Eline Vere

XXXIV

At the onset of winter it seemed to Frédérique that her soul, which had previously felt as light and free as a bird, was labouring under a burden of lead. It seemed to her that she had committed some secret crime, that she had murdered Paul, as it were, and that Mathilda and Marie were the only people in the world who knew about it. She had grown taciturn and withdrawn, and her remorse tempered the dark shimmer of her eyes to a soft, soulful glow.

She had not seen Paul since he had moved to Bodegraven, and he very rarely visited The Hague nowadays. Had he left on her account? Or was his ambition to become a mayor just another fad, much like his earlier efforts at making a career out of singing, or painting, or his short spell at Hovel’s law office? Did he ever think of her? Or had he forgotten all about that sunny morning at De Horze when he kissed her and asked her to be his wife? And supposing he still thought of her, was it with regret or with indifference?

She could not answer these questions, which plagued her the moment she found herself alone.

At length she had resigned herself to the idea that she would not be seeing Paul any more, so it came as rather a shock when she spotted him in the street one day, coming in her direction. Her heart pounded, the blood left her cheeks, and had she been obliged to speak she would have found it impossible to utter a syllable. When he drew near he tipped his hat, to which she responded with a brief nod of the head, and they passed one another wordlessly. She proceeded on her way with quaking knees, wondering whether he had noted her consternation.

That afternoon, when she rang the bell at Prinsessegracht and the door was answered by Bet, she began by asking:

‘Are there any other callers?’

‘Yes, Miss, that is to say, young Madame van Raat with her young lad, and also the Eekhof ladies.’

‘No one else?’

‘No, no one else, Miss.’

Frédérique hesitated a moment. Paul might yet arrive. But it was also possible that he had already called earlier. Whatever the case, she could say she was pressed for time and leave quickly; it was just that she dearly wished to see Marie for a moment.

Frédérique went in. The elders were in the conservatory with Betsy; Marie was in the drawing room with Ange and Léonie; Ben sat quietly on Ange’s lap while tea was being served. After greeting Marie’s parents, Frédérique went to sit with the girls. Suddenly she overheard Betsy in the adjoining conservatory:

‘Paul is in town, you know. He had coffee with us today.’

Ben twisted round on his aunt’s lap, slowly repeating in his slurred voice:

‘Uncle Paul — Uncle Paul had coffee with us.’

‘Did he now? And did you like that, my podgy little poppet?’ cooed Ange, slightly disconcerted by the child’s docility.

The conversation turned to Paul; the Eekhof girls asked how he was getting on in Bodegraven and would it be long before he was appointed mayor. They thought it very odd of Paul to want to be a mayor — surely he was not stiff enough.

‘Has he been here?’ Frédérique asked with apparent indifference, but Marie understood how much she cared.

‘No,’ she answered. ‘He might drop by later, though.’

Frédérique’s mind was a blur: did she want him to see him arrive unexpectedly, or did she not really want to see him at all? She had come because she wanted to see Marie, and here she was, with Marie, but she could hardly pour her heart out in the presence of the Eekhof girls. Ah well, perhaps that was a good thing.

What was there to say, anyway? Words were no help.

She accepted Betsy’s offer to drop her off on her way home, and in the carriage she almost wept at the thought of that first, fleeting encounter with Paul after so many months of silence.

. .

A few days later, when Frédérique thought Paul had already returned to Bodegraven, she ran into him again. She had decided on a whim to call at the Verstraetens’, and, setting eyes on him in the salon, she felt the blood drain from her cheeks just like the first time, but it was late afternoon and the light was dim, so no one noticed. Georges and Lili were there too, and after greeting everyone Frédérique extended her hand to Paul, who had risen when she made her entrance. She wavered between calling him Paul or Mr van Raat, but only for a moment, realising that the latter form of address would attract undue attention. He answered quite simply:

‘Hello, Freddie.’

Lili was complaining to Madame Verstraeten about her butcher and her milkman, until Marie broke in, saying she was becoming a dreadful bore with her constant fretting about her housekeeping. Lili countered that she was not fretting at all, it was just that she would not tolerate being treated lightly by tradesmen. Paul had been conversing with Uncle Verstraeten, but he now turned to Frédérique, addressing her in such a relaxed, natural tone of voice that she was quite taken aback.

‘It has been such a long time since we met, Freddie! How are you? And your family?’

‘Oh, very well thank you.’

‘Next time I come I shall pay a visit to your mama. Do give her my warm regards, will you? And Mathilda, too, of course. Is Etienne still hard at work?’

‘Yes, he’s extraordinarily diligent these days.’

Paul laughed.

‘Poor boy. I am glad to hear he is coping so well. Have you been going out much this winter? How is the season?’

‘It has only just started, really. The Eekhofs will be giving their annual ball in February — in the Hotel des Indes this time.’

‘Yes, I know. Ange asked me to come over for it.’

She was mortified by the triviality of his remarks, to which she felt she had to respond in kind while her heart was convulsed with emotion. Had he really forgotten?

It seemed that he had, for he continued in the same vein, asking after the opera, the Diligentia concerts, Marguerite van Laren’s wedding and so forth, and although Marie frequently put in a word or two, all those inconsequential questions struck Frédérique like arrows aimed exclusively at her. Mustering all her strength, however, she recovered her old sense of dignity, and succeeded in conversing with appropriate lightness. She recalled what she had said to him that morning at De Horze: that there was no reason for any hard feelings just because he had proposed to her and she hadn’t taken him seriously, and that she wasn’t naive like the other girls.

Oh, she knew she had dealt a blow to his pride by her haughty rebuffal of his advances, and however amiable and relaxed he sounded now, in reality he was seething with resentment against her.

. .

That evening, after dinner, Paul flung himself in an easy chair. ‘When will you return to Bodegraven?’ his mother asked softly.

‘Tomorrow morning.’

‘Will you stay the night?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘Do feel free to light a cigar, my dear, I don’t mind if you smoke. Would you like some coffee?’

‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

Leentje was summoned to provide coffee, and Madame seated herself in her favourite armchair for her moment of post-prandial repose. She closed her eyes, sunk in thought. How pleasant it was to have Paul sitting across the room with his glass of cognac and cigar; such a shame, though, that he and she seemed to have drifted apart lately. They seemed to have become quite estranged. She searched her conscience for clues to explain the distance that had come between them, but found nothing, although it was true that she had doted on Henk when he was a boy, and also that Paul had caused her concern at times with his capricious, indolent nature. She felt a great, instinctive surge of pity for her younger son, in whom she surmised some kind of grief that was beyond her comprehension, yet the more she pitied him, the more remote he seemed to her.

Through half-closed eyes she stole a glance at Paul, who was staring at the ceiling and blowing rings of cigar smoke in apparent rumination. He gave a start when she addressed him softly:

‘Tell me, Paul, are you are sure you are all right? You are not ill, are you?’

He sat up and smiled.

‘Whatever makes you say that?’ he asked. ‘I don’t look ill, do I? In fact everybody tells me I have grown stouter.’

He gave her a searching look: what was she thinking? He was touched by her concern, for it was soothing to him, albeit futile.

‘That is as may be,’ responded Madame van Raat hopefully. ‘Still, you must admit that you have changed. Am I right in thinking that there might be something troubling you?’

‘Something troubling me? Of course not!’

‘Is your work disappointing? Don’t you find it rather dull, living in a village?’

‘Well, it’s not the height of entertainment, of course. But I don’t mind. The Hague gets boring too, after a while.’

‘So you are sure you are all right, then?’

‘Oh, mother, please stop fussing! There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m as fit as a fiddle.’

‘I am glad to hear it, my dear boy.’

She suppressed a sigh, leant back in her chair and closed her eyes. The gulf between them was as wide as ever. Time passed, and Paul thought she was asleep. At the sound of a stifled sob he looked up to see her weeping quietly, her face hidden in her hands.

‘Mama dear, what’s the matter?’ he cried.

‘Nothing, it’s nothing,’ she murmured.

He rose from his armchair and went to sit beside his mother.

‘Tell me, why are you crying? It’s my fault, isn’t it?’

The unwonted gentleness in his tone made her melt away in sorrow.

‘No, my child, it is none of your fault, but it is so sad, so very sad—’

‘What is?’

‘The way young people always lock themselves up so you can’t reach them any more. Eline was just the same, and it distressed me greatly. And now it’s your turn — my own child! Because I can sense that you are keeping something from me, something that is causing you sadness.’

‘I assure you—’

‘Don’t assure me that is not the case, there’s no need to spare my feelings. I know, my child, believe me, I know. I have known for months. And I dearly wanted to ask you to confide in me, but I was afraid you would tell me that it was no concern of mine. And I am not asking you to confide in me now, either, I’m only crying because it all makes me so sad. Nor do I blame you for being the way you are; all you young people are the same, refusing to put your faith in your elders. And yet, you know, it can do a world of good to share your troubles with someone who loves you. And who could love you more than your own mother? But no, you just keep a still tongue in your head. People only think of themselves nowadays, of their own joys and their own sorrows. Ah well, I suppose it can’t be helped. But it makes me sad, so very sad.’

She wept noiselessly, bowed by that cruel ruling of fate by which parents become estranged from their offspring. Her son, with quivering lips and tears in his eyes, remained silent.

‘You see your child labouring under some dreadful burden as the months go by, and yet his heart is closed to you; there is nothing you can do because you have nothing to offer. The less said the better, everyone seems to think.’

A sob of compassion for his mother escaped him, and he buried his face in his hands. She laid her arm gently about his neck, and it broke her heart to feel her tall, strong son weeping in her embrace. She pressed her lips to his head of thick, tawny hair.

‘I am not reproaching you for anything, my darling boy, there, there, don’t cry.’

‘Can’t you understand that some things are too painful to talk about? That it’s less painful to keep them to oneself?’ he murmured, clinging to her.

‘For a time, yes, but don’t you think you would feel a great deal better for having shared your sorrow with someone?’

‘I don’t know, I really don’t know!’ he faltered.

She said nothing, but he remained in her arms, savouring the sweet consolation of maternal love. He waited, hoping that she would urge him again to confide in her. But she did not, and to end the silence he began to speak of his own accord.

‘I can’t imagine how you knew. I thought I was putting on a pretty good face, that I was the same as ever. I didn’t even want to think about it either, because I couldn’t stand how much it affected me. As if I couldn’t live without that creature!’

He related to his mother how he had proposed to Frédérique and how she had rejected him in such a disdainful, insulting manner. He admitted that for some time he had felt very low as a result, but he would soon get over it: it was too absurd.

‘Don’t you love her any more?’ asked Madame van Raat.

Hearing him say ‘that creature’, her first thought had been of Eline, and when she discovered that he meant Freddie, she could not help feeling a flicker of relief.

‘No, no I don’t love her!’ he replied, shaking his head vigorously. ‘Oh no! Not any more.’

She lifted his chin with her hand and gazed into his eyes a long moment.

‘Why are you so different from the way you used to be?’ she asked reproachfully, doubting his denial. ‘Why have you become so quiet lately, and so unforthcoming? But I won’t quiz you any further, my child; you need not tell me more than you wish. Only, please do not deceive me, Paul, I should prefer you to say nothing rather than that.’

‘Oh, you are such a dear!’ he faltered. ‘And it has done me a power of good to have told you, even though it’s rather embarrassing.’

‘If you no longer love her,’ she pursued, tousling his hair with her fingers, ‘then it is only your vanity that has been hurt, Paul, and that is something you can easily put behind you. Still, I find it hard to believe that you should have stopped caring for Freddie. But as I said, my dear boy, I do not wish to pry, nor do I wish to cause you pain. I just want to thank you for trusting me enough to share your troubles with me at last. Now tell me, you do believe that your old mother loves you, don’t you?’

He nodded, tightening his embrace. All at once she noticed how much he resembled his father in the life-sized portrait on the wall — more so than Henk — and she had a sense of wonder at the overwhelming rush of love she felt for her young son in his time of heartache.

. .

Marie’s bouts of gaiety were over. She no longer collapsed into fits of helpless, happy laughter as she had done so often when she and Emilie de Woude had such fun putting the finishing touches to Georges and Lili’s new abode. She became resigned to the disillusionment she had suffered, and she saw her life stretching ahead of her like a dismal fog of monotonous grey, especially now that her brother Jan had left for the military academy in Breda and the house had grown distressingly dull. She longed for some animation, and envied Frédérique the lively company of the Van Rijssel children, who filled Madame van Erlevoort’s spacious home with such cheer.

Otto never visited The Hague. She had not seen him since August, when she had been staying at De Horze, and she cherished the memory of the few occasions she had found herself alone with him, when they had talked and strolled together in the park. Not that their conversations had been in any way intimate or important, but to her they were like small, sweet oases in the desert of her disappointment.

Only once, during those early months of winter, had her subdued mood of acceptance been disrupted by a crisis of emotion. It was brought on by a remark made by Frédérique, who, talking of how lonely it must be for Otto in the village of Elzen, suddenly exclaimed:

‘Oh, Marie, you would have made Otto such a good wife! At least you would have appreciated him.’

‘Me?’ she had responded timidly, attempting to smile. After Frédérique had gone she had lapsed into a flood of bitter tears. But after an hour everything was the same as before: blanketed by a grey fog of disillusionment, to which she, as usual, accommodated herself.

One day, Marie was surprised to receive a visit from Madame van Raat. Marie said she was sorry that Aunt Dora had not chosen a more propitious moment to call, as her father had gone to visit Lili and her mother was out shopping, but her aunt maintained that she would be delighted to have a chat with Marie instead, and plumped herself down in an armchair. She was not usually talkative, but this time she launched into all manner of topics, even enquiring after the ball given by the Eekhof girls. She mentioned a letter from Eline, and what a good thing it was that Paul was doing so well in Bodegraven and that he seemed very steady in his resolve to pursue his chosen career. Marie was glad to hear her speak so approvingly of her son, as until then she had only known her to frown on Paul’s behaviour. She also thought it very amiable of Aunt Dora to say, in parting:

‘By the way, how is Freddie? I have not seen her for such a long time. You can tell her from me that I am beginning to think she has forgotten all about me — she has not called on me for months! Tell her she is a naughty girl, will you?’

‘Yes, Aunt, so I shall!’ responded Marie with a light smile. Madame van Raat departed, leaving Marie wondering whether Aunt Dora had any notion of what had transpired between Paul and Freddie.

. .

When Frédérique heard from Marie that Madame van Raat was expecting her to call, her feelings were mixed. She had been avoiding the house at Laan van Meerdervoort out of a sense of discretion mingled with regret and embarrassment. But now that she had been summoned, she thought it likely that Paul’s mother had no knowledge of her son’s proposal. Besides, Paul had made it quite clear that he wanted to let bygones be bygones, and so, thinking it would be impolite of her to neglect the dear old lady any longer, she decided to pay her a visit.

But her heart beat fearfully as she rang the bell. Here she was, calling on Madame van Raat as a mere acquaintance, whereas if only things had been different, she might have come as her daughter-in-law.

Madame van Raat gave Frédérique a warm welcome. She was eager to know how her young visitor was keeping, and eyed her intently as she responded to various innocuous questions. Her thoughts flew back to the time when, observing Paul with Eline, she had entertained something akin to a hopeful expectation, and now she could not resist drawing a comparison between Eline’s faded elegance and Frédérique’s rosy freshness, tinged only by the faintest suggestion of melancholy. But notwithstanding the girl’s beauty, Paul’s mother felt a pang of aggrievement, on behalf of her son. Frédérique was so lovely, so healthy, and she was making her poor son suffer in silence. She did not think herself possessed of a talent for diplomacy, nor did she have a clear notion of her own eventual motives, all she knew was that she dearly wished to deepen her acquaintance with Frédérique. With any luck she would gain some insight into what the girl was feeling as she chatted to the mother of the suitor she had rejected. But the time was not ripe for plumbing the depths of Frédérique’s character, and the rules of polite society were not to be transgressed. On the other hand, she could not help thinking how agreeable the girl was, how open-hearted and amiable, and how winsome, with none of Eline’s self-conscious airs and graces! No, it was inconceivable that Freddie should have wilfully toyed with Paul’s emotions. . she simply did not love him enough, or. . there might be other reasons, which she preferred not to dwell on for the time being.

‘Well my dear, at least you have made amends now!’ said Madame van Raat when Freddie took her leave. ‘But you won’t make me send out a summons again, will you? I am all alone here, and I do so like to see a young face from time to time.’

Frédérique kissed her goodbye, promising to call again soon.

In the days that followed Madame van Raat went about her business with a faintly knowing smile on her lips and a calculating look in her eye. Through the mist of her habitually passive disposition she had caught a glimpse of a new goal to her existence. That goal was not going to be easy to attain, nor was it by any means near. She knew she had been too optimistic in trusting Dr Reijer’s judgment when he maintained that she had the ability to contribute to Eline’s recovery, and was afraid she might risk an even greater disillusionment now that the happiness of her own child was at stake. But being a pious soul, she prayed to God for guidance.

The next time Paul spent a few days in The Hague his mother did not breathe a word to him about Frédérique, nor about the conversation she had had with her. When she received a second visit from Frédérique she mentioned how much she enjoyed having someone read to her. Eline used to read to her sometimes in the past, but had grown tired very quickly. Lately Marie had been so kind as to do her this favour on several occasions. Why did not Frédérique join them one evening? Frédérique promised to do so, with some misgivings, because the more amicable Madame became, the more awkward she felt, for the old lady never gave any intimation that Paul had told her of his proposal, and if she had known, she would surely not have been quite so effusive in her manner towards her. But Frédérique allowed herself to be persuaded, and became a regular visitor at Laan van Meerdervoort. She never met Paul there, as she did not visit when she knew him to be in town; nor did Madame, who kept her deepening friendship with Frédérique secret from her son, ask to see her at those times.

One blustery evening, when Madame van Raat was expecting Marie and Frédérique, the latter came alone, as Marie was feeling indisposed. Frédérique offered to take Marie’s place as reader, and the women settled themselves in the spacious salon, where the red-shaded gas lamps spread a rosy glow and the kettle sang for tea. On a low table lay Volume II of Tolstoy’s War and Peace.

This time, however, the book was to remain unopened, as Madame was more in the mood for conversation. She talked of nothing but Paul: how serious he had become, and how he had always been a good boy at heart. He had sown his wild oats, but had now developed into a fine, sensible young man. It could have been so different — after all, for a young man to have a fortune was not always a good thing. Oh, she was very pleased with how he had turned out; and Freddie had always liked him too, had she not?

‘Well, you always liked him, didn’t you?’ Madame van Raat repeated with feeling, after Freddie had stammered an unintelligible reply.

‘Oh yes, indeed!’ Freddie managed to say.

‘Talking of Paul,’ Madame pursued in a confidential tone, ‘there is something that I have been wanting to ask you, Freddie. You don’t mind, do you?’

She had laid her hand on the girl’s arm, and could feel it trembling. Frédérique had a sense of being trapped: the old lady had spun a web of sympathy and familiarity around her, from which she could not disentangle herself.

‘Of course not! Ask what you wish,’ she stammered, dreading the question.

‘I wanted to ask you whether, by any chance, there has been any unpleasantness between you and Paul. What made me wonder was that he seems to act rather strangely every time someone happens to mention your name. There’s something troubling him, I can tell. And because I know he can be quite rude at times, I thought he might have offended you in some way. I do hope that is not the case. Is it?’

‘Oh no, not at all, I assure you.’

‘Go on, dear, you can confide in me, you know. Paul is not always on his best behaviour, in fact I’m afraid he is a bit of a prankster, and when I see the way he teases Francoise van Oudendijk and the Eekhof girls I can’t help being amazed that they don’t seem to mind at all. Or rather, I used to see him acting flirtatiously, but he has become much more sensible lately. So you see, I can well imagine that you were annoyed with him for some reason or another, and he with you in return. Now if you would only tell me what that reason was. .’

‘But dear lady, I assure you, nothing happened!’ she cried, struggling against her tears. ‘There was nothing, nothing at all!’

Paul’s mother gave her an incredulous stare.

‘My dear, what a fibber you are! Fie on you! Can’t you see that if you do not tell me the truth I shall only be worried, allowing all manner of things to enter my head — disagreeable ones, too! But my dear, you are not crying, are you?’

The evening had been torture for Frédérique from the moment she arrived, owing to Madame van Raat’s constant allusions to the strained relation between Paul and herself, and she could contain herself no longer.

‘Why won’t you believe me?’ she broke out, with an accusatory sob.

‘Because if nothing happened,’ said Madame van Raat, putting her arms about Frédérique, ‘there is no reason for you to be so upset, is there? Forgive me if I have caused you pain, but what did you expect me to think, Freddie? What am I to think of your being so upset?’

‘Nothing! Don’t think anything! There is nothing the matter!’ Freddie wailed.

Madame van Raat drew her closer. ‘Now listen, Freddie, listen to me! Do you love Paul?’ she murmured.

Racked with sobs, Freddie tried to extricate herself, but the old lady only tightened her embrace.

‘Don’t go, Freddie, just stay close to me a moment and answer my question: do you love Paul? Do you love him very, very much?’

‘Why are you asking me that? Why do you want me to tell you?’

‘Because I believe that he loves you.’

‘No, no, he doesn’t care about me, he doesn’t love me, not any more.’

‘But he did once, and he may do so again! Oh, do tell me the truth, my dear — tell me what happened between you. Well, if you won’t tell me, shall I guess? Paul made advances to you, he trifled with your affection, and then neglected you. Is that what happened?’

‘No, no! Nothing like that, honestly! It was all my fault!’ Frédérique cried out. ‘How could you think such as thing of your son!’

‘Was it really your fault? Well then, did he ask you to marry him? And did you say no? I am only guessing, because of course I don’t know anything. But you shouldn’t tell fibs, my dear, just tell me the truth.’

Frédérique felt too worn out by this persistence to offer any more opposition, and she admitted defeat with a despairing nod, after which she hid her blazing face in Madame van Raat’s shoulder.

‘Why did you reject him?’

‘I think it was my pride. . it got the better of me.’

‘Did you not think my boy good enough?’

‘No, no, it wasn’t pride, really; it was more like jealousy, I think. He was so charming to all the other girls. . Oh, I’m not even sure why I turned him down.’

‘And do you regret it, my child?’

Frédérique recoiled in dismay.

‘But you mustn’t mention a word of this to him!’ she cried. ‘Not a word! Oh, please, promise me that you won’t say anything! You say you think he might yet love me, but I know for certain that it cannot be the case. And I would die of shame if he had any idea that I. . Oh, will you promise me that you won’t say anything?’

‘Of course I promise, my child. But there is no need for all this distress, now is there? I’m afraid I have made you unhappy, for which I am truly sorry. But really, don’t you think you have behaved rather foolishly? Now listen to me. Try looking on the bright side. Personally, I would not be at all surprised if Paul still loves you; in other words, anything might still happen.’

‘But I was horrible to him! He hates me!’

‘Nonsense, dear! There, there, you must stop crying, Freddie. But now it is my turn to ask a promise of you now: will you try to believe that Paul still loves you? Will you try for my sake?’

Freddie gazed at through her tears.

‘I wish I could, but. . it wouldn’t be right!’ she said tonelessly.

Madame’s knowing smile never left her face; she kissed Frédérique and gently brushed the teardrops from her cheeks.

When Frédérique had gone, Madame van Raat did not betake herself to bed at once as she usually did, but stayed up for a long while afterwards, musing contentedly on her efforts to inveigle Frédérique into an admission. Never had she imagined herself capable of such a feat of diplomacy!

. .

So now she knew: Freddie loved her boy. Why she had rebuffed him was still unclear, but her motives for doing so no longer seemed to be clear to Freddie herself either. He had proposed, so much was evident. The next day Madame van Raat sent a note to her son asking him to come and visit her without delay, as she wished to hear his opinion on certain money matters. Paul complied with promptness and astonishment. Money matters? It was always Henk whom she consulted regarding the family finances, and besides, what did he know about money? That was exactly why she had summoned him, she declared: it was high time that he learnt to manage his own financial affairs. He shrugged, saying that he was sure that his brother was much better at such things than he was, whereupon she launched into a long and convoluted exposé to persuade him of the necessity of taking himself in hand, at the end of which she remarked, as though at random:

‘Freddie came to see me yesterday evening. Such a sweet girl. Such a shame. .’

‘Freddie? I didn’t know you and she saw each other.’

‘Oh yes, quite often.’

‘Often? I thought. .’

‘What, dear boy? Freddie often comes by of an evening, with Marie; they read to me, you see. Didn’t you know?’

‘No I didn’t.’

‘How odd; I thought you knew. We talk about you sometimes.’

‘About me? Does she talk about me?’

‘Well, not all the time, but whenever I mention you she responds very sweetly. Of course she doesn’t know you’ve told me everything, dear boy. So she is not aware that I know what passed between you.’

‘It’s a bit surprising that she should call on you, though.’

‘Not at all. No one knows about that, anyway.’

‘It still seems rather strange to me. I mean, that she can bring herself to come here. And also that you can sit and talk with her, exchanging pleasantries as if nothing had happened.’

‘Indeed, my dear Paul. It is true that I was vexed with her at first, but I have grown very fond of her since. Actually, I firmly believe that she loves you. Paul. And it is because that is what I believe, or rather, because I know it for certain, that I no longer have any ill feeling towards her.’

‘Oh, Mama!’ he faltered. ‘How can you be so sure?’

‘I can’t explain, but everything tells me that it is so. Little things she says. . a word here, a word there. .’

He was too dazed by the rosy prospects unfolding in his mind’s eye to respond, and his mother pursued with her counsel:

‘It is perfectly clear that she loves you. The pair of you could still find happiness together. Next time you see her, try not to behave as if you don’t care, as if you have put it all behind you. You ought to get to know her a little better.’

‘Don’t you think I know her well enough?’

‘No, Paul, you do not. I assure you, God help me, that she loves you!’

‘But she can’t!’ he stammered. ‘It’s impossible! Oh, Mama, it’s impossible.’

‘That is what she said, too!’ thought the old lady, rising. She enfolded him in her arms once more.

‘But she does! She does love you, my dear, dear boy!’ she whispered. A radiant smile crossed her features, making her seem ten years younger than her age.

. .

She thought it best to leave them be for a while, now that she had instilled in both their minds the notion of a misapprehension that might yet be rectified, and she bided her time.

Paul kept delaying his return to Bodegraven. The day after his conversation with his mother he called at the Verstraetens’. He arrived at four, an hour at which the family was usually gathered together and there was most chance of Freddie dropping by. So disappointed was he when she did not appear that he could not help asking Marie in an urgent undertone:

‘Won’t Freddie be coming this afternoon?’

She was startled by the question. ‘I don’t know, Paul. Why do you ask?’

‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen her,’ he almost whispered.

Marie blushed; she wished she could tell him how sorry Freddie had been about how things had turned out last summer, but she did not dare, for fear of inadvertently snarling the delicate fabric of emotion between them. It was up to them to find a resolution, but when would they do so? Perhaps never, thought Marie.

Paul did not see Freddie that afternoon. During dinner he asked his mother:

‘What would you say if I paid the Van Erveloorts a visit this evening?’

‘I’m sure they would like that,’ she replied.

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Oh, just a word here and a word there. Enough for me to look on the bright side, at any rate. You’ll see, Paul.’

Her response did not clarify matters, but was reassuring to him nonetheless. After dinner he grew agitated and began to pace the room sunk in thought.

‘Do sit down, Paul, and don’t let your coffee go cold.’

‘At what time do you think I should call on Madame van Erlevoort?’

‘Not before eight, my dear. Between eight and half-past.’

‘I used to call at any time, quite casually!’

‘And that is precisely why you ought to avoid any suggestion of a casual call.’

He sighed. In that case he would have a glass of cognac first, he decided, wondering what Freddie could possibly have said to his mother. He took a book and pretended to read. Madame pretended to doze, but in reality she was no less nervous than Paul.

The clock struck half-past seven, and he flung his book aside.

‘It’s stuffy in here; I need some air. I think I’ll take a stroll first,’ he said. ‘I’m off.’

She smiled. ‘Good luck, my dear,’ she said softly.

. .

That evening the Verstraetens, accompanied by Georges and Lili, made their way to the Voorhout; a cable had been sent to Etienne in Leiden summoning him home, and Madame van Erlevoort had asked Henk and Betsy to come, too.

For the latter it was the first time since the rupture between Eline and Otto that they visited the Van Erlevoort residence. However, all feelings of antagonism had vanished. The festive spirit ran high, for the news of Paul and Freddie’s betrothal had come as a complete and very welcome surprise.

When Madame van Raat returned home that evening, worn out from the emotion, she felt too tired to undress for bed, and sank into her easy chair to sit for a while, her veined hands folded on her lap, her chin sunk onto her breast, filled with wonder at the successful outcome of her instinctive machinations. That she, for all her despondence and lassitude, had had a hand in it! But then it was her son’s happiness that was at stake, and her piety had given her strength.