The Huge Roses, Chapter 1, part 2

American nurse Tory Bird is visiting Amsterdam in conjunction with her sister Jane's business trip.  While there, she assists an injured English tourist, briefly meeting Dutch orthopedic surgeon Maximilan van den Nie.

When last we saw our heroine:

"Just for a moment, walking back in the crisp, fresh air, watching the moonlight gild the water of the canals, enjoying the almost lacey delicacy of the arched bridges, Tory’s mind flashed up a memory of Dr. van den Nie’s smile.  It is a romantic place, she thought, remembering Valerie Bailey’s words, and hooked an arm through her sister’s, drawing her close.  The two of them strolled contentedly, looking forward to a Saturday exploring together.  And not too far away, the big Dutch doctor, checking Frank Bailey’s altogether satisfactory chart, gave a moment’s thought to the quietly competent young American nurse.  Lovely eyes, he recalled, and nothing fussy about her."

Moving ever onward:


THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission

Chapter 1, part 2

Nothing fussy indeed!  Tory, with time to spare while Jane focused on business, had organized bicycle rentals in the Waterland for their Saturday together, outside the usual tourist haunts of the capital city.  The two of them enjoyed a 20-mile bike ride, then caught the ferry that brought them back to the city center.  Jane had chosen their lunch stop, an opulent café-cum-chocolate shop where Tory delighted in a grilled cheese and ginger sandwich, and the two of them lingered over the chocolate counter, picking and choosing to fill boxes for a dozen friends.  “When we pass by a grocery store,” Tory announced, “I’m going to get some of that chopped ginger.  The twins will flip over those sandwiches!”

After an afternoon at the Rijksmuseum, steeping themselves in the simple, beautiful light and lifelike figures of Rembrandt and his disciples, Tory and Jane returned to their hotel to find their room had been enlivened by a gigantic bouquet of flowers in many shades of blues and yellows.  “Why would they send you flowers on your next-to-last day?” Tory asked.  She knew Jane was a valued customer of several hotel chains, and sometimes received upgrades and other perks.

“They wouldn’t,” her sister answered, picking up the card lying next to the vase.  “They’re for you.  And there are two cards.”  She handed both envelopes over, and Tory opened the first in puzzlement.  “Oh, they’re from the English people I helped yesterday.  The wife and I talked about our hotels.  And the other envelope...” she paused in astonishment.  “It’s from that doctor.  ‘I am unable to use the enclosed tickets for tonight’s orchestra performance at the Concertgebouw, and hope they may be useful to you.  It is, in my view, a quintessential Amsterdam experience.  You will be pleased to know that Frank Bailey is recovering well; one of my colleagues set his break and he is responding nicely.  Yours sincerely’ – I can’t make out the signature.  It’s a good thing the rest of this is typed.  There’s definitely an ‘M’ to start, and then a few blobs.”

She looked up, staring at her sister.  “I suppose Mrs. Bailey must have told him where we’re staying.  We talked about hotels.  Do you think we should go?  The concert starts,” she checked the tickets, “in about an hour and a half.  I bet they’re good seats, too; him and his Rolls.”

Jane burst out with a laugh, and said, “Of course we should go.  Let’s doll up a bit.  They’re a smidge more formal here than we might be at home.”

Doll up!  Easy for Jane to say, with her salary and the shops of Boston to peruse at her leisure, but Tory had a different kind of wardrobe.  She mentally reviewed her packing:  khaki slacks, a twill skirt, the black skirt – no, not denim.  “Jane, does a cotton knit dress count as dolling up?”

“That pretty leaf-green one?  That should be fine; I’ll lend you a scarf that will gussy it up a little, and pearl studs.  Sound okay?  I’m just wearing one of my suit skirts,” she threw a black wool pencil skirt onto the bed, “and this sweater.”  A lavender cashmere scoop-neck followed.  “And chunky amethysts,” Jane finished, striding to the bureau.  “I’ll shower first, if you don’t mind, since I have to blow-dry.”

‘Dolled up,’ Tory and Jane splashed out on a taxi to the concert hall.  Well, a splash for Tory, though she suspected Jane was getting used to chauffeured sedans.  She had a chance to eye the Vondelpark, one of Amsterdam’s few green spaces, as they drove by, and then stood gaping at the Concertgebouw while Jane paid the driver.  “Isn’t it supposed to be neoclassical?” Tory asked of the imposing building in front of them.

“Like I’d know neoclassical from – whatever.  Georgian?  Rococo?”  Jane answered.  One of the many things Tory loved about her sister was Jane’s fearlessness in admitting what she didn’t know.

“Well, I guess I don’t know, either.  But I didn’t expect so much brick.  Or the flourishes,” Tory explained.  They joined the well-behaved crowd moving into the main hall and found their excellent seats, settling into the red plush.  Tory gazed around in awe at the magnificent organ and ornately carved walls and ceiling.  “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered to Jane as a plump, older woman settled next to them.  “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

Still lost in the beauty of the elaborate balconies, Tory started when their neighbor spoke.  “You are the American nurse?” she asked, and Tory paused, then nodded hesitantly.  “My son, Max, told me he had shared his tickets with you.  It is too bad that he and his partner are both caught up in surgery – a construction site accident, with several people badly injured, I understand.  However, we are delighted to meet you.  Max was impressed with your cool head and kindness.”

Remembering what she’d read about the Dutch custom, Tory held out her hand and stated her name.  “Marijke van den Nie,” the other woman responded as they shook hands.  “Jane Bird, Mevrouw van den Nie,” Jane said in her turn, using the Dutch honorific for a married woman as the two shook hands across Tory.  “I’m Tory’s sister.”

“My companion is Juffrouw Christina de Groot,” Mevrouw van den Nie introduced, and Tory gazed past her with the beginnings of a smile.  She quickly withdrew both her smile and the hand she had extended when she encountered a cold, brief nod from an elegant, impeccably made-up blonde.  “How do you do,” she said, reverting to American protocol, then busied herself with the concert program to mask her surprise at the other woman’s hauteur.  However, Marijke van den Nie commented on the evening’s selections, and Tory enjoyed a brief, pleasant chat with her before the lights dimmed.

After a splendid program of Mahler, Brahms and a short burst from the contemporary composer Nico Muhly, Tory found herself outside once more, humming quietly along with the string section still playing in her head.  She gazed gratefully at Mevrouw van den Nie, extended her hand again and said, “Thank you so very much.  That was wonderful!”

“I enjoyed very much meeting you,” that lady replied.  “You were good to tell me something of Vermont.  I may not yet be a convert to your countryman Muhly’s music, but the New England country sounds lovely, a bit like the English Lake District.  Perhaps I’ll manage a visit one day.”

“Oh, do,” Tory replied, suddenly self-conscious at her dreaminess.

“Yes, do,” Jane added, recognizing her sister’s attack of shyness, “and perhaps work in a visit to the symphony in Boston, which is magnificent.  I confess I prefer Brahms to Muhly myself – though I hadn’t heard of him before today.  We would like to write to your son and thank him for his generosity if you could provide an address.”

“Surely there’s no need,” Juffrouw de Groot interjected, staring down her nose.  “We must get to the car.”

“This will only take a moment,” Mevrouw van den Nie responded, somewhat brusquely.  Her voice reverted to its usual warmth as she pulled a visiting card from her evening bag and handed it to Tory.  “Please write to him at my address, and I shall be certain he has your thanks.  He will be delighted to know you enjoyed the evening.”

“I had hoped to see Max this evening,” Juffrouw de Groot muttered, beginning to walk down the stairs of the Concergebouw.  After another round of handshakes, thanks and good-evenings, Mevrouw van den Nie followed.  Jane turned to Tory, smiling, and said, “Do you know, I think she snorted.  Or maybe I should say, ‘If she weren’t so elegant, I’d think she snorted.’”

“Snorted?” Tory asked, confused by Jane’s apparent non sequitor.

“I suspect your Mevrouw doesn’t much care for Miss de Groot,” Jane explained.  “And that’s not just because I didn’t like her myself.”

“I wonder if she’s the girlfriend,” Tory said.  “She looks like she’d fit nicely in a Rolls-Royce, and in the society page pictures from the big charity ball.”

“Well, it’s how you act that really matters,” Jane contended.  “Especially if you’re trying to raise money for charity.  Anyway, how do you know he’s not married?  They don’t always wear rings in these parts.  Here’s a cab for us.  Let’s get back to the hotel and get that thank-you note written.  We’ll just have time in the morning for a last stroll around the canals before we head for the airport.”


The next day, stretched out in the luxury of a business-class seat, Tory watched the clouds and ocean below her.  Voicing a thought aloud, she asked, “Jane, am I a prude?”

“Are you?” her seatmate answered.  “I wouldn’t have thought so.  Why are you asking?”

“I met a gorgeous man the other day, and I didn’t think about having wild sex with him in a hot tub or something, I thought about working in the garden together with our kids.  And now I’m imagining him sitting by the fireplace in Bristol, reading bits of a book aloud to me while I knit.  I mean, who does that?”

Jane laughed her warm, ready laugh.  “You do, little sister.  I heard enough of your randy heart-rendings over Rob Tucker in high school, and that snowboarder in college, and Dr. Dark Eyes during your practicals, to know you’re not a prude.  You’re a homebody and a nurturer and all kinds of other lovely things that will do you a lot more good in the long term than a hot and heavy sex life at 26 would do.”

          “Oh, no, that snowboarder!  I had forgotten about him.  At least my taste has improved!” Tory agonized, and picked up the airline magazine to puzzle through the quiz questions while Jane reviewed her meeting notes.  And if her thoughts turned rather too often to the blond Dutchman – he probably is married, she reflected – well, perhaps that’s just part of the fun of a vacation.