Eline Vere

XVIII

Lili was very cross; her lips quivered and she was close to tears.

‘I really can’t see why we shouldn’t ask him along,’ she complained to Marie. ‘He calls here often enough.’

‘Oh, Lili, have some sense! Mama already invited him to the house several times this winter, and it’s not as if we know him well enough to take him on a country outing with us. Asking him along would make things stiff.’

‘But he’s not in the least stiff!’

‘No, he’s not. He’s much nicer than I thought at first, but still, we don’t know him half as well as we know Paul and Etienne.’

‘Oh, them! All they do is saunter back and forth between the Witte club and the other one, dropping in at the Bordelaise or the Bodega on the way, and nowadays they’re always with that wretched Vere. We haven’t seen much of them at all lately. I know Paul comes by once in a while, but Etienne has become a myth as far as I’m concerned. Why don’t you ask Vere as well, while you’re about it?’

Marie shrugged.

‘It’s no use getting cross with me, Lili, just because Mama hasn’t asked De Woude. It’s nothing to do with me,’ she said gently.

‘No, of course not. But it’s always the same, whenever I think of something no one will hear of it. Well, I give up. I couldn’t care less about the outing.’

Fighting back her tears, Lili left the drawing room; Marie took up her book with a sigh.

Madame Verstraeten, seated in the conservatory with her husband, had overheard Lili’s angry words, and a look of concern crossed her kind features.

‘Is anything the matter?’ he asked.

‘Oh, it’s just that De Woude,’ whispered Madame, so as not to be heard by Marie. ‘Lili wants me to invite him for the day after tomorrow.’

‘Why don’t you, then? I have nothing against De Woude, although he is a bit of a fop. And he’s rather jolly with the girls.’

‘But Karel, really, I don’t think it would be wise. I always treat him with proper civility when I see him, but there’s no need to encourage him any further, is there? What good would it do? Lili’s still so young, and full of childish notions, too.’

‘Aren’t you getting rather carried away? Why would they think of marrying? It’s only a matter of an invitation, after all.’

‘I suppose you are right. But you never see them together the way I do. If only you’d come with us to Scheveningen some evening!’

‘No, thank you very much.’

‘Then you’d see for yourself. He keeps hovering around our table. He’s discreet enough not to accept every time I offer icecreams, but he always stays until we leave, and hardly talks to anyone else. He takes a turn with Marie now and then, to be polite, but apart from that it’s Lili, Lili, all the time. I don’t think it’s very suitable, as you can imagine.’

‘And do you believe that Lili—?’

‘Yes of course, it’s perfectly clear! Everyone has noticed, and people are beginning to talk. I don’t know quite what to do about it,’ said Madame Verstraeten, again looking concerned.

Mr Verstraeten sat a moment in contemplation, after which he and his wife resumed their discussion, their voices dropping to whispers.

Marie found it impossible to concentrate on her book, so she went upstairs in search of Lili. She found her lying on her bed, sobbing into the pillows.

‘Lili! Whatever’s the matter?’ she called softly.

Lili started at the sound of Marie’s voice.

‘Oh, leave me alone!’ she cried.

But Marie took her hands and forced her to look up.

‘Lili, don’t be absurd! You’re so unreasonable, going off into a huff at the least provocation. Lili! Listen to me!’

‘Oh, please, just leave me alone.’

‘Why make yourself even more miserable by coming up here to cry all alone? Why don’t you just tell me what’s upsetting you? It’s so much better to trust each other, to be open and frank and speak your mind.’

Marie herself dearly wished she could be open and frank, she would have loved to speak her mind to Lili, to Mama, to anyone, but there were some things that were best left unsaid.

Lili sat up and brushed her tousled hair from her tear-stained cheeks.

‘What would you have me say, then? You know everything already. Mama’s always finding fault with Georges, and I hate that.’

‘Come now, you exaggerate. Both Papa and Mama like him well enough.’

‘I know, I know! But when it comes to showing him a bit of courtesy. . Anyway, you said so yourself.’

‘What did I say?’

‘You said that taking him along would make things stiff!’

‘If I’d known you cared so much, I wouldn’t have said it. Only I can’t bear to see you getting all upset about nothing, Lili. You carry on as if your whole life is in ruins, just because Mama thinks it better not to invite De Woude for once.’

‘But it’s very awkward for me! I already told him about the outing, and so naturally he now thinks—’

‘Well, you shouldn’t have given him ideas. It’s awkward for Mama, too, with people beginning to gossip about you. Only yesterday Madame Eekhof was saying—’

‘I don’t care a straw about what Madame Eekhof says, since we love each other! Everyone’s against us, it’s not fair.’

‘Indeed, Lili,’ breezed Marie, attempting to hide her own secret emotion. ‘It is deeply tragic. You love Georges and Georges loves you, and the whole world is against you, Mama, Madame Eekhof and everyone else, too. Very sad, my dear, very sad indeed! And of course there isn’t a glimmer of hope that anything will ever change. Very sad.’

‘Marie, how could you? Making fun of me while you know how upset I am!’

‘Yes, I’m very cruel, am I not?’ Marie pursued, softening. ‘Come on, Lili, dry your tears and give me a kiss, all right? I didn’t mean to be unkind. Shall I try and get Mama to change her mind?’

‘Oh, if only you would! Mama’s sure to say yes if you ask her.’

‘Ah yes, I’m the one no one can refuse, aren’t I? And you’re the one everybody’s always against, aren’t you? You poor thing!’

Lili had to smile through her tears. ‘Marie, you’re so funny when you talk like that! You’ve made me laugh!’

‘Yes, Lili dear, you can laugh. Let’s all laugh while we may. Bye for now. Why don’t you do up your hair, and I’ll go downstairs and have a word with Mama.’

Marie left the room, feeling a pang of envy for her sister’s ability to unburden herself. And as she descended the stairs she smiled wistfully at the depths of Lili’s despair only a moment ago, and at her infatuation with Georges. Her sister was a mere child as far as she was concerned, crying over the temporary loss of a toy, and she was confident that all would be forgotten within the half-hour. How lucky Lili was! Free to shed tears when she was sad and free to say things like: ‘I don’t care a straw about what Madame Eekhof says, since we love each other!’

. .

They were bound for a farmstead that was owned by an old acquaintance of the Verstraetens. The overladen charabanc rolled along Loosduinseweg under a blazing sky, with the occasional steam tram passing them as it came the other way. Madame Verstraeten and Mathilda sat in the back with Nico between them, Marie, Lili and Frédérique sat in the middle facing Paul, Etienne and Georges, and the front bench was occupied by Ernestine, Madeleine and the Verstraeten boys. Johan sat on the box, while the dickey was shared by Cateau van der Stoor and Jan. It was to be a jolly family outing, nothing formal, so everyone could relax and enjoy themselves. Marie dispensed handfuls of cherries from a large basket, and Etienne, between mouthfuls, told them that according to Marguerite van Laren going on an outing in a charabanc was a very bourgeois thing to do.

‘I suppose the Van Larens always go on their outings in a liveried carriage, complete with footmen in powdered wigs!’ said Georges.

‘Naturally! With the ladies wearing great billowing skirts like in the Watteau paintings, and leading little lambs by pink ribbons!’ rejoined Lili, smiling fondly at Georges.

There was much hilarity at this; they were all in high spirits, the womenfolk in their simple cotton frocks as much as the young men in their light summer suits and straw boaters.

‘Do have some cherries, Cateau,’ said Marie, passing her a handful. ‘You can share them with Jan.’

‘Oh yes, we’ll share!’ exclaimed Jan, with a roguish air. ‘Shall I show you a trick, Cateau?’

‘What sort of trick?’

‘See these twin cherries? Well, put one of them in your mouth.’

‘What for?’ asked Cateau, doing as he suggested.

‘Then I’ll have the other one. Look, like this!’ the rascal replied, quickly brushing her lips with his before biting into the second cherry.

‘Jan! Behave yourself!’ scolded Madame.

‘She fell for it! Silly Cateau!’ giggled Freddie.

‘I had no idea what he was going to do!’ protested Cateau. ‘Wretched boy!’

‘Nonsense, you don’t mean that. Of course you knew!’ scoffed Paul.

The charabanc rattled on through a flat landscape of meadows with sleek, grazing cows whose black-and-white coats gleamed like satin, past endless rows of pollard willows unfurling their silvery fans.

‘Willows are such melancholy trees, don’t you agree, Georges?’ asked Lili with feeling.

‘There she goes, waxing poetical again!’ Etienne cried out. ‘Come on then, Lili, let’s hear an ode to the willow.’

‘I can’t say anything these days without everyone poking fun at me, goodness knows why,’ she moaned.

Now it was Lili’s turn to be teased, and they all laughed heartily as they munched their cherries.

The road began to climb towards undulating horizons. Here and there stood a country retreat, lost in the greenery, or a farmhouse surrounded by fields planted with carrot and cauliflower or beanstalks in neat rows, and gardens ablaze with sunflowers, peonies and hollyhocks. A washerwoman wringing out clothes on the bank of a stream drew herself up to smile at them as they passed, and two youngsters ran after the carriage while Jan and Cateau threw them cherries.

. .

The road ran between fields of yellow corn and green flax dotted with blue cornflowers and red poppies, rising and falling until finally they reached the farm. The farmer’s wife appeared at the gate, smiling broadly, and the young people sprang down from the charabanc while Madame Verstraten and Mathilda took charge of unloading the cargo of boxes, cloth-covered baskets and hampers.

The coachman unhitched his steaming horses and led them to the stable.

Jan Verstraeten, Cateau and the Van Rijssel foursome made a beeline for the two swings, but not before Jan had assured Madame van Rijssel that he would be very careful and Cateau had promised to pay particular attention to little Nico.

‘They’re just like a married couple with their offspring!’ laughed Marie, following the merry band with her eyes.

‘I’m going to chase them away from the swings shortly, because I want a turn myself!’ declared Etienne, already a little light-headed from the sun and the fresh air. ‘Lili, will you join me on the other swing? If De Woude will let you, that is!’ he whispered, rolling his eyes.

‘De Woude has no say over what I do! But no thanks, I don’t like swings. They always give me a headache.’

‘But I just love swings, Etienne!’ cried Marie. ‘So I’ll be counting on you as a gentleman to push me as high as I can go, really high, do you hear? Up to the clouds!’

‘Let’s go and find a nice spot to sit — over there, by those dunes,’ suggested Paul.

‘He thinks it’s time for a rest, how typical! But my dear Paul, it’s hot in the dunes,’ said Freddie.

‘No, there are some trees, oaks I think, over there, beyond the pavilion.’

‘All right, let’s go. It’s too hot for anything strenuous, anyway. I agree with Paul: I like a lazy outing. Just lying in the cool green shade, watching the clouds drift by overhead — lovely,’ said Lili.

‘How poetic! Trust Lili to turn sheer idleness into a romantic occasion,’ laughed Marie. ‘For goodness’ sake, De Woude, why don’t you say something? Here we are, all chatting away while you’re off in a trance, composing verses in your head, I shouldn’t wonder.’

Georges denied this with good humour, and they all set off, pushing aside the leafy twigs of overhanging bushes on their path. Lili was frightened out of her wits by a spider descending a long silvery thread, and De Woude’s removal of the insect gave rise to fresh bursts of laughter and jokes about Lili being a damsel in distress and Georges a knight in shining armour coming to her rescue.

‘What have we done to deserve all this attention, may I ask?’ said Georges.

‘Never mind, Georges, take no notice!’ said Lili. ‘They think they’re being funny. Oh, Paul, where are you taking us? It’s so hot, and quite slippery underfoot, too. How much further is it to that nice spot of yours? All these tiresome branches — ouch!’

She broke off to inspect her finger, which she had scratched on a thorn.

‘Why don’t you let me walk in front, then,’ offered Georges, and he spoke so softly and slipped ahead of her so quietly that the others, still laughing heartily, did not notice. He and Lili fell behind, with him carefully holding back each intruding twig to clear the way for her.

‘Let them laugh! You don’t mind about them, do you?’ he asked, a faraway, happy look in his eyes.

‘Not in the least!’ she replied calmly. She shook her head, on which she wore a wide sun-hat bedecked with wild flowers, and gave an arch smile. ‘It’s our turn to laugh at them, now. Who’s that shrieking at the top of his voice?’

‘Etienne, of course!’ said Georges.

Paul and Etienne had found a mossy bank beneath a young chestnut tree, from which an attractive panorama was to be seen: a stretch of meadowland, grazing cows, straight lines of water-filled ditches glittering in the bright sunlight, a windmill beyond, and in the distance a line of poplars, slender and tall.

When Lili and Georges caught up with the others they found them in raptures.

‘This is splendid!’ said Paul. ‘Plenty of cool moss to lie on and a fine, sweeping view.’

Everyone agreed, and they plumped themselves down on the ground, weary from their expedition. On the dark, dappled sward lay a scattering of discarded hats and lacy parasols, while stray sunbeams threw patches of shivering light on the crush of light cotton skirts.

‘It’s not so shady here after all. At any rate, I am in the full sun,’ said Lili, putting up her pink parasol. She shot an indignant glance at Paul, who had claimed a spot of deep shade, where he now lay sprawled on his back with a pocket handkerchief over his face.

‘Hush, Lili, no more talking now, time for a nap!’ he muttered.

‘It’s all very well for you to take a nap, but I’m burning to a crisp in the sun.’

‘Shall we go and look for a better spot, Lili?’ ventured Georges.

‘Yes, you do that — good idea,’ said Paul.

‘And give us a whistle when you’ve found one,’ said Etienne.

Georges promised he would, and set off down the sandy slope with Lili clinging to his arm.

‘They won’t whistle, just you wait and see,’ said Etienne.

‘Lili’s so fussy!’ yawned Paul.

His lethargy was too much for Etienne, who seized Paul’s ankles and dragged him some way, much to the girls’ amusement.

However, it was very hot, and as they were all beginning to feel lazy, they decided unanimously to wait until after lunch to take a proper walk. When peace had been restored between Paul and Etienne, Frédérique laid her head on Etienne’s knees, and he tickled her ear with a blade of grass while Paul pretended to sleep. Marie sat very still, moodily gazing out at the meadows and the ditches and the cows.

. .

The path Georges and Lili had taken was easy. Lili felt herself floating downwards as she held on to Georges’ shoulders with both hands, gasping with delight as he went faster and faster. He had given her wings!

‘How silly of them to stay where there isn’t any proper shade; look, there’s a clump of trees over there!’

‘Those chestnuts?’

‘They look promising. Shall we go and take a look?’

‘Very well.’

They made their way to the trees and found themselves in a lush, shadowy glade surrounded on all sides by blistering sunshine.

‘Isn’t it lovely here?’ cried Lili. ‘Look, wild violets!’

She seated herself on the mossy bank and began to pick the wildflowers within her reach. Georges sank down at her feet, too happy to say very much, and toyed with the red tassels of her pink parasol.

‘You ought to give a whistle, Georges, as a signal for the others to come,’ she said demurely, knowing full well that he would not.

‘I can’t whistle, I never could!’ he responded jovially.

She laughed and began to pelt him with her violets, which he promptly gathered into a little bunch and put in his buttonhole. Then he took her hand.

‘Do you love me?’ he said, holding her eyes. She placed her small white hands on his shoulders and leant forward, returning his gaze.

‘What?’ she murmured tenderly.

‘Do you love me?’ he repeated, and she leant closer, so that her hair brushed against his lips, receiving kisses.

‘Yes,’ she said, leaning her forehead against his. ‘Yes, I love you.’

They sat thus a while, and notwithstanding the rather uncomfortable position Georges was in, he delighted in feeling the weight of her sweet head. When she finally drew herself up, he moved to sit beside her, then lifted her arm and laid it around his neck.

‘By the way, my sister Emilie—’ he began.

‘What about her?’ she said.

‘Emilie has had a talk with my father. Don’t you think she might talk to your parents too?’

‘Oh, yes!’ she replied, beaming. ‘But I don’t know, I’m not sure whether—’

‘Emilie is a very good talker.’

‘You love her very much, don’t you?’

‘Yes, and I love you, too.’

With her hand on his neck she drew him a fraction closer, and kissed the side of his head — the first time she had ever kissed him. The soft, summer air beneath the leafy canopy was heavy with the scent of violets mingled with moss, and she ruffled the tawny hair above his ears with her fingers. The sensation was so delightful as to make her swoon away.

She listened blissfully to his low voice relating the conversation he had had with his sister, at a time when he didn’t even know whether Lili really cared for him. He had felt very anxious at first, but now he was full of confidence, whatever challenges the future might hold.

‘Emilie thought you wouldn’t consider marrying a man without money,’ he said. ‘Is that true? Won’t you have a penniless husband?’

‘Are you penniless?’

‘Well, I’m not exactly rich.’

‘All right then, I shall have a penniless husband. Oh, I can be very economical, you know. Sometimes I make one month’s dress allowance last for three, and I think I manage to look all right, don’t I?’

‘You look lovely.’

‘But you don’t strike me as being so very economical yourself. I think you probably have a great many more needs than I do.’

‘All I need is you. You are everything to me.’

‘Does Emilie like me?’

‘Of course she does. She’ll be like a mother to us. And you will come with me no matter where they send me? To Cairo? Constantinople? The Cape?’

‘To Lapland if need be. Anywhere at all.’

‘My own little wife!’

He held her close to his heart, and kissed her. The air was still, the world fell away, and they were alone in paradise, united in a love of such magnitude as had never been known before.

. .

‘Mama wants to know if you’re coming to lunch!’ shouted young Johan van Rijssel. ‘How lazy you all are! You look half asleep already.’

He clambered up the slope and pounced on Paul’s long legs to shake them. Frédérique and Etienne sat up, saying that yes, they were quite hungry.

‘Hungry from doing nothing, I suppose!’ cried Jan, who came running. ‘We’ve been on the swings and the seesaw, and we had a ride in the donkey cart and climbed on top of a hay wagon, and all you’ve been doing is dozing!’

‘Tut-tut, more respect for your elders, if you please,’ said Marie, with mock solemnity.

They all trooped back to the farmhouse the way they had come, picking their way through the bushes, when they heard a whistle behind them. Looking round they saw Georges and Lili exchanging complicit smiles.

‘We found an excellent spot, wonderfully cool,’ said Georges.

‘Wonderfully cool,’ echoed Lili.

The pair of them were assailed with questions and knowing looks, which they tried to deflect by slowing their pace, although they took care not to arrive much later than the others at table.

Madame Verstraeten and Mathilda had been very busy, notwithstanding the heat. The large table, covered with a rustic cloth of white cotton, was generously laden with bread rolls, bowls of cherries and strawberries, as well as two golden, turban-shaped sponge cakes placed on either side of a large pitcher of cream. Sixteen chairs were ranged about the feast, while the Van Rijssel foursome, red-faced and bright-eyed from the heat, their hair sticking in strands to their moist brows, devoured everything with their eyes. Nico was already seated, rattling his glass and banging the table with his fork, and presently everyone was settled round the table while Madame and Mathilda pointed out the various foods.

‘De Woude, dear boy, do help yourself!’ said Madame, and the air was filled with cheerful voices as they all fell to. The rolls and the sponge cakes vanished at an alarming rate, while the hens clucked busily about the table, especially near Nico, who kept treating them to entire slices of bread. Jan in the meantime found a fresh reason to needle the three young men about their laziness.

Behind the farm was a wide stream, with a small rowing boat moored along the bank. Jan and Cateau had been clamouring to use the craft, but Madame Verstraeten would not give her permission unless someone older and more responsible accompanied them. So after luncheon it was agreed that Paul and Etienne would take the oars, Jan would act as the steersman and Frédérique, Marie and Cateau would be the ‘freight of fair ladies’, as Etienne put it.

‘Georges and Lili are as thick as thieves, aren’t they?’ said Paul, pushing the boat away from the bank with his oar.

‘Where have they got to? Oh, look, there they go, behind that hedge!’ cried Frédérique. ‘Why, Marie, fancy you as an elder sister allowing such a thing!’

Marie smiled.

‘At least they’re happy,’ she said simply.

Etienne tried with all his might to conceal his lack of rowing skills by strenuous exertion, but Paul was not impressed.

‘Oh, Etienne,’ he protested, ‘you’re hopeless. Don’t you know you must dip the oars cleanly, not make all those splashes!’

A shower of spray descended on them.

‘You’re making me all wet!’ complained Frédérique.

‘Come on now, are you saying I’m not a good oarsman?’

Etienne redoubled his efforts, to no avail, which Cateau and Jan found exceedingly funny. Soon they plucked up courage to ask Paul, whom they regarded as the captain, if they might have a turn at the oars. Etienne was duly displaced from his seat, as a result of which the boat almost capsized, and Cateau triumphantly sat herself down beside Paul, eager to keep perfect time with his strokes. She gripped her oar tightly with both hands, unconcerned about blisters, and was enchanted when her stroke and Paul’s were as one, slicing calmly through the green water.

‘Splendid, Cateau, you’re doing awfully well!’ said Marie. ‘Jan, why don’t you steer us closer to those water lilies?’

Jan complied, and the boat veered slowly towards an expanse of duckweed with white and yellow water lilies surrounded by large, round lily pads. Marie leant over the side to catch hold of a lily and pulled hard on the tough, slimy stalk until it came loose and she was able to lift the flower from the water.

‘There are lots more over there!’ said Jan, pointing to the far bank.

They glided on, past meadows bordered by willows trailing their silvery branches in the water, and Marie, with a distracted air, continued to pull muddy flowers from the depths. She appeared not to hear the jesting and laughter, nor the heated argument going on between Cateau and Etienne as to the correct manner of wielding an oar, so engrossed was she in pulling out one lily after another and throwing the stalks at her feet like slippery eels. She tugged so hard that she tore the skin of her fingers, feeling as though she were ripping out unwanted thoughts from her mind, for whose riddance it was worth shedding blood.

. .

The Van Rijssel youngsters, whom their mama did not trust in the boat while Etienne was in it, consoled themselves with the seesaw and the swings. Tina pushed a remarkably solemn-looking Nico on one of the swings, while Johan rode the other one with Madeleine sitting between his feet. After a while Nico grew bored and surrendered his swing to Marie and Etienne, who had returned from the boat.

‘Higher, Etienne, I want to go as high as the sky!’ cried Marie.

They would share the swing. Etienne planted his feet firmly on the wooden seat-board and flexed his knees to set the swing in motion.

‘Ah, I can see you’re better on a swing than in a rowing boat!’ said Marie, perched between his feet and thrusting herself forwards and backwards to help push the swing higher. Her skirts billowed and streamed, her hat flew away, and her hair fluttered about her cheeks. At the highest point, when she was suspended almost horizontally over Etienne, she gulped for breath before swinging down, then up again, and down. . She had a sensation of flying over a fathomless abyss as she soared higher and higher into the blue sky, carried aloft by the wings of a great bird. Her eyes glittered with tears, her cheeks were on fire, and she imagined herself letting go of the ropes and hurtling into the gaping void.

Her eye caught the four children down below, staring up in awe at them daring to swing so very high, and she wanted to call out to them, but no sound came from her throat. Etienne seemed intoxicated by the momentum, and on they went, higher and higher.

‘Enough, Etienne — that’s enough,’ gasped Marie, shutting her eyes.

She felt quite dazed as the great bird reduced speed, gradually swinging lower and lower until it stopped altogether, and when her feet touched the ground again and she stood up she felt so giddy she almost lost her balance.

Etienne ran to retrieve her hat.

‘That was good, wasn’t it?’ he panted.

Marie nodded and gave a faint smile as she brushed her tousled hair from her face. Etienne dashed off, calling to his cousins that they would never catch him, at which the Van Rijssel foursome went in hot pursuit with little Nico bringing up the rear, running as fast as his short legs would carry him. Alone at last, Marie sank down on the grass by the swings in a flood of tears. She thought of Lili and Georges and how wrapped up in each other they had been that morning while she, Marie, had done nothing but sit and stare at the meadows and the cows until she saw stars before her eyes; and she thought of how they had stolen off together while she had sat in a boat tearing lilies out of the water until her hands ached.