Eline Vere (20 page)

The afternoon wore on slowly, without any callers to relieve either the general tedium or Lili's glum, taciturn mood, until it was past four o'clock and the doorbell sounded. A moment later Georges de Woude appeared, and again Lili was annoyed, this time because Dien had not thought to announce him first before ushering him into the salon – it wasn't as if Georges was a close friend of the family, after all. While he shook hands with her mother, she greeted him somewhat coolly with a lethargic wave of her hand, and was in no hurry to follow when her mother led him to the conservatory to meet her father. Only when they were all three seated did Lili come over, pulling up a cane chair with some deliberation, as if to say she was not particularly pleased to see him and was only joining them because it would be impolite not to do so. At the first words he addressed to her parents she looked away, pretending that the garden held more interest for her than their conversation. Madame Verstraeten asked him about Berlin, where he had been posted for three months, but he answered hurriedly, half-turning to Lili, and proceeded to enquire after her health; had she been seriously ill? Lili murmured dismissively, leaving her mama to reply in more detail, but it struck her that he had put his question with a certain anxiety, not formally at all, but in a tone of genuine concern for her welfare. What could it matter to him whether she was ill or not? But he did not appear to notice her coolness, and pursued his lively account of life in Berlin while responding in his usual agreeable manner to his hosts' interjections. He kept glancing at Lili, as though wishing to draw her into the conversation, and out of courtesy she gave a slight smile now and then, or put an idle question. What a chatterbox he was, she thought, recalling earlier occasions when she had found his talk annoying. The next instant she felt she was being unfair. He was very talkative, it was true, but his conversation was amiable and sociable, and an undeniably
welcome diversion after a tedious afternoon spent watching her mother work her crochet needle. His locution was not bad, a bit rushed perhaps, but not boring, and, now that she came to think of it, not at all affected, either. His accent was perhaps a trifle too studied, but that was all; his gestures were simple, and his well-mannered voice had a pleasantly sincere ring. As for his dress, it was very neat, almost too neat, really, but at least it wasn't loud; she had to give him that.

He chatted on in response to Mr Verstraeten's queries concerning his position, and while observing him she unwittingly brightened her smile, which did not escape his notice, so that he ventured to return to his earlier question: was she feeling better, would she soon be sufficiently recovered to go out? What could it matter to him, she thought again, almost crossly; he had already asked after her health before – out of politeness, to be sure. All the same, this time she answered him herself, saying that she was no longer coughing – her words were promptly belied by a short cough – and that she was feeling very much better thanks to the good care of Mama and Marie. He was glad to hear it, he said, but he had noted the rasping in her throat and was about to advise her to stay indoors while the cold weather lasted when he thought better of it. She might think him too forward, so he asked after Marie instead.

‘Oh, she is very well,' replied Lili. ‘She has gone skating with Frédérique and Etienne and Paul. Don't you feel sorry for me, having to stay at home again, all by myself?'

‘Is it such a great disappointment to you? Are you fond of skating?'

‘Yes, that's to say, I do enjoy it, but I'm not very good at it, to be honest. Marie and Freddie are much better skaters, they go whirling about while I just wobble; I'm too frightened, you see.'

‘What about Paul and Etienne, don't they help you?'

‘Oh, Paul just says it's no fun skating with someone who can't skate properly, and Etienne, well, he sometimes puts up with me for five minutes.'

‘But Lili, if you can't skate it's not very enjoyable for the others, is it?' objected her mother.

‘I believe I was more gallant in my day,' observed her father.

‘Oh, I'm not accusing them of anything, just stating a fact!' said Lili, and she coughed again.

‘But once you are fully recovered, when you are well enough to go out,' Georges resumed, waveringly, for he knew he was taking a chance, ‘might I offer you some assistance on the ice one day? I am mostly in my office, but–'

‘You skate, then?' cried Lili. She would never have thought it of him.

‘Oh yes, I'm a keen skater!' he said. ‘Do you accept?'

She almost blushed as she smiled and lowered her eyes.

‘Oh, with pleasure, yes indeed. But I shall be a dreadful burden to you. I'm always frightened, always hearing the ice crack beneath me. I'm afraid you don't know what you're letting yourself in for.'

‘Oh yes I do,' he retorted. ‘I am sure I shall never regret having asked you.'

Lili was impressed by how warm and sincere he sounded, and could think of nothing to say, so she merely smiled. There was a brief lull in the conversation, and under normal circumstances this would have prompted Georges to take his leave, but instead he stayed, broached a new topic as if he had all the time in the world, and kept up his flow of words until Lili's brother Jan came home from school with his books tucked under his arm, by which hour it was already getting dark. Georges stood up at last, with apologies for outstaying his welcome.

‘Not at all, quite the contrary!' said Mr Verstraeten. ‘It has been a pleasure to see you again. Remember me to your father and that delightful sister of yours.'

‘Emilie said she couldn't manage without you!' added Madame Verstraeten. ‘She must be very glad to have you back again.'

Lili found herself thinking that yes, she could see why Emilie would miss Georges' company, and she held out her hand with a flourish and thanked him again for his invitation.

‘Good fellow, young De Woude!' said Mr Verstraeten when Georges had left. Lili returned to the drawing room just as she overheard her Mama agreeing that he was indeed a very personable young man.

‘He calls quite regularly these days. But I dare say we wouldn't
see so much of him if it weren't for the girls.'

Lili heard no more; she smiled at her own fancy, for she could see herself with Georges, gliding on the ice, their arms crossed and hands joined.

. . .

Marie came home escorted by Freddie, Paul and Etienne, who took their leave at the door. She was tired out and cold, with red cheeks and shining eyes. It had been splendid, they had seen many friends on the ice, including the Eekhof girls and Eline, who had come with Henk.

‘De Woude called earlier,' remarked Madame Verstraeten. ‘He has been back for three days.'

‘Oh, really?' said Marie carelessly, and began to unfasten her short coat.

‘And he invited me to go skating with him, as soon as I'm better,' confided Lili, almost bashfully. She gave a slight cough.

Marie stared at her sister in astonishment.

‘De Woude? With you? And what did you say?'

‘That it was very kind of him, of course. What else was I supposed to say?'

Marie laughed outright.

‘You going skating with De Woude? Lili, how could you? I thought you said he was a boring prig, and that you couldn't stand him.'

‘Well, he said he'd help me with my skating. At least he's more gallant than Paul and Etienne.'

‘But he can't even skate!' laughed Marie.

‘He says he's very keen, though.'

‘Oh, don't you believe it. He's just pretending.'

Lili shrugged with impatience.

‘I see no reason for him to pretend about it.'

‘Dear me, how you leap to his defence! And you couldn't stand him before!'

‘I always thought him very friendly, and polite . . .'

‘Lili, how can you tell such barefaced fibs! You thought he was intolerable!'

‘But Marie, that's no reason not to go skating with him,' cried Lili, almost beseechingly. ‘When you go to a ball you dance with other people besides your beau, don't you?'

‘Still, I hardly know what to think,' Marie teased. ‘Off skating together, just like that! What about Mama, does she approve?'

Lili turned away with dignified contempt.

‘Don't be childish,' was all she said, looking down at her sister, and was dismayed to feel herself blushing yet again – for no reason, after all.

. . .

‘Is Papa sleeping?' asked Georges, entering Emilie's sitting room after dinner that evening.

Emilie gave a little start. She had been slumped in her easy chair by the hearth, feeling the effects of a copious repast.

‘Yes, Papa's asleep,' she said, blinking.

Georges laughed.

‘And you, Emilie, did you nod off as well?' he teased.

Emilie responded with like good humour. No, she had not been asleep, just resting, she assured him. Would Georges be staying for tea? She would enjoy that.

She felt a sort of motherly affection for her so much younger brother, whom she had cared for and doted on since his early childhood, and who was now back under her wing after his months abroad. He looked well, she noted with satisfaction, he had even put on a little weight, and she was glad to discern a new manliness in his fine features – or had she simply failed to notice it before he went away?

Georges sat down beside her and they chatted about this and that. She knew him well, she believed, and could sense that he had something to ask her. She was inwardly pleased at this, but saucy enough to oblige him to broach the subject without any assistance from her. He prevaricated at length, but her non-committal replies did not inspire confidence in him, and he decided to delay unburdening himself. Abruptly, and in an altered, firmer tone, he made some trivial remark, whereupon she regretted her feigned
indifference and tried to think of some way of drawing him out. However, she could think of nothing tactful, so eventually asked him point-blank:

‘I say, Georges, what's on your mind? What did you want to tell me?'

Now it was his turn to pretend, and with assumed amazement he echoed:

‘Tell you? What do you mean?'

‘Oh, I don't know, just a feeling I have. It must be the curl of your moustache!' she quipped. ‘Seriously, though, is there nothing the matter? Money affairs, perhaps?'

But she knew better: money posed no problem to him, it never had; so fastidious was he where finances were concerned that she, having taken charge of all their elderly father's affairs, never encountered the slightest grounds for correction. Georges smiled and shook his head, but said nothing. Could the matter at hand be so weighty as to render him speechless, she jested, a chatterbox like him?

‘No, no, it's nothing,' he answered. ‘Besides, you know what they say – silence is golden and all that.'

‘I beg you, Georges, don't you be coy with me! If you have something to say or to ask, please do so, and no mincing of words, please, you know that is quite unnecessary with me!' she said, almost reproachfully, but with so much warm encouragement in her tone that he took her large white hand and raised it with playful gallantry to his lips.

‘Now then, out with it!' Emilie persisted, giving him a light tap under the chin with the back of the hand he had just kissed.

There was no going back now, and he plucked up the courage to speak, slowly at first, in disjointed sentences, but his query soon gathered momentum. There was his position to think about, of course, but would she think him very foolish if he considered . . . marriage? A tremor had come into his voice, as though his fate depended on her answer.

His words took her by surprise, for although he was all of four and twenty she still regarded him as her little boy, her pet. And here was he was, thinking of marriage! But she also knew him to
be grown-up and sensible under the light veneer of affectation; he would not ask her opinion unless he had thought the matter out beforehand, and she did not wish to hurt his feelings by assuming an all-too-light-hearted tone. However, she felt a pang of alarm at the thought of having sooner or later to part with him.

‘Marriage! Georges, are you serious?'

He gave a secretive smile, as though absorbed in some sweet vision.

‘Why not?' he said, his voice sinking to a whisper.

‘Are you . . . are you then . . . so much in love?' she asked in a hardly audible voice. ‘Is it . . .?' A name rose to her lips, but she left it unsaid.

He nodded happily, as if he knew she had guessed. Before his departure to Berlin she had already been teasing him about being sweet on Lili Verstraeten, of whom he talked so often. But now that he had acknowledged it, she was crestfallen. How did he know that Lili cared for him? Wasn't he building castles in the air? But she did not voice these concerns, for he seemed so happy and hopeful.

‘Georges, if you are truly in earnest, well . . . let's see . . .' she resumed, moving her chair closer to his. ‘Suppose everything goes smoothly at first, say you propose, and she accepts, what then? You know you'll have to wait for ages before you can have a wedding.'

‘Why?'

‘But, Georges, what are you thinking? Surely you don't mean to marry on your salary as Assistant-Consul? A mere twelve hundred guilders, am I right? Of course, there is your share of Mama's estate, but it's a bagatelle, it won't make you wealthy by any means! So I ask you, what will you live on? You can't count on the Verstraetens giving very much as a dowry; they live comfortably enough, but quite modestly. They are not rich, you know.'

‘My dear Emilie, if you must do my sums for me, you could at least get them right. It's true that I don't reckon on support from my . . .' he smiled as his voice sank to a whisper, ‘from my future parents-in-law, should it come to that. In fact I would not even wish to.'