The Little Dragon Page 9

  ‘Oh, but I’m not in the least nervous,’ she assured him, ‘there’s really no need.’

  ‘But I am nervous, and there is a need,’ he observed placidly. ‘Can you cope with the dogs as well, do you think?’

  She assured him that she could and would, and added after a moment’s hesitation: ‘I hope you have a nice time.’

  He smiled. ‘I’m sure I shall. There’s a telephone number on my desk—if you need me urgently you can reach me, or someone will take a message.’

  He nodded casually, embraced the children, bade the dogs goodbye and went out of the house, which suddenly seemed unnaturally quiet. Which, seeing that he was a very quiet man, didn’t make sense.

  The day seemed long and the evening, after the children had been put to bed, even longer. Constantia sat in the lovely sitting room, fashioning dolls’ clothes for Elisabeth’s family of dolls, and felt lonely.

  ‘And this will never do,’ she told herself, glad to hear a voice, even if it was her own. ‘Remember this is a temporary job, my girl, so don’t get too wrapped up in it. As soon as your passport is found you’ll have no excuse to stay, and even if Jeroen wants you to, I think you’ll do better in England.’ The tones in which she uttered this statement sounded doubtful. ‘There must be plenty of home helps in Delft,’ she mused, still out loud, ‘and I’m sure he expects me to leave.’

  She sighed and went to the kitchen to wish Rietje and Mr Tarnus goodnight. They were sitting one each side of the Aga. Rietje was knitting, Mr Tarnus had on a pair of spectacles and was reading the paper. They looked like an old married couple. They got to their feet as she went in and chorused, ‘Wel te rusten’ and when she offered to set the table for breakfast she was firmly, but kindly, refused. She could hear the murmur of their voices as she went back to the hall, into the sitting room to fetch her sewing and turn off the lamps, and then upstairs to bed.

  Jeroen would be back in the morning, she reminded herself as she yawned her way to her room. The day had seemed flat without him, although heaven knew she saw very little of him, but somehow his presence was very strong in the house even when he wasn’t there. ‘One would think that he owned the place!’ she muttered as she brushed her hair.

  The doctor returned shortly after the children had left for school. Constantia, who had got up early and taken the dogs for a quick walk before breakfast because they expected it, had washed up and started on the children’s beds when she heard his step on the stair.

  She looked over her shoulder, a pillow between her teeth while she shook it into a clean case, and saw him in the doorway. Her hullo was necessarily muffled but nonetheless pleased. She dropped the pillow on to the bed, thumped it well and asked: ‘Did you have a good time? Would you like breakfast or coffee? I forgot to ask you if you had a surgery this morning—it’s almost half-past eight.’

  He crossed the room, laughing, and caught her by the shoulders. ‘You’re being a dragon again, firing questions at me. Don’t worry about surgery, someone’s taking it for me. And yes, I’ve had breakfast and I’ll have coffee later, when surgery’s finished. Did you miss me?’

  She stared at him blankly. ‘Yes, I did,’ and added quickly, ‘we all did.’

  ‘Your passport has been found. The police telephoned me—it was in a ditch by the side of the main road to den Haag. They’re holding it for fingerprints and so on, but you’ll have it back very shortly.’

  She was conscious of bitter disappointment because now she was free to go back to England, back to her lonely life. She faltered: ‘Oh, good.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Jeroen was leaning over the end of the bed, watching her while she fiddled with the sheets. ‘Now you can go back to England.’

  ‘So I can.’ Her voice was very bright.

  ‘But I’d like you to come back here, Constantia—it has occurred to me that it might be a very good idea if we were to marry.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  CONSTANTIA WENT PINK and then white, her grey eyes enormous in her surprised face. ‘Marry you?’ she squeaked. ‘But we don’t—I don’t, that is…’

  ‘You don’t love me?’ he finished in a perfectly ordinary voice. ‘But I haven’t mentioned love, have I, dear girl? I believe that we like each other, and that is important, you know—we enjoy the same things and laugh at the same things too, and we have pleasure in each other’s company—all these things make for a happy marriage. You have no family and no ties and as far as I can make out, a lonely future; I have a large family scattered around but who will nonetheless be delighted to welcome you. I have been nagged about marrying for some years now, and until now I haven’t thought much about it.’

  He paused. ‘I suppose I was waiting…’ He shrugged his shoulders and came to stand before her, smiling down into her startled, puzzled face. ‘Love doesn’t need to come into it, my dear—not yet, at any rate. You shall have all the time in the world to get used to the idea of being my wife, I’ll not hurry you—we can have what one could term a friendly arrangement. If it doesn’t work out between us then there’s no harm done and you will be free to go. Divorce is easy these days.’

  Constantia stared up at his calm face—he didn’t appear in the least bit excited, and she felt chilled at his casual manner. She said in a small voice: ‘If you can talk about divorce like that, you can’t be serious.’

  ‘I’m serious, Constantia,’ he contradicted, ‘I don’t care for divorce, I said that so that you would understand that I wouldn’t hold you to a marriage which had become unhappy—you might fall in love.’

  ‘So might you.’

  ‘I’m thirty-nine and I’ve been in and out of love a good many times, but that isn’t quite the same thing as loving someone. But you’re a child still and lovely to look at—I can’t think why you haven’t been snapped up…’

  She smiled a little. ‘I didn’t want to be snapped up, as you so elegantly put it. It’s true I’m a little afraid of being lonely, but that’s not a good reason to marry, is it?’

  Jeroen had taken one of her hands in his and was idly examining it. ‘On the contrary, it’s a very good one, provided there are other good reasons too. You would not mind to live in Delft; to be a doctor’s wife and put up with delayed meals and broken appointments and…?’

  ‘Oh, no. I think…’ She stopped and gave him an honest look. ‘I know that I should like it. I love the town and the house and this kind of life. I could be happy, and I would try and be a good companion to you and help you all I could. Would—would you go on living in this house? If we married, would the owner object to me being here too?’

  There was a gleam, quickly damped down, in the blue eyes. ‘I’m quite sure that he will be very happy about it.’

  ‘And the children?’

  ‘Oh, they dote on you—they’ll be here for another few weeks, you know. Will you find it dull when they’ve gone?’

  ‘Dull? My goodness me, no. I’d have to learn Dutch, wouldn’t I? And perhaps Rietje would teach me to cook as beautifully as she does, and there are some chairs in the little sitting room which need new needlework covers, and the dogs.’

  ‘And my family and friends.’ He took her other hand in his and held them fast between his own. ‘I have more than enough family to share with you, Constantia.’

  ‘That would be nice. We—we haven’t known each other very long, Jeroen.’

  ‘No, but I remember you saying soon after we first met that we seemed like old friends. I feel that too.’

  ‘We’ll be just friends—to begin with?’ she asked.

  ‘My word on that.’

  ‘Well, I do like you very much—more than I’ve liked anyone else in my life—and if you think that it will work, then I’ll marry you.’

  ‘It will work,’ he assured her, and smiled suddenly. ‘I’ve always cherished an ambition to be married to a dragon!’ He bent and kissed her lightly on her cheek. ‘I have to go and take surgery. Come on my morning rounds with me and we can talk.’

  He h
ad gone, leaving her standing there to wonder if she had dreamed it all. Presently she started on the beds again, trying to discipline her racing thoughts into some sort of sense. There hadn’t been time to say much, really. When, she wondered, were they to marry? And where? And what a funny wedding it would be with a host of relations to wish the groom well, and not a single soul to wish her luck. She had friends enough, but unless she got married in England she could hardly expect them to come over to Holland for the wedding.

  She finished the beds, tidied away the children’s toys and games in the nursery and went downstairs to make the coffee, an exercise undertaken under Rietje’s direction; making coffee, she had discovered, was a serious business in a Dutch household.

  When the doctor was home, he had rung for his coffee when he had finished surgery and Constantia had taken the tray up to the study and had a cup with him. And now, when she heard the faint old-fashioned tinkle from the line of bells along the kitchen wall, she felt suddenly shy. All the same, she picked up her tray and went along as usual to find him at his desk, scribbling notes and sorting out patients’ cards just like any other day. He looked up briefly as she went in, said, ‘Hullo, I shan’t be a moment,’ and spoke into the intercom.

  Constantia hadn’t seen his secretary; she came in now, a small, bustling person with heavy glasses and a sharp nose. She shook Constantia’s hand in a businesslike way and then shook it again as Jeroen said something else. ‘I’m telling Corrie that we are shortly to be married,’ he said. ‘I’ll just give her these to deal with…’

  Corrie threw them an arch look as she left the room and Constantia got a little red in the face, so that Jeroen laughed at her.

  ‘She’s a wonderful worker,’ he observed, ‘a widow with two children and an incorrigible romantic.’ He took the cup she handed him. ‘We’ll have to tell Rietje and Tarnus and the children, of course.’

  The telephone rang then, and he spent the next few minutes on it. Constantia, sitting as quiet as a mouse, wondered what he could have to say which took so long. When he had put down the receiver at last, he explained briefly: ‘My registrar. It’s my round this afternoon.’ He glanced at her briefly. ‘I’d like you to come with me.’

  ‘The children?’

  ‘Rietje can stay.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Will five minutes suit you?’

  She got to her feet at once and took away the coffee tray, and ran upstairs to get her coat and gloves. Jeroen gave the impression of being a placid man who never hurried about anything, and yet she had a feeling that he packed more into his day than a great many other people might. It would be fun to find out more about him, she reflected, and raced downstairs again, intent on being punctual.

  The round was quite a big one, first in the town itself and then out to the outlying villages and farms, and between each patient Jeroen talked. If she agreed, he had said, as soon as her passport was returned to her they would go over to England and be married very quietly by special licence.

  ‘No need for a big wedding,’ he observed comfortably, ‘just us and the parson—we could choose a village church somewhere. We’ll give a party when we get back and you can be introduced to the family. Is there anyone you want to come to the wedding?’

  She had said no and been grateful for his suggestion; perhaps he too had thought of the absurdity of a church full of his relations and no one else. ‘Choose a village,’ he had said, ‘and I’ll get it arranged. Is there anything you need to do in England? Things to pack up and so on?’

  She had told him that she had only a trunk in a friend’s flat, with the rest of her rather meagre wardrobe and a handful of bits and pieces she treasured.

  ‘We can collect it on our way back here,’ he said. ‘We can stay the night in London if you like, and do some shopping.’

  ‘Shopping? What kind of shopping?’ She spoke anxiously, thinking of the expense of getting married and the trip to England.

  ‘Oh, this and that. The groom has to give the bride a present, does he not? And that reminds me, I have the money Mrs Dowling owes you in my pocket.’

  ‘Did you go and ask her for it?’ she had wanted to know in some awe.

  ‘Of course. She wants you back.’

  Constantia had given a small snort. ‘I don’t want to go.’

  ‘I took the liberty of telling her just that. Here’s my last patient.’

  He had turned the car down a rutted lane between flat meadows. It led to a small farm, overshadowed by its outbuildings. It looked shabby in the sharp March sunshine and she sat quietly while he was with his patient, wondering what life would be like living there, perhaps with not much money for food or pretty clothes, and shabby furniture.

  She voiced her thoughts when the doctor returned, got in beside her, reversed the car in the muddy yard, and started off down the lane once more.

  ‘I don’t like to disillusion your kind heart,’ he observed kindly. ‘This particular patient happens to have all the money he could possibly need. He’s something of a miser, though—his wife has every modern device you can think of in the house, they live on the fat of the land, but he would burst into tears if anyone suggested that he should purchase new curtains or furniture, certainly not clothes. When it’s necessary he paints the farmhouse, but only to stop the wood rotting, and yet his cowsheds and barns are the finest of their kind.’

  ‘His poor wife,’ declared Constantia with feeling. ‘Having to beg for a new hat!’

  ‘A hat, in his estimation, is a covering for the head. Probably when his wife’s headgear falls apart he allows her to buy another.’

  ‘How very mean!’ She spoke with spirit.

  Jeroen chuckled. ‘I shall allow you two hats a year.’

  And after that the conversation became lighthearted.

  Lunch was a quick snack and a cup of coffee before they got into the Fiat again and drove the short distance to den Haag.

  ‘How many beds have you got?’ Constantia wanted to know, and was surprised when he said ‘Fifteen,’ and still more surprised when he added: ‘I’ve the same number in Rotterdam.’

  She withdrew her gaze from the outskirts of den Haag and turned to look at his passive profile. ‘I thought you were a GP, but you’re more than that, aren’t you? Do you specialise?’

  ‘Er—yes, I do. Arterial conditions.’

  ‘A consultant?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She sighed with unconscious relief. ‘Oh, I am glad—I mean, you earn enough to afford to marry.’

  He blinked rapidly. ‘Were you worrying about that?’

  ‘Well, yes, I was a bit.’

  ‘We’ll get by, so don’t give it another thought.’ He was threading the car slowly through the early afternoon traffic and she peered around her, trying to see something of the city. But she had no time for that; he slid down a narrow street, round a corner and in at the hospital entrance. The car park was at the side; he shot the Fiat into what looked like an impossibly small space between two powerful BMWs, and looked at his watch. ‘Five minutes.’ He fished around in a pocket. ‘I have something for you.’

  He had a small velvet box in his hand and opened it as he spoke. There was a ring inside, five large rubies bordered on either side by diamonds and set in gold. ‘My mother’s and my grandmother’s, and her mother’s before that. They all had small hands—it should fit.’

  ‘It’s quite beautiful,’ said Constantia, and held out her hand. He was right, it fitted perfectly; she moved her hand to and fro, admiring it and hoping with all her heart that it augured well for their marriage. Her thank-you was wholeheartedly sincere.

  ‘You have pretty hands,’ remarked Jeroen, and his casual tone was that of a lifelong friend prepared to make a generous remark for old times’ sake. ‘Shall we go?’

  The day was full of surprises, she admitted to herself as they went through the wide doors into the entrance hall. There was a youngish man waiting for them—Bas de Bruin. The doctor introduced them briefly, added that Constan
tia would shortly be doing him the honour of marrying him, and became engrossed in some conversation or other, presumably to do with his patients, so that she had time to study the registrar. He looked nice, with unspectacular good looks, his fair hair already receding from a high forehead. He wore glasses and looked serious. They were joined almost immediately by two young men, house physicians obviously, who shook hands politely and to her amusement regarded Jeroen with some awe.

  ‘I’ll leave you with Zuster Whitma,’ said Jeroen as they plunged into a labyrinth of corridors behind the hall. ‘She’s the junior Sister on the ward—I’ll have the Hoofd Zuster with me. Zuster Brinkerman.’ He gave her a quick smile. ‘I shall be about an hour.’

  The time passed quickly. Zuster Whitma was a girl of her own age whose English was more than passable. She showed Constantia those wards the doctor wasn’t visiting, and once they paused so that she could peep through the glass windows of the main ward doors and see him, surrounded by a small group of white-coated doctors and uniformed nurses ebbing and flowing around his large person. He looked wise and kind and rather remote, and she found herself fingering the ring on her finger as though it would reassure her that he was one and the same man who had put it there such a short time ago.

  He talked lightly about his work as they drove back to Delft and it wasn’t until he stopped before the house that she said a little sharply: ‘You didn’t tell me that you were a Professor of Medicine.’

  ‘Ah—I was wondering what it was that had put a poker down your back. It didn’t seem all that important.’

  His voice was so placid that she forgave him at once. ‘I didn’t mean to be cross,’ she told him contritely, ‘only I don’t know very much about you…’

  ‘Only what Mrs Dowling told you.’ They laughed together and went indoors.

  The children were flatteringly delighted when they heard the news—they examined the ring, discussed the wedding and could hardly eat their tea for excitement. And Rietje and Tarnus were pleased too. Tarnus seemed to be about the house quite often—the thought crossed Constantia’s mind as she accepted his dignified congratulations, but of course there was a great deal of silver to keep clean and she had come upon him only the day before, cleaning the doctor’s shoes. He had explained apologetically that he had a little time in hand before he left.