Marie’s accusations that his manners were worsening by the day fell on deaf ears: he had already sprung to his feet, having caught sight of young Cateau van der Stoor peering round the door of the conservatory. Ah, he would now show compunction for a change.
‘Are you very cross with me, Cateau, for pulling your leg?’
‘Oh, I didn’t even notice,’ she said, but her quivering lip betrayed her.
He offered her his sincere apologies, rolling his eyes and begging her to reserve a dance for him.
‘I have no dances left!’ Cateau retorted triumphantly, showing her dance card.
‘But I must dance with you! I insist! Let me see: Hijdrecht, Hijdrecht — two dances with Hijdrecht! But that’s not fair! Why don’t you go and tell him you want to dance with me?’
‘But I daren’t!’
‘He won’t bite, you know! Please, Cateau, come with me, I want that dance!’
He pulled her along in search of Hijdrecht and made her retract her promise for the next Scottish reel.
Cateau was somewhat annoyed with herself for letting him have his way, but it was impossible to refuse Paul anything.
‘Right then, see you later, and you’re not angry with me any more, are you, dearest Cateau?’ he murmured beseechingly.
‘I’m not your dearest Cateau by any means!’ she scoffed, inwardly gratified by his effort to make amends.
. .
The long table in the centre was occupied by the bride and groom and their entourage, while the smaller tables were occupied by groups of four. Paul was in excellent humour, for he had not only danced the polka with Frédérique but also found himself placed beside her at the table, and he submitted with remarkably good grace to Marie’s admonitions about his forwardness with all the girls. Etienne was flushed from drinking champagne, and grew maudlin, lamenting the pointlessness of dancing and disporting oneself when life was so short and sad!
After supper Paul waltzed again with Freddie, and it seemed to him that this second waltz was even sweeter than the first, the effect of several toasts of sparkling champagne being compounded by the intoxicating whirl of pink tulle, and all was froth and ebullience between them. Yet he had a feeling that he could not be truly in love with her, because although she was certainly the prettiest of them all, the other girls struck him as rather attractive, too, and afterwards, when he and Etienne led the cotillion, he outdid himself in inventing brand-new figures for them all to follow.
With the party drawing to a close he was mobbed by the girls, who pranced about challenging him to run and catch them, and in the middle of the last dance he played an impromptu game of tag, which ended with Ange and Françoise crashing into a potted azalea and Emilie de Woude pronouncing the ball to have degenerated into a veritable bacchanal.
‘Oh, it’s all Paul’s fault, it’s Paul’s fault!’ they all cried out.
The wraps were brought into the dining room and the guests began to leave. It was three o’clock in the morning.
‘You were so much nicer this evening than yesterday, Freddie,’ said Paul, helping her with her cloak.
She smiled dreamily, wondering whether she had said anything she shouldn’t have, but she could not recall anything untoward.
Paul set off homeward with several other young men. He turned up his collar, thrust his hands in his pockets, and thought back on how he had fared this evening. Well, there was no doubt in his mind — they were all mad about him, every single one of them!
. .
The church wedding took place the following Thursday morning. All agreed that Lili made a lovely young bride as she entered the church on the arm of her young husband-to-be, delicately pale and blonde in the white mist of her veil, with her long train of heavy white moiré and her pageboys Ben van Raat and Nico van Rijssel. Behind them followed Mr de Woude and Madame Verstraeten, then Mr Verstraeten and Emilie, with the ushers and bridesmaids, the witnesses and other members of the family bringing up the rear. At one o’clock the carriages departed to Prinsessegracht for the wedding breakfast, the final event in the celebrations, during which well-wishing toasts were brought out and tears were shed, notably by Madame Verstraeten, and also by Lili and Marie. By seven o’clock there was only a small gathering of intimates left in the drawing room. The newlyweds, bound for a fortnight in Paris, had slipped away earlier, but not before Marie had whispered tearful assurances to Lili that their love nest in Atjehstraat would be in perfect order for them when they returned.
Old Madame van Raat and Emilie, Henk and Betsy, Frédérique, Otto and Paul stayed a while to keep the Verstraetens company. Attempts were made to keep up a lively conversation, but a pall of melancholy seemed to have settled on the drawing room, mingling with the dying perfumes of the bouquets and flower baskets. Mr Verstraeten dithered about, irked by all the flowers and greenery and inwardly more moved than he cared to admit, now and then tapping his wife on the shoulder in passing to press a rapid kiss on her brow. Emilie said it was time she was going, and gave him a farewell embrace, whispering that she hoped he was not vexed with her for her persistence on behalf of her young brother’s love for his daughter. . When Otto, too, took his leave, Marie was so moved by the sadness in his voice that she had to fight back her tears, and she fled upstairs to the rooms she had shared with Lili for as long as she could remember, which would henceforth be hers alone.
The first sight to meet her eyes was Lili’s wedding dress lying across the deserted bed, with its long white train hanging over the side and trailing on the carpet; her veil and orange blossom lay in a crumpled heap on a chair, the dainty white satin shoes discarded at some distance from each another. She sat on the side of Lili’s bed in tears, and took up a rustling handful of the moiré train. It reminded her of a shroud. She had a sense of utter desolation — Lili was gone, and it almost felt as if she was dead and buried. Then the door opened and Dien came in.
‘There, there, dearie, don’t upset yourself! You know she’ll be back soon, and they won’t be living far away. You can see her every day if you want. My oh my! How pretty she looked in her white wedding dress! Such a fine-looking pair, too,’ said Dien, with a catch in her voice. She crossed to the window and drew the net curtain away to let the afternoon sun stream into the room.
‘Ah yes, so it goes, so it goes. You raise your children for all those years and then they go off to the Indies, or they get married, and leave you all lonely and forlorn. Fancy you, crying! Did you really believe you would stay in this house for the rest of your life? You’ll see, you’ll find a husband, too; when the time is right you will marry, that’s how it always goes, you mark my words!’
Marie smiled through her tears. ‘Oh, what would you know about it, Dien! I might become an old maid for all you know!’
‘My dear child, you must be joking! No, that would never suit you. It will be your turn next, you mark my words!’
Marie had to laugh. The sun slanting in was like a ray of hope and expectation, and it set the creased moiré of the wedding dress ashimmer with dazzling light. That was no shroud, it was a festive dress, white as snowdrops, worn to mark the most wonderful of occasions! She felt a rush of optimism, and sat back, giving herself up to the sweet promise of spring sunshine until all budded and blossomed in her soul.
XXVII
It was two o’clock in the afternoon when Paul awoke. He had been out with friends the previous evening, and had not returned home until daybreak. He took a cold bath and dressed at leisure, so that it was past three by the time he went down to the dining room, where his breakfast awaited him. He felt hungry, and noted with relish the jellied chicken and bottle of Hochheimer wine. But first he took a couple of raw eggs from the dresser and, whistling a tune, stirred them into a glass of cognac. He did not like the taste, but downed the drink anyway for its restorative properties, after which he took his seat at the table and helped himself to a slice of the tender cold chicken in pale golden aspic. He was in no hurry at all, and wished to enjoy every mouthful.