She sat with her mother and Mathilda in the conservatory after lunch, watching Ernestine and Jo busy themselves in the garden with the long rubber watering hose. They took aim with the brass nozzle, making a jetting fan of water descend on the roses and resedas, the verbenas and heliotropes, geraniums and begonias, making the flower heads bounce in the spray and the lawn glisten with droplets.
Madeleine and Nico pranced about with Hector on the gravel path beyond, shrieking and dashing away whenever the hose wavered in their direction.
‘Careful now, Tina! Don’t let the children get wet! And don’t be too rough watering the flowers! Gently does it!’ cautioned Mathilda.
Yes, Paul must find her intolerable, mused Frédérique, putting her book down to watch the youngsters’ antics. It was ridiculous of her to lecture him at all, but that time when she had criticised him for being lazy and arrogant and having the wrong kind of friends had been even more ridiculous. What made it worse was that there had been a ball the very next day, during which she had been completely won over by his irrepressible sense of fun. She did so enjoy some gaiety, she loved dancing, and she was glad that he had asked her to dance, but afterwards, when it was all over, she had felt very dissatisfied with herself. Not that she could think of anything she had done wrong, but still.
‘Madeleine, do stop teasing Hector! You’ll get bitten if you’re not careful,’ Mathilda cried out.
Frédérique found it hard to concentrate her thoughts with the spray pattering on the broad rhubarb leaves, the children whooping with excitement and Hector’s constant yapping, but she kept wondering what she had done to make herself feel so dissatisfied.
She did have a vague idea, but shied away from thinking it through. Paul’s flirtatious behaviour with all those girls had stung her; he danced attendance on every one of them, and he didn’t mean a word of what he said. Were they taken in by his blandishments? Was it just innocent fun, or was there a touch of malice there? But he was not a bounder, nor did she even think him frivolous, really; he was just getting a bit too big for his boots because he was handsome and had money. His heart was in the right place, though; he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Besides, what concern was it of hers? What did she care if he flirted with Ange and Léonie, not to mention that goose of a Françoise! Why did she mind any more about that than about the behaviour of any other young man in her social circle? Because he was a friend of the family? Because he was Marie and Lili’s cousin? Surely not.
It irritated her that she did not dare confront the stirrings of her soul with the same honesty as when she looked in the mirror.
Still, she couldn’t help noticing that he was different with her than with the other girls, in both manner and tone, and she was flattered by this. Clearly he had more respect for her. Or was it just that he knew she wouldn’t be impressed by his cajolery? Could he be a little in awe of her, just because she gave him a piece of her mind from time to time? Oh, she would hate him to be in awe of her! If that were true she would never dare to have another tête-à-tête with him; she would, if the worst came to the worst, have to be like all the other girls and play the coquette. But no, she could never do that! Besides, what difference did it make if Paul was in awe of her?
All those questions went round and round in her head, as though trapped in a labyrinth without issue. Deep down, however, she did have an inkling of where the exit might be, but was not ready to admit it to herself.
‘Freddie, would you be so kind as to help me pack?’ asked Mathilda. ‘Then I’ll start by putting the children to bed.’
Freddie promised to give assistance. The youngsters rolled up the garden hose with much ado, after which Mathilda joined forces with Miss Frantzen to shoo the boisterous foursome upstairs. In the morning the whole party would be leaving for De Horze. That they should spend the summer months in the country had been Theodore van Erlevoort’s idea; life was less expensive on the estate, and it was becoming increasingly difficult for his mother to keep up the standards expected of her in the big house on the Voorhout. She had even considered moving permanently to De Horze, but had come to the conclusion that leaving her beloved home in The Hague would be too great a sacrifice. As it was, she would try to extend her stay at De Horze, possibly until November, and she looked forward to a happy sojourn in the countryside in the bosom of Theodore’s dear little family.
Mathilda, too, was glad to go to De Horze, and had agreed to take Tina and Jo out of school a few months before the summer holidays: she would see to their lessons herself, as she had done in the old days, and was secretly delighted at the prospect. Freddie felt less enthusiastic about leaving The Hague, and her own puzzlement at this increased her dissatisfaction. On the surface, however, she was the same as ever, cheerful and on friendly terms with everyone in the house, except with Etienne, whom she had treated rather coldly earlier that day, not only because of that business about borrowing money from Paul but also because he kept grumbling about them all going away. He said he was thinking of taking a room somewhere in the interim, in Leiden or The Hague; he had not yet decided which.
Otto had been a regular visitor at De Horze of late. He had spoken at length with Theodore, as he was thinking of taking a position in the provinces and leaving The Hague for good. In fact he already had something in his sights: thanks to an old friend of his father’s, he had a good chance of being appointed steward of the royal estates in Gelderland.
Although Madame van Erlevoort warned him repeatedly about the dangers of becoming a recluse, he had grown too disaffected with The Hague to find any distraction there. He was so despondent nowadays, desiring nothing but to be left alone in his private quarters, where he would not bother anyone with his gloomy presence. To her he seemed cowed and broken, languishing under his irredeemable loss. Not that he ever complained, nor did he stoop to the indignities of impatience or churlishness; in that respect he resembled Mathilda.
Madame van Erlevoort had dozed off in the stillness that prevailed now that the children were in bed. Frédérique, too, left the room, just as Etienne came running down the stairs.
‘Where are you off to?’ he asked.
‘I said I would help Mathilda with her packing,’ she replied.
‘Oh, but it’s me you should be helping!’ he exclaimed. ‘Mathilda already has the nursemaid to help her, and I can’t find the patience to fold up all my clothes properly.’
‘Have you rented a room then? Here or in Leiden?’
‘To tell you the truth, I haven’t rented a room. I am going to De Horze with the rest of you. I shall be able to study for my finals there, in peace and quiet. It’s no use being in Leiden during the holidays anyway, and if I stay here I shan’t get anything done. And I must, you see,’ he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. ‘I can’t very well hang around here, can I? What with Mama saying we can’t make ends meet and Theodore telling us we ought to economise.’
She looked at him fixedly as he stood before her in doubtful expectation.
‘All right then,’ she said. ‘I’ll give you a hand.’
‘Come and take a look in my room then, will you?’ he asked brightly, relieved at her amenable tone.
They went upstairs to his room. His suitcase was wide open, as was the wardrobe.
‘I’ll throw all the stuff I want to take on my bed, shall I, then you can put it in the suitcase.’
‘Very well.’
‘And you’re not angry with me any more, on account of that loan?’ he said in the wheedling voice of a spoilt child.
‘No, but you must pay Paul back when you see him tonight. I can help you out if you like, because I’ve got some extra money.’