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CHAPTER TWO

WITH HANS CLOSE behind her, Sarah mounted the steps and found the door open and a tall, bony middle-aged woman standing there. The woman said something in Dutch and offered a hand, and Sarah took it gratefully as Hans said, ‘This is my wife, Nel. She is housekeeper and speaks no English, but you will understand each other.’

Nel and Sarah smiled at each other hopefully as Hans opened the inner door of the lobby and ushered her into the hall. It was large and square with panelled walls and a very large chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. The black and white marble floor was exactly what anyone, having seen the pictures of Dutch interiors so often painted by the Dutch Old Masters, would have expected. The furniture was right, too: old chests, heavily carved, and massive armchairs capable of seating giants. Sarah followed Nel across the hall to the big double doors at one side, and was urged inside.

The room was just as vast as the hall, except there was no chandelier, only wall sconces and reading-lamps shaded in a delicate peach silk, and the furniture was a nice mixture of comfortable sofas and armchairs together with imposing display cabinets. The floor was carpeted and there was a fire burning under the hooded chimney-piece, so despite its grandeur it looked lived-in, almost homely.

Mevrouw Nauta got out of her chair by the fire as Nel stood aside and Sarah walked on alone.

‘Miss Fletcher,’ Mevrouw Nauta surged towards her and took her hand. ‘I—we are delighted to see you and we are so grateful to you for giving up your holidays in order to help us.’ She paused to say something to Nel, who went away. ‘I’m sure you would like a cup of coffee… We lunch at half-past twelve, so there is just time for you to see your room and have a little chat. You must find all this very confusing, but I have these strong feelings and I always act upon them. I simply felt sure that you were exactly right for my husband’s mother. She was brought back from hospital just an hour ago, and is resting quietly. You shall meet her presently—’ She broke off as Nel came back with a young girl carrying a tray of coffee. ‘Sit down, Miss Fletcher—must we call you that? Do you mind if we use your Christian name?’

‘Sarah,’ said Sarah. Mevrouw Nauta gave her the feeling that she was sitting in a strong wind—not unpleasant, but a bit overwhelming. She wondered fleetingly if the woman’s son felt the same way, although if he had grown up with her he would be used to it. The door opened and a tall, elderly man came in, undoubtedly the Professor’s father. He was white-haired and very slightly stooping, but had the same nose and blue eyes. Sarah, introduced, bade him a serene, ‘How do you do?’ and listened while he made her welcome. His voice was so like his son’s that if she shut her eyes it could have been the Professor speaking…

‘No sinecure,’ he was saying. ‘I hope Radolf made that clear. My mother is a fiery old lady even in these, the last days of her life. But I—and my son—have great faith in my wife’s intuition; I feel sure that you will cope admirably. We are most grateful.’

She drank her coffee from paper-thin china, and presently was borne away by Nel. ‘If you would like to unpack,’ suggested Mevrouw Nauta junior, ‘and return here, we will have lunch together before I take you to Mevrouw Nauta’s room.’ She hesitated. ‘I think probably Radolf did not mention free time and so on? I thought not. I must warn you that, if Mevrouw Nauta takes a fancy to you, it will be necessary for you to take any time to yourself while she is resting—she sleeps a good deal but she is difficult to sedate, and day and night are much the same to her.’

Sarah followed Nel up the grand staircase, reflecting that, however difficult the old lady was, it was only for a fortnight, and with the extra money from her fees she would take herself off for a walking holiday weekend in the Cotswolds later in the year. And really, when she saw the room Nel ushered her into, she decided that she had no reason to quibble however difficult the old lady was. It was large and high-ceilinged, with two long windows and a door between them opening on to a balcony. The carpet underfoot was deep and soft, and the furnishings were in a restful mushroom-pink with pink patterned curtains and bedspread. The bed and dressing-table were in the style of Sheraton, and there was a dear little writing-desk between the windows and a small armchair drawn up to a reading-table. She had a brief vision of her bedsit in London—the contrast was cruel, and there was no point in making it. She peeped into the adjoining bathroom, which was peach-pink and white, its fluffy towels, bowls of soap and bottles of lotions calling forth a sigh of pleasure from her, and then she started to unpack. It didn’t take long; she tidied herself and went down the staircase, feeling nervous. Hans was in the hall, and he ushered her into the drawing-room again. The Nautas gave her a drink, and engaged her in gentle talk until they crossed the hall to the dining-room, where she sat between them at a large, round mahogany table, eating the delicious food before her and keeping up her end of the conversation. After they had had their coffee she was led back upstairs, but this time they turned away from the gallery which overlooked the hall and went down a wide corridor. At a door halfway along it, Mevrouw Nauta paused. ‘I should have told you—it may be necessary for you to stay up late or get up in the night, so we have turned a small dressing-room next to my mother-in-law’s room into a bedroom for you, so that if you think it necessary you can sleep there and be at hand. We hope that there will be no need of that; we do not expect you to stay with her for twenty-four hours at a time, but as she grows weaker…’

‘I understand, Mevrouw Nauta—I won’t leave her if she wants my company.’

The room they entered was at the back of the house overlooking the garden, which sloped away in a vast sweep of lawn to a belt of trees. It was a very large room and the small four-poster bed against one wall was almost dwarfed by its size, although it in its turn was dwarfing the tiny figure lying in it. The Professor’s grandmother was a very small lady, and frail. All the same, the eyes she turned on her visitors were still a vivid blue and her voice, a mere thread of sound, sounded decidedly ill-tempered.

Sarah didn’t understand what she said, but then she switched to English, fluent but heavily accented. ‘So you’re the girl my son has decided I must have breathing down my neck. Well, my girl, I can’t say I’m glad to see you, for I’m not. Come over here so that I can look at you.’

This is far worse than anything I had imagined, reflected Sarah, obligingly going to stand in a patch of sunlight. She stood still, looking a good deal calmer than she felt, and looked back at the cross face.

‘Well, why did you come?’ demanded the old lady.

‘Because I was asked to.’

‘You’re being paid? Too much, I’ll be bound.’

‘Of course I’m being paid, Mevrouw; as to whether it’s too much, I cannot say because I don’t know.’

‘Hmm—got a tongue in your head, too.’ The blue eyes turned upon Mevrouw Nauta junior. ‘Adele, go away while I talk to this girl.’

Mevrouw Nauta said something in a soothing tone and went away, and the old lady said briskly in her worn-out voice, ‘Get a chair and come and sit by me. What’s your name?’

‘Sarah.’ She sat obediently, and waited patiently while her companion closed her eyes and appeared to snooze for a few minutes.

‘I’m dying, do you know that?’

‘I have been told that you are very ill,’ said Sarah cautiously.

‘Have you met my grandson?’

‘Yes. I work in the hospital where he is a consultant.’

‘Like him?’

‘I don’t know him. I’m a clerk—’

‘No looks to speak of,’ muttered the old lady. ‘Nice eyes, doesn’t cringe, thank heaven. Give me a drink, Sarah.’ The water revived her. ‘Radolf isn’t married.’ She gave a naughty cackle of laughter. ‘Setting your cap at him?’

Sarah laughed. ‘Good gracious, no. He doesn’t like me overmuch, you know, and I only work at the clinic where he’s the consultant. I think perhaps you don’t quite understand—we don’t move in the same circles.’

‘No looks, but not dim either,’ said Mevrouw Nauta senior. ‘I like to be read to. Late at night when everyone else is asleep.’ She stared at Sarah. ‘Did they tell you that? That I like company during the small hours? Not that you’ll have to put up with that for long. If I don’t like you, I shall say so.’

‘Very sensible,’ agreed Sarah pleasantly. ‘Would you like me to read to you now?’

‘Yes. Jane Eyre, over there on that table by the window. My daughter-in-law has been reading it to me, and it’s almost finished. I’ll have Pride and Prejudice next, not that there will be time to read it to the end.’

Sarah had fetched the book and opened it at the marker.

‘Do you know how old I am?’

‘Yes, Mevrouw Nauta, ninety.’

‘The Nautas live long lives, but of course we none of us can go on forever.’

‘I don’t suppose that would be very pleasant,’ agreed Sarah, and she began to read. She had a pleasant, very clear voice, and she read steadily until she glanced up and saw that the old lady was asleep. She put the marker back in the book and walked over to the window and looked out. The garden was quite beautiful and it was very quiet—after the noise and bustle of London it was bliss. But she doubted if she would have much opportunity to enjoy it. It seemed to her that she was expected to spend her days and nights with the old lady, with only the briefest of respites when it was convenient. But this gloomy outlook was quite wrong. Just before four o’clock, while the old lady still slept, Mevrouw Nauta came back.

‘There has been little time to talk,’ she observed. ‘You must be thinking that we intended leaving you here for the rest of the day. I always have my tea up here, so you will be free for an hour at least. Then, if you will come back until just before eight o’clock, while you have dinner my mother-in-law’s maid will make her ready for the night—that takes about an hour. It is then that I must ask you to take over until Mevrouw Nauta goes to sleep; she likes to be read to, and she loves to talk although it exhausts her. If she falls asleep around midnight, then she will not wake before six o’clock or later, but if she has a bad night then I am afraid I must ask you to sleep in the dressing-room…’ She looked rather anxiously at Sarah. ‘I think that Radolf didn’t make all this quite clear to you? I thought not. During the day someone will relieve you for an hour or two so that you may feel free to do as you like. There is a pool in the garden if you like to swim and books in the library, and the village is close by. Of course, if her condition worsens, you may have to stay with her for longer periods. We shall do our best to make it up to you later. Now, do go and have your tea—you will find it in the drawing-room—and then take a stroll round the garden. There will still be time for you to change for the evening before you come back here.’

Thank heaven for the dove-grey, thought Sarah, agreeing pleasantly to everything her companion had said.

She had her tea with the master of the house, who put himself out to be pleasant. ‘You know Radolf?’ he asked her.

‘No,’ said Sarah, ‘not really. I see him from time to time, that’s all. I think he might not recognise me away from my desk at the hospital.’

Her host looked vaguely surprised and began to talk about the weather, a safe subject, and presently he offered to show her round the garden. It was much larger than she had thought; if she could spend an hour each day wandering in it she would be quite happy. She admired the flower-beds and, had she but known it, delighted her companion by showing a knowledge of the shrubs and trees around them.

‘You have a garden?’

‘No, I live in the East End of London, but my home is—was—in the country and we had rather a nice garden there; not as large as this one, but very pretty.’

She went to her room, showered and changed into the grey dress, and then went back to the old lady. She was as cross as two sticks, and Mevrouw Nauta junior looked harassed and lost no time in making off, leaving Sarah to pacify her elderly companion as best she could.

‘Shall I read to you?’ she asked hastily. ‘Or shall we talk?’

‘We will talk, young woman—at least, I shall talk and you will listen.’

So Sarah sat down by the bed and listened to the old lady talking of her earlier life. Every now and then she dropped off into a light doze, to wake refreshed and talk of her youth in a breathy voice, sometimes so faint that Sarah could hardly hear it.

After dinner, taken in the magnificent dining-room, sitting between the Nautas at a table glistening with silver and crystal, Sarah went back again, a little tired by now, and listened to the thin old voice until the old lady slept. It was almost midnight and the house was quiet; she arranged the bell where it could be reached should Mevrouw Nauta senior wake and want her, and went to her room, undressed and got into bed, rather worried at the idea of leaving the old lady alone, but reassured by the bell on the bedside table. Her own bed was blissfully warm and comfortable, and she slept within minutes.

* * *

WITHIN THE NEXT two or three days she achieved some kind of a flexible routine, although this depended very much on Mevrouw Nauta’s state of health. That she was going downhill was obvious, despite the cheerful doctor who visited her each day. She had no appetite, and Sarah spent a good deal of time coaxing her to eat the dainty little dishes which the cook sent up. It was halfway through the week when Sarah, listening to her companion’s half-whispered ramblings, discovered that she had been something of a pianist in her younger days. ‘Girls don’t play the pianoforte these days,’ grumbled old Mevrouw Nauta.

‘Well, I do,’ said Sarah. ‘Or at least, I did.’ A remark which bore unexpected consequences, for when Sarah got back from her tea that afternoon there was a piano installed in one corner of the room.

‘The schoolroom is on this floor,’ explained the younger lady, ‘and my mother-in-law told me that you played. It seemed a good idea to have the piano moved in here.’

So Sarah spent the evening and the succeeding days playing the tunes the old lady fancied, a state of affairs which pleased them both.

At the end of the week, Sarah began to feel that she had been there forever. St Cyprian’s seemed of another world and, despite her erratic hours and lack of much free time, she was happy. The Nautas were kind to her and so were the servants; she couldn’t understand them, of course, nor they her, apart from Hans. But he beamed goodwill, and they saw that there were flowers in her room and trays of tea the moment she had any spare time to herself. She even began to think that the old lady was improving—a mistake, as it turned out, for that very evening her peevishness made it impossible to settle her for the night. She declared that she had no intention of sleeping and that Sarah was to stay with her. ‘And that’s what you’re paid for,’ she pointed out waspishly.

‘Of course I’ll stay with you, but if you don’t mind I’ll go and have a shower and get into a dressing-gown first. Give me ten minutes,’ begged Sarah, and whisked herself off to her room. It was still early; as she passed the head of the staircase she could hear voices downstairs, and Hans crossed the hall below. She was back with the old lady presently, cosily wrapped in the dressing-gown over her nightie, hopeful that in a little while Mevrouw Nauta might go to sleep and she could go to bed herself in the dressing-room.

The old lady had other ideas—Sarah played the piano with her foot on the soft pedal until after midnight, and then, obeying the ill-tempered old voice, started on chapter three of Pride and Prejudice. The clock was striking one o’clock when she was told to put the book down and play the piano again. ‘And don’t start on any of your lullabies,’ said the irascible old lady, ‘for I won’t be soothed, I intend to stay awake all night.’ So Sarah, thundering her way through some of Brahms’ more dramatic works, her foot well down on the soft pedal again, didn’t hear the door open, nor did she see Professor Nauta come into the room.

He glanced at his sleeping grandmother and crossed the room soundlessly. ‘What the devil do you think you’re doing?’ he wanted to know, bending his vast person to reach Sarah’s ear.

Sarah stopped in mid-bar, and swung round to face him. She had gone pale with fright and her voice was a furious squeak. ‘How dare you frighten me? And you should watch your language, Professor.’

He stood towering over her, studying her small person wrapped cosily in her sensible woolly dressing-gown. Her hair, which she had plaited ready for bed if she was lucky enough to get to it, had come loose and hung in a shining mass almost to her waist, and her eyes were heavy with sleep.

He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, I think I was surprised—it was hardly what I expected.’

She was very conscious of his hand. ‘Your grandmother is having a bad night, and she wanted me to play for her. Why are you here?’ She caught her breath. ‘I’m sorry, it’s your home, I didn’t mean to be rude.’

‘To say goodbye,’ he said softly. ‘It will be only a few more days now.’ He turned his head and looked across to the bed, his face suddenly relaxed and smiling. Sarah looked too—old Mevrouw Nauta was awake.

The Professor crossed the room and sat down on the side of the bed. He took his grandmother’s hand in his and bent to kiss her cheek, and then began a cheerful conversation in his own language. Presently he turned his head. ‘Go to bed, Sarah,’ and, as she started towards the dressing-room, ‘No, not there, your own room. I’m going to stay and talk to my grandmother. I’m not in the least tired. There is coffee in the kitchen—do you know where that is? Have a drink and go to bed; you will be called in the morning.’

She made a feeble protest, but she was tired and tomorrow would be another long day. She had her coffee, had a quick shower, got into bed and was asleep within seconds.

When she woke up the Professor was sitting on the edge of her bed, balancing a small tray with two mugs on it. She shot up in bed, peering at him through a curtain of hair. ‘Mevrouw Nauta—she’s worse? I must get up—’

‘Presently. Drink your tea first. She is no worse. There’s no one up yet—it’s not yet six o’clock, but she has a fancy for a little music. I told her she would have to wait just a few minutes while I fetched you from your bed.’

Sarah gulped her tea. The Professor looked weary and he needed a shave. ‘You must go to bed,’ she told him in a no-nonsense voice. ‘I’ll get dressed.’

‘Come as you are. Put on your dressing-gown and slippers and play anything she fancies—she is on the edge of sleep, and you will have time to dress and breakfast shortly.’ He got off the bed, fetched her dressing-gown from a chair and picked up the tray. ‘Don’t waste time,’ he begged her.

So she pattered along to the old lady’s room, bade her good morning and sat down at the piano.

‘Schubert,’ ordered her companion in a wispy voice, ‘and then Delius. When is my supper coming?’

‘Very soon,’ said Sarah in her quiet voice. ‘I’ll play until it does, shall I?’

Ten minutes later the Professor came again, this time bearing another tray with a small jug and glass. He had found time to shave and change into a sweater and slacks, and he no longer looked tired. Sarah wondered how he did it. She allowed her fingers to wander through Rosamunde while her thoughts wandered too. It had been a strange night; she had never known one like it, and most likely never would again. When she got back to the hospital, sitting at her desk soberly ticking off names, and remembered this night, she felt sure she wouldn’t believe it. She tossed her hair back impatiently and felt the Professor’s hands gathering it into a cascade and plaiting it. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘Not so distracting.’ He gave a little laugh and went back to sit by the bed…

Half an hour later the old lady was asleep and he got to his feet. ‘She will sleep soundly for a couple of hours at least. Get dressed and have your breakfast, and we’ll see how things are.’

‘You should go to bed,’ she reminded him, closing the piano thankfully.

‘Your concern on my behalf flatters me but is quite unnecessary, Sarah. Go and dress.’

Once or twice during that strange night she had caught herself almost liking him—now she wasn’t so sure. She went ahead of him with something of a flounce and didn’t answer.

The day turned out to be almost as strange as the night had been. The old lady was becoming confused—she refused to believe that it was morning and presently, with the blinds drawn, fell into a restless sleep. Sarah sat quietly, watching the small figure in the bed. People came and went: the Nautas, the Professor, and then Nel with coffee for Sarah. She had just finished it when the Professor returned.

‘Go and take a turn in the garden,’ he told her. ‘I’ll be here, so don’t argue—when my grandmother wakes again you’ll have your hands full.’

Which turned out to be very true. Old Mevrouw Nauta, refreshed by her sleep, demanded supper once again, dismissed her grandson and insisted on more music. Sarah played for some time, and would have stopped for a while but she was urged to continue, so that it was well after lunchtime when the Professor came once more into the room. ‘Off with you,’ he told Sarah. ‘Lunch is ready for you.’

She said quickly, ‘I can’t—Mevrouw Nauta has just told me to go on playing.’

‘She will have to put up with me.’ He scooped her off the stool and took her place, and much to her surprise began to play Debussy. He took no notice of her, and his grandmother had her eyes closed; she went downstairs and ate her lunch and then, urged by Mevrouw Nauta junior, took a walk in the garden. When she went back, the Professor and his grandmother were talking softly together and he had her hand in his. He got up presently and went away with nothing but a casual nod.

The following two days and nights followed the same erratic pattern so that Sarah hardly knew what time of day it was, but old Mevrouw Nauta was quieter now, content to lie and listen to Sarah playing and from time to time reading out loud. Sarah had company for a good deal of the time: Mevrouw sat quietly in a corner of the room, knitting or embroidering, and her husband wandered in and out to sit by the bed and listen to his mother, rambling a little now but still chatty and occasionally querulous.

It was the Professor who shared the long hours of the night with Sarah and the old lady, sitting relaxed by the bed while Sarah played or read aloud or sat thankfully silent while he and his grandmother talked. He made the old lady laugh, a weak chuckle which Sarah found pathetic, and he brought her flowers, delicate little nosegays which Sarah arranged in vases around the room. Always he behaved as though his grandmother were well, ignoring her confusion, discussing the new flower-beds in the garden that his father was having dug, just as though she would be there to see them when they were planted, coaxing her to eat and sometimes drawing Sarah into their conversation, slipping back into English, never at a loss for the cheerful talk the old lady enjoyed.

It was four o’clock in the morning of the third day when the old lady closed her eyes and didn’t wake again. Sarah had been reading to her while the Professor lounged in a chair by the bed, his eyes on his grandmother. Something made her look up, and she faltered and stopped and then closed the book. She drew a sharp breath, and wishing not to intrude, whispered, ‘Oh, she…what do you want me to do?’

He picked up the small hand on the coverlet and kissed it. ‘Nothing, Sarah. My mother and father came this evening while you were in your own room, and so did the servants. I’ll fetch Nel presently. Go to bed now.’

‘I can’t leave you alone…’

He turned to look at her, and she was shocked at the grief in his calm face. ‘Do as I say, Sarah.’

So she went, to lie awake for a time and then fall into the sleep she needed so badly. She woke once, to remember that she was due back at work in two days’ time. When she woke the second time it was to find Nel standing by the bed with a breakfast tray. There was a note propped up against the teapot telling her that the family hoped that she would join them for coffee, but that if she was still tired she was to remain in bed.

She went downstairs presently and found Mevrouw Nauta in the drawing-room. Her husband was there too, but there was no sign of the Professor. ‘Radolf has gone to make the necessary arrangements,’ Mevrouw Nauta told her. ‘He should be back at any moment. You slept? You have had a tiring two weeks, my dear, and we are most grateful to you.’

‘You made my mother very happy,’ observed Mijnheer Nauta. ‘She loved music, above all the piano.’

When the Professor joined them he said at once, ‘My grandmother asked that you should attend her funeral, Sarah. In four days’ time. I’ll arrange for you to travel back the day after that.’

‘Well,’ said Sarah, ‘I don’t think—’

She was stopped by his frown. ‘It was her particular wish—unless you have any other plans?’

She bristled at his manner—indifferent and arrogant, she told herself, and she was on the point of reminding him that her plans included going back to work when Mevrouw Nauta chimed in. ‘Oh, do please stay, Sarah, you were so good to her and it was her wish.’

‘Very well,’ said Sarah quietly, and listened politely while Mevrouw Nauta enumerated the family who might be expected to attend the funeral. Sarah hoped that there weren’t many more like the Professor.

She wrote to the head of her department that afternoon. Miss Payne disliked her, but surely she would understand that Sarah couldn’t refuse to stay in Holland? She walked to the village, very glad to be free to go where she liked, purchased a stamp and posted her letter—happily unaware that there was a lightning strike of postmen in England, and that the chances of her letter’s getting to its destination on time were slim.

The next three days were extremely pleasant. She had her meals with the family and spent some time with Mevrouw Nauta, but the rest of the days were hers. She wandered around the countryside and on the second day borrowed a bike and went further afield. The weather was kind, for at least it didn’t rain, and on the third day she cycled the seven miles over to Sneek. She hadn’t the time to see much and she longed for time to explore, but at least she had seen one Dutch town.

Of the Professor there was little to be seen; he was polite to her when they met at meals, but she had the feeling that he was avoiding her. That, she supposed, was natural enough—he had engaged her to be a companion to his grandmother, and now she was surplus to his requirements. He was polite at the funeral, introducing her, when their paths crossed, to the hordes of family and friends who came. Sarah shook hands and murmured politely, lost in a sea of strange faces.

It wasn’t until that evening at dinner that she heard him telling his parents that he would be leaving that night. It seemed that they already knew that he was going away, but now for some reason he would be going almost at once.

‘You’ll take the car?’ asked his father, and nodded his head when the Professor observed that it was an easy drive.

He bade her goodnight and hoped that she would have a good journey, his voice so cold that she replied stiffly in as few words as possible. It was Hans, driving her to Schiphol the following morning, who told her that the Professor had gone to Germany for a fortnight. ‘He lectures, miss, and he’ll call in on his way back to London, I expect.’ He added, ‘We are all quite sorry to see you go, miss. You made the old lady’s last days very happy.’

She thanked him gratefully, responding suitably to his hope that they would meet again at some time, and said goodbye at Schiphol with regret.

The Professor might not like her overmuch, but he had arranged her journey meticulously. Moreover, he had arranged for someone to deliver Charles to her bedsit that evening, for which she was grateful, for without her cat her homecoming would have been lonely indeed. Her room, after the luxury of the Nautas’ home, seemed smaller and darker and shabbier than it actually was, but once the fire was lit and Charles had settled down in front of it and she had unpacked her few things, her good sense reasserted itself. She had a home, even though it was one room, and she had a job, too.

She was at her desk in good time in the morning, confident that Miss Payne, however much she disliked her, would have accepted her letter. Besides, the Professor, when he arranged her return, would surely have explained why she hadn’t gone back to her job when she should have done.

An hour later she was forced to admit that he had either forgotten or had decided it wasn’t necessary to give any explanation to her department. Miss Payne, choosing her time between clinics, had come to see her and hadn’t minced her words. Sarah was not to be depended upon, and was she aware that this was the second time that she had returned late from a holiday without bothering to let anyone know?