Mevrouw Veske received the news that Britannia was going out again with the professor with delighted satisfaction. She didn’t exactly say ‘I told you so,’ but Britannia could see her thinking it and the speculative look in her hostess’s eye made her wonder if she was already envisaging a double wedding. She spent the day with her in Apeldoorn, shopping, arriving back at the same time as an excited Joan, who had spent the day with Dirk. She was flourishing her new engagement ring and teatime talk was almost exclusively of its unique beauty, the forthcoming wedding and the future bride’s speculations as to what exactly she should wear for the occasion, so that when it was time for Britannia to go to her room and change for the evening, she was able to do so with only the smallest amount of interest from her companions.
The professor was in the hall, having just been admitted by Berthe, when she came downstairs, and as she went towards him she said with disarming frankness: ‘I’ve only one dress with me, I hope you don’t mind—you see, I didn’t expect…’ She paused, remembering why she had brought it with her in the first place, so that he looked enquiringly at her.
‘Then why did you bring it?’ he wanted to know. It didn’t occur to her not to tell him the truth.
‘It’s a silly reason.’ She was standing in front of him, looking up into his face. ‘I thought—that is, I imagined that if I did meet you again, I’d like to be wearing something pretty, so that you would—would notice me.’ She added seriously: ‘Of course, I didn’t know then about your house and your Madeleine…’
‘Not my Madeleine. I think that I should have noticed you if you had been wearing an old sack, Britannia.’
She smiled a little shyly. ‘Oh—well…I didn’t know that, did I?’
‘No. Are we really saying goodbye tomorrow, Britannia?’
‘Yes.’ She moved away and began to fasten her coat, and felt hurt when he said quite cheerfully:
‘In that case, we’d better start our evening, hadn’t we?’
They were seen off by a beaming Mevrouw Veske and a hasty wave and gabbled ‘’bye’ from Joan, who was, as she so often was these days, on the telephone to her Dirk, and once in the car the professor observed dryly: ‘What a pity it is that you don’t share Mevrouw Veske’s romantic outlook—now, if you did you might have come tearing down the stairs and flung yourself into my arms, instead of which you greet me with some matter-of-fact remark about your dress. What’s wrong with it, anyway?’
Britannia was put out. ‘There’s nothing wrong with it—it’s a copy of a model, a Jean Allen—but one doesn’t usually wear the same dress on two successive evenings.’
He had turned the car in the direction of Apeldoorn. ‘Why ever not? I wear my dinner jacket for several evenings in a row.’
She chuckled. ‘Now you’re being silly.’ She didn’t add that there was nothing she would have liked better than to have flung herself into his arms. ‘But I was glad to see you.’ And then, in case he had an answer to that, she asked quickly: ‘Have you had a busy day?’
‘Quite a list…’ He began to tell her about the cases and it wasn’t until they were through Hoenderloo that he paused to say: ‘We’re not going to Apeldoorn, by the way. There’s a restaurant on the Amersfoort road that’s quite good. I thought we had better not go too far this evening, I expect you have your packing to do.’
A damping remark which lowered her spirits considerably; she could pack, if necessary, in ten minutes and she would have all tomorrow in which to do it…
She thought his description of De Echoput was sadly understated when they reached it; it was a rather splendid place and the menu card quite baffling in its abundance. Over their drinks she studied it and presently asked the professor to choose for her. ‘Because there’s so much and I don’t know the half of the dishes they offer,’ she explained. ‘You see now what I mean about our backgrounds—imagine having a wife who doesn’t know what Le Râble de Lièvre is—it’s hare, I know, but I don’t know more than that.’ She added thoughtfully: ‘I don’t like hare, anyway; I like to see them running in the fields.’
He smiled at her across the table. ‘So do I, and would it really matter if you can’t read the menu if I’m with you to help you choose?’
She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be as simple as that, and you know it.’
He didn’t answer her, only smiled again and turned to the menu. ‘They have delicious hors d’oeuvres here, shall we start with that—and what about trout? Truite saumone au Champagne. We’ll drink champagne, too, since it’s by way of being an occasion.’
The food was delicious, just as he had said, but Britannia hardly enjoyed it—he had called it an occasion, almost as though he was celebrating… It cost her quite an effort to join in his cheerful talk. Luckily the champagne helped, so that by the time the sweet trolley came round she was able to do full justice to the millefeuille recommended by the professor and, just for a little while, forget that she would never see him again.
Sitting over their coffee he brought the conversation round to her return.
‘You’ll be working next week?’ he wanted to know, ‘or do you go home for a few days?’
The champagne had made Britannia a little careless. ‘I start work on Monday,’ she told him. ‘Even if I didn’t, it would be too far to go home. I’ll wait until I get my weekend.’
‘You plan to stay at St Jude’s?’
She stirred her coffee and didn’t look at him. ‘I haven’t thought about it. Probably not.’
His voice was bland. ‘Of course, the world is your oyster, isn’t it, Britannia? A qualified nurse can go where she pleases.’
Put like that it sounded a lonely business; going from hospital to hospital, probably country to country, getting a little older with each move. She swallowed a great wave of self-pity and heard him say briskly: ‘Well, you don’t need to look so glum; think how fortunate you are compared with a girl who marries; a house to run, a husband to look after, children to bring up, never-ending chores—the poor girl has no life of her own.’
She didn’t want a life of her own, but it wasn’t much use saying so; hadn’t she made it quite clear that she had no intention of marrying him? She asked in a rather high voice: ‘Did you never want to travel?’
He seemed quite willing to follow her lead; they carried on a desultory conversation about nothing in particular until Britannia said that she thought she should return to the Veskes. ‘They’re so kind,’ she spoke brightly. ‘We’ve done exactly what we’ve wanted to do all the time we’ve been staying with them, it’s been a wonderful holiday.’
He had opened the car door for her and paused to ask: ‘And one to remember, Britannia?’
She would never forget it, however hard she tried. She babbled: ‘Oh, rather, it’s been lovely.’ She went on babbling for the entire journey back and the professor tiresomely did nothing to stop her; by the time they had reached the villa she was worn out and so exasperated that she could have burst into tears, although why she wasn’t quite sure. He had behaved exactly as he should have done; he hadn’t mentioned seeing her again; he had accepted the fact that she was going back to England with no apparent disappointment. Either he was a man of iron with no feelings, or he hadn’t meant a word…
Britannia slept badly and got up the next morning with a frayed temper and a pale face, and it didn’t help when she found herself drawn into a cheerful discussion about Joan’s wedding; indeed, a good deal of the morning was spent in reviewing the arrangements already made, re-making them, adding to them and speculating as to the weather, the number of guests and the names of those who just had to be invited, and when this serious business had been thoroughly talked out, there was always the more interesting one of clothes for the important occasion. By the time lunch was over Britannia, her nerves jangling like an ill-tuned piano and longing to be by herself, declared that she simply couldn’t leave Holland without one more cycle ride, and since they weren’t leaving until the evening and she was packed and ready, except for exchanging her slacks and sweater for her suit, she had ample time to indulge her fancy, and Joan and Mevrouw Veske, deep in the merits of various pastel shades, begged her kindly to do just as she wished. ‘Only don’t be late for tea,’ counselled Joan. ‘We shall be leaving round about six o’clock, love.’