Installment One - Installment Two - Installment Three - Installment Four - Installment Five - Installment Six - Installment Seven - Installment Eight - Installment Nine - Installment Ten - Installment Eleven - Installment Twelve - Installment Thirteen - Installment Fourteen - Installment Fifteen - Installment Sixteen - Installment Seventeen - Installment Eighteen - Installment Nineteen - Installment Twenty - Installment 21 - Installment 22
THE HUGE ROSES (working title)
copyright 2014 by Betty van den Betsy; not for reprint or publication without permission
Jaap, sitting composed and silent
in the passenger seat, was thinking also.
He had seen several sophisticated young women come and go in the
doctor’s life. He remembered one –
Juffrouw van Trott, wasn’t it? – whom he’d overheard complaining, “You’re like
something from the past, Max. Frozen in
time.” That particular lady was
ambitious professionally and socially, Jaap had thought, with no interest in
rearing children; the van den Nies ran toward large and loving families. Even the occasional girlfriend with babies on
the brain seemed to see much to change in Maximilan. Jaap acknowledged his prejudice, but he
thought there was no need for his boss to take a spin class, modernize the
elegant townhouse in Amsterdam, get rid of his dogs, or take any of the other
actions pressed on him by various acquaintances.
As they arrived at Josh Brown’s
polyglot cabin-mansion, Jaap remarked, “A lovely holiday, sir, and a delightful
family. Miss Tory perhaps especially.”
“Yes,” replied his employer. “I agree, Jaap. A delightfully old-fashioned girl.”
“But, Mr. Max,” exclaimed the
housekeeper, “I was just thinking that yours are old-fashioned ways.” Immediately he regretted the outburst, which
suggested too close an interest in private matters. Max just laughed, though, a rueful chuckle,
and entered the house looking thoughtful.
He automatically turned on his phone; his lovely manners ensured he
turned it off when attending social events, and good sense left it off when he
was driving. His mother had left a
message asking that he call as soon as possible, “but no emergency,” she
added. Given the time difference, he
proposed to wait until morning, and slept soundly through the night.
Setting down the telephone the next
day, he was glad to have Saturday free from work pressure. His mother had set a knotty problem before
him. “Of course, you needn’t trouble yourself
with this,” she had said, introducing the subject after a brief exchange of
news. “You know Mrs. Nepala – Luisa –
who came from South Africa with the De Groots?
She cared for Christina from babyhood.
Now she’s in Paris, with Mevrouw and Minjheer de Groot, and quite
old. Christina came to visit recently, and
I asked after her. I got the impression
that Mrs. Nepala is elderly, not well and homesick. She left all her children behind her, and
sees them no more than once every few years.
And she’s quite arthritic.
Dearest, I know you and Christina are friendly, but I have never been
comfortable that that family behaves as they ought to their household. Christina spoke as if she was deeply
concerned, but she does not seem prepared to do anything to address the
situation.”
Max broke in before his mother
began one of her digressions. “What is
it you think I ought to do?” he asked.
“That’s just what I don’t know,”
his mother declared. “But it sounds as
if Mrs. Nepala would quite like to go home and spend her last years with her
children and grandchildren, and I think there’s a great-grandchild or two. But the De Groots seem to have no inclination
to help her get there.”
“I remember her very well, of
course,” he replied. “I’ll give it some thought,
and see whether I can come up with some solution. It will need to be delicately done, I can see.” He then described his Thanksgiving to a
singularly interested parent – leaving out a few of the details, of
course. Hanging up with the usual
assurances of mutual love, he knew he would need to get in touch with Christina
before drawing any plans for Mrs. Nepala’s assistance.
He felt oddly reluctant to
telephone his childhood friend, who had grown up to be a convenient and amusing
companion for the occasional evening out.
There had never been more between Christina and him, but lately Max had
felt some pressure to see more of her.
As she slipped into her thirties, she seemed to be deciding to move
beyond the brief romances she had enjoyed with several very eligible men. Settling down was the ‘right’ thing for a
member of the adel – the Netherlands’
very minor aristocracy – to do at her age, and Max sometimes wondered if she
had an eye on him as an appropriate husband.
He hoped not; they were clearly mis-matched in important ways, but it
would be sadly awkward to have to point that out to an old friend. Still, he remembered Mrs. Nepala fondly and
wanted to help – he could handle Christina if necessary. Never one to shirk a difficult task, he found
Christina’s number and dialed.
He raised the subject of the
elderly nanny and housekeeper with tremendous tact. Christina confirmed that Mrs. Nepala hoped to
return to her home town, now in the young nation of Namibia, formerly part of
the country of South Africa. “Mother and
Father no longer find her useful in the flat,” she elucidated. “But they’ve allowed her to stay on there, as
the provisions in France for elderly immigrants are unacceptable for such a
valued servant, after so many years. She’s
never saved up any of her salary; instead she sent most of her money back to
Otjiwarongo. As she’s not a European
citizen, there’s no pension available.
My parents would gladly pay her airfare to Windhoek, but she is afraid
to travel alone, and she’s horribly arthritic.
Her hands, Max, are simply frightful.
I hate to look at them. And now she’s
been diagnosed with something quite dreadful – I think a heart condition of
some sort.”
“Why, Christina,” Max said, playing
a part, “I wonder if I might assist. I
have a good friend in that part of the world who has asked me to visit a clinic
he runs outside Windhoek. I am planning
to join him in a week or two, when I finish up here in New Hampshire. It would be a simple matter to arrange my
flight through Paris, and provide Mrs. Nepala an escort.”
“Max, how much too kind of
you. I must look at my own schedule and
see whether I could arrange to join you.
I’ve been asked to chair a gala committee for a St. Nikolaas Day ball,
but I’m sure we could work out something that would allow us to travel
together.”
Max murmured indistinctly, and made
a mental note to try to plan his travel to encompass the saint’s day. He knew what kind of a traveler Christina
was, and with an elderly patient to attend to, he had no wish to have to cater
to the younger woman’s whims and demands as well. Offering his regards to her parents, he ended
the conversation and began his planning in earnest.
Meticulous and well-traveled, Max
was an expert at organizing his trips.
However, the needs of a timid, elderly and arthritic companion added
complications to this effort. He pondered
the possibilities as he reviewed his work schedule and made the necessary
adjustments. He considered asking Jaap
to accompany him, to help ensure Mrs. Nepala’s comfort, but a woman’s company
would be far preferable in public accommodations. His mother was awaiting the birth of Joke’s
first child, and his youngest sister, Pleane, would be more of a nuisance than
a help. Nanny Winton was of advanced age
herself, and Sitska, his cook, was a nervous traveler. Idly, he pulled out a leaf of writing paper
and began a bread-and-butter note to the Bird family.
Here was another complication, he
thought. Tory would be the perfect
travel companion, of course.
By the following afternoon, he
still hadn’t thought of any better solution to his dilemma, nor even one almost
as good. Wishing he could have brought
one of his dogs with him to the U.S., to provide encouragement and diversion on
his presumptuous errand, he headed off for the farmhouse to make his
proposal. He found the family gathered around
the coffee table in an atmosphere of distraction. Nonetheless, they welcomed him warmly;
Professor Bird thrust a mug of tea into his hand, and Emma put a couple of
cheese straws and a pumpkin custard on a plate for him. Dr. Bird, Jane and Aunt Lindy were discussing
when the traffic on route 93 would be worst.
Tory smiled from the rocking chair, her excuse for not rising to greet
him when he entered was obvious: both
Fiona and Titus were curled up on her lap.
No one questioned his arrival in
the family circle, and Max was quite content to bide his time. Conversation ebbed and flowed for 20 minutes
before the twins leapt up and began berating each other for delaying their
departure. Tory, Max was amused to see,
stayed right where she was as the bustle of departure began. “Don’t get up,” Emma insisted, unnecessarily,
and swooped in for a goodbye kiss. Neil
did the same, and the doctor stood to shake hands with them both. They flew out together, accompanied by Jane
and their parents and Great Aunt Lindy, while Tory continued her gentle
rocking.
“I am hoping for a word with you,”
Max said to her. “I’ve come to beg a
favor.”
“Oh, sure,” Tory said,
“anything. I’m happy to help.” Max smiled at her easy agreement. “Not so quick,” he cautioned. “This is international travel and a private
nursing job, not just ‘could you water the plants,’ or whatever you’re
thinking.” He grinned, then; her friend
Max. With sudden, devastating clarity
she realized friendship was not at all what she wanted from this man. “Oh, dear,” slipped from her thoughts to her
mouth, and Max looked alarmed at the real dismay he heard.
“Tory, I’d no thought of upsetting
you. Of course I can make other
arrangements, as my proposal distresses you.”
“Oh, no,” she exclaimed. “Not that.
I was thinking of something else.
Do tell – what’s your, um, proposal?”
Before he could explain, or delve
further, Dr. and Professor Bird and their eldest returned to the living room. He turned to Tory to ask, “Shall I explain?”
“Max wants me to do some private nursing,”
Tory told the other three, while her thoughts spun madly, returning over and
over to the key idea, ‘I love you.’ The
revelation having burst on her so powerfully, she was sure she would agree to
whatever he asked. ‘I really love him,’
she thought again, with a feeling of awed wonder she struggled to keep from her
face. “With international travel,” she
added aloud, impressed by her ability – she hoped – to seem normal despite her
churning emotions.
Her mother looked thoughtful, Dad
unaffected, and Jane a trifle wary.
“Where are you going?” Mother asked.
“A bit of background,” Max began,
and gave them the bare bones of Mrs. Nepala’s story, without getting into the
specifics of the De Groot family’s response to their housekeeper’s plight. “As I need to visit a friend in Namibia, I’m
planning to route my trip through Paris next week, meet Mrs. Nepala there and
escort her to her home. Given the
exigencies of international travel, and her retiring disposition and frail
health, I hoped Tory might accompany us and help ensure her comfort. We’ll be able to fly directly to Paris, but
then will need the long flight to Johannesburg, and a change of planes there
for the shorter flight to Windhoek, and rather a long and bumpy drive to her
village. I know Luisa will be more
comfortable, physically and emotionally, if there are two of us to attend to
her needs, and my friends and family all have other commitments at the
moment. Of course I thought of Tory, but
I shall understand entirely if you’re not able to assist, especially at such
short notice.”
Tory was still reeling from her
sudden up-rush of emotional awareness, and Max’s words had added visions of zebras,
giraffes and the sandy expanses of savannah to the images of Max and a hopeful
family dancing in her head. “I’d love to
help,” she agreed quickly. “I’ll talk to
Dr. Bachman first thing tomorrow. Janice
is usually happy to re-join the team when I’m away, and especially just before
Christmas. So I’ll let you know by
noon. I’ll need a visa, right?”
“I can take care of that,” Max
promised, “if you’ll get me your passport information via e-mail tomorrow. The De Groots will cover your travel costs,
including local currency for incidentals.
I shall see to all the tickets and accommodation, and hope you need do
nothing to prepare for the trip other than pack. May I propose we plan to spend three or four
days in Namibia? My friend Everard will
be able to arrange a brief visit to one of the national parks, where we might
spot some of the more exotic wildlife.”
Everyone sat silent for a moment,
mildly stunned by the rapid pace of developments, but Tory’s father continued
the focus on the practical aspects of a sudden trip to a distant land. “Malaria isn’t an issue in the drier parts of
southwestern Africa,” he noted, “but we’ll check on the specific areas you’re
visiting and get you started on Atovaquone if necessary. Are you up to date on typhoid and
hepatitis?” Tory nodded assurance, thinking
of the careful entries in her travel medicine booklet.
“Winter in Paris, summer in
Namibia,” her mother contributed. “Any
idea when the rainy season is?” she asked Max.
He smiled ruefully.
“It’s just starting,” he
admitted. “And while the days will be
hot, I believe the nights can be on the cool side, though obviously not as cold
as Paris will be. Tory,” he said,
standing and holding out both hands to her, “I can never thank you enough for
your generous help, nor apologize sufficiently for asking this of you, with so
little notice. You have eased my mind
considerably, though, and I believe you will be of invaluable assistance to a
wonderful woman, who will benefit enormously from being able, at last, to go
home.”
She put her own hands into his with
the trust of a child, vaguely noticing how small they looked settling into his
vast and comforting grip. “I’m happy to
help,” she assured him, smiling up guilelessly.
“It sounds like it could be great fun, and I look forward to meeting
your friend.”
At that, Max took his leave of the
family, and as she heard the door close behind him, Tory dropped back onto the
couch in amazement. Her mundane life
seemed, suddenly, truly extraordinary.
It wasn’t the sudden trip to the world capital of romance, with a
whirlwind tour of a young and fascinating country as well. Instead, she was astonished to find herself
deeply, genuinely in love at last. She
considered the implications and suddenly realized she would need to resign
herself to the life of a spinster aunt; Max had made clear that she wasn’t his
type, and she knew very well indeed that he wasn’t a good match for her. She consoled herself with the thought that
she could look forward to some delicious
daydreams, though!
Meanwhile, back in the
here-and-now, Jane was looking at her in a way that promised a serious talk,
soon. Their parents having walked down
the hall to settle into their shared office, looking up Namibian culture and
health risks according to inclination, Tory took the initiative with Jane. “Paris,” she said enthusiastically. “I hope I get a few minutes to climb to the
roof at Notre Dame.”
Jane chuckled at her little
sister’s opening gambit. “You’re okay
with this, Tory? Really? I’m sure he can find a travel nurse, or I can
find one for him. Are you going to be
okay traveling with him, for at least a week?
This is one seriously mixed message, given what you told us Friday. You’re just friends; you won’t be alone with
him – and suddenly you’re jauntering off to romantic Paris together, and going
on a cozy safari.”
“But you can tell he’s not thinking
of it as anything romantic, right?” Tory checked with Jane. “He’s so obviously just thinking about how he
can get this task accomplished, and I could be anyone or no one or a robot for
all he cares. He just wants someone who
can accompany an old lady to the bathroom at the airport.” They both laughed then. If she had any remaining reservations, Jane packed
them into her overnight case and took them with her when she and Great Aunt
Lindy drove away after dinner.
Tory had packing of her own to do,
obviously. First she had to pack up her
ridiculous romantic notions and consign them to an emotional attic. That wasn’t possible, of course; her feeling
for Max was strong. However, as a
rational creature, she could tell herself that her sudden epiphany on Sunday
afternoon didn’t really represent some mystical experience of true love. A few days of excitement, constant activity
and family reunions, a warm fire and a couple of pretty memorable kisses,
combined with an overactive imagination, had resulted in an intense surge of
feeling. By Monday afternoon, she thought
she could already feel it passing off.
Minutes later, she could feel it returning, as strong as ever. So she redirected her thoughts to the
wardrobe she needed to pack – Dr. Bachman had booked Janice to cover for her
without difficulty, and encouraged her to assist Max, for whom he had developed
a strong liking and respect.
So Tory turned her attention to
actual packing. She needed to figure out
a wardrobe suitable for winter in Paris, a hot safari with bouts of heavy rain,
and several long airplane rides, and fit all of it into a carry-on. Fortunately, her hiking clothes would cover
the Namibian part of the journey, and two pair of convertible nylon
trouser-shorts, three technical fiber t-shirts, a wide-brimmed hat and a rain
jacket squashed into the bare minimum of space.
With space on her mind, she opted for sturdy sneakers instead of her
hiking boots, and added several pair of socks and a couple of sports bras. She always threw a swimsuit into her suitcase
– it took so little room, and she’d been caught once, in a Louisiana heat wave,
without one.
Tory was never an avid follower of
fashion, but when she wasn’t hiking (or biking, gardening, working...), she enjoyed
dressing well. She hung her go-to outfit
for long plane rides in the closet: a loose-fitting,
loosely-knit dress with deep pockets in tiny checks of violet and black, black
cotton leggings, a deeper purple, oversized jacket and low boots. The dress and leggings were as comfortable as
pajamas but a lot more stylish, and the boots were comfortable for city
walking. She could mix them up with tan
tweed slacks or a gray twill skirt, and added a cream pullover and the lavender
cashmere twinset Jane gave her on her last birthday. That would give her enough to create a
variety of outfits for several days. She
tucked in her jewelry bag, with a few pairs of earrings and a string of
semi-precious beads in many colors.
Her big purse – the ‘personal item’
allowed by the airlines – held her toiletry kit, a long sleep-shirt, khaki
slacks and a blue-gray sweater. It also
had room for a couple of magazines, her e-reader, a ziplock bag of trail mix
and a smaller travel purse, with wallet and other necessities. Finally, Tory
added two spoons and a cup specially designed for arthritic hands. She had taken them, with Dr. Bachman’s
blessing, from the office patient-care packages. She would have liked to add the fork and knife
as well, but knew those would cause problems at security!
It seemed amazing, but just one
week after Thanksgiving, she was driving down to Boston with her parents – they
on their way back to Turkey, she on her way to Africa. She was to meet Max at the airport for an
evening flight, and on Friday morning, they would be in Paris.
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