Hannah. Бетти Нилс

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      CHAPTER THREE

      SHE HAD TO ADMIT that Uncle Valentijn was a splendid figure. His enormous size would have ensured a second glance in any case, but his good looks and elegance certainly merited a third look besides. And not only that, he had an air of assurance—a man, she decided, who always knew what he was doing and why.

      His greeting was pleasantly indifferent, so that her, ‘Good afternoon, Doctor van Bertes,’ was cool. He opened the car door and stood looking down at her for a moment. ‘I’ll have Paul, while you get out,’ he suggested. ‘Don’t bother about that clutter, someone shall come and collect it and take it up to the nursery.’

      She did as she was bid without speaking and then took Paul back into her arms. He stirred a little and she said rather anxiously: ‘I don’t suppose he’ll stay sleeping…’

      ‘Very unlikely, there’s the devil of a noise going on, but you’ll have to bear with it, I’m afraid.’

      He led the way into the house, through a square vestibule into a large hall filled with people. It looked like the finale of a Ruritanian operetta, thought Hannah wildly; Mevrouw van Eysink was enthroned upon a large chair with her husband on one side of her and a formidable matron with a vast bosom on the other. That would be Granny, Hannah decided, and allowed her gaze to range over the other persons there. Family, she supposed; expensive hair-do’s and prosperous-looking men smoking cigars, but mingling in with them were what she supposed were family servants; a thin woman in a black dress and print apron, several younger women in overalls, a young boy and an old man holding a trowel and lastly a rather pompous individual in a dark jacket and a bow tie.

      Everyone looked round as she went in, but not to look at her or, for that matter, the doctor; all eyes were on the baby. No one had told her what to do; she made her way carefully to where Mevrouw van Eysink sat, and laid little Paul in his mother’s arms, then retreated with discreet speed to the outer edge of the crowd. There was a chair against one wall, and before she sat down in it she took a quick peep at her patient. He and his mother made a delightful picture. Mevrouw van Eysink had chosen to travel in a delicate blue dressing gown, lavishly trimmed with lace. It set off her prettiness exactly and now, with Paul in her arms, she looked like a glossy advert in one of the classy magazines. And she was undoubtedly happy to be home. Hannah sighed without knowing it as she sat down. Almost immediately one of the women in overalls handed her a glass of champagne from her tray. Just what I need, thought Hannah; it had been a long day.

      Someone was making a speech and everyone raised their glasses. Hannah raised hers and then put it down again. Uncle Valentijn, standing across the room and being head and shoulders above everyone else, enjoying a splendid view of her, was staring at her intently. Waiting for her to make a fool of herself, she had no doubt; if she chattered too much after a couple of glasses of claret what was she likely to do after champagne? She gave him a haughty look and turned her shoulder.

      ‘Not drinking the toast, Hannah?’ His voice was soft in her ear.

      She turned to look up at him, her face red, her eyes flashing. ‘Surely that’s an unnecessary question from you, Doctor van Bertes? If claret makes me chatter, the risk of what I might do after a glass of champagne is too great to bear thinking about.’

      If she had hoped to see him discomfited, she was disappointed, ‘You were eavesdropping.’

      ‘No, I was not. You have a clear voice and the door was open.’

      ‘Then I must ask your pardon.’ Only he didn’t sound as though he meant it, and he didn’t suggest that she should drink the champagne. Hannah, aware that little Paul would probably behave like a cartload of monkeys after his angelic day, could have done with it, better still a large pot of tea…