Wish with the Candles

‘You like castles?’ he asked. ‘You have of course heard of the performances of Son et Lumière at the castle of Wijk bij Duurstede?’ He spoke to Mrs Hastings and didn’t look at Emma. ‘It is only a few miles along the river from Schoonhoven—you could perhaps visit it; there is a pleasant hotel there too—old-fashioned but comfortable, and the service is most friendly.’

‘It sounds just the sort of thing we’re looking for,’ exclaimed Mrs Hastings, and Emma sighed quietly; there really was no need for her mother to take this man into her confidence as she was obviously going to do. A man who drove a Rolls worth several thousand pounds and wore silk shirts and hand-tailored suits wasn’t likely to be interested in the smaller hotels in out-of-the-way villages; probably he was just being polite. She caught her mother’s eye and frowned slightly, and that lady gave her the innocent round-eyed look she adopted when she didn’t intend to take any notice of her daughter. ‘We’ve three days left,’ explained Mrs Hastings, ‘and not much money.’

‘Mother!’ said Emma in a repressive voice, and avoided the man’s amused eyes.

Her mother looked unworried. ‘Well, dear,’ she said reasonably, ‘anyone looking at our car can see that for themselves, can’t they? Besides, we aren’t likely to meet you again, are we?’ She smiled at the man, who smiled back so nicely that Emma instantly forgave him for looking amused. She loved her mother very much, but now that her father was dead her mother needed someone to protect her from making friends with everyone she met. She went a little nearer the car and said quietly, her voice a little stiff: ‘If you will let me have your name and address—so that I can pay you for the repairs…’

She looked sideways at the Rolls as she spoke and couldn’t see anything wrong with it at all, but that didn’t mean to say that there wasn’t something vital and frightfully expensive that needed doing under its elegant bonnet.

He, it seemed, wasn’t going to give her either his name or his address. He said mildly, ‘I’ll contact you through the AA when the repairs, if they’re needed, are ready—the police have all the particulars.’ And when he saw her worried look, ‘No, they’ll do nothing more. I explained. And now allow me to make sure there is no damage to your car before you resume your journey.’

Emma went with him, to peer at the engine and watch while he pulled at a few wires, which, she had to admit to herself, she hadn’t realized were of any importance at all, and turned a few screws with large hands—well-kept hands, she noticed, with square-tipped fingers. She took a good look at his face too and silently agreed with her mother that he was indeed good-looking in a rugged way. He looked up suddenly, gave her another cool stare and said unsmilingly, ‘Try the lights, will you? and then switch on the engine.’

She did as she was bid and after a minute or so he observed, ‘Everything seems all right—you’ve got a worn plug, though.’

He took out a pocket book as he spoke and scribbled a note and tore out the page and handed it to her. ‘There’s a garage in Oudewater, on the left of the road as you go into the town. Give this to anyone there and they will put it right for you—it’s only a trifle, but it may cause trouble later on.’

‘Thank you,’ said Emma politely, ‘you’ve been very kind.’ She swallowed and went on quickly, ‘I apologize for what I said about the Dutch. I like them very much.’

He smiled at her with such enchantment that her pulse galloped.

‘But you were quite right; we aren’t lighthearted. I hope you enjoy the rest of your holiday.’ He nodded in a friendly way and went back to the car again, put his head through the window and wished her mother a longer and warmer goodbye, then he got back into his own car and sat waiting for Emma to go. She drove away, on the right side of the road this time and without looking at him, although she would have liked to very much. Mrs Hastings, having no mixed-up feelings, stuck her head out of the window and waved.

When they had gone a mile or so along the road Emma stopped the car and in answer to her mother’s inquiring look, said sheepishly, ‘I just want to see what he’s written,’ and opened the note he had given her. It was, of course, in Dutch; even if it had been in English she doubted if she would have understood a word of its scrawled writing; a good thing perhaps, for he had written: ‘Give this car a quick overhaul without the young lady knowing. Charge her for a new plug and I’ll settle with you later.’ It was signed with the initials J.T.

Emma folded the paper carefully and put it back in her purse and her mother said thoughtfully, ‘He was nice, that man. Emma, why don’t we know anyone like him?’

Emma’s pretty eyes twinkled. ‘Dear Mother, because we don’t move in those circles, do we? Not any more.’

‘You liked him?’

Emma chuckled. ‘Mother, we spoke to him for about ten minutes, and you did most of the talking. As far as I was concerned I wasn’t very friendly and nor was he.’

Her mother sighed. ‘No, dear, I noticed. Never mind, perhaps we shall bump into him again.’ She nodded cheerfully, unaware of her unhappy choice of words.

‘Oh dear, I do hope not,’ said Emma, and knew as she said it that there was nothing she would like more than to meet him again. She steered the car carefully to the other side of the road. ‘There’s the garage,’ she remarked, glad to have something else to think about.

The young mechanic she addressed in English grinned and disappeared to reappear a minute later with an older man who said, ‘Good day, miss,’ and when he had read the note she handed to him, looked at her with a smile and asked, ‘You stay at the hotel?’ and when Emma nodded, went on, ‘De Witte Engel—by the canal in the centrum, you cannot miss. The boy will come for the car. OK?’

‘Oh, very OK,’ said Emma with relief. ‘I think I need a new plug.’

The man smiled again. ‘That comes in order, miss. Make no trouble.’ Which she rightly surmised to mean that she wasn’t to worry about it.

Oudewater was rather like going through a door into Grimms’ Fairy Tales; the road was cobbled and narrow and there was, inevitably, a canal splitting it down the middle, reflecting the great variety of gabled roofs of the old houses lining it. Possibly because it was so small, the little town seemed full of people. Emma drove cautiously down one side of the canal, crossed a bridge and went slowly up the other side until she reached the hotel. It was small and dark and cool inside, although through an open door at the back of the hall Emma could see the May sunshine streaming on to a small garden. There was no one to be seen, but there were voices clearly to be heard behind several of the doors leading from the hall. Emma, obedient to a large placard which requested ‘Bellen, SVP’, rang the enormous brass bell standing beneath it, and one of the doors opened and an elderly man, not very tall but immensely thick through, appeared.

‘We should like to stay the night,’ stated Emma, who was ever hopeful that the man might speak English.’ It was a relief when he said at once, ‘Certainly, miss. Yourself and…?’

‘My mother. How much is it for bed and breakfast?’

‘Twelve gulden and fifty cents each, miss. Two rooms, perhaps? We are not yet so busy.’ He turned round with surprising lightness for so large a man and took two large keys, each attached to a chain with a brass ball on its end. ‘You would like to see them?’

The rooms were in the front of the hotel, overlooking the bustling street and its canal, and although they were sparsely furnished they were spotlessly clean with wash-basins squeezed into their corners.

‘Plumbing?’ inquired Mrs Hastings, who liked her warm bath. They followed the landlord down an immensely long passage which ended in a door which he flung open with a flourish to reveal a narrow tiled room with what appeared to be a wooden garden seat up against one wall and a bath shaped like a comfortable armchair. ‘Very nice,’ said Emma before her mother could comment on the garden seat. ‘We may stay two nights.’

The landlord nodded and led the way downstairs again and while they filled in their cards at the desk, fetched their bags and took them upstairs. When he came down Emma inquired hopefully:

‘I suppose we couldn’t have tea?’

‘Certainly, miss.’ He waved a hand like a ham in the direction of the coffee room. ‘And perhaps an evening meal?’

Which seemed a splendid idea; the ladies agreed without hesitation and opened the coffee room door.

It was dark, just like the hall, but in an old and comfortable way, with windows overlooking the street and a great many little tables dotted around. There were large upholstered chairs too and a billiard table in the middle which sustained a neatly laid out collection of papers.

Over tea and little wafer-thin biscuits, they discussed their day.

‘A very satisfactory one,’ murmured Mrs Hastings. ‘How many miles have we done, darling?’

Emma said promptly, ‘Only about ninety, but we did Utrecht very thoroughly, didn’t we, and Leiden. I liked Leiden and all those dear little villages between.’

Her mother agreed a little absentmindedly; she was thinking about something else. ‘Do you suppose that car was badly damaged, Emma? I wasn’t very near, but I couldn’t see a mark on it.’

‘Nor could I,’ Emma frowned thoughtfully, ‘and I don’t quite understand why he said we should hear through the AA. That time I bumped into those cows—you remember?—it was the insurance firm, and I’m sure you’re supposed to exchange names and addresses.’

Mrs Hastings said brightly, ‘Well, he knows ours; I saw him looking at the luggage labels. I suppose he’ll send the bill to you.’ She added not quite so brightly, ‘Shall we be able to pay it?’

‘Of course,’ said Emma sturdily, stifling doubts, ‘it won’t come for ages, they never do, and it won’t be much. Don’t you worry about it.’ She frowned again. ‘But we didn’t see him drive away, did we? Supposing he couldn’t. Perhaps he’s still there…’

‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Hastings. ‘Now you’re worrying; that sort of car never breaks down. Let’s go for a walk.’

They explored the town first, and then, because it was such a pleasant evening, strolled along a country road which seemed to lead nowhere. ‘A pity we have to go back,’ remarked Mrs Hastings. ‘It’s been such a lovely holiday, Emma dear, and so sweet of you to let me tag along with you. You might have had more fun with someone of your own age.’

‘Fiddlesticks,’ said Emma vigorously. ‘I’ve loved every minute of it, too—I’m glad we chose Holland, and if I’d gone with someone else they might have wanted to do things I didn’t want to do. We’ve seen a lot—besides, we like poking around, don’t we?’

Her mother agreed. ‘Shall we go to Gouda tomorrow?’

‘Yes, and the day after, Schoonhoven and then we can go to that place Wijk something or other. There’s enough money for us to see the Son et Lumière at the castle. We can go south from there in time to catch the night boat from Zeebrugge.’

‘Ten days go so quickly,’ remarked her mother on a sigh, ‘but with Kitty coming home—and it wouldn’t be kind to leave her alone. It’s a pity Gregory and Susan couldn’t have her, but with a new baby in the house…’

‘Well, I couldn’t have had a longer holiday, anyway. Sister Cox is having her feet done as soon as I get back.’

‘Poor thing,’ said her mother, and meant it; she had only met Sister Cox at Hospital fêtes, on which annual occasions the Theatre Superintendent showed only the better side of her nature. ‘Let’s go back, I’m hungry.’

They dined at one of the tables in the coffee room with a sprinkling of other guests who were, however, not dining but drinking beer or coffee and when the mood took them, playing billiards as well. They greeted the two ladies with friendliness and then, with perfect manners ignored them while they ate. The food was good although limited in choice and Emma, who had no weight problems, enjoyed everything she was offered and then sat back watching the players while she and her mother drank their coffee. Perhaps it was because of her obvious interest in the game that she was asked, in peculiar but understandable English, if she played herself, and when she admitted that she did and was asked if she would care for a game she took it as something of a compliment, for in none of the other hotels they had visited had she ever seen a woman playing. She took a cue and gave such a good account of herself that there was a little round of applause when the game was finally finished, even though she hadn’t won. Thinking about it in her little bedroom later she wondered if, despite the language difficulty, she should have told them that she had played with her father for years before he died, and was considered something of an expert even though she wasn’t wildly enthusiastic about the game. She went on to wonder, for no reason at all, if the man they had met that afternoon played too; if so, she would dearly love to beat him. She smiled at the silliness of the thought as she went to sleep.

They went to Gouda the next day and spent a long time looking at the Town Hall, which was quaint and very old and being in the middle of the square, could be seen properly by just walking slowly round it. They went to Sint Janskerk too, because the guide book told them to and were very glad that they had because of its quiet spaciousness and lovely stained glass windows. When they came out at last, they wandered off into the little lanes and alleys around it and stared at the small ancient houses, huddled together as though to support each other through the centuries, and when they found their way back to the Markt, they lunched off a tremendous pancake in a restaurant which looked like a Dutch interior painted by Pieter de Hoogh. They spent an hour exploring the rest of the little town and looking at its shops and then got into the car again and drove the mile or so to the complex of lakes just outside the town, where they stopped at a café for cups of milkless tea which they drank sitting at a little table overlooking the water and admired the boats bowling along before the stiff breeze they had come to expect in Holland.