Eline Vere

XXVI

Eighteen months had passed. The Verstraetens’ residence on Prinsessegracht was splendidly decorated from top to bottom, with the vestibule, dining room, salons and conservatory made to resemble lush winter gardens by means of artfully disposed palm trees in the angles of the walls, which formed pyramids of verdure flanked by red and white clusters of azaleas. For there was a bride in the house, and it was time for celebration.

The reception was in full swing, with a jostling multitude of friends and relations come to bestow their good wishes. In the main salon the easy chairs had been arranged in a semicircle on either side of the sofa, with their backs to the greenery obscuring the garden window. Georges de Woude van Bergh and Lili Verstraeten stood in attendance by the sofa, like a princely pair holding court. The twenty-year-old bride, wearing white silk with orange blossom in her hair, was radiant with joy, and did not tire of breathing sweet words of thanks to all who came to congratulate her.

‘Thank you! Thank you! And thank you so much for your lovely present!’

The groom, sporting a white rose in the lapel of his tailcoat, likewise offered thanks, inwardly longing for the parade to end but nonetheless wreathed in smiles. Madame Verstraeten stood beside her daughter while Emilie de Woude hovered restlessly near her brother, disappearing frequently for brief forays among the buzzing crowd of well-wishers. The bridesmaids were Marie and Frédérique, in pink, and the best men were Paul and Etienne, in tails with flowers in their buttonholes. The latter took turns escorting guests to the conservatory, where the wedding presents were displayed on a long table. Old Mr de Woude’s gift of a silver tea service occupied the centre, surrounded by further offerings of silverware, cut glass and fine porcelain from friends and relations. From the Van Raat cousins, Henk and Paul, they had received a pretty suite of drawing room furniture upholstered in glossy blue satin, the various components of which stood about, cluttering up most of the space. The gift from the bride’s parents was not on view as there was simply not enough room: it was an entire bedroom suite, of fine quality but not overly luxurious, which, as Emilie explained to Madame van der Stoor and Cateau, was as it should be for a young couple who had yet to make their fortune.

‘They will be going to live in Atjehstraat, will they not?’ asked Madame van der Stoor, her eyes riveted on an agate-handled serving spoon and fork.

‘Yes, a small apartment in Atjehstraat, quite suitable for two young things like them. Just imagine, mere children! And getting married, too! Ah well, they know best, I suppose,’ responded Emilie with a rueful smile, and Madame van der Stoor smiled in return. Cateau was full of admiration for the satin suite.

‘This was given by your brother and sister-in-law, wasn’t it, Master Paul?’ she said.

‘And by yours truly!’ responded Paul, pointing to himself. ‘But how ladylike you’ve grown, Cateau!’ he continued, surveying her approvingly. ‘With your hair piled up like that — most impressive!’

‘Well, why shouldn’t I be a lady and wear my hair up?’ Cateau said loftily. She was piqued by his familiarity; she was almost seventeen now, and there was no reason why he should always address her by her first name while she never knew what to call him — Mr van Raat, Master Paul, or simply Van Raat? Indeed, she found him decidedly disagreeable lately, and then there was his bad behaviour, for ever gadding about and squandering money!

‘But you are a lady!’ said Paul with a sarcastic smile. ‘You’re every inch a lady; did you think I hadn’t noticed? I say, Cateau, do you remember me draping those robes around you for the tableau of the five senses? How long ago was that?’

Cateau blushed.

‘Oh, that was ages ago. Let me think — it must have been at least two and a half years since we did the tableaux. I was only a child then. I wouldn’t let you dress me up now, I can assure you!’

How dare he bring up that subject! With a toss of the head she turned away, while he smiled at her indignation. Then, catching sight of Frédérique, he made his way to the main salon, where his mother was taking leave of her.

‘Is Mama going already?’ he wanted to know.

‘Yes, she’s a little tired!’ she replied tartly, without meeting his eye.

He noted her coolness towards him, and felt hurt. They all seemed to be against him these days, first Cateau, and now Freddie, too.

‘Ah, Freddie!’ he said with forced gaiety. ‘You aren’t in a very festive mood, are you?’

‘Why do you say that?’ she asked blankly.

‘You haven’t said anything in the least nice to me all day. You’re not angry with me are you?’

‘Me? Oh no, not at all. Why should I be?’

‘Can’t I make it up to you? If only I knew what I’ve done wrong.’

Etienne came towards them.

‘I say, you two: please remember your duties! Two old ladies have just arrived, whom I’ve never seen before; they can’t take their eyes off the wedding presents, and I’m afraid they might be light-fingered or something, you never know. Come on, Marie has also been looking for you everywhere!’

They followed him to the conservatory, which was thronged with guests. Paul was annoyed that Etienne had interrupted his moment with Freddie; for days he had been meaning to have a word with her, because all she did was pout, and it was getting on his nerves.

Henk and Betsy entered the dining room, where they encountered the groom’s father deep in conversation with Otto van Erlevoort. Old Mr de Woude had dull, kindly features and thinning grey hair; he sat with his cane propped between his knees and, being hard of hearing, with his head cocked to his interlocutor, whom he kept asking to repeat himself. Otto and the Van Raats no longer called on each other these days, but they did meet from time to time at the Verstraetens’ or at the homes of other mutual friends, and had remained on amicable terms. They found little to say to one another, for there was a mist of unhappiness between them. Betsy and Henk moved on, having extended their good wishes to Mr Verstraeten, who was chatting with Mathilda van Rijssel in the drawing room.

‘Well then, goodbye Betsy, goodbye Henk. Thank you so much! By the way, did you hear what Madame van Rijssel just told me?’

‘No, what did she say, Uncle?’ asked Betsy.

‘That your old friend Jeanne, Ferelijn’s wife, is gravely ill.’

‘Jeanne? Is she ill?’

‘A letter arrived yesterday, from Ferelijn in Bangil,’ Mathilda said softly.

‘Where’s Bangil?’ asked Betsy.

‘In Pasoeroean. Jeanne had just given birth to another baby when he wrote the letter, and her life was apparently in danger.’

‘Really? Oh dear, poor girl! We have not been in touch lately, but I have always been very fond of her, and. .’

It was on the tip of Betsy’s tongue to add: ‘and we owe her a great deal,’ for she was thinking of Eline. But all she said was:

‘Please, Mathilda, if you hear any more news, you will let me know, won’t you? I’d be most grateful.’

‘Yes I will,’ said Mathilda, and Betsy moved away with Henk in search of the bride and groom. Mathilda’s thoughts turned to Jeanne, her hapless friend who had followed her husband to the Indies six months ago, and whom she might never see again.

Henk and Betsy approached Georges and Lili.

‘Ah, Betsy and Henk!’ exclaimed Lili. ‘How you have spoiled us! It was such a splendid surprise, too! A truly beautiful gift!’

She gave them both a hug of thanks for the blue-satin suite.

‘Let’s hope it won’t look too grand!’ said Georges, after expressing his thanks.

‘Nonsense!’ cried Lili. ‘Men are such ungrateful creatures, aren’t they, Betsy? But I’m awfully grateful; I’m thrilled with it, truly thrilled!’

‘She’s as happy as a little girl with a new doll’s house!’ Emilie chuckled, glancing at Betsy.

Meanwhile, in the conservatory, Marie and Etienne were testing the blue satin suite for comfort and plumpness. Marie had been in remarkably good cheer lately, quite elated even. They bounced up and down, giggling merrily, with no regard at all for the creaking springs.

Well, there was every reason to be light-hearted, even if it was her sister’s wedding and not her own. Once Lili had gone there would be time enough to be glum, for it would be lonely without her, but Marie had no intention of letting that prospect spoil her enjoyment of this happy day.

Mathilda and Otto wandered into the conservatory to view the wedding gifts, and Marie promptly pointed out each item in turn, announcing who the giver was.

‘Why don’t you come to the dance tomorrow?’ she asked Otto. ‘It would be so nice if you were there.’

He smiled and shook his head.

‘It’s no use insisting. Forgive me for refusing the invitation, but my decision is final. My dancing days are over.’

‘You’re becoming a veritable recluse!’

‘I am getting old.’

‘Fiddlesticks! Doesn’t it amuse you any more to see people amusing themselves?’

‘Yes it does, now and then, but on the whole I prefer to stay at home.’

His tone was wistful, and she desisted from further effort to persuade him. To change the subject, she indicated a large basket of flowers with a wave of her hand.

‘Just look at those lovely roses! And so early in the season, too. I do so love it when all the flowers come out. It looks as if we’ll be having a wonderful summer.’

‘Yes, and we are having a wonderful spring, too,’ he said dully.

She was somewhat piqued by his tone, despite the pity she felt for his quiet sorrow, and kept silent. He must have been thinking of a previous spring, a previous summer. .

. .

The ‘union of hearts’ between Georges and Lili, for which Emilie had sought permission from the Verstraetens on her brother’s behalf some eighteen months before, had quite quickly developed into a stronger alliance, for although Georges kept his promise to observe due discretion in the affair, it had become common knowledge in The Hague. Lili’s parents had been in something of a quandary, what with their daughter chafing at the restrictions they imposed on her dealings with her beau, and Emilie beginning to exert pressure on them as well. Madame Verstraeten had approached her sister Dora, Madame van Raat, in the hope of some moral support, but had not received it. Why not have a formal engagement, Madame van Raat had suggested in her soft, sad voice, then everything would surely sort itself out. Lili had been overjoyed when she heard of her elderly aunt’s advice, pronouncing her to be the dearest, sweetest aunt in the whole world.

And so it happened that, as soon as Georges had passed his Vice-Consular examination, the engagement was officially announced. Georges had gone off to Paris and Hamburg on tours of duty, and upon his return Emilie and Lili joined forces in persuading her parents that it was time to contemplate the next step. After much deliberation it had been decided that, provided Georges, now at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, was as careful with money as he claimed to be, and provided Lili became a little more sensible — for she was by no means sensible enough according to her mother — they might entertain the idea of marriage with a small financial contribution from the Verstraetens. The big day was planned for the 20th of May. Madame Verstraeten, Emilie, Marie and Lili devoted themselves to assembling the trousseau, and no one was happier in The Hague than Georges and Lili, whom Emilie insisted on calling ‘the babes in the wood’, much to Marie’s amusement.

Marie had grown so vivacious lately that Frédérique quite forgot how nervous and moody her sister had been only a short while ago, shutting herself up in her room for hours, purportedly to work on her travelogue. Nowadays she ran up and down the house bubbling with laughter, playing jokes on Lili and Jan and taking Dien by the shoulders to whirl her around. Her rather plain features seemed to glow with a new freshness, her hazel eyes sparkled, and everyone in her set noted the change — Marie looked positively pretty these days!

The radiance of her expression reflected the new hope that was dawning in her heart. Nowadays, when she stood by her window looking out over the avenue glistening with morning dew in the mild May sunshine, and at the Wood beyond, swathed in myriad shades of vibrant green, her heart no longer ached — it sang.

She was now free to think about Otto, there was nothing to stop her admitting to herself that she loved him. And it seemed to her that the pity she felt for him made her love him even more passionately than before, when she had been racked with secret jealousy of the fiancée who had so cruelly tossed him aside as if he were some worthless object.

He still seemed to be mourning his loss, but that did not mean there was no hope, and the hope in her heart rose up to infuse her face, lending beauty to her smile.

. .

That evening, when the reception was over, the Verstraetens were worn out. They exchanged their formal wear for more comfortable clothing, and Mr Verstraeten retired to his study while his wife went upstairs to take some much-needed repose. Lili, overtired from hours on her feet giving effusive thanks to everyone for their gifts and good wishes, flung herself in her favourite armchair with the old tapestry cover, and leant back, half-closing her eyes.

‘Lili, why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a while?’ said Marie.

‘Oh no thanks, I can’t be bothered. I’m so tired, as tired as can be.’

Georges looked concerned. He sat down beside his bride, took her hand in his, and whispered to her in the dimmed light. Frédérique, Paul and Etienne had stayed to supper, as had Georges, but now Etienne came to take his leave as he had a prior engagement to meet some friends.

‘Are you coming, Paul?’ he asked.

Paul lifted his head, turning the question over in his mind, then stretched his limbs.

‘No thanks, I don’t feel up to it.’

‘But they’re expecting you!’

‘Well, I’m not in the mood. You’ll have to excuse me.’

Etienne left, somewhat disgruntled. Marie hummed to herself as she sauntered about the salons with Frédérique, tidying up the various bouquets and flower baskets and dipping her fingers into a bowl of water to flick the drops onto the blooms. Marie was the only one still wearing her party clothes, but now she too went off to exchange her pink frock for something simpler, as the atmosphere was becoming so dull anyway, with Lili’s head lolling on Georges’ shoulder and Paul sprawled in an armchair with his legs flung wide.

‘Freddie, be a dear and put that big basket on the side table in the conservatory, will you? It will only get in the way of the dancers tomorrow. I’m off upstairs now,’ said Marie.

‘All right,’ said Frédérique.

Marie left the room and Frédérique made to lift the flower basket, whereupon Paul drew himself up.

‘Need some help?’ he offered.

‘Yes, you could put this on the side table over there. Thank you.’

She took the bowl of water and followed Paul into the conservatory, from which all the wedding gifts had been removed save for the blue-satin suite. Now that the lights were out the place resembled a dark, leafy arbour. Paul stood with his hands in his pockets watching Frédérique as she besprinkled the flowers with water.

‘Freddie,’ he began, ‘there is something I want to ask you.’

‘Oh? What?’

‘You seem to have taken against me lately. Can you tell me why?’

‘Taken against you? Not at all. It’s just that I don’t feel particularly fond of you at the moment.’

‘And why not, may I ask?’

‘You’d know if you bothered to think about it,’ she replied. She moved away with her bowl of water, but he clasped both her wrists.

‘Don’t go off in a huff; put that bowl down and answer me properly.’

With gentle force he sat her down on a chair, and as he took the bowl from her she snatched her hands from his grasp. But she felt a moment’s triumph at the imploring look on his face, and made no effort to stand up again.

‘Now will you tell me what you have against me?’

The urgency in his tone flustered her.

‘You know what my main weakness is, Paul!’ she began. ‘You know I’m no good at pretending. It’s true that I am a bit annoyed with you, and apparently I can’t help showing it. I am sorry about that, but I assure you that I don’t do it on purpose at all. I shall try harder to hide my feelings then, shall I?’

‘There’s no need to be so bitter, Freddie. Why don’t you just tell me what’s bothering you?’

‘My dear Paul, what is there to say? I might start reproaching you, and I have no right to reproach you for anything at all.’

‘What if I gave you the right? I would rather hear your reproaches than all those snubs and cutting remarks I’ve been getting lately.’

‘Are you sure you want a lecture from me?’ she asked, softening towards him.

‘Oh yes, please, I would love that.’

‘You see? You’re joking already. I am perfectly happy to joke, but then let’s talk about something else and go back inside.’

‘No, no, not yet, this is the perfect place for a private conversation, and I am absolutely serious, honestly.’

She peered into his eyes, but it was too dark in the sombre shadow of the palm fronds for her to make out their expression. Lately she had noticed an edge of sarcasm creeping into his voice, which made her uneasy, and she could hear it even now, as he pleaded with her to speak her mind.

‘Well, you’re rather self-satisfied aren’t you? You talk about everything in such a flippant, patronising way these days.’

‘Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. Flippant, patronising — no, I was not aware that I spoke in that way. But why should I not be satisfied?’

‘Why not indeed? You lead such a useful life, don’t you?’

‘Oh, I can see what you’re getting at. You mean that I’m not working at Hovel’s any more. Actually, I’m planning to establish myself as a lawyer.’

‘Yes I know, at least, so I’ve heard.’

‘Well then, doesn’t that put your mind at rest?’

‘Put my mind at rest? Nonsense, Paul, there’s no need for that. Oh please let’s talk about something else. Far be it from me to urge you to make something of yourself. Honestly, I don’t care what you do, or if you do nothing at all. Shall we adjourn to the salon?’

‘Oh please, Freddie, don’t be so short with me. Georges and Lili are in the salon, spooning, as it happens, and we’d only disturb them if we went in there. I wish the two of us could be friends again, though.’

‘I didn’t know we were enemies.’

‘We’re not, but I can’t say a thing without you taking it amiss. And the fact that I’m not working at the moment can’t be the only reason why you’re so cool towards me. Go on, out with it, what else is there?’

She felt somewhat embarrassed, but tried not to show it.

‘As I told you before,’ she said, ‘what bothers me sometimes is your flippancy, and your patronising tone. You can sound awfully arrogant, you know. Like the other day, when you were talking about Georges and Lili.’

‘You mean because I thought it absurd — and I still do — that they should want to live together while they’re as poor as church mice? It’s entirely up to them what they do, of course, but why should it be arrogant to say what I think?’

‘Because not everyone is a millionaire, Paul.’

He looked at her intently.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘It’s hardly difficult to understand, surely!’ she retorted with a short laugh.

‘You’re not saying I’m arrogant about not being penniless myself, are you?’

‘Well, yes I am, in a way.’

‘Oh come now, don’t be silly!’

‘Well, you do seem to be throwing your money around. You have a circle of friends, I gather, who take advantage of your purse, and you hold orgies with them at home, too, making it impossible for your poor mama to get any sleep.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘You seem to forget that I have a brother who’s in the same set as you. And that your mama sometimes needs to let off steam.’

‘Oh, I’m planning to move out in any case. I’ll find a place of my own. It’s hard being young and having to adjust to a so-called orderly household. Actually, I’ve seen an apartment that looks suitable, so Mama needn’t be kept awake by my orgies any longer.’

‘An apartment? Well, if I were you I’d take an entire hotel, with plenty of rooms for all your penniless friends.’

‘I wish you’d stop harping on my penniless friends! Who do you mean, anyway? Hijdrecht isn’t penniless, nor is Oudendijk!’

‘Those two are the only decent chaps in your set.’

‘You haven’t met the others, Frédérique.’

‘No, thank goodness I haven’t!’

‘So what do you know of them? How can you judge them if you don’t even know them?’

‘What I do know is that they are parasites, only after your money.’

‘Oh, is that what you think? I expect Etienne happened to mention that there’s someone I used to help out now and then. Etienne ought to know better than to tell tales about his friends. It’s perfectly normal for young men to lend each other small sums of money when they need it. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’

‘If you say so. Let’s drop the subject then, shall we?’

There were sounds in the salon, and the gas light was turned up. Frédérique rose.

‘So we have not made peace, then?’ asked Paul, likewise rising.

‘We were not at war, Paul,’ responded Frédérique. ‘You said you wanted to talk with me, and you have. If I have offended you in any way, please just forget we ever had this conversation. As I said, I have no right to reproach you, and I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t asked. You’re old enough to make your own decisions. What would I know about anything, anyway? You don’t need any advice from a young girl, I’m sure.’

She went into the salon, where Georges and Lili had been joined by Madame Verstraeten and Marie. Just then Dien came in with the tea tray, and Lili asked Frédérique what had kept her.

‘Paul and I were in the conservatory, waiting for teatime. I’m dying for a cup,’ replied Freddie.

Paul, however, took his leave. He would seek out Etienne and his friends after all, he said with a defiant edge to his voice.

‘Until tomorrow, then. Goodbye, everyone! Goodbye, Freddie!’

‘Goodbye, Paul, I hope you enjoy yourself. Till tomorrow,’ Freddie replied coolly, her fingers barely touching his outstretched hand.

. .

Feeling not a bit pleased with himself, Paul made his way along Prinsessegracht. He tried hard to shake off his unease, initially without success, for it had cast a grey shroud over his usually carefree attitude, and the more he struggled to free himself from its hampering folds the more constricted he became. There was no reason why he should be so bothered by Frédérique’s disapproval: after all, she was just a girl who happened to have heard some gossip about what he got up to with his friends and who had got quite carried away, imagining him to be leading a life of romantic dissolution, complete with rivers of champagne, showers of gold coins and ladies with beckoning arms. What had Frédérique’s criticism amounted to, really? That he was not at present gainfully employed? What was wrong with enjoying life if he could afford it? And what was the use of looking for a position which he did not need, and which, if taken by him, meant denying some poor chap the opportunity of earning his living? That would be rather unfair, wouldn’t it? He for his part would be glad to work in congenial surroundings, but interesting positions were few and far between, and so Frédérique should by rights be commending him for his unselfishness instead of lecturing him about his bad behaviour. As for his so-called penniless friends, Frédérique had quite rightly observed that not everybody was a millionaire, so she could hardly expect him to consort exclusively with nabobs! What was wrong with helping one’s friends when they were in need, if all it took was a visit to his banker? But what a blabbermouth Etienne was when it came to matters which one did not discuss with ladies or relatives! He badly needed telling off for his indiscretion, the young blackguard! Little did Frédérique know that Etienne himself was no better: for ever asking him for small sums of money, and sometimes quite large ones, too.

Squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin, he went on his way in the gathering dusk. A devil-may-care glint came into his eyes. What a burden it was to be rich, he thought to himself, chuckling under his breath. It was too bad the way one was under pressure from some to spend freely and from others to keep a tight rein on one’s purse. Still, it made for a certain popularity, especially among ladies with daughters of marriageable age, such as Madame Eekhof, who seemed determined to pair him off with Ange or Léonie, and Madame Oudendijk, who invited him at least once a week and then left him alone with Françoise for hours on end, and now that Cateau was coming of age Madame van der Stoor had likewise taken to fawning on him. So many mamas with so many daughters to be married off — he saw them file past in his mind’s eye, a procession of matrons all wreathed in smiles, presenting to him their appropriately blushing daughters as though he were a Pasha with a mind to forming a harem. He had only to put out his hand and he would have ten comely fortune-hunters clinging to each finger. Oh, the burden of being rich!

He turned into the Korte Voorhout, feeling much better for the entertaining vision of eager matrons vying with each other to extol their wares. He would have none of it, of course; he had no intention of giving up his freedom for a long time yet. Supposing he were poor, though, how many of those pretty young things would still want him? Françoise would, he thought, because she was always making eyes at him as if she were truly smitten. Then there were Ange and Léonie with their trim little figures, who kept hovering around him wanting to play catch-me-if-you-can: had he gone after them they would certainly have swooned away in his arms. And then there was Cateau, the youngest of them all and the only one to put on airs with him.

While he was thus reviewing all their charms with affectionate derision, his thoughts drifted to Frédérique, who appeared to him as a lone princess towering above the ranks of mere odalisques. For her he felt no derision, nor was she attended by a matron offering her for sale. She stood alone, regarding him with calm self-assurance; she would not have fallen into his arms or knelt at his feet like the others. For her he felt respect.

‘At least I didn’t leave her cold, or she would not have been annoyed with me,’ he mused as he went past the theatre and turned into Houtstraat. ‘It’s all very well her saying that she doesn’t care what I do or don’t do, whether I live in this way or that, but if it really made no difference to her then why was she so cool towards me? Why did she bother to tell me what she thought? Ah well, we have known each other for such a long time, so I suppose it’s hardly surprising that she should take an interest. And she obviously hears an awful lot of bad things about me from Mama and Aunt and the cousins. She’s a sweet, sensible girl, and I like her very much indeed.’

He almost felt flattered that such a sweet and sensible girl should have taken it upon herself to voice her criticism of him, and he looked forward to a reprise of their tête-à-tête beneath the overhanging palm fronds in the conservatory.

‘Of course, she’s quite young, and so she knows nothing about the world apart from what she reads in novels, probably bad ones at that, but what she said about those parasites being after my money was rather clever. She’s bound to have read that somewhere! She sounded just like a professor! Little Miss Know-it-all. . I think I’ll call her “professor” from now on.’

He began to laugh inwardly once more, but for all that he was tickled by what he saw as Frédérique’s pompousness, in his fancy she remained on her pedestal, aloof from the other girls who were being pressed into his arms by their eager mammas.

As he approached the Witte club where he would join his friends, he could not help thinking again, with secret relish, oh, what a burden it was to be rich!

. .

The dance party at the Verstraetens’ the following evening was very animated. As only friends and relations had been invited, the atmosphere had the relaxed familiarity of a family gathering, notwithstanding the lavish decorations and the formality of the young people’s dress: floaty evening gowns for the ladies and white tie and tails for the men. Most of the guests knew each other quite intimately, and so it was that both young and old indulged in lighthearted chitchat and sparkling repartee.

Paul’s late arrival meant that he was too late for the polonaise and the polka, and when he greeted the bride with a stiff little bow, she responded by berating him.

‘Naughty man, keeping away from my party for so long! I hope you’ll be punished for your sins, you horrid boy!’

He apologised with his laughing eyes and mocking mouth, sniffed her splendid white bouquet in its lace foil, tucked his opera hat under his arm and pulled at the fingers of his pearl-grey gloves. He thought she looked almost ethereal in the white froth of her tulle and orange blossom, with her pale, delicate features and the pouting lips of a spoilt child.

‘I hope every single girl is taken for the next dance, so that you’ll be left all by yourself!’ she said, rising to her feet.

‘Ah, what a severe bride you are! Will you wager with me that I shall not be left by myself, and that I shall be dancing all evening?’ he murmured in her ear, imitating her high voice.

‘No, not a wager! I know you — getting up to mischief as usual! You’d better behave yourself this evening, I warn you!’ she said, wagging her finger at him.

Just then Paul spotted Cateau van der Stoor standing with her back to some azaleas, in conversation with a tall, spindly young man whom he did not know. From across the room he gave her a cheery, indulgent nod, as if she were a small child, to which her only response was a stony look. The little minx! He resolved not to ask her to dance all evening; he might even ignore her entirely, just to teach her a lesson.

He was in the mood for larking about, and his eyes lit on Frédérique and Marie, both in pink tulle.

‘Well I never! A fine best man you make!’ exclaimed Marie. ‘I’m surprised that you even dare to show your face at this late hour. Are you blushing?’

Ignoring Marie’s reprimand, he turned to Freddie. She had promised him several dances, so he reminded her, and he was wondering about the next waltz.

‘Of course!’ said Freddie. ‘I thought you’d forgotten all about me.’

From the conservatory came the opening strains of Invitation à la valse.

‘And we’ll carry on with last night’s philosophical discussion while we dance, shall we, Freddie?’ he asked.

‘Oh no, no more philosophy please! I just want to dance and enjoy myself.’

She sounded happy, elated even, and smiled at him so winsomely that his heart began to beat apace. No cold shoulders now, thank goodness. How lovely she looked this evening, her face aglow with the rosy reflection of her pink toilette, her eyes sparkling with fun! Oh, she was prettier than all the others, to be sure, prettier even than the pale young bride across the room. He felt an urge to enfold her in his arms, but gazed into her eyes instead.

‘You’ve kept the polka before the intermission for me, haven’t you? And the waltz after supper? And the cotillion, too, I hope?’

‘Yes, I’ve kept them all for you,’ she replied, colouring. ‘Not that you deserve it by any means. But I always keep my word. As you can see, all my other dances are already taken.’

She showed him her dance-card. Grinning broadly, he scrawled a large capital P in each of the remaining blanks.

The waltz had already started, and just as he curved his arm around Frédérique’s waist he caught sight of Cateau dancing with the spindly young man. He gave her another patronising nod, noting to his considerable satisfaction that her cheeks were on fire as she glared at him over her lanky cavalier’s shoulder. After that he no longer thought of her, but only of Freddie.

He could not recall ever having enjoyed a waltz as much as now, with Freddie floating in his arms as they glided among the other dancing couples. He could not resist drawing her close, pressing her lightly to his chest, and his laughing eyes slid down her throat to her lovely, firm shoulders. The whirling pink froth of her skirts made him feel quite giddy, and with his head almost leaning on her shoulder, he fastened his gaze on the silken tendrils of hair curled against the nape of her neck. Miss Know-it-all had vanished without trace, so had the little professor; it was only Freddie now, dancing like a dream.

This is the life, he thought to himself, a long, sweet waltz going round and round in a soft, mesmerizing rhythm, on and on, the pretty little head at his shoulder, the graceful creature in his arms, the pink whirlwind of rustling pleats like a flurry of rose petals, the silky tendrils of hair, the gentle curve of her lily-white shoulder, on and on. .

‘Paul, you needn’t hold me so tight, I am not about to run away, you know!’ she whispered, smiling. He gazed into her shining eyes but did not relax his hold, and she resigned herself to his embrace with good grace. They fell silent.

When the music stopped he felt as if he were waking from a wonderful dream.

‘Oh, Freddie, can’t we go on waltzing together for ever and ever, until our dying day?’

She smiled and murmured a reply, which he did not hear, for in his fancy they were off again, dancing the waltz.

. .

For the lancers Paul was on the same side as the bride, Frédérique, Marie, Cateau, Georges, Etienne and young Jan, and each time his hand touched Cateau’s he gave her fingers a little squeeze. He had been teasing her all evening with his mocking glances, and Cateau now looked daggers at him. He could not think why he was feeling so waggish this evening, but he simply could not resist pulling everyone’s leg. He was now playing the dandy, surrounded by a bevy of girls, treating each of them in turn to an impertinent remark which only made them giggle. He pretended to ignore Françoise Oudendijk when she posed some comical questions, then suddenly spun round to gaze into her eyes, his face a grimace of incredulity.

‘I say, Paul, how you’ve changed! You’re so mad nowadays! What’s come over you?’ she said, reaching out to touch the gardenia in his buttonhole.

‘Can’t you guess?’ he retorted in an undertone, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. ‘Can’t you guess?’

‘Me? No, how could I?’

‘May I tell you the reason later? May I?’ he begged.

‘Oh yes, please!’

‘Well then, join me for half a dance-conversation during the Scottish reel,’ he said quickly.

‘What do you mean by half a dance-conversation?’

‘I hereby promote the first Scottish to a dance-conversation with two ladies, but I shan’t be talking first with the one and then with the other, but with both at the same time. My first partner is Léonie Eekhof, so if you will be my second, I promise I’ll tell you the reason for my madness. What do you say?’

She stared at him a moment, unsure whether she should take offence or not.

‘If that’s all you have to offer, then no thank you!’ she rejoined, affecting indignation.

‘As you wish!’ he concluded, giving her such a mocking look that she turned her back on him.

The other girls were still chattering nineteen to the dozen.

‘My dear children, I fear you are making me quite deaf!’ he said pompously, pushing them out of his way as he made for the drawing room. It was time for a lark with the mammas sitting in a row at the back admiring their daughters, but he was checked by Betsy, who was having a conversation with Emilie.

‘Hello, gadfly!’ said Betsy, touching his sleeve. ‘Where are you gadding off to now?’

‘To the old wallflowers,’ he whispered in reply. ‘And what about you — not dancing? This is not an invitation, mind; I am only showing an interest.’

She promptly took up the gauntlet, assailing him with reproach for his impertinence, whereupon they launched into a hilarious exchange that brought tears of laughter to Emilie’s eyes. Betsy beamed; she too was impressed by the startling transformation he had undergone: he had become so dashing, no wonder he was doted on by all the women! It had taken him rather a long time to shake off his old lethargy, and he had roused himself at an age when his peers were already settling down, but there was something about him, a touch of the Don Juan with his tawny hair and brazen grey-blue eyes, something that would play on the heartstrings of every girl. She watched as Paul made his way towards the matrons in the drawing room. He bowed to Madame Eekhof and Madame van der Stoor, seated side by side on the sofa.

After a brief exchange of civilities, Madame Eekhof enquired:

‘Aren’t you dancing tonight, Van Raat? I can hear the music starting up again.’

Replying that he did not care for the mazurka, Paul requested the ladies to make room for him on the sofa, and he nestled himself between them with remarkably little ceremony. He listened with an air of rapt attention to their questions and responded willingly, toying with his opera hat all the while. No, he had abandoned painting entirely — the smell of oils was so disagreeable — and he had even banished his easel to the attic. He had given up music, too, since Eline Vere was no longer there to sing duets with. He smiled graciously, twisting the ends of his thick blond moustache when Madame Eekhof protested that it was a shame to let his talents go to waste, and did he not recall how Cateau used to fall into a swoon whenever she heard him sing?

‘Talking of Eline,’ Madame van der Stoor interposed, ‘do you happen to know when she will return? Is she still travelling?’

‘You know she went to Spain with her uncle and aunt, don’t you? She stayed with them for quite a while in Brussels after that, and then all three of them went to Nice. She also spent some time with relatives of her aunt’s, in a chateau somewhere near Bordeaux, and goodness knows where else she has been.’

Paul was beginning to find the conversation tedious, for he was singularly uninterested in Eline at the moment. Having no wish to hear Madame Eekhof raking up the sorry affair, he rose abruptly and took his leave. He turned to the row of matrons, each of whom he greeted with due charm and ceremony, taking great relish in their eagerness to speak to him. Ah, there was Madame Oudendijk, who seemed to think he was minded to propose to Françoise this very evening, for there was a touch of the mother-in-law in the way she rested her hand on his arm, to which he responded by showering her with refined little compliments about her daughter, and oh, how she lapped them up! He said Françoise had mentioned to him that she would love to ride; perhaps her mother could buy her a horse? What a pretty picture she would make riding side saddle! Waiting for her answer, he imagined he could read her thoughts: let him give Françoise a horse if that’s what she wants, and himself into the bargain! But he had no intention of doing anything of the kind.

. .

He moved away, and in passing overheard Uncle Verstraeten and Henk discussing the likelihood of Eline returning to The Hague in the summer. He recalled having heard something about Eline having plans to stay with his mother. Well, that would be very nice, having such a pretty girl in the house. . How old was she now? Twenty-five, at a guess — young enough at any rate to be good company, and he resolved to see if he could make her fall in love with him, just for fun.

Returning to the salon, he found the bride and groom and their entourage besieged by the crowd. His appearance caused a stir, and when several girls ran towards him to berate him for shirking his duties as best man, he put up a comical defence.

‘Paul’s such a card nowadays!’ giggled Léonie.

He gave a condescending smile and looked past her at Frédérique, who was talking to Georges as they waited for the music to begin.

‘Come on, I’ve got so much to tell you!’ he said to Léonie, feeling a twinge of regret at the distance between him and Frédérique. ‘But remember, we’re supposed to be talking, not dancing.’

‘Oh, please, Paul, just a little whirl?’

But after that first whirl he resolutely steered his young partner through the crowd to a settee at the back shaded by overhanging palms.

‘Léonie, now be a good girl and say something nice!’

‘But I thought you had so much to tell me!’ she countered coquettishly.

He was about to reply when he caught sight of Françoise coming towards them, fluttering her hands as she threaded her way through the surge of dancers.

‘Is there any room for me on the sofa?’ she asked. ‘You invited me to be your conversation partner, remember?’

‘Ah! so you’ve decided to accept after all, simply because you haven’t found a dancing partner I suppose. Well, now it’s my turn to decline — be off! Away with you!’

‘Oh, Paul, have mercy on me! Let me sit here with you, it was hard enough getting here in the crush, please don’t send me away!’

He was merciful and shifted to the middle of the sofa so that Françoise could sit on his other side, which left him half submerged in their bouffant tarlatan skirts.

‘And now for some fun with the grand parade!’ he said, in a lordly manner.

The threesome settled back to observe the black tails and billowing skirts reeling past. Paul borrowed Françoise’s fan to beat time with, and leant back like a sultan to enjoy the running commentary of his mirthful companions.

‘Ah, there’s Freddie! An excellent dancer!’ exclaimed Françoise as Georges and Freddie hove into view, and the threesome clapped their hands so vigorously that they caused the settee to jolt on its legs.

‘Sheer, sheer madness!’ cried Paul, bouncing up and down, crumpling their frocks.

‘Ah, talk about being mad!’ said Françoise. ‘So tell me, Paul, why you’re so mad these days? You were going to tell me, remember?’

‘Because I’m mad about you!’ he gushed. ‘Yes, mad about you, Françoise! I’m dying of love for you! Let me kiss you!’

Françoise recoiled in mock horror, upon which Léonie exploded with laughter.

. .

The music stopped for the intermission; it was time to bring in the trestle tables, which had been laid up beforehand to enable the swift conversion of the reception suite into an elegant restaurant.

The guests dispersed themselves about the hall and the conservatory, whence the pianist had departed, forming small clusters amid much banter and fluttering of fans, and a magical golden dust seemed to descend on the entire gathering, setting each glance, each smile, each peal of laughter aglow with contagious euphoria.

Madame Verstraeten approached the young bride and whispered in her ear: was she not tired? Lili assured her she was not. She lay back in her cane chair and sniffed the wilting jasmine in her bouquet, rejoicing in the sight of so much celebration and laughter — and all of it in her honour, simply because she was marrying her Georges! She felt quite the little queen appearing before a cheering multitude, especially now that Paul’s loud voice had drawn everyone to the conservatory. Everyone crowded round to hear what he was saying to the bride and groom, and when he was finished he jokingly invited Léonie and Françoise to come and sit on his lap, one on each knee.

Marie’s accusations that his manners were worsening by the day fell on deaf ears: he had already sprung to his feet, having caught sight of young Cateau van der Stoor peering round the door of the conservatory. Ah, he would now show compunction for a change.

‘Are you very cross with me, Cateau, for pulling your leg?’

‘Oh, I didn’t even notice,’ she said, but her quivering lip betrayed her.

He offered her his sincere apologies, rolling his eyes and begging her to reserve a dance for him.

‘I have no dances left!’ Cateau retorted triumphantly, showing her dance card.

‘But I must dance with you! I insist! Let me see: Hijdrecht, Hijdrecht — two dances with Hijdrecht! But that’s not fair! Why don’t you go and tell him you want to dance with me?’

‘But I daren’t!’

‘He won’t bite, you know! Please, Cateau, come with me, I want that dance!’

He pulled her along in search of Hijdrecht and made her retract her promise for the next Scottish reel.

Cateau was somewhat annoyed with herself for letting him have his way, but it was impossible to refuse Paul anything.

‘Right then, see you later, and you’re not angry with me any more, are you, dearest Cateau?’ he murmured beseechingly.

‘I’m not your dearest Cateau by any means!’ she scoffed, inwardly gratified by his effort to make amends.

. .

The long table in the centre was occupied by the bride and groom and their entourage, while the smaller tables were occupied by groups of four. Paul was in excellent humour, for he had not only danced the polka with Frédérique but also found himself placed beside her at the table, and he submitted with remarkably good grace to Marie’s admonitions about his forwardness with all the girls. Etienne was flushed from drinking champagne, and grew maudlin, lamenting the pointlessness of dancing and disporting oneself when life was so short and sad!

After supper Paul waltzed again with Freddie, and it seemed to him that this second waltz was even sweeter than the first, the effect of several toasts of sparkling champagne being compounded by the intoxicating whirl of pink tulle, and all was froth and ebullience between them. Yet he had a feeling that he could not be truly in love with her, because although she was certainly the prettiest of them all, the other girls struck him as rather attractive, too, and afterwards, when he and Etienne led the cotillion, he outdid himself in inventing brand-new figures for them all to follow.

With the party drawing to a close he was mobbed by the girls, who pranced about challenging him to run and catch them, and in the middle of the last dance he played an impromptu game of tag, which ended with Ange and Françoise crashing into a potted azalea and Emilie de Woude pronouncing the ball to have degenerated into a veritable bacchanal.

‘Oh, it’s all Paul’s fault, it’s Paul’s fault!’ they all cried out.

The wraps were brought into the dining room and the guests began to leave. It was three o’clock in the morning.

‘You were so much nicer this evening than yesterday, Freddie,’ said Paul, helping her with her cloak.

She smiled dreamily, wondering whether she had said anything she shouldn’t have, but she could not recall anything untoward.

Paul set off homeward with several other young men. He turned up his collar, thrust his hands in his pockets, and thought back on how he had fared this evening. Well, there was no doubt in his mind — they were all mad about him, every single one of them!

. .

The church wedding took place the following Thursday morning. All agreed that Lili made a lovely young bride as she entered the church on the arm of her young husband-to-be, delicately pale and blonde in the white mist of her veil, with her long train of heavy white moiré and her pageboys Ben van Raat and Nico van Rijssel. Behind them followed Mr de Woude and Madame Verstraeten, then Mr Verstraeten and Emilie, with the ushers and bridesmaids, the witnesses and other members of the family bringing up the rear. At one o’clock the carriages departed to Prinsessegracht for the wedding breakfast, the final event in the celebrations, during which well-wishing toasts were brought out and tears were shed, notably by Madame Verstraeten, and also by Lili and Marie. By seven o’clock there was only a small gathering of intimates left in the drawing room. The newlyweds, bound for a fortnight in Paris, had slipped away earlier, but not before Marie had whispered tearful assurances to Lili that their love nest in Atjehstraat would be in perfect order for them when they returned.

Old Madame van Raat and Emilie, Henk and Betsy, Frédérique, Otto and Paul stayed a while to keep the Verstraetens company. Attempts were made to keep up a lively conversation, but a pall of melancholy seemed to have settled on the drawing room, mingling with the dying perfumes of the bouquets and flower baskets. Mr Verstraeten dithered about, irked by all the flowers and greenery and inwardly more moved than he cared to admit, now and then tapping his wife on the shoulder in passing to press a rapid kiss on her brow. Emilie said it was time she was going, and gave him a farewell embrace, whispering that she hoped he was not vexed with her for her persistence on behalf of her young brother’s love for his daughter. . When Otto, too, took his leave, Marie was so moved by the sadness in his voice that she had to fight back her tears, and she fled upstairs to the rooms she had shared with Lili for as long as she could remember, which would henceforth be hers alone.

The first sight to meet her eyes was Lili’s wedding dress lying across the deserted bed, with its long white train hanging over the side and trailing on the carpet; her veil and orange blossom lay in a crumpled heap on a chair, the dainty white satin shoes discarded at some distance from each another. She sat on the side of Lili’s bed in tears, and took up a rustling handful of the moiré train. It reminded her of a shroud. She had a sense of utter desolation — Lili was gone, and it almost felt as if she was dead and buried. Then the door opened and Dien came in.

‘There, there, dearie, don’t upset yourself! You know she’ll be back soon, and they won’t be living far away. You can see her every day if you want. My oh my! How pretty she looked in her white wedding dress! Such a fine-looking pair, too,’ said Dien, with a catch in her voice. She crossed to the window and drew the net curtain away to let the afternoon sun stream into the room.

‘Ah yes, so it goes, so it goes. You raise your children for all those years and then they go off to the Indies, or they get married, and leave you all lonely and forlorn. Fancy you, crying! Did you really believe you would stay in this house for the rest of your life? You’ll see, you’ll find a husband, too; when the time is right you will marry, that’s how it always goes, you mark my words!’

Marie smiled through her tears. ‘Oh, what would you know about it, Dien! I might become an old maid for all you know!’

‘My dear child, you must be joking! No, that would never suit you. It will be your turn next, you mark my words!’

Marie had to laugh. The sun slanting in was like a ray of hope and expectation, and it set the creased moiré of the wedding dress ashimmer with dazzling light. That was no shroud, it was a festive dress, white as snowdrops, worn to mark the most wonderful of occasions! She felt a rush of optimism, and sat back, giving herself up to the sweet promise of spring sunshine until all budded and blossomed in her soul.