Sun and Candlelight Page 8

  Alethea poured more coffee. ‘And Mrs McCrea?’

  ‘My mother went to school with a Scottish girl and when they married they visited each other regularly. My mother took an instant liking to Mrs McCrea on one visit and a year or two later, when her husband died suddenly, she came over here to see if she would like to live with us; she’s been here ever since.’

  ‘And is your nanny Dutch?’

  ‘Yes—a local woman and devoted to the children. She speaks our language to them as well as Dutch.’

  ‘Your language?’

  ‘We have our own language in Groningen, just as they do in Friesland. It’s quite different, but I expect you’ll pick up a few words quickly enough.’ He got up. ‘You’d like to go to your room?’ He tugged the bell rope by the elaborate old-fashioned stove. ‘I must put in half an hour’s work going through my post and telephoning the hospital. You’ll be all right?’

  The chill returned and she reminded herself, quite unwarrantably, that of course Sarre had work to do, she could hardly expect him to neglect it in order to entertain her. She followed Mrs McCrea up the staircase, along a gallery and into a room leading from it. It was a large apartment, with a wide, tall window draped with brocade curtains in pale pinks and blues and the same colours were repeated in the spread which covered the fourposter bed, a magnificent piece of furniture, its mahogany blending with the sofa table and the huge pillow cupboard along one wall. Alone, Alethea explored, opening cupboard doors, peering into the elegant bathroom, looking out of the window and finally sitting down on the vast bed. But not for long; presently she tidied herself, brushed her hair into a curling cloud around her face, and went downstairs again. There was no sign of anyone. Perhaps she should have stayed in her room until someone came for her, but it would be silly to go back there now. She was debating which door to try when the front door opened and a young man came in.

  For a split second she thought it was Sarre and then she saw that he was very much younger, not quite as tall and of a much slimmer build, and as if he read her thoughts, he crossed the hall to where she stood, crying: ‘No, I’m not Sarre—I’m Wienand, his brother. And you’re Alethea, even prettier than he described you.’ He grinned at her and gave her a quick kiss. ‘Now why didn’t I see you first?’

  Alethea laughed; he was so friendly and lighthearted it was impossible not to like him on sight. She offered a hand and he was still holding it when a door opened and Sarre came into the hall.

  ‘Wienand, this is delightful, I didn’t expect you as soon as this.’ He smiled at them both. ‘You’ve introduced yourselves, I see.’ He turned to Alethea. ‘I’m afraid I have to go out for a short while, my dear, but now that Wienand’s here, you’ll be perfectly all right.’ He turned to his brother. ‘Show her round the house, will you? and stay for lunch unless you’ve anything better to do…’

  ‘I can’t imagine anything better to do,’ protested Wienand, and flung an arm round her shoulders. Sarre was already crossing the hall on his way to the door. His ‘Tot ziens’ sounded a little absent-minded and he looked faintly relieved as though he was glad that he had solved the problem of what to do with her for the time being, thought Alethea, suddenly very annoyed.

  But the annoyance didn’t last. She reminded herself sensibly that it wasn’t as if he was in love with her. Now if it had been Nick…she brushed the dream aside and prepared to be entertained by Wienand, who proved to be an amusing companion who refused to be serious for more than a few minutes at a time. True, he answered her questions about his work; that he was indeed an osteopath and further, that he and Sarre worked closely together in a technique which the pair of them had devised, but further than that he would not go, preferring to pay her ridiculous compliments, so that she found herself laughing as she hadn’t laughed for a long time. They were in the garden room now, its doors opening out on to the glorious morning, talking about nothing much in a lighthearted fashion, when Sarre came back. He greeted them affably, expressed the hope that they had amused each other, begged Alethea’s pardon for leaving her and asked his brother to accompany him to his study for a few minutes.

  Left to herself Alethea looked at the clock. It was ten to twelve and at midday the children came from school. The thought of meeting them for the first time on her own sent her hot and cold. She sat watching the clock, a handsome stoelklok with a seascape painted on its very old face, willing Sarre to come back. It was ten past the hour when she heard voices in the hall—children’s voices—and braced herself for the meeting, scared stiff and at the same time resentful of Sarre’s neglect. The door opened and she let out a held breath. The two men came in together and Sarre had a hand on his son’s shoulder, while his little daughter, on his other side, hung on to his arm. They came straight towards her and Alethea got to her feet, feeling quite dizzy with relief.

  ‘Alethea, here are Sarel and Jacomina.’ He looked down at the two children. ‘My dears, this is Alethea Thomas, who is going to marry me within a few weeks.’

  They offered hands and said ‘How do you do’ and smiled at her, two pairs of blue eyes staring up at her, full of hate. She hadn’t expected that, but she knew enough about children to know that they were reacting in a perfectly normal way; she would have to be patient, very patient, and give them lots of time. She said now, in her pleasant, soft voice: ‘How do you do, Sarel— Jacomina, I’m very glad to meet you. I hope that when we have got to know each other, we shall be good friends.’

  They didn’t answer, and Sarre, who had turned away to say something to his brother but had obviously been listening, observed: ‘Oh, I’m sure of that. Now you had both better go up to Nanny and tidy yourselves for lunch.’

  ‘Yes, Papa, and may we take Alethea with us to meet Nanny?’

  Sarre hesitated. ‘There’s not much time—Alethea wants a drink with us, Nanny might keep her.’

  ‘We won’t let her, Papa. Just two minutes, please…’

  He smiled down at them. ‘Well, what does Alethea say?’

  ‘I’d like to meet Nanny,’ said Alethea promptly, and wondered what was in store for her. She was soon to know. They were on their way upstairs when Sarel asked: ‘Do you speak our language, Alethea?’

  She glanced at him. He was a good-looking little boy with his father’s fine features and blue eyes. His hair was the colour of lint and he had the endearing boniness of all small boys. He returned her look with a limpid one of his own and then smiled when she said: ‘Not one word. I hope you’ll both help me to learn it, Sarel.’

  ‘You and Nanny won’t be able to understand each other,’ observed Jacomina with satisfaction. She was like her father too, a fact which for some reason was a relief to Alethea; she supposed she didn’t want to be reminded of his first wife.

  ‘Then we’ll just have to smile at each other, won’t we?’ said Alethea sensibly.

  They had walked the length of the gallery and started up a second smaller staircase to the floor above. There was another gallery here with rooms leading from it and Sarel opened one of the doors and invited her inside. As she went past him Alethea paused. ‘Tell me, Sarel,’ she asked, ‘where did you both learn to speak such good English?’

  ‘Papa and Mrs McCrea and Al—they all speak English to us. Here’s Nanny.’

  The room was obviously the children’s. It was large, furnished comfortably with small chairs, a large round table, and had cupboards built into its walls. There was a rocking horse by the window and a superb dolls’ house and the walls were hung with maps, a variety of Beatrix Potter prints and over the closed stove, a very large cuckoo clock. It was a cosy room and Alethea smiled as she gazed round her. But the middle-aged woman standing by the stove wasn’t smiling, she was staring hard, her rather grim face set sternly. She was tall and angular, her hair so fair that the grey with which it was sprinkled could hardly be seen. She was dressed soberly in a plain brown dress, and she smoothed the skirt now, waiting for Alethea to say something. The children stood silently and she
realised that they had no intention of speaking. She went across the room and held out a hand.

  ‘I’m Alethea Thomas,’ she said. ‘How do you do, Nanny?’

  Her hand was taken but the stern features didn’t relax. Nanny said something Alethea couldn’t understand and spoke to the children, who chorused in answer and disappeared through a door at the other end of the room.

  Alethea, left alone with Nanny, smiled at her again and then wandered off round the room, examining its contents. It appeared to house every kind of toy and game that a child could wish for; she had never seen such a splendid collection in all her life. She was peering at the dolls’ house when the children returned, and ignoring their quick, enquiring look, she said calmly: ‘Oh, hullo, there you are. What wonderful toys you have. If you’re ready should we be getting back to your papa?’

  The children said something to Nanny and she answered briefly and then nodded just as briefly at Alethea, who nonetheless wished her goodbye for all the world as though they were the best of friends, and then accompanied the children downstairs again, talking cheerfully the whole way, trying not to mind their monosyllabic replies.

  The men got up as they entered the garden room and Sarre brought her a sherry. ‘Did the children introduce you to Nanny?’ he wanted to know, ‘and I hope they translated for you both—their English is pretty good.’

  ‘It’s super,’ declared Alethea. ‘Nanny must be a marvellous person. I expect she loves them very much.’

  He had pulled up a chair beside her. ‘Oh, she does—she spoils them too,’ he smiled at her. ‘That’s where you come in, my dear.’

  The children were sitting with their uncle, but near enough to hear their father’s conversation. Alethea said carefully: ‘No one could ever take Nanny’s place. She’s something special, isn’t she?’

  She was aware as she spoke that the children had heard her, were listening to every word she uttered, would in fact do so while she was in their father’s house. Perhaps, she mused hopefully, by the time she was married to Sarre, they would be used to the idea.

  They went in to lunch presently, a meal served in a lofty panelled room with a large circular table to seat sixteen people and a great carved sideboard taking up the whole of one wall. The one tall window was draped with rich crimson velvet curtains and matched the glowing colours of the carpet, reflected in a more subdued manner by the portraits on the walls. The whole made a fitting background for the white table linen and shining silver and glass.

  Al waited at table, assisted by a cheerful young girl. He was excellent at his job too, Alethea discovered. For all his funny Cockney manner, he was now the picture of a dignified manservant. And the food was delicious. Alethea, hungry after their journey and all the excitement, ate with pleasure, exchanging light-hearted conversation with Wienand and rather more serious remarks with Sarre. He seemed older now that he was in his own home and a little remote, but his smile when he looked at her was just as friendly. Towards the end of the meal he told her: ‘I simply must go to my rooms this afternoon—will you forgive me if I leave you alone? We’ll go out this evening if you wish, or stay home, just as you like…’

  ‘I’d like to stay here,’ said Alethea promptly, ‘and be taken round the house. We didn’t have time…’

  ‘Of course…the children go to bed at half past seven and I usually dine at eight o’clock if I’m in. Will that suit you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You don’t have to go to the hospital this evening?’

  He shook his head. ‘No—not unless something turns up. What will you do with yourself this afternoon? The children will be at school, I’m afraid, but Al could drive you round if you would like that.’

  ‘I’d rather walk,’ she said promptly, ‘if I could have the address of this house written down just in case I get lost…’

  And so she walked, seen out of the house in a fatherly way by Al, who having issued a series of warnings about traffic on the wrong side of the road and not falling into canals, stood at the door until she was at the end of the quiet street. She turned and waved to him just before she went round the corner.

  The city was easy enough to find one’s way about. Al had assured her there were two large squares into which the main streets converged, so that it would be impossible to get lost. Alethea, wandering happily from one to the other, got lost a dozen times, but there was always the tall spire of St Martin’s church acting as a towering landmark to guide her. The shops were enticing and worthy of a much longer visit, she discovered as she began to wend her way back to Sarre’s house, but she would have ample time to shop. Sarre would be at the hospital or his rooms each day, she imagined, and the children at school; she would be left largely to her own devices.

  She was wrong. Sarre returned home very shortly after she herself did, to find her sitting alone in the small sitting room Al had invited her to use. The children, Al informed her, were in their own playroom where they had their tea with Nanny and he promised her a nice English tea in a brace of shakes. Before he could bring it, however, Sarre joined her.

  ‘You must think that you’ve been entirely forgotten,’ he observed, ‘and I’m sorry, although I suppose being a nurse you understand that my time isn’t my own. But I’ve arranged to be free tomorrow afternoon so that I can show you the countryside, and in the morning perhaps you would like to come to the clinic with me. Wienand is in charge of it and I send those patients who I think might benefit to him there. I’ve beds in the orthopaedic hospital, of course, and quite a large private practice.’

  He stretched out in a large wing chair opposite her, looking relaxed and not in the least tired, and when Al brought the tea presently and she had poured it and handed him a cup, he said comfortably: ‘This is nice, I had quite forgotten how pleasant it is to come home to someone waiting for me. Are the children in?’

  She felt as though she had been his wife for years. ‘Yes, upstairs having their tea with Nanny; Al says they always do.’

  Sarre bit into one of Mrs McCrea’s scones. ‘They usually come down when I’m home, but I expect they’re a little shy.’ He smiled at her. ‘They’ll not be that for long. How did you find them?’

  He wasn’t looking at her. A large shaggy dog was peering at them through the window and Sarre got up to let him in. ‘Rough—hullo, old fellow! Alethea, he was in the kitchen when we arrived and I took him with me in the car—you’ve not met him.’

  Alethea liked dogs; she scratched his ear for him and he looked up at her with instant friendliness. ‘He’s a poppet,’ she declared, glad that his entry had saved her having to answer Sarre about the children. Of course they weren’t shy, she thought silently; they were being unfriendly, but whether they were prepared to let their father see that, she had yet to discover.

  It seemed that they weren’t, for when they joined them presently in the sitting room they were the very soul of politeness, asking her questions about England, telling her about school, wanting to know about the wedding…and all the time looking at her with an enmity which left her both puzzled and a little frightened. Frightened that they would never like her, never accept her into the family. But she had plenty of spirit; she told herself that probably she was imagining the whole thing just because she had been so anxious that they should like her. They might be jealous, afraid that she was going to take the lion’s share of their father from them. She was quite relieved to have hit on a likely reason, and when Sarre suggested that she might like to go to his study and telephone her grandmother, she agreed with alacrity. He might be just as anxious to have his children to himself as they were to be with him.

  Sarre left her once he had got the number and she settled down to a brief chat with her grandparent. Everything was lovely, she declared, the house was a dream, the children were very like Sarre in looks and with such beautiful manners… She talked away for five minutes until she felt that she had satisfied her grandmother’s interest, asked a few questions about home, promised to telephone again, and rang o
ff.

  She didn’t go back to the sitting room at once; ten minutes wasn’t long enough. She got up from Sarre’s great leather chair and wandered round the room, having a good look. It was as lofty as the other rooms in the house, a long, rather narrow room reached by a short passage from the hall, its windows overlooking the side of the house. She paused to look out on to the high wall which ran its length, a neat flower bed, gay with colour, between it and the flag path which ran beneath the window. She wondered where it went and then resumed her tour. There were bookshelves, of course, stuffed with books, mostly medical, in Dutch, German and English. There were some rather lovely engravings on the walls, a desk piled high with books, papers, professional samples, photos of the children and an enormous diary, and a nice little chair drawn up to a small worktable, a charming Regency trifle with a green moiré bag hanging from its frame. Alethea stopped short: perhaps his first wife had sat there, embroidering, while he worked at the desk. She ran her hand over the back of the velvet-covered chair, not liking to sit in it. He wouldn’t want her to anyway, and even if he did, she had never done embroidery in her life, she wouldn’t know where to begin. She made an instant resolve to try her hand at it at the first opportunity. She was standing irresolutely in the middle of the room when Sarre came back.

  ‘Finished?’ he wanted to know. ‘We were wondering what had happened to you.’

  She didn’t try to explain, only smiled, assured him that she had indeed finished and accompanied him back to the sitting room. The children went away shortly afterwards—to do their homework, they explained. They wished her goodnight in their almost perfect English, and then lapsed into rather noisy Dutch, begging their father to do something or other.

  ‘There’s this habit we have acquired,’ he explained, laughing. ‘They like me to go upstairs and wish them goodnight. I shall hand it over to you once we’re married, Alethea.’