‘I think I shall be able to repay part of my debt later this week, Van Raat, when my remittance comes. Ah well, I suppose I shall manage somehow.’
Henk made no comment, only tapped his cane in time to the slow music: the orchestra was playing the overture to William Tell.
‘Such a nuisance that I didn’t come to an arrangement about that quinine business,’ continued Vincent. ‘But now a friend has written to me from America; he’s rich and well connected, and he says he can get me an introduction to a trading company in New York. But for the moment. . I say, Van Raat, you’d be doing me a tremendous favour if you could lend me another fifty guilders.’
Henk bridled.
‘Vere, you never stop, do you? I’m getting rather tired of this business, to tell you the truth. First five hundred guilders, then it’s a hundred, then fifty. . What on earth are you waiting for? What do you plan to do? If you don’t have financial means of your own, then why don’t you find some employment? You can’t expect me to keep subsidising you, can you?’
Vincent had anticipated reproof of one kind or another, and endured Henk’s angry outburst without protest. Henk promptly felt embarrassed at the harshness of his tone, but pressed on nonetheless:
‘All this talk about money coming from Brussels, Malaga, New York — when do you suppose it will come? It’s not that it will ruin me if you don’t pay me back, you understand, and I shan’t trouble you for it either, but it’s been nearly two thousand guilders up to now. I’m tired of it. Why don’t you stop loafing around here in The Hague and do something!’
His tone was already softening, but Vincent kept silent, his eyes fixed on his shoes, which he was tapping lightly with the tip of his cane. Henk could find nothing more to say, and was relieved when Vincent finally lifted his head and spoke in a low voice: ‘It’s unfortunate. You are quite right, of course, but it isn’t my fault, really. Circumstances, you know. Ah well, I shall see what I can do. Forgive me for troubling you.’
He rose purposefully to his feet, leaving Henk tongue-tied with embarrassment.
‘Well, au revoir then,’ said Vincent with a faint smile and a nod at Henk. ‘Au revoir, I must be off.’
Henk proffered his hand, unobserved by Vincent, who was already making his leisurely way through the crowd, languidly tipping his hat from time to time.
Henk remained alone at the table, feeling much disgruntled with himself. Soon afterwards, however, Eline and Otto returned, joking about how forlorn he looked. Betsy too made her way back to the table escorted by young Hijdrecht, whose hand she pressed warmly in farewell. It was late; many people had left before the final performance, and now that the concert was at an end the rest began to stream towards the exits. The vibrant atmosphere of music and lively chitchat had lapsed into quietude; here and there the gas lamps were already being extinguished, and only a stray group or two remained seated at the tables, enjoying the evening air, which was now tinged with briny freshness. Conversations flagged as the lingering visitors gazed out at the sea and the vast sky above, palely streaked with the Milky Way.
‘What a lovely evening! Shall we stay here a little longer?’ asked Betsy.
‘Oh, I’d rather we went for a drive,’ said Eline. ‘Unless you think it will get too late, that is, and if the horses are up to it. What do you say, Henk?’
Betsy thought it rather eccentric of Eline to want to take a tour at this time of night, but the idea appealed to her nonetheless. So they all went down to the boulevard at the back of the Kurhaus, where their carriage was waiting in line with the others.
Eline thought the wind had risen and wished to sit forward under the half-raised hood, next to Otto. Betsy instructed Dirk to make a detour through the Van Stolkpark on the way home.
The slumbering villas loomed spectrally amid dark masses of foliage stirring in the gentle breeze, and the only sounds intruding on the stillness were the thud of the horses’ hooves and the light crunch of wheels on the gravelled road. No one spoke. Betsy leant back comfortably, savouring the night air. Henk fretted inwardly about his harshness towards Vincent, who was bound to feel offended, and Eline abandoned herself to the dreamy pleasure of the moment. She had removed her hat, and now inclined her head slightly to Otto, listening to his regular breathing. In the obscurity of the half-raised hood his arm had stolen around her waist, and he drew her gently towards him so that her cheek was almost touching his shoulder, while her hand brushed his knee. She felt very happy, and could imagine nothing sweeter than sitting close to him like this, feeling his breath ruffle her hair like kisses, feeling his arm encircling her waist like a girdle of love.
And, in a surge of tender emotion, she finally allowed her head to rest on his shoulder.
‘What was the name you thought of for me?’ she whispered in his ear.
‘Nily!’ he whispered back.
She felt his arm tightening about her waist, and she repeated the new name under her breath several times, exulting in his sweet term of endearment.
. .
Mathilda van Rijssel had taken a beach tent for the summer, and had told Jeanne Ferelijn to come and join her there with her children whenever she chose. Jeanne was reluctant at first, not wishing to impose, but Mathilda had won her over, and lately she had been a frequent visitor. Sometimes they arranged to go together, leaving quite early equipped only with sandwiches, since milk for the little ones could be had from the stall. They would make themselves comfortable under the awning of the tent, in which they stored their belongings, and there they passed the time talking, reading and sewing while the youngsters set to work with their buckets and spades, digging holes in the sand nearby and building ingenious aqueducts down by the water’s edge.
Jeanne fancied that her children were growing more robust and altogether more cheerful under the influence of the Van Rijssel youngsters, and both she and Mathilda enjoyed watching the jolly little band of seven scampering like puppies back and forth between excavation sites and waterworks. She was very glad to keep company with Mathilda, in whom she had found a friend who understood her cares and offered sympathetic advice. They talked at length of their offspring, and also of their respective domestic arrangements, and Jeanne thought Mathilda extraordinarily frugal and practical for someone accustomed to living in comfortable circumstances.
However, the sunny days at the beach did not continue for long, as the Ferelijns had to leave. They were going to Boppard, where Frans was to take a cold-water cure. Jeanne was worried about the expense; there were the travelling costs to consider, and their accommodation, because how could the five of them afford to stay there for six weeks while the rent of the upstairs apartment in Hugo de Grootstraat needed to be paid as well?
Otto wished to introduce his fiancée to his sister’s family, and Madame van Erlevoort agreed to accompany them on a visit to Zwolle for a few days. Madame was in raptures about her new grandson: the prettiest, chubbiest baby in the world, with such a fine head of dark curly hair! She was grateful to Otto for having persuaded her to come along. She visited De Horze every summer, for she was so accustomed to the journey that she saw no inconvenience in it at all, but at other times she found it nigh impossible to tear herself away from The Hague. She loved her spacious home on the Voorhout with its old-fashioned opulence, a little faded now, but still cosy and comfortable. Eline found the Van Stralenburgs quite charming. Suzanne was a darling little mother, not particularly pretty and a bit careless in her dress, but so sweet-natured and so thrilled with her baby son that it was a delight to behold. As for her husband, he was an affable, humorous fellow, spoilt to the core by his wife, who fetched and carried for him with such gusto at times as to make Eline dissolve into laughter. No, she did not think she would ever manage to be like that with Otto, and trusted that he would not expect it of her! But although she warned him in jest, in the depths of her being she felt it must be heaven indeed to devote oneself heart and soul to a man the way Suzanne devoted herself to Van Stralenburg, to exist for him alone, to be his loving, faithful slave, to be wholly and utterly possessed by him. Even in her current state of facility she could not resist fantasising about still greater joys to come, and conjured up elaborate visions of herself as Otto’s adoring wife and of their life together in cosy, domestic bliss.