Eline Vere (37 page)

Eline, however, was filled with pity for Vincent.

It was only natural that he should wish to leave the country, to be well away by the time her wedding came around, so that he would be spared the agony of witnessing it. No wonder he jumped at the opportunity, really . . . he was obviously in love with her, and it was making him suffer!

She was still holding the portrait in her hands.

‘Is this St Clare?' she asked, close to tears for the pain she thought he was going through.

‘Yes,' he replied, taking it from her. ‘It's a fine likeness! It shows him the way he is: open, upstanding, full of life and good humour.'

‘Is he dark or fair?'

‘His hair is tawny; so is his beard. Dashing, isn't he?'

‘Yes, he's handsome. But Vincent . . .'

‘What?'

‘Vincent, are you sure? Why don't you think it over? You're still very frail, you could have a relapse. You'd better ask Reijer's opinion first.'

‘My dear Elly, I'm the same as I ever was; my health has never been robust, and besides, who'll support me if I do stay here – not you, surely?' he asked, smiling.

To her that smile seemed wistful, and she reproached herself for trying to dissuade him. No, he was quite right to go, but on the other hand, something might happen, something that would turn everything upside down, so that there would be no need for him to leave, or at least not like this. Her head spun, she no longer knew what she wanted him to do, and she shrank from pursuing the thought that now entered her mind. It would be too awful. Too awful for Otto, and too awful for herself as well.

Vincent remained in remarkably good spirits all afternoon, and when Reijer called he advised the patient not to excite himself too much. As for America – later, perhaps, but for the time being travel was out of the question. In the interim Mr Vere would do well to take a short stroll or a brief ride in the carriage to start with, what with the weather being so mild.

Betsy promptly ordered the landau for half-past two, and off they went: Vincent, herself and Eline. In the bright light outside Eline was shocked to see how grey Vincent's complexion was above the
white-silk foulard draped about his neck, how dulled and frail he looked in his smart liver-coloured demi-season and shiny top hat. He leant stiffly against the cushions, keeping very still, his gloved hands resting on the silver knob of his cane. He felt light in the head, even a little groggy, and had he not been seated would have keeled over from the effect of the oxygen filling his lungs. His eyes smarted, so he closed them a moment, while his ears throbbed and the carriage wheels spun round in his brain. But gradually he became accustomed to the cool, fresh air and the wide vistas unfolding before his eyes at each bend in the road, and his breathing became deep and regular. He felt mildly invigorated, and his nerves regaining a little strength.

Eline did her best to converse brightly, addressing him and Betsy by turns. Upon their return an after an hour or so, she helped Vincent alight from the carriage and took his arm to lead him upstairs to her sitting room. She helped him out of his coat, after which he dropped on to the couch, quite exhausted from the outing. He asked her to leave him alone for a while, as he wished to take a nap.

Betsy instructed the servants that she was receiving, and in due course several callers arrived: Madame Eekhof accompanied by Ange and Léonie, Madame Hovel and the Hijdrecht boy. Henk had gone to his club, but Eline joined the company in the tempered light of the salon, and presently Otto was shown in, too. When he entered the room Eline did not feel the thrill of warmth and contentment his appearance normally inspired in her, but icecold indifference. Oh God, how could that be? How could all that warmth have suddenly turned to ice? She did not know, but it was so, and she was powerless to change it. She nodded sweetly at him and extended her hand, feeling a pang of conscience as she did so, and held on to it while she continued telling Hijdrecht about the new chanteuse légère at the opera. She could not bear to look at Otto, all she could do was hold his hand and prattle on. What Hijdrecht said in response she scarcely heard, for her heart brimmed with pity for Otto . . . There he stood, by her side, his hand in hers, and she could feel his soft, kindly gaze resting on her, and his breath almost ruffling her hair as he leant over the back of her chair; there
he was, radiating love, while she . . . she felt as cold as ice! No, no, this could not be, she would not allow it, she would compel herself . . . she pitied him too much . . . he loved her too much . . .

‘Nily, dear child, what is the matter?' he murmured while Hijdrecht and the ladies rose to their feet. He could feel the nervous pressure of her fingers on his hand.

‘Me? With me? Nothing, a slight headache that's all,' she said haltingly, facing him for the first time that afternoon. He gazed into her eyes, and she felt an urge to fling herself into his arms, to hold him very tight and never let him go again . . .

Instead, she smiled and shook hands first with Madame Eekhof, then with Ange.

‘Is there nothing to be done? Has it gone for ever?' she thought in despair.

They had a few minutes alone before dinner.

‘Nily, my dearest, are you sure you are all right?' he asked anxiously. ‘Your hand is so cold.'

‘I feel a little feverish. We went for a drive this afternoon, in the open landau, with Vincent . . . I can't imagine why Reijer recommended it. I thought it was cold, freezing cold.'

‘Let's hope you haven't caught anything.'

‘No, it will pass, I'm sure.'

She smiled at him weakly, and all at once, in a surge of hopeless anguish, she flung her arms about him.

‘How sweet of you to be so concerned about me,' she whispered, and her voice broke. ‘You are so good, and . . . I love you so much. I love you so very, very much . . .'

. . .

Vincent did not yet feel well enough to join them for lunch that day. Betsy told Otto about the letter that had arrived with news of a position for Vincent in New York.

‘And when is he thinking of going?'

‘As soon as he is fit again. Thank God we'll be seeing the back of him.'

Eline could not contain herself.

‘Reijer says he mustn't even think of travelling for the next several weeks!' she said sharply, glaring at Betsy. ‘But you–'

‘What?'

‘If it weren't for the sake of decency you'd turn him out into the street today, ill as he is!'

‘If I could, yes, I certainly would. And let me tell you once and for all: I shall never have him to stay again. I haven't known anyone to outstay their welcome like this!'

‘But Betsy, he's practically dying!' Eline cried out, quivering with rage.

‘Don't be absurd!'

‘Absurd? Can't you see how ill he looks?' she shrieked.

‘Oh please, Eline, let's not quibble about Vincent. He's not worth it. You're being melodramatic; stop making such a fuss.'

‘Ah yes, “Don't make a fuss” – that's what you always say when anyone shows the least bit of feeling! But you – you're just plain heartless!'

‘Eline!' murmured Otto.

Gerard entered, bearing the meat dish. A painful silence prevailed.

‘You forgot the gravy, Gerard,' snapped Betsy, and the manservant withdrew.

‘You – why, you'd trample on anyone who happened to be the least bit in your way! You won't put up with the slightest bother for the sake of anyone else! You're a downright egotist! You think of no one but yourself, and you don't even understand that not everyone is as mean as you, and–'

‘Eline!' remonstrated Otto, glancing at the door as Gerard reentered with a gravy boat.

‘Oh, stop saying Eline, Eline! Qu'est ce que me fait cet homme!' Eline burst out, switching to French so the servant would not understand. ‘I don't care what he thinks! Betsy just won't see it, but I assure you, Vincent is dying. He fell asleep in my room, as white as a sheet, completely worn out by that stupid ride recommended by Dr Reijer; and I won't have you accusing him of being indiscreet or anything like that. If he hadn't been so ill I'm quite sure he would never stayed here this long.'

She spoke passionately, eyes aflame, and the words spilled from her lips with haughty, needle-sharp acuity.

Betsy too seethed with rage as she waited for Gerard to withdraw, but she said nothing. Henk gave an involuntary sigh.

‘Nily my darling,' said Otto, ‘I have nothing against Vincent, and no particular sympathy for him either, but I can't say I shall be sorry to see him go, because–'

‘Not you too?' she snapped.

‘May I finish?' he pursued, clasping her icy hand. ‘I mean that I will be glad to see him go if his presence in this house goes on upsetting you as much as it has today. You don't know what you're saying, Nily, or what you sound like.'

His calm words infuriated her.

‘And you – you're always calm, you never get excited about anything, do you?' she burst out, almost screaming. She sprang to her feet, throwing her napkin on the table. ‘It's driving me mad, all that calmness! Oh God, it's driving me mad! Betsy drives me mad with her egotism, and you with your calmness, yes, your calmness! I – I – can't stand it any more! You're suffocating me!'

‘Eline!' cried Otto.

Springing up in his turn, he seized both her wrists and gazed into her eyes. She had expected some dramatic, dreadful response, that he would throw her to the floor, or smack her, but all he did was shake his head slowly from side to side, and in a tone of profound sorrow he said simply:

‘Eline – for shame!'

‘Oh my God! I – I'm going out of my mind!' she raged. Then, convulsed with sobs, she tore herself away from his grasp and rushed out of the room, dashing several wine glasses to the floor as she went.

. . .

Betsy made to run after Eline, but Otto restrained her.

‘I beg you, just let her be!'

Henk too had jumped up, and when Gerard came in again all three of them felt acutely embarrassed about their interrupted dinner and the broken glasses.

‘There's no need, no need, Gerard,' said Betsy, almost apologetically. ‘You had better clear the table now.'

They did not know where to look, as the manservant, for all his dignified stoicism, was bound to have guessed there had been a scene.

Meanwhile Eline had rushed upstairs and burst into her boudoir, startled to see Vincent, for she had forgotten he was there. She recoiled and stood in the doorway a moment, somewhat at a loss. Vincent was still dozing; his lunch tray stood untouched on the side table by the couch. The sight of him asleep gave Eline a sense of cruel, romantic satisfaction at having leapt to his defence, at having stood up for him against Betsy, and against Otto . . . Not wishing to wake him just yet, she slipped into her bedroom, soundlessly closing the door behind her, and threw herself on her bed. Her sobbing had ceased quite suddenly, and, to her consternation, she found herself unable to weep. The solitude and calmness of her room cooled her agitated nerves, and although she could not remember the exact words she had spoken, she knew she had said the most appalling things, especially to Otto. Why? Why had she lashed out at him like that? Had it been because of Vincent? Because of Otto's infuriating stoicism? She no longer knew the reason; her brain was in complete turmoil, and she tossed her head from side to side on her pillow in an effort to shake off her confusion. Yes, she thought, it must have been because of Vincent, who had no one in the whole world but her and that friend of his, far away in New York. She felt sorry for him, but then, didn't she feel even more sorry for Otto? Had she actually intended to speak her mind with such vehemence? Had it been her own free will? The same will with which she had tried to force herself to continue loving Otto, because she knew she would make both him and herself miserable otherwise? Back at De Horze – how long ago that seemed! – she had never, ever, had the slightest difference of opinion with Otto, and now this! She had insulted him to his face . . . dear God, why? Whatever had made her do it? Would Vincent consider this just another inevitable outcome of a whole series of other, interconnected inevitabilities? So then what was life? What was a human being? A helpless puppet, with Fate pulling its strings? She had tried with all her might to change, of
that she was certain, but she was simply too weak to go against the fate that ruled her existence, and now, now the realisation dawned on her that it was all over! She had lost, she had no choice but to admit defeat.

Slowly she began to cry, and she was relieved to feel the tears wetting her cheeks; she made herself sob properly, too, although not too loudly . . . better not let Vincent notice. It grew dark; ah, she could hear him moving about in the next room, where he had evidently lit the lamp, for she could see a slit of light beneath the door. But she remained as she was, lying supine on her bed, sobbing piteously.

. . .

Otto was seated in the salon staring at the floor when Henk entered.

Noting the glint of a tear in Otto's eyes, Henk became agitated.

‘Oh, Van Erlevoort!' he said, laying his hand on Otto's shoulder.

Otto raised his head.

‘Van Erlevoort! Come on old chap, be a man! I know it's not all plain sailing with Sis, but she's not bad at heart! You mustn't mind what she said, do you hear? She was only angry with Betsy because she's rather fond of Vincent, and you accidentally bore the brunt of her anger. You should just ignore it, that will be the best punishment for her.'

Otto did not respond and remained slumped in his seat, too harrowed by doubt to be assuaged by Henk's solicitude. He thought of the time he had told Eline that she had but one fault, her lack of self-knowledge, and that she had hidden treasures slumbering within her which he would help her to rouse, but now he saw only too clearly that it would not be in his power to do so, that all he was able to rouse in her was irritation . . . and that he was driving her mad . . . suffocating her.