Eline Vere (24 page)

She began to laugh, as did Paul, who had overheard the last remark.

‘But Vincent, you're hallucinating!'

‘Maybe so. Still, it's an extraordinary sensation, seeing colours like that. Has it never happened to you?'

She reflected a moment, while Ange and Etienne, having caught what Vincent was saying, came closer.

‘No, I don't think it has.'

‘Don't you ever find that certain musical notes remind you of a particular fragrance, such as opopanax or reseda? The sound of an organ is like incense. Hearing you sing Beethoven's
Ah Perfido
always brings back the scent of verbena for me, especially one of the high passages at the end. Next time you sing it I'll tell you exactly which one.'

Ange giggled.

‘Oh, Mr Vere, how wonderful it must be to have such a keen sense of smell!'

Everyone smiled, and Vincent too seemed in high spirits.

‘But it's true, parole d'honneur.'

‘I'll tell you what: some people remind me of animals,' whispered Etienne. ‘Henk, for instance, reminds me of a big dog, Betsy of a hen and Madame van der Stoor of a crab.'

Peals of laughter ensued, at which Otto, Emilie and Léonie, rose from their seats and drew near.

‘What's so funny?' asked Emilie eagerly,

‘Madame van der Stoor is a crab!' hooted Ange, with tears in her eyes from laughing.

‘And me, Etienne, what do I remind you of?' demanded Léonie.

‘Oh, you and Ange are a pair of puppy dogs, woof, woof,' cried Etienne. ‘As for Miss de Woude,' he whispered in Ange's ear, ‘she reminds me of a turkey, with her double chin. Miss Frantzen's a turkey, too, of a slightly different kind. Willem the manservant is a dignified stork, and Dien, the Verstraetens' old housemaid, is a cockatoo.'

‘What a menagerie! A veritable Noah's ark!' tittered Léonie.

‘And Eline?' asked Paul.

‘Ah, Eline,' echoed Etienne dreamily. ‘Sometimes she's a peacock, sometimes a serpent, but right now she's a little dove.'

They all laughed heartily, shaking their heads at his extravagant fancies.

. . .

‘Etienne is always jolly,' Eline remarked to Otto when the little group had dispersed; she turned to smile and wave at Madame van Raat, who had ceded her place at the whist table to Emilie. Vincent, meanwhile, was besieged by the Eekhof girls clamouring to know whether he planned to start a perfumery store.

‘Yes, indeed,' said Otto. ‘Etienne is very jolly. He has every reason to be so, since he has everything he could wish for.'

His tone was a touch wistful, as if for him that were not the case, and Eline could not think of any reply. For a while they remained standing side by side, wordlessly. She extended her hand to touch the plumes in the Makart bouquet, and the turmoil in her mind began again.

‘Have you nothing to say to me?' he murmured. There was no trace of reproach in his voice.

She took a deep breath.

‘Truly, I . . . oh, not just yet, please forgive me. Later, I promise, in a while . . .'

‘All right, later. I will be patient – for as long as I am able,' he said, and his calm voice soothed the tangled web of her emotions. She could not refuse him now, but neither could she declare herself.

She felt a rush of admiration for his tact and gentleness as he continued to converse on various topics that held little interest for
either of them. That unassuming nature was in fact his greatest asset, that was why people liked him so much; he was so sincerely himself that he seemed incapable of having any secrets he might prefer to keep hidden. While he spoke he made no pretence of discussing anything of the slightest importance, he simply wished to remain standing beside her, and for that he needed to engage her attention – it was all so evident in the warm resonance of his voice. His mind was not in the conversation, and he didn't even care if she noticed. For the first time she felt something like pity for him. She was being cruel, she was making him suffer, and again she felt that strange, melting softness in her heart.

Gerard went round bearing silver trays laden with refreshments.

‘Would you like a sorbet, Madame, and a pastry?' Eline asked Madame van Raat, who was sitting alone on the sofa looking rather forlorn, although she smiled now and then at the cluster of young people telling each other's fortunes with the cards.

‘Look,' she said to Otto. ‘Henk's Mama is all by herself, I had better go and keep her company.'

He nodded kindly and went to listen to the horoscope Ange was drawing for Paul. Eline beckoned Gerard and took a sorbet and a pastry from the tray, which she offered to Madame van Raat. Then she seated herself beside the old lady and took her hand.

Ignoring the refreshments, Madame van Raat looked into Eline's eyes.

‘Well, what is it to be?' asked Madame.

In her state of melting tenderness, Eline wasn't even annoyed by the old lady's persistence. She replied very softly, almost inaudibly:

‘I . . . I shall say yes.'

She sighed, and felt the tears welling up in her eyes as she heard herself speak. Yes, she would accept. She could find nothing more to say to the old lady, for that one statement filled her mind so completely that it absorbed every other thought. They sat together a moment in silence, with their backs half turned to the cheerful gathering across the room. Suddenly Eline became aware of Ange's shrill voice reading out the cards one by one.

‘Now listen carefully, Mr van Erlevoort. I'm much cleverer at this than Madame Lenormand, you know. Here's yours: King of
Hearts. You are in a vale of tears, I see, but not for long. You shall be very rich, and you shall live in a chateau in the Pyrenees. Or would you prefer a villa in Nice? Ah! There she is! The Queen of Hearts! You are rather far apart, but all the cards in between are favourable. You will have to overcome many obstacles to reach her, for she is much sought-after: look, here's the King of Clubs, and the King of Diamonds, and there's even a commoner, a Social Democrat if you please, the Jack of Spades!'

‘Ooh, Black Jack!' cried Léonie. ‘Fie on him!'

Eline smiled wanly, brushing away a tear that clung to her lashes, and Madame van Raat smiled too.

‘There, see how splendidly those aces are turning up!' Ange pursued excitedly. ‘Have no fear, Mr van Erlevoort, have no fear, it's all clearing up nicely.'

‘The cards seem to bode well,' murmured Madame van Raat.

Eline smiled with pursed lips, but she was unnerved. Black Jack had reminded her of Fabrice.

. . .

The whist players had risen, and everyone was talking at once. The fortune-telling had given rise to merriment all round, and when Ange prophesied that Etienne would never marry, he protested vehemently, saying he had no intention of remaining a bachelor all his life.

Ange and Léonie then prevailed upon Paul to sing a piece by Massenet, to Léonie's accompaniment. While he sang, Betsy kept a watchful eye on her sister and Otto; she was sure that nothing had transpired between them as yet. Why was Eline being so coy? Betsy herself had not made such a fuss in her day, she had accepted Van Raat's stammered proposal quite graciously. What was Eline dithering about? What reason could she possibly have to reject Van Erlevoort? They were made for each other. She was annoyed by her sister's sentimental wavering when she had the opportunity of marrying into a good family, and a man in a fair position to boot. Her glance rested coldly on Eline's slender frame, to which that very wavering quality lent an additional allure, and Betsy noted this,
as she noted the unwonted earnestness in her sister's demeanour. What a to-do about such a simple matter! But when her eye fell on her husband, who was chatting to Otto, she felt even more annoyed. What a simpleton he was! Did he really have no idea why Otto was dining at their house tonight?

Madame van Raat had already left, later than was her habit and in considerable disappointment, for she had been hoping to hear the announcement of Eline's engagement in the intimate setting of her son's home. It was now past midnight; Madame Eekhof and her daughters took their leave, as did Emilie. Vincent and Paul also prepared to go, while Henk and Etienne escorted the high-spirited girls down the hall to their carriage.

Betsy, Eline and Otto stayed behind in the anteroom. An awkward silence fell. Then Betsy went through to the salon, where she busied herself tidying the card table.

Eline felt the ground crumble beneath her feet. She could not hide her confusion from Otto, who, although he had not meant to impose on her a second time this evening, found himself unable to resist the temptation to do so, since they were alone.

‘Eline,' he whispered in a choked voice, ‘must I really leave you like this, without an answer?'

She held her breath a moment in fright; then, with a shuddering sigh, she murmured:

‘Otto . . . truly, I . . . I cannot . . . not yet!'

‘Goodnight, then, please forgive me for asking again,' he said, and with that he lightly pressed her fingers and left.

She, however, suddenly felt herself melting away. Quaking all over, she almost fell to the floor, but saved herself by clutching the door curtain for support, and she cried out, in full surrender to the tide of her emotion:

‘Otto! Otto!'

A low cry escaped him as he came running back to catch her in his arms, and beaming with joy he drew her into the anteroom again.

‘Eline, Eline!' he cried. ‘Is it true?'

She did not speak, but flung herself sobbing, broken, defeated, against his chest, and felt his arms tighten about her.

‘So you . . . you will be my wife?'

She ventured to lift her face to him, locked in his embrace, and answered him only with her tearful gaze and a fleeting smile.

‘Eline, my angel,' he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead.

From the salon came the sound of voices: Henk and Etienne had returned from the vestibule, Etienne in his greatcoat, holding his hat in his hand.

‘What's keeping Otto?' Eline heard him exclaim, and she also heard Betsy whisper something in reply.

Otto looked down, smiling at Eline's emotion as she wept with her cheek to his chest.

‘Shall we?' he said simply, radiating joy.

Slowly, very slowly she allowed him to lead her towards the salon, softly sobbing in his arms, her face buried in his shoulder. Betsy came towards them, smiling, and darted a glance of complicity at Otto as she shook his hand. Henk and Etienne were taken completely by surprise.

‘Van Raat, may I . . . may I introduce you to my fiancée?' said Otto.

Henk too began to smile, while Etienne grinned from ear to ear and rolled his eyes.

‘What a sly old fox you are!' he exclaimed, wagging his finger at his brother. ‘Keeping us in the dark like this!'

But Eline, still in tears, broke away from Otto's embrace and flung her arms around Henk's neck. He kissed her, and mumbled in his deep voice:

‘Well, well, little sister, I congratulate you with all my heart! Now then, don't cry, no need for that, is there? Come on, give me a smile, there's a good girl.'

She hid her face in her hands, which moved Betsy to step forward and smooth a stray curl from her sister's forehead before kissing her too.

‘I'm so glad my little soirée turned out so well!' she said pointedly.

. . .

Henk wanted Otto to stay a little longer when Etienne discreetly made to slip away, but Eline murmured faintly that she was ever
so tired, so Otto declined. He was too elated to wish for anything more: he would go, brimming with joy. And she thought it very sweet of him to simply shake her hand in farewell instead of kissing her in front of everyone.

As soon as the brothers had gone Eline fled to her room, where she came upon Mina lighting the lamp. The maids had already heard the news from Gerard, who had entered the salon at an inopportune moment, and Mina congratulated her, peering at her with an inquisitive smile.

‘Thank you, Mina . . . thank you,' stammered Eline.

Alone at last, she glanced in the mirror, and was shocked to see the tear-streaked pallor of her cheeks. But the next instant she felt as though her soul were sliding into a tranquil, blue lagoon, she felt the still waters close over her and found herself in what appeared to be realm of eternal peace, a Nirvana of hitherto unimagined beatitude.

It was a fresh, bright day in May, after a week of nothing but rain and chilly mist. Jeanne had sent the children – Dora, Wim and Fritsje – for a walk in the Scheveningen woods with the nursemaid while she stayed behind, as there was always so much to do. She now felt lonely and forlorn in the cramped apartment over the grocer's shop, sitting there all by herself, doing the mending in the pallid ray of sunlight that she now welcomed in her abode, without a thought for her carpet and curtains. Frans was out; he had taken the train to Amsterdam to consult a specialist. It was now half-past one, she established, glancing at the mantel clock ticking loudly in the quiet room. Frans would not be back until about half-past five. The intervening hours seemed to her like an eternity, for all that she was glad of the chance to work without interruption.

When the sunbeam slanted on her face she did not mind; on the contrary, she basked in its feeble warmth. The light shimmered about her light-brown hair, giving her pale, sunken cheeks an alabaster translucence; it shimmered, too, over the slender, delicate fingers plying the needle with practised regularity. Oh, how she longed for the summer! She could not wait for May to end – all that damp, misty weather they'd been having, and so rarely a clear day! How silly of her to have expected this month of May to live up to the exalted reputation it had among all those romantic poets!

She smiled sadly as she bent over her sewing, pressing the seam down with her nail as she stitched. How curious it was the way her illusions, even the most modest ones, kept vanishing into thin air
while her life rolled on, and how the future, which held an unspeakable dread for her, kept receding to make way for the monotonous reality of her day-to-day existence. She shuddered at the presentiment lurking in her soul like a shrouded ghost, the fear that some catastrophe would strike and crush them all. Pressing her hands to her chest, she took a deep, quaking breath, and shuddered again, not for herself, not for her husband, but for her children.