faded pastels; the curtains were brocade, heavily fringed and looped elaborately.

  ‘One would wear one’s very best dress here,’ remarked Constantia, ‘pearls, of course, one or two gorgeous rings, and earrings too. Silver-grey silk organza, I think, embroidered with little pink flowers. It would cost hundreds of pounds.’

  Again the doctor said nothing but led her back to the hall once more. They were starting for the staircase when the telephone rang. It was on the wall in the passage leading away from the hall and she could hear his voice, decisive and firm, and she wasn’t surprised when he came back to her to say: ‘I have to go out, I’m afraid. I’ll see you in the morning—we’ll go over the rest of the house tomorrow.’

  She nodded and said goodnight quietly, and when he had gone she went back to the sitting room and fetched the coffee tray. The kitchen gleamed cosily as she went in; she washed the cups and saucers carefully, rubbed up the coffee pot and its accompanying sugar bowl and cream jug, and took herself off to bed. But mindful of her new duties, before she climbed into her pretty bed, she padded upstairs to make sure that the children were asleep.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE DOCTOR WASN’T at breakfast. Constantia, down in good time, found a tall, stout woman with a cheerful face and bright blue eyes in the kitchen. She appeared to be of middle age, but her hair was so pale that it was difficult to see if it was grey or blonde. Constantia went to her at once, holding out her hand. ‘You must be Rietje—I’m Constantia Morley.’

  The woman smiled and shook hands and said something in her own language. Constantia couldn’t understand any of it, but there was no need; the business of getting breakfast ready was well understood by them both. She cut bread, poured glasses of milk and set the table and then went upstairs to see if the children were ready. The boys were, but Elisabeth was still putting on her shoes, her fair hair in a tangle. Constantia buttoned the shoes, reduced the tangle to shining smoothness, kissed the little face under the fringe and hurried everyone downstairs. The next half an hour was an organised rush, culminating in her walking down the pretty little garden behind the house and seeing the three children safely into the street.

  She and Rietje had another cup of coffee in peace and quiet then, and Constantia managed to convey her wish to wash up and tidy the kitchen—a decision which Rietje seemed to welcome, for she had the cooking to do.

  ‘I’ll make the beds, too,’ said Constantia, and then struggled with her few words of Dutch to make herself understood. It surprised and delighted her that after a few false starts, they understood each other very well; Rietje was kind and patient and good-humoured, and they laughed together over Constantia’s mistakes before they separated; Rietje to the store cupboard and Constantia to the sink.

  She had just finished the last of the dishes when the doctor came in. He was in slacks and a sweater and badly in need of a shave, but his eyes were as blue and clear as they always were and his face wore its usual calm expression.

  ‘Coffee?’ asked Constantia instantly, ‘and breakfast in a brace of shakes…’

  ‘My dear girl, I have surgery to take in twenty minutes—I must have a bath and shave.’

  ‘You’ll faint in your bath if you don’t eat,’ Constantia assured him firmly. ‘Here’s your coffee, so sit down and drink it. I’ll make some toast and boil you an egg.’ She remembered the size of him. ‘Two eggs.’

  He did as she had bidden him and as she refilled his cup she asked: ‘A baby? It usually is at night.’

  He buttered the toast she had handed him and spread it lavishly with marmalade. ‘A little boy with a good old-fashioned croup—laringeal stridor to you. Very nasty, but he’s out of the wood now, I think.’

  ‘Hospital?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. His parents have a farm—rather isolated, so hospital seemed the best thing.’ He began on his second slice. ‘How very pleasant it is to come home to someone who asks me what I’ve been doing and understands when I tell her.’

  Constantia pinkened. She said lamely: ‘Well, you know how it is when you’re a nurse…’

  ‘I don’t, actually,’ he was laughing at her mildly, ‘but I can guess—anyway, it’s nice for me.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘Thanks for the breakfast. Did the children get to school?’

  ‘On time,’ she told him. ‘What a marvellous person Rietje is. We even understand each other, or rather she understands my dozen or so words.’ She added kindly: ‘Now run along and change. There’ll be coffee for you after surgery; Rietje wrote it all down. Do go.’

  He grinned at her from the doorway. ‘A little dragon,’ he told her, ‘that’s what you are. There’s one in my study; you’re its twin.’

  Constantia made the beds and tidied the bedrooms, and accompanied by Rietje, peeped into the other rooms which opened on to the gallery on the first floor. They were very splendid, she considered, each with its own colour scheme, the furniture polished as though each had an occupant; Rietje must work like a slave. She mentioned it to the doctor after his morning surgery and she went upstairs with the coffee tray to his st
udy. ‘If you paid me half the money you want me to have, you could afford to have a daily woman in—Rietje must be worn to death.’

  He poured his coffee and asked: ‘Where is your cup?’

  ‘I’ll have mine downstairs later.’

  ‘You’ll have it now, with me.’ He went to a Friesian wall cupboard, opened its glass-fronted doors, took out a delicate Meissen cup and saucer and handed it to her.

  ‘Oh, no—I can’t,’ declared Constantia. ‘I shall drop it or something awful.’

  For answer he poured the coffee and handed her the cup and saucer and said: ‘Sit down, do.’ And when she had done so: ‘I’ll do my visits next. I’ll be lunching out; I’ve someone to see in den Haag, but I’ll be back for the evening surgery and my visits. With luck I’ll be home about seven o’clock—perhaps eight.’

  ‘No tea?’ she asked.

  ‘Someone will give me a cup, I daresay. I’d like coffee after surgery, though, if you could manage that; I try and squeeze half an hour out for the children before they go to bed. Will you be all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Where’s the dragon?’

  He got up without speaking and went back to the Friesian wall cupboard again, then crossed the room to put into her hand a small fierce-looking dragon, most exquisitely modelled in porcelain with a sepia pattern.

  ‘The earliest Delft china,’ he explained. ‘Exquisite, isn’t it? Not fierce at all if you look closely at it; it’s almost smiling.’

  She cradled the beautiful thing in her hands. ‘It’s out of this world,’ she exclaimed. ‘Of course it belongs to the owner of this house?’

  ‘Indeed it does.’ His voice was bland. ‘He sets great store by his family possessions.’

  She stroked the dragon’s head. ‘And quite right too. But how do you know it’s a she?’

  His voice was still bland. ‘I didn’t—not until a little while ago in the kitchen. I noticed a distinct resemblance.’