‘I’m afraid it won’t amount to much,’ said Marie, while Losch adjusted her robe, but young Cateau van der Stoor thought otherwise, and remained lying motionless despite the unbearable cramp in her side owing to her difficult posture.
Eline, not wishing to disturb the concentration of the posing artistes, went into the conservatory, where she seated herself beside Mr Verstraeten to offer him her birthday greetings. He laid his book aside and removed his spectacles, the better to focus his twinkling brown eyes on the smart young visitor.
‘Do you know,’ she said, unfastening her fur-trimmed jacket, ‘do you know that I’m rather jealous of that happy little lot next door, always together, always jolly, brimming with ideas and fun. Why, they make me feel quite old!’
‘Well I never!’ said Madame Verstraeten, laughing as she stood in her peignoir behind a chair. ‘You’re the same age as Marie, aren’t you? Twenty-three, am I right?’
‘Yes, dear lady, but I was never as spoiled as Marie and Lili, not that I would have minded it one bit! As you know, at our house — when I was little — Papa was often ill and naturally that made us quiet, and afterwards at Aunt Vere’s. . she was extremely kind, but far older than Papa, and not very jolly either.’
‘You mustn’t speak ill of Aunt Vere, Eline!’ said Mr Verstraeten. ‘She was an old flame of mine, I’ll have you know.’
‘Ah, and you mustn’t poke fun at her! I loved her dearly, she was like a second mother to us, and when she died after that long illness it was a dreadful blow. I felt quite alone in the world. . So you see, I didn’t have an altogether happy time growing up.’ She gave a wistful smile, her eyes moistening at the thought of all she had missed. ‘But when you look at Paul and Etienne and the girls, there’s nothing but laughter and jollity. Really, it would make anyone jealous. And Cateau is a sweet girl, too.’
The artistes could be heard jumping down from the stage: the photography session had come to a close. Paul and Etienne entered the conservatory with Freddie, Marie and Cateau, all in costume, while Lili went up to bed, worn out from the excitement of the last two days.
‘Goodbye, Miss Vere,’ said Cateau, offering her small hand.
Eline felt a sudden, inexplicable affection for the young girl, so pure and unselfconsciously beguiling, and as she rose to leave she had to hide her emotion by giving Cateau a brusque, playful hug.
‘Goodbye, darling!’ she cooed. ‘Well, Madame Verstraeten, I’d better be off. I expect you have lots of things to attend to now that things are back to normal. Only, I promised Betsy I’d ask about the opera tickets. Might I take them with me, if you have them to hand, that is?’
. .
It was still early, just gone half-past two, and it occurred to Eline that she had neglected to call on Madame van Raat for quite some time, although she knew the old lady was devoted to her and liked receiving visitors in the afternoon for a chat. Henk called on his mother faithfully every morning after his ride, invariably accompanied by the two Ulmer hounds his wife could not abide, which would gleefully bound up the stairs in his mother’s house. Betsy seldom put in an appearance; she was aware of her mother-in-law’s reservations towards her. Eline, however, had won Madame van Raat’s heart thanks to the particularly engaging manner she had towards elderly ladies: something in her tone of voice, in her solicitous little attentions, that betokened a pleasing respectfulness.
Eline returned through Javastraat to Laan van Meerdervoort, and found Madame van Raat alone, sitting in her high-backed chair with her hands folded on her lap. The image she presented was of such utter despondency as to unsettle her young visitor; the grand but worn furnishings were redolent of nostalgia for past conviviality, and from the hallway to the front room with its sombre green-velvet curtains the sadness and yearning were almost palpable. Eline felt her heart sinking. How miserable it all was! No, life was not worth living. Why, oh why. .?
Then she mastered herself. Gathering together all the thoughts that had made her so cheerful that morning, she gave a smile and adopted her habitual tone of respectful concern and affection as she enthused about Paul, about the tableaux, about that evening’s dinner party and about the opera, and she promised to send Madame van Raat some books: light-hearted, entertaining literature, in which the world was viewed through rose-tinted glasses.
It pained her to keep up her lively prattle while she would have liked to have a good cry together with Henk’s mother, in woeful sympathy, but she contained her emotion and even plucked up courage to broach a more serious subject. She had seen tears in the dear lady’s eyes when she arrived, she said in her soothing voice, it was no use denying it; she did not wish to be inquisitive, but would love to console her if only she knew what was wrong, and besides, dear Madame had confided in her before, hadn’t she?
Eline was alluding to complaints about Betsy and various other, minor preoccupations, which she thought better not to spell out.
The old lady, feeling comforted already, gave a light laugh and shook her head: truly, there was nothing wrong, it was just that she felt lonely at times, or perhaps it was merely the tedium of her years; she had so few interests nowadays, but then that was her own fault, was it not? Other old people read the newspapers and continued to keep abreast of things generally, but not she. Oh, Eline was such a dear, sweet creature; why couldn’t Betsy be a bit more like her?
She perked up a little and began to talk of her girlhood, and then, gesturing toward her beloved husband’s portrait, of her life with him.
It was past four o’clock when Eline took her leave and hurried away. Dusk was falling, a thaw had set in, and the darkening clouds seemed about to come down to smother her. The old lady had said that she had been happy once, very happy. . but was that really true? And then look at her, Eline: she wasn’t happy, even if she was young. How would she feel if she were the same age as old Madame van Raat, and all wrinkled and ugly? She wouldn’t even have the consolation of happy memories to look back on; her entire life would be a sombre shade of grey, leaden like the clouds! Dear God, she thought, why must I live if I am not to be happy?
‘Why, oh why?’ she whispered, quickening her step at the thought of having to dress for dinner.
. .
It was to be a simple, informal dinner party. The Ferelijns arrived at half-past five, followed soon after by Emilie and Georges. Betsy received them in the salon and enquired after the Ferelijns’ little girl.
‘Much better, thank you; she no longer has a fever, but she is not yet fully recovered either,’ said Jeanne. ‘Dr Reijer was quite pleased with her progress. It was so kind of you to invite us; I haven’t had the opportunity to go out lately, so this is a most welcome change from being cooped up at home. Only, I’m afraid I took you at your word about it being an informal affair, as you can see.’