‘Never again as it was, please God; make everything stay the same as it is now! I’ll die if anything changes!’ she whispered under her breath, and as she folded her hands in prayer, a teardrop quivered on her lashes. But it was a tear of joy, and in her joy that tiny fear drowned like a drop in the ocean.
XX
August was stiflingly hot in The Hague, though the evenings were refreshing on the terrace at Scheveningen or at the Tent in the Wood. It was Sunday evening, and Betsy decided to stay in for a change. It was so long since old Madame van Raat had been to see her, and so, rather than go to Scheveningen, which was less interesting on a Sunday anyway, she had instead invited her mother-in-law to visit. Tea would be taken in the green conservatory, where the glass doors already stood open. Henk took a turn about the garden with his mother, who professed admiration for his splendid long-stemmed roses. Betsy and Vincent sat alone.
‘I have had a letter from Eline; she is returning with the Van Erlevoorts next Wednesday. Apparently the Howards are staying on a little longer at De Horze,’ she said.
‘Oh? And when Eline returns I am to move out, I suppose?’ he responded bluntly. Betsy was taken aback, but smiled very sweetly.
‘The very idea! Certainly not. You know that our home is yours until you decide where you want to go. Have you heard anything from that friend of yours in New York, what’s his name again?’
‘Lawrence St Clare. No, I haven’t had any news for quite some time. But then it’s hard to keep up with friends over such a long distance. I can’t say I blame him.’
He leant back in his cane armchair with a slightly aggrieved air. In reality, however, he felt very well at ease, agreeably lulled by the luxury surrounding him in the tenebrous lighting of the green conservatory. The garden beyond was well kept, rich in flowers, with an ornamental marble urn on the lawn. In that soothing environment, with the presence of Betsy in her light summer dress, elegantly poised over the softly gleaming silver and Japanese porcelain on the tea tray, he felt shielded from the discomforts of life. It was all very reposeful, monotonous even, but to him it was refreshing. He knew he had the upper hand with Betsy, but there was no need to throw his weight about just yet. Besides, he felt distinctly idle. For the present, life was easy, and he had nothing to worry about.
‘What would you say if I were to look for a wife?’ he asked abruptly, the sight of Betsy having put him in mind of the pleasures a wealthy marriage might offer.
‘A wife? Oh, an excellent idea! Shall I try and find you one? What sort of wife did you have in mind?’
‘She needn’t be a beauty, just elegant. But not too naive and idealistic, please! And with money, naturally.’
‘Naturally. You wouldn’t want to get carried away by an unsuitable passion, would you? What is your opinion of the Eekhof girls?’
‘The very idea! All they do is giggle! No money there either, is there?’
‘Some say there is, others say they live beyond their means. Anyway, you could find out. But are you serious, Vincent? Or were you just making conversation?’
‘No indeed. I think it would be very sensible of me to get married. Don’t you agree?’
Betsy looked at him intently, full of secret contempt. With his lacklustre eyes, his languid gestures, his weary drawl, he appeared to her as anything but an ideal husband for a young girl.
‘Not entirely. It seems to me that you’re an inveterate egotist. And I can hardly imagine a wife getting much support from you. You’re weak — I mean your morale, of course.’
She regretted her words on the instant, and was annoyed by her carelessness. She almost shuddered as he regarded her with that inscrutable smile of his, and those pallid, snakelike eyes.
‘And a wife always needs support, eh?’ he said, with slow emphasis. ‘As you do yourself. You find support in Henk, you can rely on him for everything, can’t you? And he’s strong enough — I mean his physique, of course.’
Each word was uttered with what sounded to Betty like spite, and each word pricked her like a needle, but for all her domineering nature she dared not answer back, hiding her consternation with an amiable little laugh, as if it had been mere banter on his part. He echoed her laugh with his own, equally light and amiable.
They paused a moment, both keenly aware of the resentment underlying their ostensibly jocular exchange. To end the silence Betsy launched into a plaintive account of her relations with her mother-in-law, how she was misjudged by the old lady and how she despaired of their ever getting along. But his air of utter indifference as he listened brought home to her just how much she had come to loathe him in these past weeks of proximity. If only she could send him packing there and then! But she knew that would be impossible without risking some awful scene; he would simply not go away, he would hang around for ever and ever, while she remained powerless to take matters in hand. It was all Henk’s fault. If her husband had given Vincent that miserable sum of money he needed she would never have taken it into her head to invite him to stay. She despised Vincent, and she despised herself for being intimidated by him; she was rich and happy after all, so what harm could he ever do to her? But the harder she tried to shake off her fear, the more firmly lodged it became, like some debilitating idiosyncrasy of mind.
Henk and his mother returned from their leisurely stroll in the garden and seated themselves in the conservatory by one of the open glass doors. The old lady had not spoken since admiring the roses, and had grown pensive. In her son’s luxuriously appointed home she now perceived a degree of coldness, an emptiness, which she found even more dispiriting than the vacancy of her own lonely abode. And suddenly it came to her: she missed Eline — Eline who radiated charm and agreeableness wherever she went. She missed the dear girl, so unlike her sister Betsy, so warm-hearted and sympathetic. And she could not help remarking dolefully:
‘Your home seems so empty with Elly being away. How dreadfully we will miss her when she is married and goes away for ever. Dear, dear Elly.’
She did not hear what Betsy and Vincent said in response, nor did she hear Henk’s comforting words. She sat with her head bowed, staring vacantly at the veined hands she held clasped in her lap. How bleak life seemed, nothing but heartache, sad partings and tears, a grey realm peopled by tragic shadows.
A shiver passed through her, and Betsy asked if she felt cold, whereupon Henk closed the glass doors and called for the gas lamp to be lit.
. .
Although she would never have cared to admit it, Betsy agreed with her mother-in-law that it had been lonely and dismal in the house of late, despite Vincent being there to entertain her with his supposed social graces. There was so little variation in the summer, it was always either the Tent or Scheveningen, and she was beginning to feel quite suffocated by the tedium of it all. And when Eline returned at last, radiant in her newfound happiness, it was as though a fresh country breeze blew through Betsy’s plush salons. With Eline babbling on about the delights of life at De Horze, about Theodore and Truus and the children, about the Howards and the Van Rijssel foursome, Betsy came to realise that her mother-in-law had been right about her home being dreary without Eline. Betsy herself began to have misgivings about her sister’s departure, and her feelings towards her softened considerably. She also changed her mind about Otto, whom she had earlier found too stiff and mannered to her liking. Now that she knew him better, she found him likeable enough, and urged him to dine with them often.
Thanks to Eline’s presence the talk at the dinner table became lively again, quite different from the stilted conversations she and her husband had been having with Vincent during mealtimes. Betsy was grateful for this, and cordial towards Eline as a consequence, and the sisters had endless discussions about Eline’s trousseau, which she would have to hurry to assemble if they were to be married in the autumn. They spent their afternoons shopping or consulting with seamstresses; one time they accompanied Otto on a two-day trip to Brussels, where Eline wanted to order her wedding dress: extravagant yet simple, nothing but white satin, no lace trimmings or bows.