She struggled to ward off the bitter regret rearing its ugly head like an adder in her soul.
Groping for some light-hearted reply to Vincent’s banter, she was seized with alarm. A new thought suddenly imposed itself. No, there was no turning back. Otto and Betsy were obviously expecting her to accept. Why would she have asked Betsy to invite him to an intimate gathering if she merely wished to see him? Surely she would have written him a note otherwise? She had made her decision, that was that, and the panic of a moment ago gave way to a sense of immense calm flooding her entire being.
‘But my dear girl, I do believe your mind’s rambling!’ laughed Vincent. He had asked her why Georges de Woude was not in attendance, and she had murmured distractedly:
‘Oh, isn’t he here?’
This made Eline laugh, too, now that she was herself again. They sat down.
‘Forgive me, I have a slight—’ she murmured, touching her finger to a stray curl at her temple.
‘Ah, a headache! I know all about them,’ he said, observing her quizzically. ‘I believe it’s a family complaint, we Veres are prone to headaches.’
She looked up at him, startled. Had he guessed anything?
‘I had one myself just now; it was the music that brought it on — you know, all that banging on the piano. It was just as if I could see all sorts of lurid colours, green, yellow and orange. Whenever that vivacious young lady — Léonie, I believe her name is — begins to sing, I see orange.’
‘And what about when I sing? What do you see then?’ she asked coquettishly.
‘Ah that’s completely different,’ he replied gravely. ‘Whenever you sing I see a harmonious plethora of pinks and purples, all soft and melting. Your low notes are pink, the high ones purple and shiny. When Paul sings everything goes grey, with a tinge of violet at times.’
She began to laugh, as did Paul, who had overheard the last remark.
‘But Vincent, you’re hallucinating!’
‘Maybe so. Still, it’s an extraordinary sensation, seeing colours like that. Has it never happened to you?’
She reflected a moment, while Ange and Etienne, having caught what Vincent was saying, came closer.
‘No, I don’t think it has.’
‘Don’t you ever find that certain musical notes remind you of a particular fragrance, such as opopanax or reseda? The sound of an organ is like incense. Hearing you sing Beethoven’s Ah Perfido always brings back the scent of verbena for me, especially one of the high passages at the end. Next time you sing it I’ll tell you exactly which one.’
Ange giggled.
‘Oh, Mr Vere, how wonderful it must be to have such a keen sense of smell!’
Everyone smiled, and Vincent too seemed in high spirits.
‘But it’s true, parole d’honneur.’
‘I’ll tell you what: some people remind me of animals,’ whispered Etienne. ‘Henk, for instance, reminds me of a big dog, Betsy of a hen and Madame van der Stoor of a crab.’
Peals of laughter ensued, at which Otto, Emilie and Léonie, rose from their seats and drew near.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Emilie eagerly,
‘Madame van der Stoor is a crab!’ hooted Ange, with tears in her eyes from laughing.
‘And me, Etienne, what do I remind you of?’ demanded Léonie.
‘Oh, you and Ange are a pair of puppy dogs, woof, woof,’ cried Etienne. ‘As for Miss de Woude,’ he whispered in Ange’s ear, ‘she reminds me of a turkey, with her double chin. Miss Frantzen’s a turkey, too, of a slightly different kind. Willem the manservant is a dignified stork, and Dien, the Verstraetens’ old housemaid, is a cockatoo.’
‘What a menagerie! A veritable Noah’s ark!’ tittered Léonie.
‘And Eline?’ asked Paul.
‘Ah, Eline,’ echoed Etienne dreamily. ‘Sometimes she’s a peacock, sometimes a serpent, but right now she’s a little dove.’
They all laughed heartily, shaking their heads at his extravagant fancies.
. .
‘Etienne is always jolly,’ Eline remarked to Otto when the little group had dispersed; she turned to smile and wave at Madame van Raat, who had ceded her place at the whist table to Emilie. Vincent, meanwhile, was besieged by the Eekhof girls clamouring to know whether he planned to start a perfumery store.
‘Yes, indeed,’ said Otto. ‘Etienne is very jolly. He has every reason to be so, since he has everything he could wish for.’
His tone was a touch wistful, as if for him that were not the case, and Eline could not think of any reply. For a while they remained standing side by side, wordlessly. She extended her hand to touch the plumes in the Makart bouquet, and the turmoil in her mind began again.
‘Have you nothing to say to me?’ he murmured. There was no trace of reproach in his voice.
She took a deep breath.
‘Truly, I. . oh, not just yet, please forgive me. Later, I promise, in a while. .’
‘All right, later. I will be patient — for as long as I am able,’ he said, and his calm voice soothed the tangled web of her emotions. She could not refuse him now, but neither could she declare herself.
She felt a rush of admiration for his tact and gentleness as he continued to converse on various topics that held little interest for either of them. That unassuming nature was in fact his greatest asset, that was why people liked him so much; he was so sincerely himself that he seemed incapable of having any secrets he might prefer to keep hidden. While he spoke he made no pretence of discussing anything of the slightest importance, he simply wished to remain standing beside her, and for that he needed to engage her attention — it was all so evident in the warm resonance of his voice. His mind was not in the conversation, and he didn’t even care if she noticed. For the first time she felt something like pity for him. She was being cruel, she was making him suffer, and again she felt that strange, melting softness in her heart.
Gerard went round bearing silver trays laden with refreshments.
‘Would you like a sorbet, Madame, and a pastry?’ Eline asked Madame van Raat, who was sitting alone on the sofa looking rather forlorn, although she smiled now and then at the cluster of young people telling each other’s fortunes with the cards.
‘Look,’ she said to Otto. ‘Henk’s Mama is all by herself, I had better go and keep her company.’
He nodded kindly and went to listen to the horoscope Ange was drawing for Paul. Eline beckoned Gerard and took a sorbet and a pastry from the tray, which she offered to Madame van Raat. Then she seated herself beside the old lady and took her hand.
Ignoring the refreshments, Madame van Raat looked into Eline’s eyes.
‘Well, what is it to be?’ asked Madame.
In her state of melting tenderness, Eline wasn’t even annoyed by the old lady’s persistence. She replied very softly, almost inaudibly:
‘I. . I shall say yes.’
She sighed, and felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she heard herself speak. Yes, she would accept. She could find nothing more to say to the old lady, for that one statement filled her mind so completely that it absorbed every other thought. They sat together a moment in silence, with their backs half turned to the cheerful gathering across the room. Suddenly Eline became aware of Ange’s shrill voice reading out the cards one by one.
‘Now listen carefully, Mr van Erlevoort. I’m much cleverer at this than Madame Lenormand, you know. Here’s yours: King of Hearts. You are in a vale of tears, I see, but not for long. You shall be very rich, and you shall live in a chateau in the Pyrenees. Or would you prefer a villa in Nice? Ah! There she is! The Queen of Hearts! You are rather far apart, but all the cards in between are favourable. You will have to overcome many obstacles to reach her, for she is much sought-after: look, here’s the King of Clubs, and the King of Diamonds, and there’s even a commoner, a Social Democrat if you please, the Jack of Spades!’