‘Of course I promise, my child. But there is no need for all this distress, now is there? I’m afraid I have made you unhappy, for which I am truly sorry. But really, don’t you think you have behaved rather foolishly? Now listen to me. Try looking on the bright side. Personally, I would not be at all surprised if Paul still loves you; in other words, anything might still happen.’
‘But I was horrible to him! He hates me!’
‘Nonsense, dear! There, there, you must stop crying, Freddie. But now it is my turn to ask a promise of you now: will you try to believe that Paul still loves you? Will you try for my sake?’
Freddie gazed at through her tears.
‘I wish I could, but. . it wouldn’t be right!’ she said tonelessly.
Madame’s knowing smile never left her face; she kissed Frédérique and gently brushed the teardrops from her cheeks.
When Frédérique had gone, Madame van Raat did not betake herself to bed at once as she usually did, but stayed up for a long while afterwards, musing contentedly on her efforts to inveigle Frédérique into an admission. Never had she imagined herself capable of such a feat of diplomacy!
. .
So now she knew: Freddie loved her boy. Why she had rebuffed him was still unclear, but her motives for doing so no longer seemed to be clear to Freddie herself either. He had proposed, so much was evident. The next day Madame van Raat sent a note to her son asking him to come and visit her without delay, as she wished to hear his opinion on certain money matters. Paul complied with promptness and astonishment. Money matters? It was always Henk whom she consulted regarding the family finances, and besides, what did he know about money? That was exactly why she had summoned him, she declared: it was high time that he learnt to manage his own financial affairs. He shrugged, saying that he was sure that his brother was much better at such things than he was, whereupon she launched into a long and convoluted exposé to persuade him of the necessity of taking himself in hand, at the end of which she remarked, as though at random:
‘Freddie came to see me yesterday evening. Such a sweet girl. Such a shame. .’
‘Freddie? I didn’t know you and she saw each other.’
‘Oh yes, quite often.’
‘Often? I thought. .’
‘What, dear boy? Freddie often comes by of an evening, with Marie; they read to me, you see. Didn’t you know?’
‘No I didn’t.’
‘How odd; I thought you knew. We talk about you sometimes.’
‘About me? Does she talk about me?’
‘Well, not all the time, but whenever I mention you she responds very sweetly. Of course she doesn’t know you’ve told me everything, dear boy. So she is not aware that I know what passed between you.’
‘It’s a bit surprising that she should call on you, though.’
‘Not at all. No one knows about that, anyway.’
‘It still seems rather strange to me. I mean, that she can bring herself to come here. And also that you can sit and talk with her, exchanging pleasantries as if nothing had happened.’
‘Indeed, my dear Paul. It is true that I was vexed with her at first, but I have grown very fond of her since. Actually, I firmly believe that she loves you. Paul. And it is because that is what I believe, or rather, because I know it for certain, that I no longer have any ill feeling towards her.’
‘Oh, Mama!’ he faltered. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I can’t explain, but everything tells me that it is so. Little things she says. . a word here, a word there. .’
He was too dazed by the rosy prospects unfolding in his mind’s eye to respond, and his mother pursued with her counseclass="underline"
‘It is perfectly clear that she loves you. The pair of you could still find happiness together. Next time you see her, try not to behave as if you don’t care, as if you have put it all behind you. You ought to get to know her a little better.’
‘Don’t you think I know her well enough?’
‘No, Paul, you do not. I assure you, God help me, that she loves you!’
‘But she can’t!’ he stammered. ‘It’s impossible! Oh, Mama, it’s impossible.’
‘That is what she said, too!’ thought the old lady, rising. She enfolded him in her arms once more.
‘But she does! She does love you, my dear, dear boy!’ she whispered. A radiant smile crossed her features, making her seem ten years younger than her age.
. .
She thought it best to leave them be for a while, now that she had instilled in both their minds the notion of a misapprehension that might yet be rectified, and she bided her time.
Paul kept delaying his return to Bodegraven. The day after his conversation with his mother he called at the Verstraetens’. He arrived at four, an hour at which the family was usually gathered together and there was most chance of Freddie dropping by. So disappointed was he when she did not appear that he could not help asking Marie in an urgent undertone:
‘Won’t Freddie be coming this afternoon?’
She was startled by the question. ‘I don’t know, Paul. Why do you ask?’
‘It’s been so long since I’ve seen her,’ he almost whispered.
Marie blushed; she wished she could tell him how sorry Freddie had been about how things had turned out last summer, but she did not dare, for fear of inadvertently snarling the delicate fabric of emotion between them. It was up to them to find a resolution, but when would they do so? Perhaps never, thought Marie.
Paul did not see Freddie that afternoon. During dinner he asked his mother:
‘What would you say if I paid the Van Erveloorts a visit this evening?’
‘I’m sure they would like that,’ she replied.
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Oh, just a word here and a word there. Enough for me to look on the bright side, at any rate. You’ll see, Paul.’
Her response did not clarify matters, but was reassuring to him nonetheless. After dinner he grew agitated and began to pace the room sunk in thought.
‘Do sit down, Paul, and don’t let your coffee go cold.’
‘At what time do you think I should call on Madame van Erlevoort?’
‘Not before eight, my dear. Between eight and half-past.’
‘I used to call at any time, quite casually!’
‘And that is precisely why you ought to avoid any suggestion of a casual call.’
He sighed. In that case he would have a glass of cognac first, he decided, wondering what Freddie could possibly have said to his mother. He took a book and pretended to read. Madame pretended to doze, but in reality she was no less nervous than Paul.
The clock struck half-past seven, and he flung his book aside.
‘It’s stuffy in here; I need some air. I think I’ll take a stroll first,’ he said. ‘I’m off.’
She smiled. ‘Good luck, my dear,’ she said softly.
. .
That evening the Verstraetens, accompanied by Georges and Lili, made their way to the Voorhout; a cable had been sent to Etienne in Leiden summoning him home, and Madame van Erlevoort had asked Henk and Betsy to come, too.
For the latter it was the first time since the rupture between Eline and Otto that they visited the Van Erlevoort residence. However, all feelings of antagonism had vanished. The festive spirit ran high, for the news of Paul and Freddie’s betrothal had come as a complete and very welcome surprise.
When Madame van Raat returned home that evening, worn out from the emotion, she felt too tired to undress for bed, and sank into her easy chair to sit for a while, her veined hands folded on her lap, her chin sunk onto her breast, filled with wonder at the successful outcome of her instinctive machinations. That she, for all her despondence and lassitude, had had a hand in it! But then it was her son’s happiness that was at stake, and her piety had given her strength.