But he gave her no opportunity of doing this; indeed, thinking about it afterwards, she suspected that he had guessed her intention and made sure that she was unable to carry it out, for he had visited her on his return that evening but had stayed only long enough to introduce Zuster Hagenbroek, examine her bruises and ankle, assure her with cool sympathy that no great harm had been done to her person, and that she would be as right as a trivet in no time at all, before going away again, leaving her to the ministrations of Zuster Hagenbroek, a middle-aged, bustling person with a wide smile and kind eyes, who spoke surprisingly good English, assured Britannia that she was perfectly able to massage the offending ankle as well as exercise it, and that Britannia would be up and about before she knew where she was. Precisely the same sentiments as the professor had voiced, but with a great deal more warmth.
The next day or two passed pleasantly enough, the pain was less now and although her face was all colours of the rainbow down one side from eye to chin, Britannia’s headache had gone. She sat out of bed on a chaise longue before the fire, playing endless games of cards with Zuster Hagenbroek, writing reassuring letters to her mother and father, and sustaining lengthy visits from the professor’s mother, who, now that she had got to know her better, proved not to be in the least severe.
Of the professor she saw very little and never alone, either he came when Zuster Hagenbroek was on duty, or was accompanied by his mother or Emmie, and even then he didn’t stop long, confining his conversation to her state of health, the weather, and any instructions he might have for Zuster Hagenbroek. Just as though, thought Britannia sadly, they were strangers.
It was on the following morning, after a particularly pointless conversation with him which had led to an almost sleepless night on her part, that the first of the visitors arrived for St Nikolaas—the professor’s eldest sister, Emma, a young woman of thirty-five or so, accompanied by three daughters ranging from twelve years to six. There was a very small son, too, already whisked away to the nursery by his nanny: ‘But you shall see him later,’ said his proud mother, ‘though you mustn’t let the children bother you.’
She was very like her brother, tall and graceful and elegant, and, unlike him, warmly friendly. They were getting to know each other when another sister arrived, to be introduced as Francesca. She had two children, six-and seven-year-olds, who shook Britannia’s hand and exhibited endearing gap-toothed grins before they were led away for their lunch. But the mothers remained until Marinus brought drinks upstairs, sitting around happily gossiping in their excellent English until Zuster Hagenbroek came in with Britannia’s tray. Eating the delicious little meal, she reflected that perhaps St Nikolaas wasn’t going to be so bad after all. And for the rest of that day it wasn’t; the professor’s youngest sister Corinne arrived before tea with a placid baby boy who slept through the not inconsiderable noise which his numerous cousins made. Dumped on Britannia’s lap while his mother went on some errand, he tucked his head, with its wisps of pale hair, into her arm and closed his eyes. He had, she thought, the faintest resemblance to his uncle.
And presently the professor came home. Britannia, watching his sisters launch themselves at his vast person with cries of delight, wished with all her heart that he would look like that for her, laughing and relaxed and content, but when he broke loose at length and came across to where she lay on the chaise longue, and she looked hopefully up into his face, it was to meet cold eyes and an unsmiling mouth, although he asked her civilly enough if she had had a pleasant day and how she did. Conscious of three pairs of eyes upon them, she answered quietly that yes, her day had been pleasant, and she did very well, adding a conventional hope that he had had a good day at the hospital.
His ‘So-so,’ was laconic in the extreme.
She didn’t see him for the rest of that evening, although his sisters poked their heads round the door from time to time, for there was a good deal of coming and going getting the children to bed, and when the various husbands arrived just before dinner, they were brought along to be introduced before everyone trooped downstairs to the dining room. But not Britannia; she thought wistfully of the family party downstairs and wished she were there too, but that of course was impossible; dressing would have been a bit of a problem, she reminded herself sensibly, and then there was the question of getting someone to carry her downstairs, and as no one had suggested it, presumably no one had thought of it, either. She ate her dinner in solitary state because Zuster Hagenbroek had the afternoon and evening free and wouldn’t be back until bedtime.
Emmie came to take her tray and ask her if she wanted anything, but she had all she wanted; books, magazines, a book of crossword puzzles to solve, cards for Patience, all arranged on the little table beside her. She played a game of Patience, cheating so that it came out, and then lay back with her eyes closed. She kept them closed when the door opened and someone came in because if they thought she was asleep they wouldn’t feel guilty about not entertaining her. No one else came, not until Zuster Hagenbroek returned and that astute lady, taking one look at Britannia’s lonely face, embarked on a description of her visit to her family in Arnhem, which lasted through the preparations for bed and until she put out the light, saying firmly that Britannia was tired and must go to sleep immediately. She sounded so sure that she would do as she was told that Britannia did just that.
The professor came the next morning after breakfast, examined the ankle and pronounced it to be mending well. ‘I will take the strapping off tomorrow,’ he promised, ‘put on an elastic stocking and you can try a little—a very little, weight on it. Exercises and massage as usual today, and see that you rest it.’ He gave her a pleasant nod, added a few instructions to Zuster Hagenbroek, and went off, leaving Britannia with a number of questions she wanted answered and hadn’t even had the chance to ask. To get away as quickly as possible was her one wish; whatever the professor had felt for her had obviously been transitory, for now he treated her with the scrupulous politeness of a good host entertaining a guest he didn’t really want. And she must be a great embarrassment to him too, and hadn’t he said that Madeleine de Venz would be there for St Nikolaas? Britannia pondered her problems until a headache threatened and then was fortunately prevented from worrying any more for the moment by the arrival of the professor’s sisters, wandering in in ones and twos, some with their children, all talking cheerfully about the evening’s festivities.
The morning passed pleasantly, and Britannia, with the prospect of an equally pleasant afternoon, ate her lunch with appetite, submitted to Zuster Hagenbroek’s massage and exercises and then obliged Corinne by minding the baby for a while while his mother went off to help organise the evening with her mother. He lay in the crook of her arm, smiling windily at her from time to time and making tiny chirruping noises, and presently fell asleep, and because she was afraid to disturb him by reaching for her book, she closed her eyes too.
It was Madeleine’s voice which roused her from her doze. ‘What a picture!’ declared her sweet, high voice from the doorway. ‘Mother and child—only of course Britannia isn’t a mother—in any case she looks quite unsuitable for the role with that bruise.’
Britannia turned her head. The professor was standing there and so was Madeleine, elegant—breathtakingly so—in a red fox jacket and a suede skirt. She said ‘Good afternoon,’ politely and hated the professor for not reproving the girl for her rudeness. She barely glanced at him, but fixed her eyes on his top waistcoat button and said quietly: ‘Please don’t wake the baby.’