Dearest Eulalia. Бетти Нилс
found the Bath Oliver biscuits and arranged them on a pretty little plate and bore the tray upstairs and found the two men in deep conversation. The Colonel was obviously enjoying his visitor and she beamed at him as she handed him his coffee and put the biscuits where her grandfather could reach them easily. She went away then, nursing a little glow of pleasure because Mr van der Leurs had got up when she had gone in and taken the tray and stayed on his feet until she had gone.
Nice manners, thought Eulalia as she went downstairs to have her coffee with Jane.
‘I heard voices,’ observed Jane, spooning instant coffee into mugs.
Eulalia explained. ‘And Grandfather was pleased to see him.’
‘He sounds all right. I remember his dad; came visiting years ago.’
‘He got the washing machine to go again.’
‘That’s a mercy. Now, Miss Lally, you do your shopping; I’ll hang out the washing—see if you can get a couple of those small lamb cutlets for the Colonel and a bit of steak for us—or mince. I’ll make a casserole for us and a pie if there’s enough…’
Eulalia got her coat from the hall and fetched a basket and sat down at the table to count the contents of her purse. A week to pay day so funds were low.
‘It had better be mince,’ she said. ‘It’s cheaper.’ And then she added, ‘I hate mince…’
She looked up and saw that Jane was smiling—not at her but at someone behind her. Mr van der Leurs was standing in the doorway holding the coffee tray.
‘Delicious coffee,’ he observed, ‘and I was delighted to meet the Colonel.’
Eulalia got up and turned round to face him. ‘Thank you for bringing down the tray. This is Jane, our housekeeper and friend.’
He crossed the room and shook hands with her and smiled his slow smile so that she lost her elderly heart to him.
‘Miss Lally’s just going to do the shopping,’ she told him.
‘Perhaps I may be allowed to carry the basket?’
And very much to her surprise Eulalia found herself walking out of the house with him and down a narrow side street where there was a row of small shops, old-fashioned and tucked discreetly behind the rather grand houses.
She asked, ‘Don’t you have to go back to the hospital? I mean, this is kind of you but you don’t have to.’
‘It’s more or less on my way,’ said Mr van der Leurs, and since she was too polite to ask where he was going and he had no intention of telling her she made polite small talk until they reached the shops.
The grocer’s was small and rather dark but he sold everything. Mr van der Leurs, without appearing to do so, noted that she bought Earl Grey, the finest coffee beans, Bath Olivers, farm butter, Brie and Port Salut cheese, Cooper’s marmalade and a few slices of the finest bacon; and, these bought, she added cheap tea bags, a tin of instant coffee, a butter substitute, sugar and flour and streaky bacon.
It was the same at the butcher’s, where she bought lamb cutlets, a chicken breast, lamb’s kidneys and then minced beef and some sausages. He hadn’t gone into the shop with her but had stood outside, apparently studying the contents of the window. At the greengrocer’s he followed her in to take the basket while she bought potatoes and a cabbage, celery, carrots and a bunch of grapes.
‘We make our own bread,’ said Eulalia, bypassing the baker.
Mr van der Leurs, keeping his thoughts to himself, made light-hearted conversation as they returned to the house. It was evident to him that living was on two levels in the Colonel’s house, which made it a sensible reason for him to marry her as quickly as possible. There were, of course, other reasons, but those, like his thoughts, he kept to himself.
At the house he didn’t go in but as he handed over the basket he said, ‘Will you have lunch with me tomorrow? We might drive out into the country. I find the weekends lonely.’
It was a good thing that his numerous friends in London hadn’t heard him say that. He had sounded very matter-of-fact about it, which somehow made her feel sorry for him. A stranger in a foreign land, thought Eulalia, ignoring the absurd idea; he seemed perfectly at home in London and his English was as good as her own.
‘Thank you, I should like that.’
‘I’ll call for you about eleven o’clock.’ He smiled at her. ‘Goodbye, Eulalia.’
Jane thought it was a splendid idea. ‘Time you had a bit of fun,’ she observed, ‘and a good meal out somewhere posh.’
‘It will probably be in a pub,’ answered Eulalia.
She told her grandfather when she carried up his lunch.
‘Splendid, my dear; he’s a sound chap, just like his father was. I’ve asked him to come and see me again. He tells me he is frequently in England although he has his home in Holland.’
Eulalia, getting the tea later while Jane had a rest, spent an agreeable hour deciding what she would wear. It was nearing the end of October but the fine weather had held although it was crisply cold morning and evening. She decided on a short jacket, a pleated skirt and a silk jersey top, all of them old but because they had been expensive and well cut they presented an elegant whole. He had said that they would drive into the country, which might mean a pub lunch, but if it were to be somewhere grander she would pass muster…
When he called for her he was wearing beautifully cut tweeds, by no means new but bearing the hallmark of a master tailor, and his polished shoes were handmade. Even to an untutored eye he looked exactly what he was—a man of good taste and with the means to indulge it. Moreover, reflected Eulalia happily, her own outfit matched his.
He went to see her grandfather, to spend ten minutes with him and give him a book they had been discussing, and then stopped to talk to Jane, who was hovering in the hall, before he swept Eulalia out of the house and into the dark grey Bentley parked on the kerb.
‘Is this yours?’ asked Eulalia.
‘Yes. I need to get around when I’m over here.’ He glanced at her. ‘Comfortable? Warm enough? It’s a lovely morning but there’s a nip in the air.’
He took the M4 out of London and turned off at Maidenhead. ‘I thought the Cotswolds? We could lunch at Woodstock and drive on from there. A charming part of England, isn’t it? You don’t need to hurry back?’
‘No. Jane likes to go to Evensong but I expect we shall be back long before then. Do you know this part of England well?’
‘Not as well as I should like but each time I come here I explore a little more.’
He had turned off the A423 and was driving along country roads, through small villages and the quiet countryside to stop presently at North Stoke, a village by the Thames where they had coffee at a quiet pub. He talked quietly as he drove, undemanding, a placid flow of nothing much. By the time they reached Woodstock, Eulalia was wishing the day would go on for ever.
The Feathers was warm and welcoming, with a pleasant bar and a charming restaurant. Eulalia, invited to choose her lunch, gulped at the prices and then, urged by her companion, decided on lobster patties and then a traditional Sunday lunch—roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes, vegetables… and after that a trifle to put to shame any other trifle. Eulalia finally sighed with repletion and poured the coffee.
‘What a heavenly meal,’ she observed. ‘I shall remember it for years.’
‘Good. The Cotswolds are at their best in the autumn, I think.’
He drove to Shipton-under-Wychwood, on to Stow-on-the-Wold and then Bourton-on-the-Water where he obligingly stopped for a while so that she might enjoy its charm and the little river running through the village. At Burford he stopped for tea at a hotel in its steep main street, a warm and cosy place where they sat in a pleasant