The Little Dragon. Бетти Нилс
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couldn’t help but see the notes the doctor was passing across the stall—a lot of money—far too much, but she knew instinctively that if she even so much as hinted that he was being extravagant, he would be annoyed. All the same, the money would have bought warm socks for the children…
Evidently that point of view hadn’t occurred to her companion; he appeared quite unworried at his expenditure, took her arm again and strolled on until they reached the end of the canal, where he turned down a narrow street which led them to Oude Delft. ‘Tea?’ he enquired. ‘I live close by and the children are always famished when they get home.’
She wondered just where close by was. The houses on either side of the canal were large; museums, converted offices, large family mansions for those who could still afford to maintain them. She didn’t have to wonder for long; he crossed one of the little arched bridges and paused before the massive door of a patrician house, its flat-faced front ornamented in the rococo style with a great deal of plaster work.
‘Here?’ asked Constantia in an unbelieving voice.
Her companion had taken out a key and turned to look at her. ‘Er—yes.’
‘You live here? I thought…oh, it’s a flat.’
‘No, it’s a house—the owner allows me to live in it.’
‘How kind of him—a relation, I expect.’ She skipped past him into the hall, quite happy again. For one moment she had wondered if he was actually the owner of all this magnificence. For it was magnificent; a vast square hall, its white marble floor covered with thin silk rugs, an elaborately carved staircase rising grandly from its centre, and the sort of furniture that one saw in museums—only the atmosphere wasn’t like a museum at all. The house was lived in and cared for. She wondered who coped with the vast amount of polishing and cleaning evident in the hall alone. ‘Do you have a daily woman?’ she asked.
The doctor looked surprised and then amused, but he answered carefully: ‘Oh, yes, a very good woman, her name’s Rietje. She’s not here this afternoon, though. I expect the children will get the tea; they’ll be here at any moment.’ He shut the massive door behind him. ‘Ah, here are Solly and Sheba and Prince. There’s a cat in the kitchen—the children, you know,’ he added vaguely.
Constantia nodded her understanding. ‘Of course, they have to have pets.’
She stood a little irresolutely, for her host appeared lost in thought—or was he listening for something? She decided that she was mistaken, for he spoke to the dogs and then said: ‘Do take your coat off,’ and took it from her and tossed it on to one of the carved chairs against one wall, then tossed his on top of it. ‘Shall we go into the sitting room?’
It was a grand room, grandly furnished with rich brocade curtains at its windows and more fine rugs on the polished wood floor, but somehow it was comfortable too, with great armchairs and sofas of an inviting softness, and delicate little tables. There were bookshelves too and a pile of children’s comics and a half-finished game of Monopoly. Constantia drew an admiring breath.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she exclaimed, ‘and so exquisitely furnished. Doesn’t the owner mind you being here?’ An expression she couldn’t read crossed her companion’s face and she hastened to add: ‘I didn’t mean you—I was thinking of the children. Three of them, you know, however good they are—I mean, breaking things and finger marks…’
The expression had gone, if ever she had seen it. He said easily, ‘He doesn’t object—he likes children, you see. Besides, he understands that they’re well behaved and wouldn’t break or spoil anything if they could help it. There’s a big room upstairs which they use as a playroom, and he doesn’t mind how much that gets battered.’
Her voice was warm. ‘He must be a nice man.’ She looked around her again. ‘You’d think that he would want to live here himself.’
‘He likes the country.’
‘Oh, yes, I suppose he would if he’s elderly. He must have a great deal of money if he has two houses. Is he married?’
She had crossed the room to look at a flower painting and had her back to the doctor, who had bent to tickle Prince’s ears. ‘No—he’s rather a lonely man.’
Her pretty face was full of sympathy as she turned to face him. ‘Oh, the poor dear—if only he had a wife and children—being lonely is terrible.’
Her companion echoed her. ‘Terrible, and if only he had…’
‘Anyway, he must be a perfect dear to allow you all to live here, though I expect he feels that this house was built for a family. Your…uncle?’ She paused and looked enquiringly at the doctor. ‘He is a relation?’
He nodded. ‘Oh, certainly of my blood.’
‘Yes, well—I daresay he loves this place very much and likes to know that there are children in it.’
‘I’m sure that he does—here they come now. They use the little door in the garden wall at the back.’
They surged in, all talking at once, laughing and calling to each other, running to greet the doctor and then Constantia, delighted to see her again. The doctor prised them loose, quite unperturbed by the din going on around him, and said firmly in English: ‘Wash your hands for tea, my dears—it’s in the kitchen.’
Pieter and Paul exchanged glances and looked mischievous, and Elisabeth burst into a torrent of Dutch. Constantia had no idea what the doctor said to them, only that they chorused, ‘Ja, Oom Jeroen,’ and flew from the room; she could hear them giggling together as they crossed the hall and the doctor said easily: ‘Don’t mind the mirth—speaking English always sends them into paroxysms.’
Constantia giggled too. ‘You’ve got your hands full, haven’t you? But they’re pretty super, aren’t they?’
In her room that evening, getting ready for bed, she allowed her thoughts to linger over the day while her eyes dwelt on the flowers arranged in the variety of vases and jars she had managed to collect around the house. It had been tremendous fun and much, much nicer than she had ever supposed it would be. The market had been great, but tea with the doctor and his small relatives had been marvellous. They had sat at the big scrubbed table in the centre of the enormous kitchen, with its windows overlooking the garden at the back of the house, and eaten the sort of tea she remembered from her own childhood. Bread and butter and jam and a large cake to cut at, and when she had remarked upon it the doctor had assured her that although it certainly wasn’t the rule in Holland, where a small cup of milkless tea and a biscuit or a chocolate were considered quite sufficient, he had found that the children, hungry from school, enjoyed a more substantial meal when they got home and then only needed a light supper at bedtime.
And after tea they had all washed up and gone back upstairs to play Monopoly until bedtime, when she had helped Elisabeth get ready for bed, and when she had gone downstairs again there had been her host with a coffee tray on the table before the great fireplace in the sitting room. There had been little chicken patties and sausage rolls too, and when she asked who did the cooking, it was to hear that Rietje did that too, and from time to time produced the dainties they were eating for their supper.
All the same, thought Constantia worriedly as she sat on the edge of her bed, giving her soft fine hair its regulation one hundred strokes, Doctor van der Giessen must have his work cut out. She got into bed, her mind busy—longing to know more about him.
Mrs Dowling had said that he was poor, and that didn’t matter at all to Constantia; she would have liked to know more about him as a person. Did he have a large practice, she wondered, and was his sister his only relation other than the children? And surely there must be a girl somewhere in his life? She curled up in bed, trying to imagine what she would be like—a very special girl; the doctor deserved that. He was just about the nicest man she had ever met. She wondered how old he was, too. Perhaps, if they saw each other fairly frequently while she was in Delft, she could ask him. She began to worry as to how much longer she would be