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. 
