Esmeralda Part 12

Mr. Bamstra had been right, she would never have recognised the baby.

It was astonishing what plumped-out cheeks and a clean face had done for him.

He lay sleeping in his cot, looking the picture of contentment.

"And that's your doing, my dear," said Mr. Bamstra softly, leading the way to the baby's mother, still in a side ward by herself. She was sitting in a chair, and now that she was clean and properly fed too her prettiness was even more apparent. She greeted them with a timid smile, and Esmeralda saw that here was a girl who needed someone strong and kind to care for her, and she wondered again at the parents who had refused to help her. It was a relief when the sister joined them, a girl a good deal older with a kind firm face, who left no doubt in her visitors' minds that she had every intention of looking after her young sister and the baby.

They stayed for a little while and as they made their way out of the hospital, Esmeralda said: "I liked the sister. She will take care of them, won't she? The girl needs someone..."

Mr. Bamstra took her arm in an absentminded fashion.

"Yes, she does--you saw that for yourself, didn't you? A sweet girl and pretty, but not overburdened with intelligence--far too simple, in the nice sense of that word, for this modern world, but don't worry, her sister has a good job and a nice little flat." He smiled down at her.

"They're very grateful to you, they asked me to tell you."

They had tea at his house, with Toukje fussing round them, delighted that they had come and still more pleased when Mr. Bamstra mentioned that he would probably be there the following weekend as well.

"At least for part of it," he explained to Esmeralda.

"I've a case to deal with on Friday afternoon, so I might as well spend the night here and go back to Leiden on Sat.u.r.day."

She said: "Yes, of course." His private life was really nothing to do with her; she had told herself that before he was probably only making polite conversation. He talked of nothing much after that, but on their way back, as she saw the towers and spires of Leiden ahead of them, she asked: "Is it far from your consulting rooms where I am to live?"

"A few minutes' walk." He nodded towards a narrow street lined with little old houses.

"Down there."

Esmeralda twisted her neck in order to see it better as they went past, remarking: "Oh is it one-way traffic, or something?"

"No, I thought you might like supper before you meet Mevrouw Twist."

He was driving slowly now along the Breestraat the main street as he spoke, and in a few moments turned into an even smaller street.

"This runs parallel with the Rapenburg Ca.n.a.l," he explained.

"The university buildings are behind these houses." He drew up before a tall old house with worn steps leading to its carved oak door, and she got out, looking about her with interest.

"It doesn't look like a restaurant," she ventured.

"Well, no--I don't think it does, either. My mother lives here."

"Your mother?" She stared at him, her mouth a little open.

"But why.. that is, do you live here too?"

"No, my mother is independent and likes living on her own; all her friends live close by and I'm not too far off." He laughed a little.

"She often stays with me, both here and in Friesland; we're the best of friends."

He had opened the door as he was talking, to find a staid, elderly woman waiting for them. She smiled and murmured something and Thimo said: "This is Corrie, my mother's constant companion for years--she cooks and house keeps and spoils her dreadfully. Come in here."

The hall was dark and narrow, with a lofty ceiling, but Esmeralda barely had time to notice that because he had her by the arm and had drawn her into a room on the left of them. It was rather dark here, too, with panelled walls and an elaborately plastered ceiling, but its furnishings were delightful; cushions and curtains in jewel colours, with a dark red woven carpet on the floor. The furniture was dark and solid and comfortable chairs, brocade-covered, were scattered amongst the tables and wall chests and cabinets. The lady who rose from her chair to greet them completed the pleasing picture which the room made; she was small and slight, dressed in a soft blue outfit which complemented her silver grey hair. There was no mistaking who she was; she had the same grey eyes as her son and his same slow smile.

"I shall call you Esmeralda," she began at once as she lifted her face for her son's kiss.

"Such a pretty name and right for your eyes, of course. I expect Thimo forgot to mention me, or that I was expecting you for supper this evening, until he was on the doorstep." She smiled at Esmeralda and took her hand.

"Come and tidy yourself, my dear.

Thimo shall pour the drinks while he is waiting. "

Esmeralda had had no chance to say a word, but in any case there seemed no need, and she had been put immediately at ease by the little lady's charming welcome. She accompanied her hostess across the hall to another door which opened to reveal an elegant cloakroom.

"You don't really need to tidy anything," confided her companion.

"I just wanted to have a good look at you, my dear. You don't mind?"

"No, not at all," said Esmeralda, very much bewildered, and poked at her hair because she really had to do something.

"I know all about your foot," went on the little lady.

"Thimo is so very clever, isn't he? And I heard how splendid you were with that poor young girl and her baby."

"Well, not really." Esmeralda felt that she was being praised for something she hadn't done.

"I only stood and shouted for help and Thimo came--he did everything, you know."

Her hostess smiled and said merely: "I must go and say a word to Corrie about supper. Can you find your own way back, my dear?"

Esmeralda a.s.sured her that she could, spent a few minutes prettying herself and went back to the drawing room again. Mr. Bamstra was leaning against a fragile table which looked as though it might collapse at any moment, laughing down at his mother, sitting in her chair once more, but when he saw Esmeralda he went to meet her, settled her in a chair, offered her a choice of drinks and went to take his own seat in a substantial high-backed chair more worthy of his size, to begin a conversation which gave her no inkling of his personal life or tastes at all.

Only one piece of information did she glean; as they were about to go into supper, his mother remarked that Ella had telephoned and asked that he should be reminded about the following weekend.

That would be the girl-friend, decided Esmeralda.

So he was going to take her with him when he went to Friesland. And why not?

common sense wanted to know. What could be more natural than to take one's future wife to one's home for the weekend? She was unable to pursue this interesting t.i.tbit, though, for her hostess was telling her about the house, which, it transpired, had been in the family a very long time. Esmeralda listened attentively, making all the right remarks, her head never quite free of the unknown Ella.

They dined with some splendour, for there was a good deal of silver and gla.s.s on the damask- covered table and the porcelain plates and dishes were exquisitely thin and delicately painted, and it was obvious that both her hostess and her son found nothing out of the ordinary in this, but then, Esmeralda reflected silently, she herself found nothing unusual about the treasures in her own home, so why should they? She settled down to enjoy the delicious meal, glad that she was wearing a pretty dress and that her foot in its clumsy plaster was safely hidden under the table.

They left as soon as they had had their coffee; Mevrouw Twist, Thimo explained. Was elderly and liked to be in bed by eleven o'clock. So Esmeralda bade her hostess good night, thanked her with charm, and got back into the car. The drive was a short one and the house they stopped in front of seemed very small after the one, they had just left. She got out and stood looking at it; it was old too, and gabled and spick and span as to paint, and through the spotless white net curtains she could see a room twinkling with bra.s.s, its walls almost covered with pictures of every size and a great many china plates.

Mevrouw Twist must have been waiting for them, for the door was opened before they could reach for the knocker and the old lady bade them enter with a quick flow of words which quite escaped Esmeralda.

"She says how glad she is to meet you," trans A lated Thimo.

"Your room is ready and she will see that you are up in good time in the morning."

He was standing just inside the door, filling the tiny hall.

"I think you will have no difficulties. I'll see you tomorrow at half past one; Mevrouw will walk with you to show you the way. " His hand engulfed hers for a moment, large and firm and rea.s.suring. As usual he had disappeared through the open door before she could get her mouth open.

"Not even time to say good night!" she muttered vexedly, and turned to listen painstakingly to Mevrouw Twist's anxious voice explaining about the bath.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

looking back over the next day, Esmeralda wondered how she had managed to get through it. The morning had been all right. She had unpacked her things in the tiny room at the back of the upstairs landing in Mevrouw Twist's house, and then, taking the old lady's advice, had gone for a cautious walk, just to get her bearings, and by the time she got back it was time to have the substantial dinner her elderly companion had cooked for them both, and after that, walk in her company to the consulting rooms.

Ciska, the full-time nurse, was waiting for her and, received from Mevrouw Twist's hands with all the care accorded to a registered parcel handed over by the postman, Esmeralda was led away to the back of the dignified old house, to a small room where she was b.u.t.toned and pinned into a white uniform dress a good deal too large for her, handed a white cap, and led carefully up a narrow carpeted stair to the waiting room.

There was no one there, and a good thing too. Esmeralda had methodically inspected her surroundings, trying not to miss any of the sound advice which Ciska was painstakingly pouring out in her fluent, heavily accented English, and had just seated herself at the desk, the plaster well out of sight, when Mr. Bamstra had come in. He looked the part, she decided at once, in his well- tailored grey suit and beautifully polished shoes. She could imagine his patients, nervous about having bones re-set or re-shaped or removed, sitting in front of his ma.s.sive desk in the consulting room, gradually soothed into eager compliance by his calm a.s.sured manner. She had wished him good afternoon in a professional voice and had been annoyed when he grinned.

He crossed the room and had had his hand on the door when he had turned round and come back to ask: "What did your mother think about it?"

"She liked the idea very much."

"Splendid. Use the telephone here whenever you wish to get in touch with her."

He had gone again while she was still thanking him, and she had had only a minute or so after that to wonder what Leslie would say if he could see her now, when the first patient arrived.

She hadn't done too badly; the work was largely routine and Thimo had helped her in an un.o.btrusive way by letting her know the essential facts about each patient before they left him, so that by the time they got to her desk, all she had to do was smile, murmur a few words, and write busily in the appointments book. The hours had flown; suddenly the waiting room had been empty and Ciska had come out of the examination room to say that the next patient wasn't booked until five o'clock, and they would all have tea. Which they did, sitting together at the desk, although Mr. Bamstra excused himself after drinking his and went back to his room to get on with his notes.

And the evening had been much the same as the afternoon. Finally, when the last patient for the day had gone and Esmeralda had tidied her desk and changed into her dress again, she had been free to go. Ciska had already left, and she had hurried, fearful of keeping Mr. Bamstra waiting, to lock up.

He had been standing patiently by the door and she had said a trifle breathlessly: "I'll be quicker tomorrow," and had almost fallen over her plaster in her efforts to get to the door and out of it. She wished him goodnight as she started off along the pavement in the direction of Mevrouw Twist's little house, but he had caught her up easily enough and taken her arm.

"You managed very well," he commented pleasantly.

She had stood still, the better to address him.

"Thank you, but of course you and Ciska did most of the work, didn't you?

You were both awfully kind and patient. And there's no need to come with me, I'm quite sure of the way, and you must have a great deal to do."

He smiled and nodded.

"A dinner date--with someone who always understands if I'm late."

It would be Ella again; the girl must be a saint! Esmeralda made a small cross sound and turned it into a cough, and after that there had been no need to say anything more, because they had arrived at Mevrouw Twist's front door, and she was there, waiting for them. Mr. Bamstra had wished them both a good evening and walked away, presumably back to his own car.

His patients came in the morning on the next day, so that she was free after one o'clock, and this time she slipped away before Mr. Bamstra had left his own room; she wasn't sure if it was quite the thing to do, but she didn't want him to feel that he had to walk her back to Mevrouw Twist just because she had a leg in plaster. She spent the afternoon writing to her mother and conversing, with the aid of a dictionary and a lot of arm-waving with Mevrouw Twist while she worked away at her embroidery, of which she was now heartily sick, and on the next day, free again in the afternoon, she had borrowed a stout stick from the lady of the house and went to look at the shops.

Loveday had told her that there were some very good antique shops to be found if one didn't mind the cobblestones of the narrow side streets. Esmeralda stumped around carefully, buying one or two trifles which she thought her mother might like to have, and then found her way back to the main street, intent on getting a cup of tea.

She was standing on the corner of Kort Rapen- burg, deciding which way to go, when the Bristol slid to a halt beside her, filling the whole of the little street.

"In you get," commanded Mr. Bamstra and when she declared that she didn't want to added: "I can't stop here, you know."

He smiled at her then and held the door open so that really all she could do was to get in beside him. She had barely settled herself when a sudden thought struck her and she turned a horrified face to his.

"Heavens above, was I supposed to be working this afternoon?"

He laughed as he edged the big car into Rapen- burg.

"No, no. I called in to see my mother and she asked me to bring you back for tea."

"But how did you know where I' was?"

"Leiden isn't a very big city," he pointed out, 'and Mevrouw Twist told me that you had gone in search of the antique shops. "

He had turned the car into a street so narrow at the car almost touched the walls of the houses on either side of it, but it widened before long into a wider thoroughfare which Esmeralda recognised as the street in which his mother lived. He helped her out of the car and she paused to study the old house again and was reminded of something.

"When Ciska gave you a message from your mother this morning, she didn't call her Mevrouw Bamstra, but something else...1 can't quite remember what."

Her companion selected a key from the bunch in his hand and opened the street door.

"Jonkvrouw," he told her laconically, 'but it's quite correct for you to call Mama Mevrouw. "

"What is a JonkvrouwT persisted Esmeralda.

"It's a t.i.tle, and explaining it would take some time..."

They were standing in the open doorway.

"Is it because your mother is a Jonkvrouw that you're a Jonkheer, or the other way round?"

He laughed.

"Something like that--some day, when we have time on our hands'I'll explain it to you." He ushered her across the hall and into the drawing room where his mother was waiting.

It was during tea, taken from Sevres china and accompanied by small sugary biscuits, that Mr. Bamstra asked her casually if she had any plans for the evening.

"Well, I thought I'd wrestle with that Dutch conversation book Loveday lent me."

He looked at her gravely.

"That seems to me to be a very dull way of spending an evening. I was hoping that you would have dinner with me.

You can always bring your book with you and we could discuss the knottier points of Dutch grammar. "

She felt a nice little glow of pleasure, doused almost immediately by the thought of the girl Ella. She looked at her hostess, hoping for some clue, but that little lady was smiling and placid, and for once, silent.