‘And so Mr van Raat — Mr Paul, I mean — is to be a lawyer, is he not?’ asked Cateau.
Why did she keep mentioning Paul? thought Eline. It was Paul here, Paul there, his wonderful singing voice, and now his career.
‘You are rather taken with Paul, I do believe!’ said Eline.
‘Oh yes, I like him very much!’ Cateau burst out happily. ‘Only sometimes, you know, he can get quite cross. Fancy, the other day, during the tableaux—’
And Eline was obliged to listen to a lengthy account of how Paul had lost his temper over some detail regarding the tableaux, and also how clever he was at draping the costumes.
‘She doesn’t mince matters,’ thought Eline. ‘But then it doesn’t necessarily mean that she’s sweet on him, I suppose, even if she does talk about him all the time. Because if she were, she’d probably not breathe a word, like me.’
It was half-past five; the callers began to take their leave.
‘So you’ll let me hear you and Paul sing?’ pleaded Cateau.
‘You could come on a Thursday afternoon, that’s when we usually sing together.’
‘Oh dear, I’m at school then.’
‘Well, in that case you could come during the evening some time.’
‘Oh, I’d love that, Eline.’
It was the first time Cateau had called Eline by her first name, and she beamed with gratification at her newly acquired status. Then she bade goodbye, urged to do so by her mother.
By the front door Eline, having said her farewells, found herself alone with Frédérique, quite by chance, while she waited for Betsy, who was still chatting with Mr Verstraeten. Eline was just about to say something to Freddie, but hesitated, thinking Freddie might address her first, and in the end both remained silent.
Young Cateau was ecstatic all the way home, singing the praises of Eline and Paul to her mother.
. .
The new year arrived with freezing temperatures. Betsy had invited the Verstraetens and the Van Erlevoorts as well as Madame van Raat and Paul to an oyster supper on New Year’s Eve, and a very pleasant evening was passed by all in the warm luxury of her salons. The wintry days of January succeeded one another in unbroken sameness, relieved in the evenings for Betsy and Eline by a constant string of dinners and soirées. The Van Raats led a busy social life, and Betsy was renowned for her elegant little dinner parties, with never fewer than ten guests and never more than a dozen, and always served with the most munificent refinement. They belonged to a coterie whose members were frequently in company with one another on terms of close familiarity, a state of affairs that caused them considerable satisfaction.
In between these light-hearted social engagements Eline fanned the flame of her secret love in mute contentment, and felt steeped in romance. One morning, as she was walking homeward along Prinsessegracht after an errand, she caught sight of Fabrice emerging from the Wood. She felt her heart beating and hardly dared to look again, but after a moment allowed her eyes to chance upon him with feigned indifference. He wore a short duffel coat with a woollen muffler thrown casually around his neck, and walked at a leisurely pace with his hands in his pockets, his swarthy features and somewhat moody expression partially hidden by the wide brim of his soft felt hat. He made on her an impression of lofty reserve, which fired her imagination: he was bound to be from a good family, for there was a quality to the set of his broad shoulders that struck her as very distinguished; his parents had opposed his wish to devote himself to art, but his vocation had been impossible to resist; he had received his musical training at a conservatoire, and he had made a successful debut, but now he found himself in the throes of disillusionment and bitterness about the world of the theatre, which was too coarse and uncivilised for his artistic sensibilities; he had withdrawn into proud isolation; he thought back on his childhood, on his youth, and he could see his mother wringing her hands and imploring him to abandon his ambition and think no more of the stage. .
From that day on Eline was seized with the caprice, as Betsy called it, of taking long walks in the morning. The Wood was so beautiful in winter, Eline declared; she adored the way the tall, straight trunks looked like marble pillars when it snowed; it was like being in a cathedral. Henk accompanied her a few times with Leo and Faust, the two Ulmer hounds, but he missed his habitual horse ride, and so she took to walking alone, after calling at the stable to collect the dogs, which bounded happily and protectively at her side like a pair of boisterous pageboys.
It was good for her constitution, she explained when eyebrows were raised at her new pursuit; she did not get enough exercise, and feared putting on weight like Betsy if she followed her example and never went anywhere on foot. Besides, Dr Reijer thought her morning promenades an excellent idea.
In the Wood she would see other people taking a stroll, usually the same ones, and there was an elderly grey-haired gentleman in a fur cloak, invariably coughing behind his hand, whom she crossed daily. But she seldom saw Fabrice. No doubt he was rehearsing, she told herself when the baritone failed to appear. Each time the disappointment left her feeling worn out, and she would make her way home longing for her boudoir, her warm stove and her piano. But she persisted in her walks regardless, and in due course noticed that Fabrice tended to favour Fridays. Any other day was completely unpredictable; she might see him, but then she might not. She made a point of rising early, even if she had only gone to bed at three after an exhausting soirée or a dance, and had dark rings beneath her eyes. True, she saw Fabrice quite often these days, but it was always at the opera, from a box, or the stalls, when she was accompanied by the Verstraetens or by Emilie de Woude and Georges — one evening she had even invited the Ferelijns to join her — but it was nothing like seeing him in the Wood. There she saw him differently, no longer as a vision on stage divided from her by the blaze of footlights but at close quarters, less than three paces removed from her, a man of flesh and blood.
On the days that she did catch sight of Fabrice, her heart soared, filling the high vault of snow-covered boughs with joy. She would see him coming in her direction with his manly, vigorous step, the hat at a rakish angle, the tasselled muffler fluttering from his shoulder, and when their paths crossed he would glance at her, or at the dogs sniffing his legs, with an inscrutable expression on his face. Afterwards, making her way home along the tree-lined Maliebaan, she would be overcome with a joy that made her bosom heave and the blood rush to her cool cheeks; she would not feel in the least tired, and on her return would break into jubilant song the moment she crossed the threshold. She would be in high spirits all day, her customary languid grace having ceded to quicksilver vivacity. Her eyes shone as she kept up her incessant banter; she called Henk an old lazybones and Ben a slowcoach and teased both father and son; she made the hall resound with her silver laughter and the stairs creak with her rapid footsteps.
One Friday morning, seeing Fabrice coming towards her, she made a decision. It was so childish not daring to meet his gaze, she reasoned; he was a member of the acting profession after all, and surely accustomed to being recognized in public by ladies. And so, when he was close, she tossed back her head with an air of almost haughty defiance, and looked him directly in the eye. He returned her look in his usual blank manner, and passed her without slowing his pace. Then, feeling reckless, she looked over her shoulder. . would he, too. .? No, he continued walking, his hands in his pockets, and her eyes followed his retreating, broad-shouldered frame.
That morning she sped homewards, humming under her breath, with a hint of mischievous glee about her closed lips. She could think of nothing but her encounter with Fabrice. When she rang the bell at Nassauplein and Grete let her in, the dogs bounded into the hall, barking with excitement. She had to laugh: she had clean forgotten to leave Leo and Faust behind at the stable on her way home!