The Little Dragon

CHAPTER TWO

CONSTANTIA SAW Doctor van der Giessen three days later, on a rather bleak Sunday afternoon, because Mrs Dowling had decided that it suited her to allow Constantia to have her half day then…that there would be very little for her to do hadn’t entered her patient’s head. She was having friends in for tea and bridge, and there would be no need for her company.

So Constantia wrapped herself up in her winter coat once more and went for a walk. The Hotel Central would be open, she would have tea there and then go back and write letters and perhaps spend an hour conning the Dutch phrase book she had purchased; and if the walk palled, there were two museums which would be open until five o’clock. She had been saving them for a wet day, but they would pass a pleasant hour.

She was making her way towards the Nieuwe Plantage when she saw the doctor coming towards her. He wasn’t alone; there were three small children skipping around him and two magnificent long-haired Alsatian dogs were at his heels, and trotting along on a lead, a small black and white dog of no known parentage.

‘Another half day?’ asked the doctor as they drew level with her and came to a halt.

‘Yes. Mrs Dowling is playing bridge this afternoon.’

‘We were just saying that we would like something nice to happen—and here you are.’

‘Well,’ began Constantia, ‘you’re very kind to say so.’

‘Paul,’ he introduced the elder of the two boys, ‘and Pieter, seven and nine years old, and Elisabeth—she’s five.’

The children shook hands and smiled at her. They were nice-looking and very clean and neat; she wondered how the doctor managed that.

‘And the dogs—Solly and Sheba, and this…’ He indicated the nondescript animal now worrying his shoes, ‘is Prince.’

Constantia stroked three silky heads and said ‘Hullo,’ and the doctor observed: ‘Good, now you know everyone. We’re on our way back from the usual Sunday afternoon walk.’ He paused and went on smoothly: ‘We mustn’t keep you—your free time is precious.’

Constantia’s tongue almost tripped over itself in her hurry to agree. Not for the world would she have admitted, even to herself, that she would have welcomed a few minutes spent in the doctor’s company, not to mention the children and the dogs. She bade them all a cheerful goodbye and walked off in a purposeful fashion as though she really had somewhere to go. She longed to look round and watch them on their way home, but if one of them happened to look round at the same time, they might think that she was being nosey.

She walked on, not seeing her surroundings at all; they would be home by now—a small, shabby house, probably, if the car was anything to go by, but it would be cosy inside and they would have tea round the fire and do jigsaw puzzles and draw, and the doctor would sit in his chair and admire the children’s efforts and catch up on his reading when he wasn’t called upon to help with the jigsaw puzzle… She made herself think about something else; it was only because she felt a little lonely that she was allowing her imagination to run away with her, and she had better hurry back to the town’s centre or the museums would be closed. There might be a café open where she could get a cup of tea.

She couldn’t find a caf, but she did discover the Hofje van Elisabeth Pauw, a cluster of almshouses round a courtyard, old and peaceful and delightful to see even on a cold March afternoon. And as the Hofje van Gratie was close by it seemed a shame not to take a look at it while she was in that part of the town. By the time she had found her way back to the Markt square, it was too late to visit a museum; she went instead to the Hotel Central and had coffee in its dim warmth. There were a lot of people there, sitting in family groups or couples with their heads close together; it gave her the illusion that she was one of them, so that she settled quite happily to writing the postcards she bought at the bar and presently ordered more coffee and a ham broodje to go with it. Nel would have kept some supper for her—soup and something cold which she was expected to take to her room on a tray.

The house was quiet as she went in an hour later. Constantia started gingerly up the stairs, intent on gaining her room without Mrs Dowling knowing that she was back. A half day was a half day, after all, although her patient seemed to think that once she was in the house, she could resume her duties at the drop of a hat. She had gained the landing when Mrs Dowling’s harsh voice called: ‘Is that you, Nurse? Come in here.’

Constantia sighed and turned her steps to the front of the house where Mrs Dowling spent so much of her day. That lady looked up from her book as she went in with a peevish: ‘I can’t think what you find to do, Nurse—you might just as well stay in the house.’

‘I find exploring Delft very interesting, Mrs Dowling.’

‘Huh—and who do you meet on the sly?’ Mrs Dowling suddenly smiled rather nastily. ‘So you do meet someone—I can see it in your face.’

‘No, Mrs Dowling, I don’t, not an arranged meeting, and that’s what you’re hinting at. I did meet someone this afternoon—we said good afternoon and that was all.’

‘Who was it?’ demanded her patient.

‘I don’t think it could be of any interest to you, but there’s no secret about it. Doctor van der Giessen—I met him with Doctor Sperling a day or so ago.’

‘Him—he hasn’t any money,’ said Mrs Dowling deliberately.

Constantia’s grey eyes surveyed her with veiled contempt. ‘He’s a hardworking doctor—surely that’s more important?’

Her patient made a vulgar noise. ‘And what use is that with three children to clothe and feed and educate? I don’t know him, but Doctor Sperling has hinted as much. He’s poor.’ She uttered the word with contempt.

Constantia composed her features into mild interest and said: ‘Oh?’

‘Don’t tell me you haven’t made it your business to find out? I thought all nurses were after doctors. Well, now you do know, so there’s no point in making eyes at him.’

Constantia went a little pale; she said evenly: ‘If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Dowling, I still have an hour or so of my half day—I have some letters to write. I’ll say goodnight.’

‘You’re so damned ladylike!’ snapped her patient.

She had spoilt what was left of the day, of course. Constantia went along to the kitchen and collected her frugal supper and then went to bed early, for there was nothing else to do. She took great care not to think about Doctor van der Giessen at all.

Doctor Sperling came the next morning and because Mrs Dowling complained of headache, prescribed tablets—to be fetched by Constantia immediately, for the apotheek would be unable to deliver them at once. ‘Just over the bridge,’ he told her, ‘go through the shopping precinct, you will find it a little further along. You will need to get there by noon—they will be closing for lunch.’

Mrs Dowling glanced at the diamond-studded watch on her bony wrist. ‘Yes, go now, Nurse, and you, Doctor Sperling, can stay for a few minutes and see what is to be done about my diet. I need variety—my appetite needs tempting.’

Constantia felt a pang of pity for Doctor Sperling as she slipped away. Even ten minutes away from her patient was a pleasurable little bonus. Not even that lady’s ‘Hurry back, Nurse,’ could dim that. She whipped off the cap Mrs Dowling insisted that she wore, fetched her coat and let herself out of the house.

She had finished her errand and was almost at the bridge when Doctor van der Giessen, carrying his bag, came out of a doorway.

His ‘Good morning’ was genial. ‘Free so early in the day?’ he wanted to know.

She beamed at him warmly, for it was like meeting an old friend. ‘No, just an errand—some pills for Mrs Dowling; Doctor Sperling wanted her to have them at once.’ She gave a small skip. ‘I have to be very quick.’

He was blocking her path and he made no move to stand aside.

‘It’s not good for you to rush around. I prescribe two minutes of standing just where you are—we can while them away with a little light conversation. Did you enjoy your half day?’

‘Oh—yes. I walked to the Hofje van Elisabeth Pauw and then I went to see the other one close by, and by then it was too late to go to a museum, so I had coffee at the Central Hotel—it’s nice there. There were a lot of people.’

His eyes were quick to see the wistfulness on her face. He said gently: ‘And then what did you do?’

‘I went back…’ She remembered Mrs Dowling’s remarks and went bright pink.

‘And your patient was waiting for you?’ he prompted.

‘Yes, she was—but it didn’t matter.’ She smiled at him. ‘I really must go.’

He fell into step beside her, and as they crossed the bridge asked: ‘When is your next half day?’

‘Thursday. There’s a bridge party. It’s market day, isn’t it? I’m going to have a super time going round the stalls.’

He caught her arm in a casual grip and steered her across the busy street. ‘I have a half day too—perhaps we could go together.’

They were on the pavement outside the Hotel Central’s coffee room, full of people sitting at the little tables in its windows, watching the street and the passers-by in it.

‘Oh, I’d love that.’ Constantia sounded like a happy child, ‘but wouldn’t it bore you?’

He was looking at the curious faces peering at them through the glass, but he turned to look down at her. ‘No, it wouldn’t. I enjoy your company.’ He smiled in a friendly fashion and went on casually: ‘I’ll be here waiting for you.’

‘Two o’clock,’ pronounced Constantia, and added, ‘You have no idea how marvellous it is to have a friend.’

‘You think of me as a friend?’ There was mild interest in his voice.

‘Oh, yes. I hope you don’t mind?’

‘I’m delighted. Shall we shake on it?’ They shook hands and the interested faces on the other side of the glass window smiled, although neither of them noticed that.

Constantia was late. Mrs Dowling made a point of pointing that out to her. She grumbled on and off for the rest of the day too, so that Constantia went to bed with a faint headache; not that that mattered. Thursday wasn’t too far away; she would wash her hair, she decided rather absurdly, and fell to wondering if she should have it cut short and permed—perhaps not, supposing it didn’t suit her? Unlike most pretty girls, she had never considered herself more than passable—although it doesn’t matter what one looks like to a friend, she reminded herself, and that was what Doctor van der Giessen was.

Thursday held a touch of spring, with a brilliant sunshine making nonsense of the biting wind. Constantia, tempted to wear a thin wool dress under her winter coat, changed her mind and put on a Marks and Spencer sweater and a pleated skirt and tied a scarf round her slender neck. No one would see what she was wearing under her coat and the dress wouldn’t be thick enough. She pulled a knitted cap down over her ears and thus sensibly attired, hurried from the house before Mrs Dowling, awaiting her friends for bridge in the sitting room, should think of something for her to do.

The doctor was waiting, bare-headed in the wind and not seeming to mind. He greeted her casually and she said at once: ‘Sorry I’m a bit late—it’s sometimes difficult to get away.’ And then: ‘You’re sure you don’t mind coming to the market? Are the children at school?’

He nodded. ‘Though I must get back about half past three or four—they’ll be coming home then.’

Less than two hours, she thought regretfully, and then chided herself for being discontented. Two hours was quite a long time and she was lucky to have someone to go out with.

The market square, when they reached it, was teeming with people; housewives with bulging shopping baskets, old men peering at the stalls and buying nothing, children weaving in and out between the grown-ups, dogs barking, and a number of respectable matrons in frightful felt hats and expensive unfashionable coats, who peered at the stalls’ contents with sharp eyes and when they bought anything, bargained for it shrewdly. There weren’t just fruit and vegetable stalls, butchers and fishmongers and household goods, there were stalls devoted entirely to cheese, mountains of it—brightly coloured aprons and dresses and trestle tables laid out with rows of old-fashioned corsets and bras. Constantia, her fascinated eyes held by the sight of them, was quite taken aback.

‘They’re so large and there are so many,’ she remarked to her companion. ‘Whoever buys them?’

He grinned down at her. ‘I’ve never dared to stay long enough to find out,’ he told her, ‘but they must do a roaring trade. As far as I can remember they haven’t changed their—er—shape since I was a small boy.’

Constantia giggled and then sighed with pleasure. ‘Isn’t this a simply gorgeous place?’ she wanted to know. ‘And look at those flowers—it’s only March and there’s roses and lilac and freesias and tulips…’

‘But this isn’t the flower market, that’s in the Hippolytusbuurt—we’ll go there presently.’

They strolled round, the doctor’s hand on her arm, for there was a good deal of good-natured pushing and shoving and as he pointed out, her small slim person would have stood very little chance of staying upright. Constantia, who was remarkably tough despite her fairy-like appearance, didn’t argue the point; it was pleasant to be looked after so carefully. And the flower market was something she wouldn’t have missed for the world, for the stalls lined the whole length of the canal, a riot of spring flowers. Constantia stood and sniffed their fragrance and exclaimed, ‘Oh, I’ve never seen anything like this—are they here all the year round?’

‘Yes, even in midwinter. They hang out little orange-coloured lanterns so that the customers can see.’ They had paused before a stall and Jeroen van der Giessen spoke to the stallholder, who smiled and began bunching narcissi, daffodils and tulips in a vast colourful bouquet. When the doctor took them from her and handed them to Constantia she said in utter surprise, ‘For me? all these? there are dozens… How absolutely super!’

She couldn’t help but see the notes the doctor was passing across the stall—a lot of money—far too much, but she knew instinctively that if she even so much as hinted that he was being extravagant, he would be annoyed. All the same, the money would have bought warm socks for the children…

Evidently that point of view hadn’t occurred to her companion; he appeared quite unworried at his expenditure, took her arm again and strolled on until they reached the end of the canal, where he turned down a narrow street which led them to Oude Delft. ‘Tea?’ he enquired. ‘I live close by and the children are always famished when they get home.’

She wondered just where close by was. The houses on either side of the canal were large; museums, converted offices, large family mansions for those who could still afford to maintain them. She didn’t have to wonder for long; he crossed one of the little arched bridges and paused before the massive door of a patrician house, its flat-faced front ornamented in the rococo style with a great deal of plaster work.

‘Here?’ asked Constantia in an unbelieving voice.

Her companion had taken out a key and turned to look at her. ‘Er—yes.’

‘You live here? I thought…oh, it’s a flat.’

‘No, it’s a house—the owner allows me to live in it.’

‘How kind of him—a relation, I expect.’ She skipped past him into the hall, quite happy again. For one moment she had wondered if he was actually the owner of all this magnificence. For it was magnificent; a vast square hall, its white marble floor covered with thin silk rugs, an elaborately carved staircase rising grandly from its centre, and the sort of furniture that one saw in museums—only the atmosphere wasn’t like a museum at all. The house was lived in and cared for. She wondered who coped with the vast amount of polishing and cleaning evident in the hall alone. ‘Do you have a daily woman?’ she asked.

The doctor looked surprised and then amused, but he answered carefully: ‘Oh, yes, a very good woman, her name’s Rietje. She’s not here this afternoon, though. I expect the children will get the tea; they’ll be here at any moment.’ He shut the massive door behind him. ‘Ah, here are Solly and Sheba and Prince. There’s a cat in the kitchen—the children, you know,’ he added vaguely.

Constantia nodded her understanding. ‘Of course, they have to have pets.’

She stood a little irresolutely, for her host appeared lost in thought—or was he listening for something? She decided that she was mistaken, for he spoke to the dogs and then said: ‘Do take your coat off,’ and took it from her and tossed it on to one of the carved chairs against one wall, then tossed his on top of it. ‘Shall we go into the sitting room?’

It was a grand room, grandly furnished with rich brocade curtains at its windows and more fine rugs on the polished wood floor, but somehow it was comfortable too, with great armchairs and sofas of an inviting softness, and delicate little tables. There were bookshelves too and a pile of children’s comics and a half-finished game of Monopoly. Constantia drew an admiring breath.

‘It’s beautiful,’ she exclaimed, ‘and so exquisitely furnished. Doesn’t the owner mind you being here?’ An expression she couldn’t read crossed her companion’s face and she hastened to add: ‘I didn’t mean you—I was thinking of the children. Three of them, you know, however good they are—I mean, breaking things and finger marks…’

The expression had gone, if ever she had seen it. He said easily, ‘He doesn’t object—he likes children, you see. Besides, he understands that they’re well behaved and wouldn’t break or spoil anything if they could help it. There’s a big room upstairs which they use as a playroom, and he doesn’t mind how much that gets battered.’

Her voice was warm. ‘He must be a nice man.’ She looked around her again. ‘You’d think that he would want to live here himself.’

‘He likes the country.’

‘Oh, yes, I suppose he would if he’s elderly. He must have a great deal of money if he has two houses. Is he married?’

She had crossed the room to look at a flower painting and had her back to the doctor, who had bent to tickle Prince’s ears. ‘No—he’s rather a lonely man.’

Her pretty face was full of sympathy as she turned to face him. ‘Oh, the poor dear—if only he had a wife and children—being lonely is terrible.’

Her companion echoed her. ‘Terrible, and if only he had…’

‘Anyway, he must be a perfect dear to allow you all to live here, though I expect he feels that this house was built for a family. Your…uncle?’ She paused and looked enquiringly at the doctor. ‘He is a relation?’

He nodded. ‘Oh, certainly of my blood.’

‘Yes, well—I daresay he loves this place very much and likes to know that there are children in it.’

‘I’m sure that he does—here they come now. They use the little door in the garden wall at the back.’

They surged in, all talking at once, laughing and calling to each other, running to greet the doctor and then Constantia, delighted to see her again. The doctor prised them loose, quite unperturbed by the din going on around him, and said firmly in English: ‘Wash your hands for tea, my dears—it’s in the kitchen.’

Pieter and Paul exchanged glances and looked mischievous, and Elisabeth burst into a torrent of Dutch. Constantia had no idea what the doctor said to them, only that they chorused, ‘Ja, Oom Jeroen,’ and flew from the room; she could hear them giggling together as they crossed the hall and the doctor said easily: ‘Don’t mind the mirth—speaking English always sends them into paroxysms.’

Constantia giggled too. ‘You’ve got your hands full, haven’t you? But they’re pretty super, aren’t they?’

In her room that evening, getting ready for bed, she allowed her thoughts to linger over the day while her eyes dwelt on the flowers arranged in the variety of vases and jars she had managed to collect around the house. It had been tremendous fun and much, much nicer than she had ever supposed it would be. The market had been great, but tea with the doctor and his small relatives had been marvellous. They had sat at the big scrubbed table in the centre of the enormous kitchen, with its windows overlooking the garden at the back of the house, and eaten the sort of tea she remembered from her own childhood. Bread and butter and jam and a large cake to cut at, and when she had remarked upon it the doctor had assured her that although it certainly wasn’t the rule in Holland, where a small cup of milkless tea and a biscuit or a chocolate were considered quite sufficient, he had found that the children, hungry from school, enjoyed a more substantial meal when they got home and then only needed a light supper at bedtime.

And after tea they had all washed up and gone back upstairs to play Monopoly until bedtime, when she had helped Elisabeth get ready for bed, and when she had gone downstairs again there had been her host with a coffee tray on the table before the great fireplace in the sitting room. There had been little chicken patties and sausage rolls too, and when she asked who did the cooking, it was to hear that Rietje did that too, and from time to time produced the dainties they were eating for their supper.

All the same, thought Constantia worriedly as she sat on the edge of her bed, giving her soft fine hair its regulation one hundred strokes, Doctor van der Giessen must have his work cut out. She got into bed, her mind busy—longing to know more about him.