He took her hand and looked at her through narrowed eyes. She thought he might invite her to join him in Brussels, and wondered whether she should accept.
‘Your Aunt Eliza and I are planning to go abroad for a few months. It makes me laugh to call her “your aunt”, because as you know Eliza is only five years older than you. So when you have been introduced you will be calling each other by your first names. We are first going to Paris, and then on to Spain, probably. What I was wishing to propose, my dear, is that you accompany us. A change of scene would do you good after all you’ve been through. We might stay away all winter, possibly longer. If you get bored you could always return to Holland and find yourself an apartment, as you suggested earlier. You have not met my wife yet, but I dare say you will find her sympathetic: she is lively and gay, a real française. How does my proposal appeal to you?’
Eline’s eyes widened. To be sure, she could do with a change of scene! Fancy travelling abroad all though the winter! She had a sense of glorious sunshine flooding into the sombre darkness of her soul. Oh, variety at last! And variety was life itself, as Vincent was wont to say.
‘Oh, Uncle, I don’t know what to think!’ she began, with feeling. ‘I am not very cheerful these days, and I hardly think I’d make a good travelling companion.’
‘My dear girl, you never can tell. Finding oneself in different surroundings and meeting new people often has the effect of lifting the spirits. Variety is the first necessity of life.’
She gave a start, then smiled warmly at him. He sounded just like Vincent! She felt a surge of gratitude, how very kind of him to make her this offer! And how pleasant his manner was! Yes, she would accept — gladly!
‘You can come and stay with us in Brussels first, before we leave. We do quite a lot of travelling, and we do it economically, without denying ourselves any pleasures — we’re rather good at getting by — and as for you, you’re comfortably off, aren’t you? An excellent catch, as they say!’ he concluded, laughing.
‘An excellent catch? Me? I’m not all that rich, you know, and not all that eligible any more either,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I’m getting old — an old maid.’
He spoke with blithe assurance: their trip would cure her of all those gloomy notions. After Jeanne had been told of the plan he took his leave, saying he still had to call on Van Raat at Nassauplein.
Eline remained alone while Jeanne saw him out. A multitude of thoughts danced about her mind like so many rose petals, sunbeams, iridescent soap bubbles. She looked out of the window, but all she could see was clouds of dust whirling up from the road. The grey autumn sky made her shiver, and she turned away. As her gaze slid around the room she was struck by the sight of Frans Ferelijn’s tear-off calendar up on the wall. The date was printed in bold type: November 1st.
That was the very date she and Otto had picked for their wedding! She stared at the calendar, transfixed. Then a wave of wild, hopeless anguish swept over her, and she flung herself into her armchair, sobbing piteously.
. .
The Eekhofs, the Hijdrechts and the Van Larens were all agog at the news: Eline Vere was going abroad with her uncle, Daniel Vere, who lived in Brussels and had only been married a year. Henk and Betsy, with their young son, would also be leaving The Hague for some time: they were thought to be travelling to Algiers.
XXVI
Eighteen months had passed. The Verstraetens’ residence on Prinsessegracht was splendidly decorated from top to bottom, with the vestibule, dining room, salons and conservatory made to resemble lush winter gardens by means of artfully disposed palm trees in the angles of the walls, which formed pyramids of verdure flanked by red and white clusters of azaleas. For there was a bride in the house, and it was time for celebration.
The reception was in full swing, with a jostling multitude of friends and relations come to bestow their good wishes. In the main salon the easy chairs had been arranged in a semicircle on either side of the sofa, with their backs to the greenery obscuring the garden window. Georges de Woude van Bergh and Lili Verstraeten stood in attendance by the sofa, like a princely pair holding court. The twenty-year-old bride, wearing white silk with orange blossom in her hair, was radiant with joy, and did not tire of breathing sweet words of thanks to all who came to congratulate her.
‘Thank you! Thank you! And thank you so much for your lovely present!’
The groom, sporting a white rose in the lapel of his tailcoat, likewise offered thanks, inwardly longing for the parade to end but nonetheless wreathed in smiles. Madame Verstraeten stood beside her daughter while Emilie de Woude hovered restlessly near her brother, disappearing frequently for brief forays among the buzzing crowd of well-wishers. The bridesmaids were Marie and Frédérique, in pink, and the best men were Paul and Etienne, in tails with flowers in their buttonholes. The latter took turns escorting guests to the conservatory, where the wedding presents were displayed on a long table. Old Mr de Woude’s gift of a silver tea service occupied the centre, surrounded by further offerings of silverware, cut glass and fine porcelain from friends and relations. From the Van Raat cousins, Henk and Paul, they had received a pretty suite of drawing room furniture upholstered in glossy blue satin, the various components of which stood about, cluttering up most of the space. The gift from the bride’s parents was not on view as there was simply not enough room: it was an entire bedroom suite, of fine quality but not overly luxurious, which, as Emilie explained to Madame van der Stoor and Cateau, was as it should be for a young couple who had yet to make their fortune.
‘They will be going to live in Atjehstraat, will they not?’ asked Madame van der Stoor, her eyes riveted on an agate-handled serving spoon and fork.
‘Yes, a small apartment in Atjehstraat, quite suitable for two young things like them. Just imagine, mere children! And getting married, too! Ah well, they know best, I suppose,’ responded Emilie with a rueful smile, and Madame van der Stoor smiled in return. Cateau was full of admiration for the satin suite.
‘This was given by your brother and sister-in-law, wasn’t it, Master Paul?’ she said.
‘And by yours truly!’ responded Paul, pointing to himself. ‘But how ladylike you’ve grown, Cateau!’ he continued, surveying her approvingly. ‘With your hair piled up like that — most impressive!’
‘Well, why shouldn’t I be a lady and wear my hair up?’ Cateau said loftily. She was piqued by his familiarity; she was almost seventeen now, and there was no reason why he should always address her by her first name while she never knew what to call him — Mr van Raat, Master Paul, or simply Van Raat? Indeed, she found him decidedly disagreeable lately, and then there was his bad behaviour, for ever gadding about and squandering money!
‘But you are a lady!’ said Paul with a sarcastic smile. ‘You’re every inch a lady; did you think I hadn’t noticed? I say, Cateau, do you remember me draping those robes around you for the tableau of the five senses? How long ago was that?’
Cateau blushed.
‘Oh, that was ages ago. Let me think — it must have been at least two and a half years since we did the tableaux. I was only a child then. I wouldn’t let you dress me up now, I can assure you!’
How dare he bring up that subject! With a toss of the head she turned away, while he smiled at her indignation. Then, catching sight of Frédérique, he made his way to the main salon, where his mother was taking leave of her.
‘Is Mama going already?’ he wanted to know.
‘Yes, she’s a little tired!’ she replied tartly, without meeting his eye.