The Secret Pool

Father and daughter looked at her as she went in and she had the strong impression that they had been talking about her—naturally enough, she supposed; and when asked to pour out she did so in her usual unflurried manner.

Lisa had milk in her own special mug and sugar biscuits on a matching plate but they were largely ignored. She was a happy child, chuckling a great deal at her father’s soft remarks, meticulously translated for Fran’s benefit.

A very sick child, too, the charming little face far too pale, the small body thin above the sticks of useless legs. But there was no hint of despair or sadness; the doctor drew her into the talk, making a great thing of translating for her and urging her to try out a few Dutch words for herself, something which sent Lisa into paroxysms of mirth. Presently she demanded to sit on Fran’s lap, where she sat, Fran’s firm arm holding her gently, examining her face and hair, chattering non-stop.

They were giggling comfortably together when the young woman came back and Dr van Rijgen said, ‘This is Nanny. She has been with us for almost six years and is quite irreplaceable. She speaks little English. Lisa goes for a short rest now before lunch.’

Fran said, ‘How do you do, Nanny,’ feeling doubtful that such an old and tried member of the family might look upon her with jealousy. It was a relief to see nothing but friendliness in the other girl’s face and, what was more puzzling, a kind of excited expectancy.

Alone with her host, Fran sat back and asked composedly, ‘Will you tell me about Lisa? It’s not spina bifida—she’s paralysed isn’t she, the poor darling? Is it a meningocele?’

He sounded as though he was delivering a lecture on the ward. ‘Worse than that—a myelomeningocele, paralysis, club feet and a slight hydrocephalus.’ His voice was expressionless as he added, ‘Everything that could be done, has been done; she has at the most six more months.’

The words sounded cold; she studied his face and saw what an effort it was for him to speak calmly. She said quietly, ‘She is such a happy child and you love her. She would be easy to love…’

‘I would do anything in the world to keep her happy.’ He got up and walked over to the French window at the end of the room and opened it and two dogs came in: a mastiff and a roly-poly of a dog, very low on the ground with a long curly coat and bushy eyebrows almost hiding liquid brown eyes.

‘Meet Thor and Muff—Thor’s very mild unless he’s been put on guard, but Muff seems to think that he must protect everyone living here.’

He wasn’t going to say any more about Lisa. Fran asked, ‘Why Muff?’

‘He looks like one, don’t you think?’ He bent to tweak the dog’s ears. ‘Would you like to see the gardens? Lisa spends a good deal of time out here when the weather’s fine.’

There was a wide lawn beyond the house bordered by flower beds and trees. They wandered on for a few minutes in silence, with the doctor, the perfect host, pointing out this and that and the other thing which might interest her. But presently he began to ask her casual questions about her work, her home and her plans.

‘I haven’t any,’ said Fran cheerfully. ‘I would have liked to have stayed on at the Infirmary; at least I’d have had the chance to carve myself a career, but the aunts needed me at home.’

‘They are invalids?’

‘Heavens no, nothing like that. They—they just feel that—that…’

‘You should be at their beck and call,’ he finished for her smoothly.

‘Oh, you mustn’t say that. They gave me a home and I’m very grateful.’

‘To the extent of turning your back on your own future? Have you no plans to marry?’

‘None at all,’ she told him steadily.

He didn’t ask any more questions after that, but turned back towards the house, offering a glass of sherry while they waited for Lisa to join them for lunch.

She sat between them, eating with the appetite of a bird, talking non-stop, and Fran, because it amused the child, tried out a few Dutch words again. Presently they went into the garden once more, pushing the wheelchair, Fran naming everything in sight in English at Lisa’s insistence.

They had tea under an old mulberry tree in the corner of the garden and when Nanny came to take her away, Lisa demanded with a charm not to be gainsaid, ‘Fran is to come again, Papa—tomorrow?’

He was lying propped up against the tree, watching her. ‘Are you doing anything tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘We might take Lisa to the sea—the sand’s firm enough for the chair.’

‘If she would like me to come, then I will—I’d like to very much.’

She was quite unprepared for the joy on the child’s face as her father told her. Two thin arms were wrapped round her neck and she was kissed heartily. In between kisses she said something to her father and squealed with delight at his reply. Fran looked from one to the other of them, sensing a secret, probably about herself. She certainly wasn’t going to ask, she told herself, and wished Nanny goodbye, encountering that same look of pleased anticipation. It was time she went home, she decided and was instantly and blandly talked out of it.

They dined in a leisurely fashion in a room furnished with an elegant Regency-style oval table and ribbon-backed chairs and a vast side table laden with heavy silver. Fran was surprised to find her companion easy to talk to and the conversation was light and touched only upon general topics. Lisa wasn’t mentioned and although she longed to ask more about the child, she was given no opportunity to pose any questions.

She was driven back to Clare’s flat, her companion maintaining a pleasant flow of small talk which gave away nothing of himself. And at the flat, although he accepted her invitation to go in with her, he stayed only a short time before bidding them all good night and reiterating that he would call for her at ten o’clock in the morning.

Clare pounced on her the moment he had gone. ‘Fran—you dark horse—did you know he’d be here? Did he follow you over to Holland?’

Fran started to collect the coffee cups. ‘Nothing like that, love, we don’t even like each other. He has a small daughter who is very ill; I think he has decided that it might amuse her to have a visitor. We got on rather well together, so I suppose that’s why he’s asked me to go out with them tomorrow.’

‘His wife?’ breathed Clare, all agog.

‘He is a widower.’

‘And you don’t like each other?’

‘Not really. He’s devoted to Lisa, though, and she liked me. I like her, too. You won’t mind if I’m away tomorrow?’

Her cousin grinned. ‘You have fun while you’ve got the chance.’

The weather was being kind; Fran awakened to a blue sky and warm sunshine. She was ready and waiting when Dr van Rijgen and Lisa arrived. She got in beside Lisa’s specially padded seat in the back of the car and listened, only half understanding, to the child’s happy chatter.

It was a successful day, she had to admit to herself as she got ready for bed that evening. They had gone to Noordwijk aan Zee, parked the car and carried Lisa and her folded chair down to the water’s edge where the sand was smooth and firm. They had walked miles, with the shore stretching ahead of them for more miles, and then stopped off for crusty rolls and hard-boiled eggs. They had talked and laughed a lot and little Lisa had been happy, her pale face quite rosy; and as for the doctor, Fran found herself almost liking him. It was a pity, she reflected, jumping into bed, that he would be at the hospital at Utrecht for all of the following day; it was even more of a pity that he hadn’t so much as hinted at seeing her again. ‘Not that I care in the least,’ she told herself. ‘When Lisa isn’t there he is a very unpleasant man.’ Upon which somewhat arbitrary thought she went to sleep.

She spent the next morning quietly with Clare and Karel, and took herself for a walk in the afternoon. Another week, and her holiday would be over. She hadn’t mentioned Dr van Rijgen in her letters to the aunts and upon reflection she decided not to say anything about him. She thought a great deal about little Lisa, too; a darling child and happy; she had quite believed the doctor when he had said that he would do anything to keep her so. She went back to the flat, volunteered to cook the supper while Clare worried away at some knitting and went to bed early, declaring that she was tired.

Karel had gone to work and she was giving Clare the treat of breakfast in bed when the doctor telephoned. He would be at the hospital all the morning, he informed her in a cool voice, but he hoped that she would be kind enough to spend the afternoon with Lisa. ‘I’ll call for you about half past one,’ he told her and rang off before she could say a word.

‘Such arrogance,’ said Fran crossly. ‘Anyone would think I was here just for his convenience.’

All the same, she was ready, composed and a little cool in her manner when he arrived. A waste of effort on her part for he didn’t seem to notice her stand-offish manner. To her polite enquiries as to his morning, he had little to say, but launched into casual questions. When was she returning home? What did she think of Holland? Did she find the language difficult to understand? And then, harshly, did she feel at her ease with Lisa?

Fran turned to look at him in astonishment. ‘At ease? Why ever shouldn’t I? She’s a darling child and the greatest fun to be with. I like children.’ She sounded so indignant that he said instantly, ‘I’m sorry, I put that badly.’ He turned the car into the drive. ‘A picnic tea, don’t you think? It’s such a lovely day.’ And, as she got out of the car, ‘It would be nice, if you are free tomorrow, if you will come with us to the Veluwe—it’s charming, rather like your New Forest, and Lisa sees fairies behind every tree. We’ll fetch you about half past ten?’

‘I haven’t said I’ll come,’ observed Fran frostily, half in and half out of the car.

‘Lisa wants you.’

And that’s the kind of left-handed compliment a girl likes having, thought Fran, marching ahead of him up the steps, her ordinary nose in the air.

But she forgot all that when Lisa joined them; in no time at all, she was laughing as happily as the little girl, struggling with the Dutch Lisa insisted upon her trying out. They had tea on the lawn again and when Nanny came to fetch Lisa to bed, Fran went, too, invited by both Nanny and the child.

Being got ready for bed was a protracted business dealt with by Nanny with enviable competence. But it was fun, too. Fran fetched and carried and had a satisfactory conversation with Nanny even though they both spoke their own language for the most part. They sat on each side of Lisa while she ate her supper and then at last was carried to her small bed in the charming nursery. Here Fran kissed her good night and went back to the day nursery, because it was Nanny’s right to tuck her little charge up in bed and give her a final hug. She had just joined Fran when the doctor came in, said something to Nanny and went through to the night nursery where there was presently a good deal of giggling and murmuring before he came back.

He talked to Nanny briefly, wished her good night and swept Fran downstairs.

They had drinks by the open windows in the drawing room and presently dined. Fran, who was hungry, ate with a good appetite, thinking how splendid it must be to have a super cook to serve such food and someone like Tuggs to appear at your elbow whenever you wanted something. They didn’t talk much, but their silences were restful; the doctor wasn’t a man you needed to chat to, thank heaven.

They had their coffee outside in the still warm garden, with the sky darkening and the faint scent of the roses which crowded around the lawn mingling with the coffee. She sighed and the doctor asked, ‘What are you thinking, Francesca?’

‘That it’s very romantic and what a pity it’s quite wasted on us.’

She couldn’t see his face, but his voice was casual. ‘We are perhaps beyond the age of romance.’

She snapped back before she could stop herself, ‘I’m twenty-five!’

‘On October the third you will be twenty-six. I shall be thirty-seven in December.’

‘However did you know?’ began Fran.

‘I made it my business to find out.’ His voice was so mild that she choked back several tart remarks fighting for utterance.

‘More coffee?’ she asked finally.

Their day in the Veluwe was a success: the doctor might be a tiresome man but he was a splendid father and, when he chose to be, a good host. They drove through the narrow lanes criss-crossing the Veluwe and picnicked in a charming clearing with the sunshine filtering through the trees and numerous birds. The food was delicious: tiny sausage rolls, bite-size sandwiches, chicken vol-au-vents, hard-boiled eggs, crisp rolls and orange squash to wash them down. Fran, watching Lisa, saw that she ate very little and presently, tucked in her chair, she fell asleep.

When she woke up, they drove on, circling round to avoid the main roads and getting back in time for a rather late tea. This time the doctor was called away to the telephone and returned to say that he would have to go to Utrecht that evening. Fran said at once, ‘Then if you’ll give me a lift to the city I’ll get a bus.’

‘Certainly not.’ He sat down beside Lisa and explained at some length and then said, ‘Lisa quite understands—this often happens. We’ll get Nanny and say good night and leave at once; there will be plenty of time to drive you to your cousin’s flat.’

And nothing she could say would alter his plans.

It was two days before she saw him again. Pleasant enough, pottering around with Clare, going out for a quiet drive in the evenings when Karel got home, all the same she felt a tingle of pleasure when the doctor telephoned. She had only two days left and she was beginning to think that she wouldn’t see him or Lisa again.

‘A farewell tea party,’ he explained. ‘I’ll pick you up on my way back from Zeist—about two o’clock.’

He hung up and her pleasure turned to peevishness. ‘Arrogant man!’

All the same she greeted him pleasantly when he arrived, listened to his small talk as they drove towards his home and took care not to mention the fact that in two days’ time she would be gone. He knew, anyway, she reminded herself; it was to be a farewell tea party.

Lisa was waiting for them, sitting in her chair under the mulberry tree. She wound her arms round Fran’s neck, chattering away excitedly. ‘Is it a birthday or something?’ asked Fran. ‘There’s such an air of excitement.’

Father and daughter exchanged glances. ‘You shall know in good time,’ said the doctor blandly.

They took their time over tea, talking in a muddled but satisfactory way with Fran struggling with her handful of Dutch words and the doctor patiently translating for them both. But presently Nanny arrived and Lisa went with her without a word of protest.

‘I’ll see her to say goodbye?’ she asked, turning to wave.

Dr van Rijgen didn’t answer that. He said instead, in a perfectly ordinary voice, ‘I should like you to marry me, Francesca.’

She sat up with a startled yelp and he said at once, ‘No, be good enough to hear me out. May I say at once that it is not for the usual reasons that I wish to marry you; since Lisa was able to talk she has begged me for a mama of her own. Needless to say I began a search for such a person but none of my women friends were suitable. Oh, they were kind and pleasant to Lisa but they shrank from contact with her. Besides, she didn’t like any of them. You see, she had formed her own ideas of an ideal mama—someone small and gentle and mouselike, who would laugh with her and never call her a poor little girl. When I saw you at the prize giving at the Infirmary I realised that you were exactly her ideal. I arranged these days together so that you might get to know her—needless to say, you are perfect in her eyes…’

‘The nerve, the sheer nerve!’ said Fran in a strong voice. ‘How can you dare…?’

‘I think I told you that I would do anything for Lisa to keep her happy until she dies. I meant it. She has six months at the outside and you have fifty—sixty years ahead of you. Do you grudge a few months of happiness to her? Of course, it will be a marriage in name only and when the time comes,’ his voice was suddenly harsh, ‘the marriage can be annulled without fuss and you will be free to resume your career. I shall see that it doesn’t suffer on our account.’

Fran gazed at him, speechless. She was more than surprised; she was flabbergasted. Presently, since the silence had become lengthy, she said, ‘It’s ridiculous, and even if I were to consider it, I’d need time to decide.’

‘There is nothing ridiculous about it if you ignore your own feelings on the matter, and there is no time. Lisa is waiting for us to go to the nursery.’

‘And supposing I refuse?’

He didn’t answer that. ‘You intend to refuse?’ There was no reproach in his calm voice, but she knew that, in six months’ time, when Lisa’s short life had ended, she would never cease to reproach herself.

‘No strings?’ she asked.

‘None. I give you my word.’

‘Very well,’ said Fran, ‘but I’m doing it for Lisa.’

‘I hardly imagined that you would do it for me. Shall we go and tell her?’

Lisa was in her dressing-gown, ready for bed, eating something nourishing from a bowl. The face she turned towards them as they went over to her was so full of eager hope that Fran reflected that even if she had refused she would have changed her mind at the sight of it. She felt her hand taken in a firm, reassuring grasp. ‘Well, lieveling, here is your mama.’

She was aware of Nanny’s delighted face as Lisa flung her arms round her neck and hugged her, talking non-stop.

When she paused for breath the doctor said, ‘Lisa wants to know when and where. I think the best thing is for me to drive you back and you can discuss it with your aunts. And for reasons which I have already mentioned the wedding will have to be here.’ He smiled a little. ‘And you must wear a bride’s dress and a veil.’

Fran looked at him over Lisa’s small head. ‘Anything to make her happy.’

He said gravely, ‘At least we can agree upon that.’

CHAPTER THREE

THEY stayed with Lisa for some time; she was excited and happy, talking nineteen to the dozen, full of plans for a future which would never be hers, but presently she became drowsy and the doctor carried her to bed where she fell instantly asleep.

Downstairs in the drawing room, over drinks and with the dogs at their feet, Dr van Rijgen observed, ‘Thank you, Francesca, you have made Lisa happy. Now as to plans for the future… For a start, you must call me Litrik and, with Lisa, we must present at the least a friendly front. I suggest that I drive you home and we can tell your aunts together. You realise why the wedding must be here, of course? Lisa expects a full-blown affair, I’m afraid, and you are free to invite anyone you wish to attend. Are your aunts likely to disapprove?’

‘Disapprove. Well, I don’t know. You see they have made up their minds that I shan’t marry, but I think that if we just told them at once they wouldn’t be able to do much about it. I don’t want them to know the real reason…’

‘God forbid. How soon can you be free to marry me? It will take about three weeks for the formalities here.’

‘I can be ready by then. It might help if you wrote to Miss Hawkins…’

‘I’ll go and see her. Do you want Dr Beecham to give you away? The service isn’t the same as your Church of England, but I dare say you’ll feel better if it’s on familiar lines.’

It was rather like discussing the future treatment for a patient and just as impersonal and efficient.

‘That would be nice.’ She swallowed the rest of her sherry and wished that it would warm her cold insides.

‘I will arrange your return here and for any family or friends whom you would like at our wedding.’ He got up and refilled her glass.

‘I must reassure you that you will be free to return to England after Lisa’s death.’ His voice was bleak. ‘The annulment may take a little time but it can be dealt with here; you will have no need to be bothered with it.’

Fran tossed off her sherry. ‘You had it all worked out, didn’t you? Were you so sure of me?’

He smiled faintly. ‘Certainly not. But Lisa was.’ He got up and took her glass as Tuggs came in to say that dinner was served. ‘And may I, on behalf of Mrs Tuggs and myself, wish you both happiness, Miss Manning and you, sir.’

‘Why thank you, Tuggs. I shall be driving Miss Manning back the day after tomorrow; when I return we must make all the necessary arrangements. We hope to marry within the month.’

Nothing more was said about the wedding over dinner and when Fran said that she would like to go back to Clare’s, Litrik made no objection. It was a warm quiet night and they had little to say to each other. Only when he drew up before Clare’s flat did Litrik say, ‘I’ll come in with you, if I may—it may be easier for you.’

Karel and Clare were delighted at the news. Beyond remarking that it must have been love at first sight, and the hope that they would wait until she had had the baby before they married, Clare showed little surprise. She plied them with coffee and then tactfully retired to her kitchen with Karel so that Fran could bid her new fiancé good night—something she did in her normal calm manner, thanking him for her pleasant afternoon and asking if he would be good enough to let her know when he wished her to be ready for the journey back to England.

‘Well, I’ll let you know tomorrow. You will have to come and say goodbye to Lisa. Can you manage the morning? I’ve patients to see after lunch.’

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