Richard Mason - History of a Pleasure Seeker

“So was he, once. He loves you, Piet. You are the only man he would let me cross the world for.”

“What about Constance?”

“Constance will fend for herself. Papa’s troubles gave her a shock. She wishes to be married by Easter. She has told me so.”

There was silence in the deserted corridor. Piet frowned to imply that he was giving this wild proposal his full consideration. In fact he was not remotely tempted by it. He could never marry one of Jacobina’s daughters, no matter how platonic the understanding. And a lifetime of being silently judged by Louisa Vermeulen-Sickerts was not worth any amount of money.

“Please,” said Louisa, humbly.

“I cannot,” he answered. “It would not be right. You will find some other means to win your independence. I know you will. Forgive me.”

To have offered herself for sale was one thing. To have had the transaction declined was another. Louisa, who rarely blushed, went very red in the face. She stood up. She felt she should say something superb to Piet Barol but did not trust herself to speak. Instead she bowed and walked down the stairs. She wasn’t dressed for the cold, and it was snowing outside. The idea of retracing her steps to change was impossible. So was the thought of any interaction with a member of her family.

She went through the dining room and into her great-aunt’s house. Egbert was playing the piano. She tried the library door, which was locked. She went up the stairs. All the rooms on this floor were locked, too. She tried every door, rattling their handles as though sheer force of will could open them.

Someone must clean these rooms, she thought. How do they get in? She began to look in all the places one might hide a key, lifting every ornament with increasing irritation. Finally she picked up the ugly gray vase that sat on the radiator cover and shook it. A key fell out. She tried it on all the doors in succession and one opened. It was the door to her great-aunt’s bedroom.

Louisa was a little in awe of her great-aunt Agaat. Even though she was hundreds of miles away she hesitated before entering her private quarters. Agaat did not approve of children. She had not relaxed this attitude as Constance and Louisa reached womanhood, and in any other mood Louisa would not have contemplated this audacious trespass. But today was not like other days, and she passed through the door and locked it behind her.

Now her feelings overwhelmed her entirely. She threw herself across the chaise longue and sobbed. She was furious and afraid. Constance would marry soon and have her own house. She would be left with her parents until she accepted the offer of a polite young man and moved two streets away. Constance’s lack of enthusiasm for earning her living had sounded the first note of permanent discord between them. Louisa had not ceased to love her sister ardently, but she respected her less. For the first time in her life she felt truly alone.

Added to which was the embarrassment of being refused by Piet Barol! He who had gone to such lengths to charm her ! It was bitter indeed to be spurned by one she had so subtly patronized, in whose goodness she had never believed. I suppose he’s pleased with himself now, she thought, the stuck-up, self-aggrandizing — She threw herself on the floor and beat the carpet with her small fists, in unconscious imitation of her childhood tantrums. It took half an hour for her anguish to drain. Finally she sat up. “I will live my life as I wish!” she shouted. She did not know how she might accomplish this feat, which no other girl of her acquaintance seemed even to have imagined. But the promise she made herself was one she would not break. She dried her eyes and stood up. As she did so her foot connected with something solid in the carpet’s pile.

It was a tiny button covered in slippery, apple-green silk.

Three hours later, Piet Barol began dressing in superb spirits. He put on the tailcoat he had worn to Constance’s birthday party and knotted his white bow tie eight times to achieve perfection. His cheeks were rosy from his bath; his hair shone with brilliantine. He opened his door to find Egbert waiting outside.

The child held in his hand a small velvet box, in which was a set of gold-and-onyx shirt studs he had helped his mother choose for Piet. He had spent all afternoon devising what to say, but now his eloquence abandoned him. “Please don’t go, Mr. Barol.”

He held out the velvet box.

Piet took it from him and opened the card. From all of us, to wish you well , Jacobina had written. “My dear Egbert.” He crouched down, so that their heads were level. “You are ready for me to go. You have beaten your enemies forever.”

“What if they come back?”

“If they so much as dare, you must defy them at once. That’s the way to break them. It was you who found that out. Don’t you remember?”

“It was both of us together.”

“I was honored to collaborate with you. Shake my hand, as one man to another.”

The boy did so, his grasp surprisingly firm. He was on the edge of tears but held them at bay. In a small brave voice, he said: “Will you teach me one thing more before you go?”

“With pleasure. What is it?”

“How to skate with my sisters.”

“Of course. We’ll go tomorrow, first thing.”

Having orchestrated the banishment of Didier Loubat, Gert Blok was feeling better disposed towards handsome young men. “You do look splendid,” he said, encountering Piet on his way downstairs. “May I say, Mr. Barol, that you will be as warmly missed below stairs as above them.”

Piet shook the butler’s hand. “It has been an honor to watch you at work, Mr. Blok. I hope to have an establishment of my own one day, and will endeavor to replicate the excellence I have encountered here.”

Gert Blok had worked so long for a man accustomed to faultless service that his achievements were rarely praised. He was touched. “Any man would be fortunate to win a place in your household, Mr. Barol.” He stood back for Piet to pass.

Piet met Constance outside the drawing room, but she barred its door to him. “There’s a surprise in there. You must wait for it. Cocktails are downstairs tonight.” The surprise was a Louis Vuitton traveling trunk, just arrived from Paris. It was a sign of her affection for Piet that Constance had disobeyed the impulse to keep it for herself and give him cufflinks instead. They went down the stairs to the octagonal parlor, which had been transformed into a bower of oleanders.

Constance had invited to dinner the two most agreeable young men in her circle who were, as yet, without wives, and her plans for the evening included a deft exhibition of her skills as a hostess. She nodded in agreement when Piet told her how lovely everything looked.

Maarten was waiting for them and poured the champagne himself. “What a beauty you are, my dear.” He kissed his daughter as he handed her a glass. “You won’t find such loveliness in the colonies, Mr. Barol.”

“I dare say not, sir.”

Jacobina entered, in a tight-waisted gown of amethyst silk. She had not trusted her hair to Hilde and the attentions of a professional hairdresser, anxious to win her patronage, had put her in an extremely good mood. She was glad to look her best for the departure of Piet Barol; glad, too, that he was going at last. There would be no more tutors, no more trysts in the house next door; no more flutterings of treachery as she slept beside her husband, her body still tingling from the attentions of another man. She kissed Piet’s cheek and told him how sorry they all were to say good-bye to him.

It was five minutes past seven. The guests were asked for seven-thirty. “Now where the devil is Louisa?” Maarten looked at his watch. “Constance, go and fetch her.”