‘I would be sorry if that were the case, Paul,’ she responded, struggling to keep her tender feelings at bay. ‘But I have no doubt you can understand why I was offended by that kiss you gave me.’
‘I meant to ask you to marry me before I kissed you, Freddie! So is this the only answer I get?’
She paused, fighting back her tears.
‘That is all I have to say, Paul. Believe me, I probably know you better than you know yourself. You don’t love me in the way I wish to be loved by the man I marry. You are fond of me, I know. You may even think you have fallen in love with me. But you love yourself too dearly to care very much for anyone else.’
‘How well you know me!’ he said bitterly, pursing his lips beneath the blond moustache.
‘But do let’s remain friends!’ she said, extending her hand unsteadily. ‘We would never be happy together, and one day you will thank me for not taking you up on your — on your proposal of marriage.’
But he did not take the proffered hand, and she withdrew it.
‘Ah yes, how well you know me!’ he repeated cynically. ‘I was not aware that my character was an object of study to you, indeed, I was not aware that I could be deemed worthy of such studious interest.’
‘It doesn’t take much study to fathom you, you know!’ she said in a high, almost scathing tone of voice. ‘Whatever the case, for someone like me, who has seen the way you behave with the girls in our set, it is impossible to take any declarations of love on your part at all seriously.’
‘Do you really believe I was courting all those girls? I would have thought you could tell the difference between innocent fun and serious intent. Anyway, I didn’t know it was a sin to be jolly.’
‘That kind of fun and jollity ought to be beneath you, Paul. And I might remind you that some people are more susceptible than others when it comes to your ill-advised pleasantries.’
There she was, preaching again; she hated herself for it, but a twinge of jealousy had impelled her to speak her mind.
‘Are you accusing me of being a heartbreaker?’ he said with a forced laugh. ‘Believe me, Freddie, you are mistaken. Those girls are not naive, you know; they are perfectly capable of telling when I am being serious or just having a lark. It seems that you are not. And I can assure you that if my intentions towards any of them had been in the least serious, my behaviour would have been totally different.’
There was a hostile edge to his voice, which almost made her fearful, and she kept silent.
‘But you said just now,’ he continued in a gentler tone, ‘that you couldn’t take me seriously when I said I loved you. So tell me honestly, Freddie, what would I have to do to make you believe me?’
She was greatly confused, which did not escape his notice.
‘Go on, Freddie, please tell me!’ he urged.
‘If I believed you, Paul,’ she said, recovering herself, ‘I would feel very sorry for you. As it is, I believe you will get over your disappointment in no time, and so I would really like us to remain friends. There’s no need for either of us to have any hard feelings simply because you took it into head to propose and I didn’t take you seriously. And I am not naive, either, I’ll have you know.’
He said nothing, crushed by her contempt, inwardly incensed at her dismissive attitude. Slowly he rose to his feet.
‘Very well, then,’ he said evenly. ‘So be it.’
He took his whip and tapped the sand off the legs of his velvet riding breeches, then consulted his watch.
‘Ah, almost midday. We should be getting back, don’t you think?’ he asked, as if nothing had happened.
‘Yes, we should,’ she replied.
She too stood up, donned her hat and adjusted the veil, then shook out her train and arranged it over her arm before starting up the sandy incline.
‘Will you take my arm?’ he offered coldly.
‘No thank you, I am all right,’ she said.
At the top he untied the horses and silently helped her to mount.
‘Merci,’ she said.
They rode off side by side, but very soon he urged his horse to go faster, so that he was ahead of her. At the end of the wood they took the country lane, where he quickened his pace further. She followed at some distance in the scorching midday sun, her eyes fixed on his back, her mind filled with consternation. A bleak sense of dissatisfaction came over her, and she feared that she might have been wrong to respond as she did, that the victory of her family pride and self-esteem might have been gained at too great a cost.
When Paul reached the iron gateway of De Horze he halted his horse and waited for her to catch up, after which they rode side by side up the drive to the big house. At the stables beyond they found Klaas and the stable boy cleaning the wheels of the old covered wagon.
Paul and Freddie dismounted. Coffee would be served presently, and Freddie hurried indoors to change out of her riding habit. In the vestibule she brushed past Etienne, who was looking more civilised now, in a jacket and with combed hair.
‘Ah, there you are!’ he snapped. ‘Back at last! You ought to be ashamed of yourself — going off for a ride like that without me.’
She turned on him irritably.
‘And I hope you won’t wish me bad luck ever again, even as a joke!’ she burst out. ‘I very nearly cut my face on an overhanging branch — I missed it by a hair’s breadth! Look at this scratch on my forehead! Don’t you ever say something like that again, do you hear? I’m more superstitious than you think!’
. .
Paul announced that he would be leaving the following morning to join his friend Oudendijk, Françoise’s brother, in Cologne, whence the young men would travel together across Switzerland to Italy. During dinner he was the same as usual, conversing on various topics in sarcastic tones with a supercilious expression hovering beneath the blond moustache. Frédérique was very subdued; it was generally assumed that she was suffering from the after-effects of the accident with the branch when out riding.
But it would not have been so easy for them to dissemble what had transpired between them had not that very afternoon seen the riotous homecoming of young Willy and Gustaaf. The two boys, fourteen and fifteen years old, were thrilled to be home from boarding school for the summer holidays, and in the midst of their boisterous capers with the children no one noticed that Paul and Frédérique were avoiding each other.
That evening, in the big bed, Frédérique was thankful for Marianne’s chatter about the novels she had been reading, as her rambling discourse on the psychological and philosophical ramifications of Adam Bede and Romola safeguarded Frédérique from thinking her own thoughts. The following morning, when Paul took his leave, she offered him her hand, which he pressed briefly. Not a word passed between them. When he had gone she felt sad and distraught, and longed to unburden herself. But to whom could she turn? Not to Marianne, for she was only a child, and not to Mama either, because it always upset her to see any of her offspring suffer. To her older sister, then?
She went looking for Mathilda and found her in the sitting room with her foursome, about to begin their daily lessons. Schoolbooks and copybooks lay scattered on the table. Nico was scribbling noisily on his slate.
‘Oh, I have disturbed you! I am so sorry!’ said Freddie. ‘I had forgotten all about your lesson. I just wanted a chat, that’s all.’ She made to withdraw, but looked so crestfallen that Mathilda checked her.
‘What about?’ she asked.
Frédérique hesitated, glancing at the children.
‘I’ll come back later, shall I?’ she said.
But Mathilda told the children they could have an hour’s breaktime, and they rushed happily out of the room and down the stairs. Frédérique began to cry and Mathilda drew her to the sofa.