‘And the other morning?’ Laura could not forbear to ask. ‘You know… when we met on the quay.’
‘Oh, Florian never gets up before ten. He never has breakfast, you see. And the Uncles van Zestien were away at that silly Conference I mentioned.’
‘I see. Well, to save embarrassment later, perhaps I’d better tell you,’ said Laura, ‘that we are the awful people for whom the Professors van Zestien are giving the ghastly dinner-party. I take it that you will be present, so we’ll just say au revoir and toddle along.’ She grinned, and patted the stricken girl kindly on the shoulder. ‘Don’t weaken,’ she added. ‘All’s forgiven and forgotten, to coin a phrase.’
CHAPTER TWO
A Dinner in Amsterdam
‘… there was sharp stylistic differentiation in the arts and crafts of tribes whose broad culture pattern was the same.’
G. C. Vaillant
« ^ »
Dame Beatrice and Laura explored Amsterdam first of all by steamer from the Stationsplein. Unlike those of Venice, the Amsterdam canals are bordered, for the most part, by streets. Moreover, they do not form a network so much as a woven pattern of concentric circles, and the same bridge may span four, or even more, of these canals at a time.
Laura and Dame Beatrice had been on the steamer for not more than a few minutes when they heard the sound of a barrel-organ for the first time.
‘Hullo! Pop music,’ said Laura.
‘I have been told,’ said Dame Beatrice, ‘that one should by no means neglect to take the opportunity of inspecting one of these anachronisms. They are said to be decorated by figures which behave in a human manner and to be one of the show-pieces of the city. Incidentally, they may furnish us with a subject of conversation at this evening’s festivities.’
‘Any subject to be avoided, by the way? One likes to be forewarned,’ said Laura.
‘So far as the professors are concerned, none at all. Of their relatives’ sensitivities, of course, I cannot speak with any assurance.’
‘One usually has to avoid discussing politics and religion.’
‘They are very much better avoided, in my case, as I know little of either, and could not discuss them intelligently, however much I might wish to do so.’
The pleasant jumble of houses slid by. The voice of the professional guide droned on. The white-painted pleasure steamer passed beneath bridge after bridge. The boat was broad, squat, comfortable, and had a glass roof. Time passed. Empty barges, painted coal-black and bearing numbers instead of names, were drawn up at quays. A large municipal building, half-obscured by trees, had a tower of red brick topped by a silver-grey spire of graceful proportions. A clock at the base of this spire gave the time as half-past twelve. In the distance was another bridge and there were more towers and a gasometer. Opposite the barges, privately-owned motorboats were at moorings. Everything looked remarkably clean.
‘Well,’ said Laura, when the trip was over, ‘where do we go from here?’
‘Back to lunch,’ replied Dame Beatrice firmly. ‘After that, we can see how we feel. For my own part, I am open to any suggestions which you may see fit to offer.’
‘The Rijksmuseum would give us something to talk about, if the barrel-organs pass out on us or we haven’t managed to see one.’
‘The Rijksmuseum? An excellent idea.’
‘On the other hand, there is something to be said for leaving the Dutch immortals in peace,’ said Laura thoughtfully. ‘I don’t somehow feel I can do them justice at the dinner table. All my concentration will be on the food. What about hiring a car and going to Haarlem? From there — I’ve been looking at the map in the hotel vestibule — we could go to Zandvoort. Didn’t you once speak of yachts?’
They spent a pleasant and comparatively lazy afternoon and, in the evening, were conducted to the hotel at which the dinner-party was to be held. They were taken up by Sweyn to the floor on which the private dining-room was situated. With them in the lift were a squarely-built, black-haired, elderly woman and a younger one, fashionably dressed, slim and elegant. The older woman suddenly broke out with impressive vehemence.
‘So why are we mounting to these attics?’ she declaimed rhetorically. ‘Why not a decent room on a decent floor, no?’
‘The best we can do,’ said Sweyn, smiling.
‘I’m sure it will be very nice, mamma. I don’t suppose they let the ground-floor rooms to private parties,’ said the young woman hastily.
‘Nice is nonsense! I am not here to be nice. For relations I have to be nice! Phooey!’ She turned her back on Sweyn and, after giving an insolent stare at Dame Beatrice, who had come into her line of vision, she shrugged and sniffed.
The lift stopped at the third floor. Laura and Dame Beatrice got out. The mother and daughter followed them and Sweyn brought up the rear. They were all conducted to a swing door and ushered in. The rest of the company, it seemed, was already gathered in the ante-room in which cocktails were being served. Soon Dame Beatrice and Laura were pounced upon by Binnie.
‘Oh, hullo,’ she said. ‘I say, here’s a mess! Great-aunt Rebekah Rose, Bernie’s grandmother, has invited herself and Aunt Petra to the dinner. Oh, Lord! Here they are! Nobody’s safe while Great-aunt Rebekah is around. Do have some sherry or something. I hope dinner will come soon. I’m famished, wolfish and starving.’
Dinner was announced, and at the table Laura found herself next to Sweyn van Zestien. He declared that he was delighted.
‘Oh, so am I,’ said Laura. ‘I hear you’re an authority on rune-stones, especially those in Denmark. We’ve got some at home in Britain, but when I was in Sweden last year I was told that in about a.d. 1000 the runes took a new lease of life and the rune-stones became more numerous in Sweden than anywhere else. Would that be so?’
Sweyn embarked upon a long, elaborate and very learned reply. Laura listened attentively, but could not help overhearing a far more enthralling conversation which was going on elsewhere. An old, strident, self-assured voice dominated the milder tones of her relations, who were attempting to apply the soft pedal.
‘So I am paying for an empty pea-shuck, is it? So I am to be cheated by rascally shopkeepers, yes?’ shouted Rebekah Rose.
An exquisite young man, who had been introduced as Bernardo, and who was a Byronic, very handsome fellow, took issue with her.
‘Now, now, Grandmamma! You can’t expect us to swallow that one, you know! You took back an empty pea-shuck? It just sounds silly to me.’
‘Silly?’ screamed his grandmother. ‘So what? Is silly when, in a bar, you are asking for whisky and paying for it, too, and you get an empty glass? That would be silly, isn’t it, when you don’t complain?’
‘It’s not the same thing, Grandmamma, not the same thing at all. An empty pea-shuck, well, that’s only one among many, and can make no possible difference; but an empty whisky-glass is a thing in its own right, don’t you see.’
‘And a whisky-glass is accounting for all these deaths on the road, hein? A little ordinary pea-shuck is not doing that, yes? So it has no importance? Stupid boy!’
‘Runic stones in Denmark are to be found mostly in village churchyards,’ pursued Sweyn’s thoughtful, cultured voice. ‘Many of the runes are accompanied by very interesting designs based upon those used in wood-carving. There is a notable example…’
Laura tried to listen to him, but was soon defeated.
‘So I am calling you, Bernardo, an outraged twit!’ screamed Bernardo’s grandmother.