take your car out on a day like this,’ he greeted her, without as much as a ‘good day’ for politeness’ sake. ‘I have to go into Tilburg, you may come with me.’
He was standing in the snow, nattily dressed in what she recognized as town clothes of the finest quality, sober grey and exquisitely tailored.
‘How do I get back?’ she asked; if he wasn’t civil enough to wish her good morning she saw no reason to be polite herself.
‘Will four o’clock suit you?’ he asked carelessly. ‘I’ll show you where I’ll pick you up. Come along, I’m a little late already.’
She locked the door behind her and got in wordlessly; anyone would think, listening to him, that she was to blame for his lateness. She fastened her seat belt and pretended to herself that driving in a Rolls was something she did so often that it no longer gave her a thrill.
The big car made light of the slippery road and she was secretly thankful that she hadn’t had to drive Charlie. It wasn’t until they had joined the motorway to Tilburg that she spoke. ‘How did you know that I was going out at ten o’clock—and to Tilburg?’
‘Jan told me. He fetched your car yesterday and I supposed it would be Tilburg—it’s the nearest town and I daresay you have business there.’
‘With the bank—my aunt’s bank—I daresay you know that too,’ she said with a touch of temper. ‘You knew my aunt?’
‘Yes, very well.’
‘Then when you have the time to spare, I have a number of questions I should like to ask you about her.’
‘I seldom have time to spare, so you had better start now.’
‘Did you know that there’s a cupboard in the dining-room of my little house, with silver in it and a necklace?’
‘Yes, I knew.’
‘Well—is it a secret? Why didn’t Mr Boggett tell me about it? Or you, for that matter.’
‘I imagine Mr Boggett didn’t know, and as for myself, I felt sure that you would find them sooner or later. They’re yours now, of course.’
‘But are they? Who gave them to Aunt Henrietta in the first place—and I want to know why she lived in Gijzelmortel for so many years and why my parents always allowed me to believe that she was dead—did she do something awful?’
His voice sounded patient enough, although she didn’t think he was. ‘My uncle gave them to her—no, my dear good girl, do not interrupt. He gave her the house too, to live in for the rest of her life and to leave to anyone she wished. You see, they loved each other; he met her when they were both quite young and was already married, and not happily. They didn’t have an affair in the usual sense of that word; it wasn’t until she was forty or so that he finally persuaded her to go and live near him. My aunt had become almost impossible to live with by then, leading her own life, not caring for anyone but herself; he desperately needed someone to love, so Henrietta gave in at last and made her home in Gijzelmortel. He furnished the house for her and bought her trifles, and although they loved each other very deeply they were never more than friends—the village loved her; so did anyone who met her. If my aunt had died, they would undoubtedly have married, but my uncle died first and my aunt went to Switzerland to live, but your aunt stayed in her little house because my uncle would have wished it. When my aunt died I came to the castle to live.’ He slowed the big car as they neared Tilburg. ‘Will you be all right at the bank?’
‘Yes, thank you. Do you want me to be there at four o’clock?’
‘Outside the bank? Yes. If I am late I will let them know, they can send someone out to tell you.’
Henrietta said ‘thank you’ meekly, bursting with questions about Aunt Henrietta and not daring to ask them. He had told her the story—just the facts with no trimmings—and supposed that she would be content with that; besides, he wanted to get to his work. She wondered what he did for a living, or perhaps he didn’t do anything, just lived in his splendid castle and dabbled on the Stock Exchange.
He slowed the Rolls to a halt and got out to open her door, something she hadn’t expected of him. ‘Four o’clock,’ he reminded her austerely, and had got back in and driven away before she could even thank him.
The visit to the bank was a leisurely business. Henrietta was given coffee while her affairs were explained to her and she left feeling on top of the world, for there was a little more money in her legacy than old Mr Boggett had thought; she would be able to stay in Holland for some time provided she was careful. And she wanted to stay; it was wonderful to have a little house and be independent. When the weather improved she would explore the country around the village, keeping Charlie for a weekly trip to Tilburg or Breda, and she would learn the language and take up piano playing once more; there were endless reasons why she should want to stay, but the main reason she didn’t admit to herself, although she was well aware of it lurking at the back of her mind; she wanted to get to know Mr van Hessel—not that she liked him, domineering and bad-tempered as he was, but he was interesting…
Her thoughts nicely occupied, she made her way to the shops, where she resisted the temptation to spend her money on some Italian shoes which caught her fancy, as well as some exquisite gloves and a quantity of delicate undies, which, while wildly expensive, were wholly to her taste. Instead she shopped for wool to knit more gloves, canvas and embroidery silks to occupy her of an evening, a tin of yeast in case the village shop didn’t stock it, and an English newspaper. She spent a long time looking in the florists’ windows too, but the delicate narcissi and the vivid tulips and hyacinths were too much for her pocket, so she consoled herself with the purchase of several packets of seeds, so that when summer came she would at least have something colourful growing in the garden. All this done, she found a small neat café in a side street and lunched, at the waiter’s suggestion, of erwtensoep, which she discovered was a tasty meal in itself, being a thick pea soup with pork and sausage in it. She eked this out with a roll and butter and a cup of coffee, and well fortified against the snowy cold, went back to her window-shopping, and when she was tempted to have tea at one of the fashionable tea-shops she passed, reminded herself that she would have to wait for a week or two before she splashed out too lavishly; she still didn’t know the price of everything and how much it would cost to live. She contented herself with another look at the shops and then, in the gathering gloom of the bleak day, went to meet Mr van Hessel.
He was punctual; the carillons had barely finished their tinkling reminder of the hour when the Rolls pulled up at the pavement’s edge and he opened the door for her to get in. It was deliciously warm inside and Henrietta sank back into the fragrant leather with a little sigh. The journey back to Gijzelmortel wouldn’t take long, but there would be time enough for her companion to answer a few more questions. But in this she was to be disappointed; Mr van Hessel didn’t want to talk, that was plain from the start; to her cheerful remarks about the shops she had seen he gave nothing more than a grunt, and after a minute or two, when she tried again about the weather, he didn’t even bother to grunt. A rude man, she told herself, and peeped at him. A tired man, too; she didn’t know how old he was—forty, perhaps—but his handsome face showed every line and his dark brows were a straight line above his eyes. She looked away, aware that she was drawn by his good looks, and annoyed with herself because of it, and made no further attempt to talk for the rest of their journey. Instead she occupied herself with trying to remember the prices of the various things she had seen, changing the guldens into pounds and back again and getting very muddled. Her thoughts ran on, seeking ways of being economical; a sewing machine would be a great help; she would be able to make some of her own clothes
