Ring in a Teacup. Бетти Нилс
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thrown it away because she was so heartily sick of it, but it would do at a pinch, she supposed. She packed without much pleasure and when her mother put her head round the door to see how she was getting on, assured her that she had plenty of clothes; she was only going for a fortnight, anyway. She added her raincoat and a handful of headscarves and went to look at her shoes. Not much there, she reflected; her good black patent and the matching handbag, some worthy walking shoes which she might need and some rather fetching strapped shoes which would do very well for the evenings. She added a dressing gown, undies and slippers to the pile on the bed and then, because she could hear a car driving up to the Rectory, decided to pack them later with her other things; that would be her father’s friend, Doctor de Groot.
She had forgotten how nice he was; elderly and stooping a little with twinkling blue eyes and a marked accent. Her holiday was going to be fun after all; she sat in the midst of her family and beamed at everyone.
They set off the next morning, and it didn’t take Lucy long to discover that the journey wasn’t going to be a dull one. Doctor de Groot, once in the driver’s seat of his Mercedes, turned from a mild, elderly man with a rather pedantic manner into a speed fiend, who swore—luckily in his own language—at every little hold-up, every traffic light against him and any car which dared to overtake him. By the time they reached Dover, she had reason to be glad that she was by nature a calm girl, otherwise she might have been having hysterics. They had to wait in the queue for the Hovercraft too, a circumstance which caused her companion to drum on the wheel, mutter a good deal and generally fidget around, so that it was a relief when they went on board. Once there and out of his car, he reverted to the mild elderly gentleman again, which was a mercy, for they hadn’t stopped on the journey and his solicitous attention was very welcome. Lucy retired to the ladies’ and did her hair and her face, then returned to her seat to find that he had ordered coffee and sandwiches. It took quite a lot of self-control not to wolf them and then help herself to his as well.
They seemed to be in Calais in no time at all and Lucy, fortified with the sandwiches, strapped herself into her seat and hoped for the best. Not a very good best, actually, for Doctor de Groot was, if anything, slightly more maniacal on his own side of the Channel, and now, of course, they were driving on the other side of the road. They were to go along the coast, he explained, and cross over into Holland at the border town of Sluis, a journey of almost two hundred and thirty miles all told. ‘We shall be home for supper,’ he told her. ‘We don’t need to stop for tea, do we?’
It seemed a long way, but at the speed they were going she reflected that it wouldn’t take all that long. Doctor de Groot blandly ignored the speed signs and tore along the straight roads at a steady eighty miles an hour, only slowing for towns and villages. He had had to go more slowly in France and Belgium, of course, for there weren’t many empty stretches of road, but once in Holland, on the motorway, he put his foot down and kept it there.
It seemed no time at all before they were in the outskirts of Amsterdam, but all the same Lucy was glad to see the staid blocks of flats on either side of them. She was tired and hungry and at the back of her mind was a longing to be at home in her mother’s kitchen, getting the supper. But she forgot that almost as soon as she had thought it; the flats might look rather dull from the outside, but their lighted windows with the curtains undrawn gave glimpses of cosy interiors. She wondered what it would be like to live like that, boxed up in a big city with no fields at the back door, no garden even. Hateful, and yet in the older part of the city there were lovely steepled houses, old and narrow with important front doors which opened on to hidden splendours which the passer-by never saw. To live in one of those, she conceded, would be a delight.
She caught glimpses of them now as they neared the heart of the city and crossed the circular grachten encircling it, each one looking like a Dutch old master. She craned her neck to see them better but remembered to recognise the turning her companion must take to his own home, which delighted him. ‘So you remember a little of our city, Lucy?’ he asked, well pleased. ‘It is beautiful, is it not? You shall explore…’
‘Oh, lovely,’ declared Lucy, and really meant it. The hair-raising trip from Calais, worse if possible than the drive to Dover from her home, was worth every heart-stopping moment. She could forget it, anyway; she would be going back by boat at the end of her visit and probably Doctor de Groot would be too busy to drive her around. Perhaps Mies had a car…
They were nearing the end of their journey now, the Churchilllaan where Doctor de Groot had a flat, and as it came into view she could see that it hadn’t changed at all. It was on the ground floor, surrounded by green lawns and an ornamental canal with ducks on it and flowering shrubs, but no garden of its own. The doctor drew up untidily before the entrance, helped her out and pressed the button which would allow the occupants of the flat to open the front door. ‘I have a key,’ he explained, ‘but Mies likes to know when I am home.’
The entrance was rather impressive, with panelled walls and rather peculiar murals, a staircase wound itself up the side of one wall and there were two lifts facing the door, but the doctor’s front door was one of two leading from the foyer and Mies, warned of their coming, was already there.
Mies, unlike her surroundings, had changed quite a lot. Lucy hadn’t see her for almost eight years and now, a year younger than she, at twenty-two Mies was quite something—ash-blonde hair, cut short and curling, big blue eyes and a stunning figure. Lucy, not an envious girl by nature, flung herself at her friend with a yelp of delight. ‘You’re gorgeous!’ she declared. ‘Who’d have thought it eight years ago—you’re a raving beauty, Mies!’
Mies looked pleased. ‘You think, yes?’ She returned Lucy’s hug and then stood back to study her.
‘No need,’ observed Lucy a little wryly. ‘I’ve not changed, you see.’
Mies made a little face. ‘Perhaps not, but your figure is O.K. and your eyes are extraordinaire.’
‘Green,’ said Lucy flatly as she followed the doctor and Mies into the flat.
‘You have the same room,’ said Mies, ‘so that you feel you are at home.’ She smiled warmly as she led the way across the wide hall and down a short passage. The flat was a large one, its rooms lofty and well furnished. As far as Lucy could remember, it hadn’t changed in the least. She unpacked in her pretty little bedroom and went along to the dining room for supper, a meal they ate without haste, catching up on news and reminding each other of all the things they had done when she had stayed there before.
‘I work,’ explained Mies, ‘for Papa, but now I take a holiday and we go out, Lucy. I have not a car…’ she shot a vexed look at her father as she spoke, ‘but there are bicycles. You can still use a fiets?’
‘Oh, rather, though I daresay I’ll be scared to death in Amsterdam.’
The doctor glanced up. ‘I think that maybe I will take a few hours off and we will take you for a little trip, Lucy. Into the country, perhaps?’
‘Sounds smashing,’ agreed Lucy happily, ‘but just pottering suits me, you know.’
‘We will also potter,’ declared Mies seriously, ‘and you will speak English to me, Lucy, for I am now with rust.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I speak only a very little and I forget.’
‘You’ll remember every word in a couple of days,’ observed Lucy comfortably. ‘I wish I could speak Dutch even half as well.’
Mies poured their after supper coffee. ‘Truly? Then we will also speak Dutch and you will learn quickly.’
They spent the rest of the evening telling each other what they did and whether they liked it or not while the doctor retired to his study to read his post. ‘I shall marry,’ declared Mies, ‘it is nice to work for Papa but not for too long, I think. I have many friends but no one that I wish to marry.’ She paused. ‘At least I think so.’
Lucy thought how nice it must be; so pretty that one could pick and choose instead of just waiting and hoping that one day some man would come along and want to marry one. True, she was only twenty-three, but the years went fast and there were