The Little Dragon

Constantia hadn’t much dignity. She skipped up to the car and said, ‘Hullo, Doctor Sperling,’ with an almost childlike friendliness, and then uttered a surprised ‘Oh,’ as whoever it was on the other side straightened up to look at her over the car’s roof. A very large, tall man with pale hair silvering over the temples, his eyes were blue, and heavy-lidded, his nose high-bridged above a large firm mouth. A nice face, decided Constantia, and smiled widely at him.

He had a nice smile too, she discovered. The arm he stretched over the car’s roof was enormous, so was his hand, but his grip was gentle.

‘Jeroen van der Giessen.’ His voice was deep and placid.

‘Constantia Morley…’ Doctor Sperling’s pedantic voice interrupted her. ‘Miss Morley is nursing Mrs Dowling.’ He poked his head further out of the car window. ‘You have a free afternoon, Nurse?’

‘It’s my half day—I’m exploring, Doctor Sperling.’ She smiled at him, delighted with her freedom; she smiled at the large man, too, rather shyly. ‘I don’t want to miss a minute,’ she explained. ‘Goodbye, Doctor—Mijnheer van der Giessen.’

She crossed the road and went into the Nieuwe Kerk and Doctor Sperling watching her, observed severely: ‘A good nurse, very thorough and conscientious, but one feels that she should take life more seriously.’

‘Why?’ asked his companion, his eyes on Constantia’s small brisk person as it disappeared into the church.

Doctor Sperling coughed. ‘She is twenty-six,’ he remarked severely.

Two lazy blue eyes twinkled down at him. ‘I’m thirty-nine myself and I have the greatest difficulty in taking life seriously.’

The older man examined his nails. ‘I’m not surprised, Jeroen, with three children and those dogs and that great house.’ He sounded faintly envious. ‘And your work.’ He sighed. ‘I must get on, I’ve another patient to visit. We must have an evening together…’

‘Give me a ring.’ The two men shook hands and Doctor Sperling watched the other man insert his giant-like proportions into the Fiat and drive away. He was a good driver; no fiddling with mirrors or gears, no anxious ear cocked for engine noises, just in and away. ‘He could drive a biscuit tin,’ muttered Doctor Sperling, and drove off himself, only rather more sedately.

Constantia, in between a close study of the stained glass windows in the choir, the Royal Burial Vault of the House of Orange and the mausoleum of William of Orange, allowed her thoughts to dwell upon the man she had just met. She had liked him and he had looked at her as though he had known her already…

She paused to gaze at the great organ. He would be married, of course, with children and from the look of his car, not much money. She wondered what he did for a living and what his wife was like, and then dismissed him from her thoughts and concentrated on the organ. But Jeroen van der Giessen popped back into her head again as she made her way down the church to the door once more. It was a pity that just once in a while one met someone one could feel completely at ease with and then never saw again.

She saw him the minute she went through the door; he was striding across the Markt square, his hands in the pockets of his rather deplorable sheepskin jacket. He reached the road at the same time as she did and said at once: ‘Hullo again. How far have you got with the sightseeing?’

‘Just the Nieuwe Kerk,’ she told him happily, aware that she was glad to see him. ‘I’m going over to the Oude Kerk now.’

‘Yes? I’ve an hour to spare, I wondered if you would like to see the Steen—the tower of the Stadhuis, you know. It’s a good deal older than the rest of the building—fifteenth century, it was a small museum but it had to close because of staff difficulties, but I know the curator—if you’re interested we could go there now, and you could explore the Nieuwe Kerk another time.’ He added casually: ‘How many half days do you get in a week?’

‘Two. I’d love to see the Steen, but are you—can you spare the time?’

‘I’ve an hour, as I said. I like to be home at four o’clock for the children. I usually have visits in the afternoon, but I did them early.’

‘You’re a doctor?’ And when he nodded, ‘How many children have you?’

‘Three, two boys and a girl. But they’re not mine, they’re my sister’s—she’s away for a few months and I’ve got them with me.’

It was ridiculous to feel so relieved. When he added: ‘I’m not married,’ Constantia smiled widely. ‘Oh—how do you manage, then?’

He shrugged enormous shoulders. ‘It isn’t for very long—three or four months.’ They were walking across the Markt towards the Raadhuis, not hurrying their steps. ‘And how do you enjoy looking after Mrs Dowling?’

‘You know her?’

‘Oh, yes—not as a friend, though.’

‘Well then, I can tell you, can’t I? I don’t enjoy it at all, but I love being here in Delft, so that makes up for it.’

‘Makes up for what?’

‘Mrs Dowling is rather a difficult patient,’ she said carefully, and listened to his bellow of laughter.

‘My dear young lady, that is the understatement of the year. Does she still change her diet at every opportunity?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Constantia stopped to look up at him and thought what a kind face he had. ‘But I’m sorry for her too. She’s rich, you know, and miserable with it.’

He stared down at her, smiling faintly. ‘You think that being rich makes one miserable?’

‘I don’t know exactly, how should I? I’ve never been rich, but I don’t think wealthy people have much fun…’

‘You wouldn’t marry a rich man?’

She shook her head. ‘They worry about their money, don’t they? When I marry, if my husband wants to worry, then I’d like him to worry about me.’

‘You don’t mind having no money, then?’

‘No.’ She paused and added seriously: ‘Isn’t it funny the way we’re talking, just as though we’ve known each other for years and years.’

He said easily, ‘Oh, I’m a great believer in instant friendship.’ They had reached the Stadhuis and he ushered her up the steps and in through the door to a marble hall; the great staircase faced the door and there were a number of much smaller doors in the walls. Doctor van der Giessen knocked on one of them and poked his head round it to speak to someone in the room beyond. Constantia stood patiently listening to the unintelligible conversation, and wished she could understand just a little of it; if she were to stay much longer she would start to learn.

Her companion opened the door a little wider and an elderly bearded face peered round it at her, smiled, nodded and disappeared again. ‘We can potter,’ her guide informed her.

They climbed the stairs together and he showed her the Council Chamber and waited patiently while she admired the view from its windows, and then the portraits of the members of the House of Orange on its walls before leading her to the Wedding Chamber. Constantia, athirst for information, asked: ‘Does everyone have to get married here?’

‘Oh, yes—it isn’t legal otherwise.’

‘But what about church? I shouldn’t feel married…’

Doctor van der Giessen smiled a little. ‘A number of people are married in church too. A twice tied knot, one might say.’ He put a hand on her arm. ‘Come and see the Steen Tower.’

It seemed that he was a privileged visitor and she was glad of it; the Steen Tower proved to house a small museum, closed for the time being to the public, the contents of which—to do with the law of the land—her companion explained in a leisurely manner. As they were leaving the Stadhuis at length, he asked: ‘Tea? There’s a small teashop just across the Markt.’

He gave her a placid smile and she thought again what a nice man he was and how easy she felt with him. ‘I’d love some, but do you have the time?’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve no surgery until half-past five.’

‘The children?’

‘Playing with friends after school—they’ll be brought home.’

She smiled widely at him. ‘Well then—’ They started to walk across the Markt. ‘What a lovely half day I’m having,’ she told him happily.

He beamed down at her. ‘Yes? And I—it is very pleasant to show one’s home town to someone who is really interested in it.’

They had reached a small corner shop, a pastry cook’s she had thought, but through it was a very small room with tables and chairs, quite empty. They had their tea and Constantia ate a cream cake with real pleasure. ‘For,’ she explained, ‘Mrs Dowling mustn’t have anything like this—I have to eat the same food as she does.’

Her companion looked astonished. ‘But she’s on a diabetic diet, is she not?’