The Doubtful Marriage Page 8

  ‘Welcome to our home, Tilly,’ he said and bent and kissed her cheek.

  She stared up at his quiet face. ‘It is a very beautiful one,’ she told him seriously. ‘We’ll be happy here.’

  There was a faintly anxious question in her voice and he said at once, ‘Of course we shall.’ He smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t be too long; Bep has a meal ready for us.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE staircase was at right angles to the hall, its oak treads curving round to the narrow gallery above. The gallery had several doors leading from it and a corridor leading to the back of the house, which hadn’t looked large from the outside; but now that she was inside, Matilda came to the conclusion that she had been mistaken about that. The doors were mahogany crowned by carved wreaths of fruit and flowers. Bep opened one of them and ushered Matilda into a large room at the front of the house.

  The furniture was of yew, the bedhead beautifully decorated with marquetry to match the sofa-table between the tall windows, and the tallboy against one of its walls. There was a thick carpet underfoot and the long curtains of old-rose matched the bedspread. A magnificent room, with its enamelled wall sconces, the gilded triple mirror on the sofa-table and the two small easy chairs on either side of a lamp-table. Just right for a midnight gossip, thought Matilda, and stifled a giggle at the very idea. The giggle had been nervous; she called upon her common sense and followed Bep across the room to the door in the far wall. A bathroom, fitted with every conceivable luxury, and leading to another room. This would be Rauwerd’s she guessed: a little austere, its windows at the side of the house overlooking the Rapenburg Canal. There was a door in that room, too; she opened it and peeped out. The gallery led to a narrow passage with more doors; it would take her a month of Sundays to find her way around. She went back to her bedroom and, when Bep left her, did her face and hair and presently went downstairs.

  Rauwerd was sitting on the bottom stair, reading a newspaper. He got up as she reached him and smiled at her. ‘Over here,’ he said. ‘It’s a funny old house but you’ll soon find your way around.’

  The dining-room was on the opposite side of the hall, with windows overlooking the street as well as the Rapenburg. It wasn’t as large as the drawing-room and was furnished in the rather heavy Beidermeier style. But somehow it suited the room, with its patterned crimson wallpaper and matching curtains. The table was oval and the cloth upon it was starched linen, set with heavy silver and sparkling glass. There was a beautiful old Delft bowl full of hyacinths at its centre and crystal wall sconces shed light on it.

  ‘You have a very beautiful home here,’ said Matilda, doing her best not to sound overawed.

  ‘I’m glad you like it, Tilly. It’s very old, as you can see, and I’m told the very devil to keep clean, but I love it. If you are not too tired, we’ll go on a tour of inspection presently.’

  Their dinner was delicious, although, thinking about it later, Matilda wasn’t at all sure what they ate. Certainly they had drunk champagne, so that by the time they started on their tour of the house, she was feeling decidedly cock-a-hoop.

  They wandered slowly from room to room. There was a small sitting-room behind the drawing-room, opening on to a veranda leading to the garden, which was long and narrow and walled with rose-coloured bricks. Back in the house, she was allowed to peep into the study before going upstairs.

  ‘Bep will show you the kitchen,’ explained Rauwerd. ‘She and Jan will be having their supper.’ He paused on the gallery. ‘You’ve seen your own room, of course, and the bathroom. My room’s beyond that. There are two more rooms on that side, with a bathroom and two rooms opposite.’

  He led her round, waiting patiently while she paused before a picture or admired the furniture, and then climbed another staircase tucked away at the end of a short passage. ‘Bep and Jan have their flat there.’

  There was a door at the head of the staircase and he opened it to reveal a short passage with a door on either side. ‘They’re here.’ He waved an arm. ‘Emma shall have the room on this side.’ He opened the door and showed her a large room, nicely furnished. ‘There’s a bathroom through there and I expect you and Bep can contrive to make everything comfortable for her.’

  ‘She’ll love it,’ declared Matilda. They were in the back passage. ‘What’s that?’

  A narrow steep staircase at the end. ‘The attics—two of them. We loved them when we were children.’ He added abruptly, ‘If you’ve seen all you want to, shall we go down again? Is there anything you want before you go to bed?’

  She felt a pang of disappointment; she would have liked to have sat down quietly somewhere and talked. She said composedly, ‘Nothing, thank you. It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?’

  She skipped down in front of him and when they reached the gallery opened her door. She gave him a bright smile and asked cheerfully, ‘What time is breakfast?’

  ‘Half-past seven, but you can have it when you like.’

  She kept the smile there. ‘I’m used to getting up early. Goodnight, Rauwerd.’

  Not a very good start, she reflected as she got to bed, but perhaps they were both feeling awkward. Not that she could imagine Rauwerd feeling awkward for any reason at all. Perhaps he was regretting their marriage already. She dismissed the idea as silly. She was tired; it had indeed been a long day—her wedding day.

  In the morning everything was all right. Somehow, sitting opposite him, eating breakfast together, it seemed as though they had been doing just that for years; not talking much but content with each other’s company. Indeed, from Rauwerd’s manner, they might have been married a decade at least.

  She debated within herself as to whether that was a good thing or not. It would certainly make for a placid, undemanding relationship; on the other hand it would be nice to stir up a little interest. Nothing much, just enough for him to look at her twice.

  She was roused from her thoughts by Rauwerd’s pleasant voice. ‘You are very far away, Tilly…’ There was a faint question there and hastily she assured him that she had merely been wool gathering.

  ‘There is such a lot to think about—it’s rather like a dream.’

  ‘Let us hope that the reality will be as nice. I have to go to the hospital this morning and I have some patients to see this afternoon; I won’t be home for lunch. Will you be happy here? Bep’s longing to take you all over the house again and I dare say you want to unpack. I should be home by four o’clock or thereabouts and perhaps we can discuss several matters.’

  ‘What matters?’

  ‘Oh, lessons—for you. The quicker you learn to speak Dutch the better. You can drive? Good, then you must have a car. Now that I have a wife we can entertain from time to time, and there are various functions at the hospital and medical school you will attend with me, so you’ll need clothes.’

  He got up and paused by her chair. ‘It’s all strange for you, isn’t it? But you’re sensible and you will soon have friends.’

  ‘And you,’ said Matilda rather tartly.

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. I have no doubt that we shall settle down very well together.’

  He laid a hand on her shoulder for a moment. ‘I must be off.’

  She sat for some minutes after he had gone, frowning, considering what he had said. Perhaps it would be best to wait until he came home; it would be nice to know something more about their social life. In the meantime she would try and learn something of her wifely duties.

  Bep was delighted to show her the contents of the linen cupboards, the china pantry and the baize-lined drawers containing the table silver. The morning passed in a flash and after lunch Matilda toured the garden with Dickens. It wasn’t large, but it had been laid out with imagination and she spent an hour poring over labels and poking her nose around the beds. She went indoors presently and sat by the fire with the dog beside her while she tried to make out the headlines of the newspapers. She was engrossed in this when Rauwerd got home.

  He paused in the doo
rway, for she made a charming picture curled up in an armchair by the hearth with Dickens pressed close to her, and with her pretty nose buried in the paper. Dickens rushed to meet him and she folded the paper neatly and got up. ‘I’ll ask Bep for tea,’ she said and smiled a little shyly.

  ‘I saw Jan as I came in; he’s bringing it now. Have you been bored?’

  He sat down opposite her and Dickens lay at his feet.

  ‘Bored? Heavens, no. Bep showed me everything—you know, the linen and the silver and the kitchen. And after lunch Dickens and I went into the garden and I’ve been trying to read the newspaper ever since.’

  ‘I’m very sorry I wasn’t free to spend the day with you. My partners and their wives have invited us to dinner—they want to celebrate our wedding—and I accepted for us both. In two days’ time. I expect you may like to get a new dress for the occasion? Which reminds me—I’ve opened an account for you at my bank and paid in your quarter’s allowance. Let me know if you run out of money.’

  Jan came in with the tea and he sat silent while she poured it out but presently she said, ‘Thank you, Rauwerd. Yes, I’ll need a dress, I think. Are they very smart your partners’ wives?’

  ‘Nicely dressed,’ he observed. ‘They are easy to get on with. Jacob Thenus and Beatrix—he’s the senior of the three—they have three children. Then there is Pieter van Storr and Marie—they have a boy and a girl, then Gus and Gerda Swijstra—he joined us two years ago. The dinner is to be held at Jacob’s house in Leiden and they are all looking forward to meeting you. But don’t worry about not speaking Dutch, they all speak English.’

  He passed his cup for more tea. ‘If you would like it, I will arrange for you to start Dutch lessons with a retired Professor of English; he’s elderly but a splendid teacher. He lives on the other side of the canal and perhaps you would like to go to his house. He’s rather crippled with arthritis and he doesn’t get around much.’

  ‘I’d like that. Will it take me long to learn Dutch?’

  He reassured her. ‘No, you’re an intelligent girl and besides you will have the day-to-day running of the household and the shopping, which will be excellent practice for you.’ He put his cup down and got to his feet. ‘I must do some work and take Dickens for his walk. I’ll see you at dinner, my dear.’

  He strolled to the door. ‘By the way, I’ve ordered a car for you.’

  She should have been delighted; instead she felt forlorn. A walk with Dickens would have been very pleasant, and they could have talked. But he didn’t seem to want her company, although he was kind and considerate and generous. Perhaps it would be better once he had got used to having a wife.

  She went shopping for a dress the next day. There were some delightful boutiques in Leiden and she spent some time searching for what she wanted. She found it finally: amber crêpe, finely pleated and deceptively simple. It took almost all the money she had but it would be, she decided, just right.

  Rauwerd came home to lunch, and they talked about nothing much until he asked, ‘Did you go shopping?’

  ‘Yes. I found a dress, too. There are some nice shops…’

  ‘Let me know if you run out of money.’

  ‘Well, I haven’t used any of yours yet. I had a little of my own.’

  He said evenly, ‘You are my wife, Matilda. I expect you to use the allowance I have arranged for you.’ He glanced at the clock. ‘I must go. Private patients until five o’clock. I’ve sent Emma her ticket—she will be coming next week. We’ll meet her, shall we?’

  He laid a large hand on her shoulder and went to the door. ‘I’ll not be back until some time after six o’clock.’

  Matilda dreaded the dinner party. She was dressed far too early; Rauwerd was just arriving when she went downstairs. If she had but known, she had never looked lovelier; the rich colour of the dress suited her and apprehension had lent colour to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes. Rauwerd, pausing in the doorway, took a long look at her. ‘Charming,’ he said softly. ‘I’ll be fifteen minutes.’

  He came down presently, wearing another of his sober, beautifully cut suits and helped her into her coat and then put his hand in a pocket.

  ‘I almost forgot. You must forgive me, my dear.’ He fastened a choker of pearls around her neck. ‘A belated wedding gift.’

  She put up a hand to feel their creamy smoothness. ‘Thank you, Rauwerd.’

  And was quite nonplussed when he added, ‘They’ve been in the family for a very long time.’

  Her dread had been unnecessary; Jacob Thenus and his wife were ready to welcome her with open arms. Jacob was thickset, with a round face, bright eyes and an endearing smile, and Beatrix was a small fairylike creature, who kissed Matilda with warmth. ‘Isn’t it nice,’ she observed, ‘now we’re all married? Come and meet the others.’

  Pieter van Storr and Marie were a little older, tall and strongly built and just as warm in their greeting, and Gus and Gerda Swijstra were a young and lively couple whom she liked at once.

  Jacob lived in Leiden, too, in an old house on the outskirts of the town, and he and Beatrix had gone to a good deal of trouble to make a success of their dinner party. And it was a success. Matilda, watching Rauwerd, saw that he was on excellent terms with his partners, an observation borne out by Gerda as they chatted over drinks.

  ‘He is nice, your Rauwerd,’ she said. ‘He is the boss, but we’re all friends. We are so happy that he is married, now we shall no longer have to find pretty girls for him when there is a party. He has found his own for himself.’ She beamed at Matilda. ‘You find it all a little strange, I expect, but not for long. Leiden is a most friendly part and there is much to do.’

  Someone had gone to a lot of trouble over dinner: lobster soup, morsels of fish in a delicious sauce, champagne sorbets and beef tournedos, followed by a magnificent dessert which, Beatrix explained, had been made especially in honour of the newly married pair. There was champagne, too, and speeches and a great deal of laughing and cheerful talk. Matilda went to bed that night feeling that she had made some friends, and the thought was comforting.

  What was even more comforting was Rauwerd’s suggestion that, since he could spare an hour or so on the following morning, they might go to den Haag and do some shopping. ‘For you will get asked out to coffee and tea,’ he told her, ‘as well as dinner parties to which we shall be invited.’

  Before they set out the next day he gave her a cheque book. ‘And if you find yourself short of money just ask to have whatever it is charged to me,’ he told her casually.

  ‘Are you very rich?’ asked Matilda.

  ‘Well, yes.’ He smiled down at her. ‘But let us go and make me a little poorer, shall we?’

  She had a heavenly time. Rauwerd took her to Lange Voorhout and Noordeinde and waited with patience while she shopped. The sum he had mentioned as her quarterly allowance had left her open-mouthed, but the desire to spend was irresistible. She wasn’t a foolish spender but she had the sense to know that she was quite inadequately dressed as the wife of an eminent and wealthy doctor. She didn’t dither; she knew what she needed and bought it while Rauwerd sat quietly in a number of boutiques and nodded his approval. When at length she professed herself satisfied he bore her off to tea and rich cream cakes at a teashop in Lange Voorhout and, as they left, observed regretfully that he would be out that evening.

  ‘You won’t mind dining alone?’ he asked. ‘I shall be very late in.’

  She assured him that she didn’t mind at all and wondered silently what could possibly occupy him at the hospital so late in the day. Although they had been on excellent terms all the day she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

  Back at the house he unloaded all her parcels and band boxes. ‘I’ll see you at breakfast,’ he observed casually. ‘Goodnight, Tilly.’

  ‘A lovely day,’ she told herself, going up to her room, stifling loneliness; and to pass the time before dinner, she tried on all her new clothes.

  She went to bed soon af
ter dinner, for the house seemed very silent. Dickens had gone with Rauwerd, and Jan and Bep, after making sure that she lacked for nothing, had retired to the kitchen to their own supper. She had a bath, lying in the hot water, reading until the water cooled, and at last getting into bed, to lie awake until she heard Rauwerd’s quiet footfall just before midnight.

  At breakfast she asked, ‘Were you very busy at the hospital last night?’

  He gave her a cool stare. ‘I wasn’t at the hospital, Matilda. Would you like to visit my parents this weekend? We could go over on Sunday morning for coffee. I have to go out after lunch so we had better have it here. I’m free on Saturday; if you care to we’ll drive around so that you can see something of Holland.’

  She thanked him nicely and wondered where he was going on Sunday afternoon. She was behaving like a suspicious wife, she reflected.

  She was too sensible to waste time on idle conjecture. She found plenty to occupy her during the following day and on Saturday morning, dressed in one of the new outfits—a pleasing speckled tweed suit—went down to breakfast anticipating a very pleasant day.

  So it was. Rauwerd drove her north to the Frisian Lakes, gave her coffee in Sneek, allowed her half an hour in which to glimpse the little town, then went on to Leeuwarden and north to the coast of Groningen. Here they lunched off enormous pancakes at Nenkemaborg Castle, after exploring its interior. They returned along country roads, narrow and often built in brick, but affording Matilda a good look at rural Holland. They stopped for tea at a small wayside café and then drove home through an early evening grown suddenly gloomy.

  The weather might be depressing but Matilda hadn’t felt so happy for a long time. Rauwerd, who had seemed so remote, revealed himself to be an amusing companion, easy to talk to and willing to answer her endless questions. She got out of the car with regret; the day had gone too quickly and now she supposed Rauwerd would go to his study…

  He joined her in the hall as Jan shut the street door. ‘You’ve had a dull time for a bride, Matilda. Shall we go out to dinner and dance afterwards?’