Little Girl Lost (14 page)

‘Shh, shh,' he murmured as she put her head against his chest and sobbed. ‘No need to say sorry. Let it all out.'

Her tears wet his jacket and shirt as she wept and said how sad she was, and he closed his eyes and felt the warmth and softness of her as she leaned against him and he felt no guilt whatsoever, for hadn't Nicolaas asked him to take care of her?

‘She deserves happiness,' he had said, and that he wanted her to find love again. But Frederik also recalled that Nicolaas had said that Cornelia would be vulnerable for some time, and that he hated the thought that someone might take advantage of her. But wasn't that what Frederik was doing? Was holding her in his arms and offering her comfort a prelude to something less innocent? He determined that Cornelia should never be given reason to suspect his integrity.

Cornelia drew away and put her feet to the floor. Frederik gave her his large clean handkerchief and she took it and blew her nose. ‘Whatever will you think of me, Frederik?' she said shakily. ‘I am sorry if I've embarrassed you. So very sorry. This has been building up and up, and I have been so cross and sharp with everyone; that's why I sent the children to my mother. Why should they spend time with such a miserable wretch as me? And poor Miriam couldn't do anything right for me, so I sent her home so that I could drown alone in my misery.'

He patted her shoulder in sympathy. ‘And then I came barging in and disturbed you.'

She turned a tear-stained face towards him. ‘I'm glad that you were here,' she said, her voice hoarse with crying. ‘I'm only sorry that you had to witness my distress.'

‘It was quite natural,' he said softly. ‘You wouldn't be human if you weren't able to show it.'

‘I'm so lonely, Frederik,' she said simply. ‘I'm used to being loved, and that has been taken away from me.'

He swallowed. ‘You and Nicolaas had a very special marriage,' he said softly, and as she nodded he saw her eyes fill up again. ‘How lucky you were.'

‘We did,' she said. ‘And we were lucky. I know that eventually I will believe that, but at present it makes it more difficult. Do you understand what I mean?'

‘Yes, I think so.' He did, of course. To be so close to someone and then lose them must be heartbreaking.

‘Do you have a good marriage, Frederik?'

‘No,' he said. ‘If I'm honest, we don't. Not like you and Nicolaas, which was why I said how lucky you were.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be inquisitive.' She wiped her eyes. ‘I assumed …' Her mouth formed a moue as if the idea that anyone might not have a good marriage hadn't occurred to her, but he dismissed her apology with a shrug as if the discussion was of no account.

She offered to make them a light supper, so he followed her down to the kitchen and sat on a stool whilst she sliced up cold meat, boiled eggs and took rye bread out of the crock and pickled herrings from the larder. She put the food on to a tray and gave him a bottle of red wine to open. As he did so she put her hand over her mouth and Frederik saw her eyes fill up with tears again.

‘What?' he said softly.

‘I'm so very pleased you came,' she said, her voice choked. ‘I was at rock bottom and feeling so sorry for myself, when really I have no need to be. I have so much – my beautiful children, a lovely home and such good friends. Thank you, Frederik. Thank you.'

He longed to take her in his arms, to kiss her cheeks and stroke her hair, but he had to be content with reaching for her hand and gently squeezing it.

They ate at the small table by the stove upstairs in the soft glow of lamplight. He couldn't recall a time when he had felt so content. When they had finished eating and talking the evening had lengthened, and the clock ticking on the wall told him that it was almost half past ten.

‘I should be going,' he said.

‘You won't get a cab tonight.'

‘I was going to walk,' he said. ‘I'll find a local guesthouse, won't I?'

Cornelia gazed at him for a moment, and then turned her gaze to the flickering fire. Then she sighed and turned back to him.

‘Won't you stay, Frederik? I'd like you to.'

Within the second's pause before he answered, he wondered whether or not she had already been compromised by his visit. She had been alone when he arrived and he had been here for several hours, so what difference would it make if he stayed until morning? What was more, the idea of venturing out into the cavernous blackness to look for accommodation was hardly appealing on such a wintry night.

‘There is a guest bed ready,' she added, as if assuring him that it wouldn't be inconvenient. ‘It is a habit I have always had in case of unexpected guests.'

‘That's very kind of you,' he said. ‘I admit that I'm not keen on walking out into a blizzard, so, if you're sure, yes, thank you, I'd be pleased to stay.'

She seemed happy, giving him a sunny smile, and half rose from her chair. ‘I'll find you a robe and run the warming pan over the sheets.'

‘The robe, yes, but I'll be quite warm enough, thank you. But there's no hurry, unless of course you are tired, which I'm sure you must be.'

Suddenly they were polite to each other, embarrassed perhaps because he was staying the night.

‘I'm not in the least tired,' she said, sitting down again. ‘I have really enjoyed talking to you, Frederik, but I am talked out and you must be bored with my moaning, so now it's your turn. Tell me about you and your family, and your business too. It's good that you still have so many ties with Netherlands. How is your mother in Amsterdam?'

He assured her that he wasn't in the least bored, and discussed his business interests in both England and Netherlands. He told her about his plans to give shares to the people who worked for him in Amsterdam. ‘It's important that they feel included in a business for which they work very hard and enthusiastically, and it seems the right thing to do. My lawyer agrees, and we are in the process of setting up the detail.' He realized as he spoke that although he had mentioned the idea to Rosamund, she hadn't made any comment. It was refreshing, he thought, to discuss it with someone who seemed interested.

Eventually they agreed that it was time to prepare for bed. Frederik carried the tray downstairs, Cornelia took the wine glasses and the empty wine bottle and they stacked everything by the deep sink in the kitchen. He smiled when he thought of how he and his siblings had done things like this when they were children.

‘Why are you smiling?' Cornelia asked.

‘Just thinking of the past,' he said. ‘We were all expected to help when we were children – not a lot, but to know how to. Rosamund was brought up in a household where they had servants to do everything for them, and so it continues at home now. Margriet has never moved a dish or a piece of cutlery in her life.'

‘Oh, but that's dreadful,' Cornelia exclaimed. ‘She should be taught how a home is run, or how will she know what to expect from the servants?'

He agreed, but knew that Rosamund would never countenance such a concept.

Cornelia showed him into the guest room and lit a bedside lamp, and then pointed out the robe hanging behind the door and the towels on the wash stand. She offered to bring up a jug of hot water but he reassured her there was no need as he could wash as easily in cold, and awkwardly they stood in the small room and said goodnight. She thanked him for his company and he gently kissed her hand and closed the door behind her.

He sat on the bed and put his head in his hands. The more he saw of her, the more he wanted to be with her, yet he could ruin her life just by being here, and ruin his marriage into the bargain if Rosamund discovered that he had spent the night with her, however innocently. On the other hand, would she even care? Did she expect him to remain celibate all his life? Sighing, he climbed into bed and turned down the lamp so that there was just a small glow that threw flickering shadows on the walls. Then he put his hands behind his head and wondered how to make sense of his difficulties.

Sleep must have overtaken him at some point, for he awoke to the sound of Cornelia softly calling his name. ‘Frederik? Are you awake?'

He sat up. ‘Yes,' he said throatily. ‘Yes. Are you all right?' The lamp was still burning and he saw her standing just inside the open door. She seemed almost ghostlike in a light-coloured robe, that glorious hair hanging loosely over her shoulders.

‘I woke you,' she whispered. ‘I'm sorry.'

He reached for the dressing robe that he'd thrown on the bed and slipped his arms into it, covering his nakedness as he stood up. ‘What is it? Are you unwell?'

‘No,' she murmured. ‘But I'm – I can't sleep, and I keep thinking of all the things we spoke of …' She turned away. ‘I'm being foolish – I'm sorry for disturbing you.'

‘No, wait.' He went towards her and took hold of her hand. ‘Shall I sit with you? Are you nervous?'

‘Nervous? No. But I'm very lonely. Will you – would you sit with me until I go to sleep?'

Frederik's heart hammered; how difficult that would be. ‘Do you trust me, Cornelia?'

‘I do,' she said, and began to weep.

He put his arm round her and led her back to her room. A low lamp burned there, and he saw how tumbled the bed sheets were, as if she had tossed and turned for hours. Somewhere in the house he heard a clock strike two. ‘Shall I make you a hot drink?' he suggested, almost as if she were a child.

She shook her head. ‘No. No, thank you. I'm so tired, but I can't sleep.'

He straightened the sheets and the blanket and the eiderdown and plumped up the pillows. ‘Come on; back to bed.'

She took off her robe, revealing her long white cotton nightdress, and Frederik suppressed an inward breath as she climbed into bed. He tucked her in, smiling. ‘I should tell you a bedtime story.'

Cornelia gave a weepy laugh. ‘I can't believe I'm asking you this, but will you sit with me?'

There wasn't a chair in the room, but it was a double bed and after a brief hesitation he went to the vacant side and swung his legs on to it. It was a very comfortable feather mattress, and he thought that this must have been where Nicolaas slept before his illness forced him to move into the other room.

‘Thank you,' she said simply; she was half propped up on the pillow and gazing at him. ‘I didn't want to be by myself. I should never have sent the children away.'

‘You did it for them, which was the right thing to do. Come here,' he murmured. Easing her up, he put his arm round her so that her head rested within the crook of his shoulder. ‘How's that?'

She sighed. ‘So comforting. What a good man you are, Frederik.'

If she knew what it was costing him, he thought, she would think him a very good man indeed. Her hair was tickling his face and he could smell her skin, an aroma of soap and something else, of flowers and lavender, and he inhaled deeply. ‘You smell nice,' he said softly, wanting desperately to kiss her cheek, but not daring to in case he frightened her. She'd said that she trusted him; he had to be satisfied with putting his head lightly against hers and saying, ‘Try to sleep now, Cornelia. Think of all the good things you have in life.' And he should do the same, he thought, and this was one of them.

He lay still, not daring to move, as Cornelia's breathing became steadier and he felt her relax against him. When he turned his head towards her he saw her eyelids were closed, and he kissed her lightly on the forehead. She made a small sound and snuggled closer, and then to his dismay she put one arm across him, her skin touching his where his robe didn't fasten. He was trapped, and to extricate himself he gently moved her.

Sound asleep, she turned over so that her back was facing him. He eased himself out of the bed, then lifted the blanket and crept back under it, keeping the top sheet between them. For heaven's sake, he thought, what am I doing? He could feel the warmth of her, and in the half-light of the lamp saw her long hair draped across the round curve of her shoulder, more than was proper to see of a woman who was neither wife nor lover. He wanted to turn towards her, but dared not – if she should wake! It was almost more than any man could bear.

Eventually he dropped into a light slumber, and dreamt that Cornelia held him in her arms and was giving him soft kisses while he kissed her cheek and her lips and ran his hands through her hair. He woke to find that they had turned to each other and she had her arm round him in a close embrace. Gently, he rolled away from her and buried his face in the pillow, breathing hard. The lamp had spluttered out and faint streaks of dawn were coming through the window before he silently left Cornelia's bed and tiptoed back to his own.

He awoke several hours later. He hadn't closed the curtains the night before, and a harsh bright light reflected from the snow streamed through the window. He wondered what time it was. He could hear the murmur of voices downstairs and guessed that the maid had come in to work. Presently he heard footsteps on the stairs and a knock on his door. It was Miriam, who had brought up a jug of hot water for shaving.

‘Thank you,' he said. ‘Please tell Mevrouw Jansen I will be down in ten minutes.'

She seemed not at all put out that a gentleman visitor had stayed the night. ‘Pardon,
meneer
, but there is coffee ready when you are, and
poffertjes
.'

He groaned. Was there nothing Cornelia couldn't do? Baby pancakes, such as his mother used to make: an absolute favourite.

Miriam beamed. ‘
Zeer goed!
'

Quickly he washed, shaved and dressed, repacked his overnight bag and went downstairs, where a delicious smell of coffee and pancakes greeted him. Cornelia looked up from setting places at the table and gave him a hesitant smile.

‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?'