STARS THROUGH 
; THE MIST 


A practical proposal 

 Wanted - a sensible, 
competent wife!

 When distinguished surgeon Gerard van 
Doorninck asked Staff Nurse Deborah Culpeper

 to marry him, his reasons were practical, not 
romantic. As she had been secretly in love with 
Gerard for some time, Deborah accepted his 
terms and hoped for the best. It might all have 
worked out very happily, had Gerard's friend 
Claude van Trapp not done his best to try and
spoil things! 



Dear Reader, 

Looking back over the years, I find it hard to realise 
that twenty-six of them have gone by since I wrote 
my first book—Sister Peters in Amsterdam. It 
wasn't until I started writing about her that I found 

that once I had started writing, nothing was going 
to make me stop—and at that time I had no intention 
of sending it to a publisher. It was my daughter who 
urged me to try my luck. 

I shall never forget the thrill of having my first book 
accepted. A thrill I still get each time a new story is 
accepted. Writing to me is such a pleasure, and seeing 
a story unfolding on my old typewriter is like 
watching a film and wondering how it will end. 
Happily of course. 

To have so many of my books re-published is such 
a delightful thing to happen and I can only hope that 
those who read them will share my pleasure in seeing 
them on the bookshelves again.. .and enjoy reading 
them. 

ftA[ W, 


Back by Popular Demand 

A collector's edition of favourite titles from one of the 
world's best-loved romance authors. Mills & Boon are 
proud to bring back these sought after titles and 
present them as one cherished collection. 

BETTY NEELS: COLLECTOR'S EDITION 

1 THE DOUBTFUL MARRIAGE 
2 A GEM OF A GIRL 
3 A GENTLE AWAKENING 
4 RING IN A TEACUP 
5 OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE 
6 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 
7 THE MOON FOR LAV1N1A 
8 PINEAPPLE GIRL 
9 WISH WITH THE CANDLES 

10 BRITANNIA ALL AT SEA 
11 CAROLINE'S WATERLOO 
12 HEAVEN AROUND THE

 CORNER 
13 COBWEB MORNING 

21 ALL ELSE CONFUSION 

22 NEVER SAY GOODBYE 

23 THE PROMISE OF HAPPINESS 

24 SISTER PETERS IN 
AMSTERDAM 

25 A GIRL TO LOVE 

26 THE HASTY MARRIAGE 

27 THE END OF THE RAINBOW 

28 A DREAM COME TRUE 
29 THE MAGIC OF LIVING 
30 SATURDAY'S CHILD 

31 FATE IS REMARKABLE 

32 NEVER TOO LATE 

33 JUDITH 

14 HENRIETTA'S OWN CASTLE34 MIDNIGHT SUN'S MAGIC 

15 ROSES FOR CHRISTMAS 

16 CASSANDRA BY CHANCE 
17 THE LITTLE DRAGON 
18 THE SILVER THAW 
19 VICTORY FOR VICTORIA 

20 THREE FOR A WEDDING 

35 SUN AND CANDLELIGHT 
36 A STAR LOOKS DOWN 
37 PHILOMENA'S MIRACLE 
38 HANNAH 
39 HEAVEN IS GENTLE 
40 A MATTER OF CHANCE 


STARS THROUGH 
THE MIST

 BY 
BETTY NEELS 

MILLS &- BOON 



 CHAPTER ONE

 THE operating theatre was a hive of industry,

 its usual hush giving way to sudden utterances

 of annoyance or impatience as the nurses went

 briskly to and fro about their business. Sister

 Deborah Culpeper, arranging her instruments

 with efficient speed on the trolley before her,

 found time to listen to the plaintive wail of her

 most junior nurse, who was unable to find the 

Langenbeck retractors she had been sent to 

fetch, while at the same time keeping an eye on 

Bob, the theatre technician, who was trying out 

the electrical equipment needed for.the various 

drills which would presently be needed. She 

calmed the nurse, nodded approval of Bob's 

efforts, begged Staff Nurse Perkins to get the 

dressings laid out in their correct order and 
glanced at the clock.

 One minute to nine o'clock, and as far as she 
could see, everything was ready. She swung the 
trolley round with an expert kick and then stood, 
relaxed and calm, behind it, knowing that in a 
few minutes the rest of the staff would follow 
suit; she never badgered them or urged them on, 
merely saw to it that each nurse had her fair 
share of the work and time enough in which to 
do it. She looked ahead of her now, apparently 
at the tiled wall opposite her, aware of every 


6 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 
last move being made, nothing of her visible 
beneath the green gown which enveloped her, 
only her dark eyes showing above the mask. 
She looked the picture of calm self-assurance, 
and her nurses, aware of their own hurried 
breath and rapid pulses, envied her. A quite 
unwarranted feeling, as it happened, for despite 
her outward tranquillity, Deborah's heart had 
quickened its pace to an alarming rate, and her 
breath, despite her efforts to keep it firmly under g 
her control, had run mad. She gave her head a 
tiny, vexed shake, for it annoyed her very much 
that she should behave so stupidly whenever 
Mr van Doorninck was operating; she had tried 
every means in her power to remain uncaring 
of his presence and had mastered her feelings 
so well that she could present a placid front 
to him when they met and subdue those same 
feelings so sternly that she could scarcely be ; 
faulted as a perfect Theatre Sister; only on his 
operating days did her feelings get a little out 
of hand, something which she thanked heaven ; 
she could conceal behind her mask. She looked 
up now as the patient was wheeled in, arranged 
with nicety upon the operating table and covered 
with a blanket, to be followed immediately by 
the opening of the swing doors at the further end 
of the theatre and the appearance of two men. 
Deborah's lovely eyes swept over the shorter, 
younger man—the Registrar, Peter Jackson— 
and rested briefly upon Mr van Doorninck. He 
was a very tall man with broad shoulders 
shrouded, as was every one else, in green theatre | 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 7

 garb. His eyes above the mask swept round the

 theatre now, missing nothing as he walked to

 the table. His good morning to Sister Culpeper

 was affable if somewhat reserved, and his

 glance from under heavy lids was brief. She

 returned his greeting in a quiet, detached voice

 and turned at once to her trolley, wondering for

 the hundredth time how it was possible for a

 sensible woman of twenty-seven to be so hope


lessly and foolishly in love with a consultant

 surgeon who had never uttered more than a few 
brief conventional phrases to her. But in love 

she was, and during the two years in which she 

had worked for him, it had strengthened into a 

depth of feeling which had caused her to refuse 

two proposals of marriage. She sighed sound


lessly and began the familiar ritual of arranging 

the sterile sheets and towels over the uncon


scious form on the table.

 She worked with speed and care, knowing 
exactly how the silent man on the other side of 
the table liked them arranged; in two years she 
had got to know quite a lot about him—that he 
was even-tempered but never easy-going, that 
when the occasion warranted it, he could display 
a cold anger, that he was kind and considerate 
and reticent about himself—almost taciturn. 
But of his life outside the theatre she knew very 
little; he was yearned over by the student nurses 
to whom he gave lectures, sought after by the 
more senior female staff, and openly laid siege 
to by the prettier, younger nurses. No one knew 
where he lived or what he did with his spare 


8 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

time; from time to time he let drop the information 
that he was either going to Holland or 
had just returned. The one fact which emerged 
from the wealth of rumour which surrounded 
him was that he was not married—an interesting 
detail which had increased the efforts of the 
young women who rather fancied themselves as 
his wife. And once or twice he had mentioned 
to Deborah that he had parents in Holland, as 
well as brothers and a sister who had been to 
England to visit him. Deborah had longed to ask 
questions and had restrained herself, knowing 
that if she did he would probably never tell her 
anything again.

 She finished the preliminaries, glanced at 
him, and at his 'Ready, Sister?' gave her usual 
placid 'Yes, sir,' and handed him the towel clips 
which he liked to arrange for himself. After that 
she kept her thoughts strictly upon her job— 
scalpel, artery forceps, retractors, and then as 
he reached the bone, the lion forceps, the 
Langenbeck retractors, the rugines, the bone 
levers—she handed each in turn a second or 
so before he put out his hand to receive them, 
admiring, as she always did, his smooth technique 
and the sureness of his work. Not for 
nothing had he won a place on the top rung of 
the orthopaedic surgeon's ladder.

 The patient was a young man with a malignant 
tumour of the femur; his only chance of 
recovery was extensive excision, a proceeding 
which Mr van Doorninck was undertaking now. 
Beyond a muttered word now and then to his 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 9 
registrar or a request for some special instrument, 
he spoke little; only when the operation 
was three parts completed and they were stitching 
up did he remark: 'There's a good chance 
of complete recovery here—as soon as he's fit 
we'll get him fitted with a leg—remind me to 
talk to Sister Prosser about him, Peter.' 
He turned away from the table and took off 
his gloves to fling them into one of the bowls 
and walked out of the theatre, back into the 
scrubbing-up room, leaving Peter to supervise 
the removal of the patient and Deborah to organise 
the preparation of the theatre for the next 
case, reflecting as she did so that Sister Prosser, 
plain and plump and fifty if she was a day, was 
the most envied member of the nursing staff, 
because she saw Mr van Doorninck every day, 
and not only that, he took coffee with her frequently, 
and was known to have a great respect 
for her opinion of his patients' conditions. 
The morning wore on; a child next with 
a Ewing's tumour over which the surgeon 
frowned and muttered to Peter, knowing that his 
careful surgery offered little hope of a permanent 
cure, then an old lady whose broken thigh 
was to be pinned and plated. It was like a carpenter's 
shop, thought Deborah, expertly changing 
drills and listening to the high whine of the 
electric equipment Bob was obediently switching 
on and off; what with drills and saws and 
mallets, it was a noisy way to spend a morning, 
although after five years of it she should be used 
to it. She had always been interested in bones 


10 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

and when she had finished her training and had 
had an opportunity of taking the post of staff 
nurse in the orthopaedic theatre, she had jumped 
at the chance, and a year later, when the Theatre 
Sister had retired, she had taken over her job, 
content with her lot—there was time enough to 
think about getting married in a year or two, in 
the meantime she would make a success of her 
new post, something she had done in a very 
short time so that there still seemed no urgency 
to take the idea of marriage seriously.

 She was twenty-five when Mr van Doorninck 
walked into the theatre unit one day, to be introduced 
as the new orthopaedic consultant, and 
from that moment she had felt no desire to marry 
anyone at all, only him. She had realised how 
hopeless her wish was within a short time, and 
being a girl with common sense, had told herself 
to stop being,a fool, and had accepted numerous 
invitations from a number of the younger 
doctors in the hospital. She had taken trips in 
fast sports cars, attended classical concerts, and 
visited cinemas and theatres, according to her 
escorts' tastes, but it hadn't helped in the least;

 she was left with the feeling that she had wasted 

her time as well as that of all the young men

 who had taken her out, for Mr van Doominck's

 image remained clearly imprinted inside her

 head and refused to be budged.

 She had come to realise over the last few

 months that there was only one way of escape

 from his unconscious toils; she would have to

 leave Clare's and start all over again somewhere 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 1 1

 else. Indeed she had already put this plan into

 effect, searching the Nursing Times for a suitable 
post, preferably situated at the furthest 
possible point from London.

 They had a break for coffee after the old

 lady's fragile bones had been reinforced by Mr 
van Doominck's expert carpentry. The talk was 
of the patients, naturally enough, but with their 
second cups, the two men began a discussion 
on the merits of the Registrar's new car and 
Deborah slipped away to scrub and relieve Staff 
for her own elevenses. They were still discussing 
cars when the theatre party reassembled 
around the table again to tackle a nasty shattered 
elbow, which Mr van Doorninck patiently fitted 
together like a jigsaw puzzle with Peter's help, 
several lengths of wire, a screw or two, and the 
electric drill again. That done to his satisfaction, 
he turned his attention to the last case, added 
hastily to the list at the last minute, because 
the patient had only been admitted early that 
morning with a fractured pelvis after he had 
crashed on his motor bike. It took longer than 
Deborah had expected. Half way through the 
operation she signed to Staff and one of the 
nurses to go to lunch, which left her with Bob 
and a very junior nurse, who, though willing 
and eager to please, was inclined to blunder 
around. It was long past two o'clock when the 
case left the theatre, and Mr van Doorninck, 
with a politely worded apology for running so 
far over his usual time, went too. She wouldn't 
see him again until Thursday; he operated three 


 12 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

times a week and today was Monday.

 The afternoon was spent doing the washdown 
in the theatre, and Deborah, on duty until Staff 
should relieve her at five o'clock, retired to her 
office to attend to the paper work. She had discarded 
her theatre gown and mask and donned 
her muslin cap in order to go to the dining room 
for her late dinner; now she spent a few moments 
repairing the ravages of a busy morning—not 
that they showed overmuch; her very slightly 
tiptilted nose shone just a little, her hair, which 
she wore drawn back above a wide forehead, 
still retained the smooth wings above each cheek 
and the heavy coil in her neck was still firmly 
skewered. She applied lipstick to her large, wellshaped 
mouth, passed a wetted fingertip across 
her dark brows, put her cap back on, and stared 
at the result.

 She had been told times out of number that 
she was a very pretty girl, indeed, one or two 
of her more ardent admirers had gone so far as 
to say that she was beautiful. She herself, while 
not conceited, found her face passably goodlooking 
but nothing out of the ordinary, but she, 
of course, was unaware of the delight of her 
smile, or the way her eyes crinkled so nicely at 
their comers when she laughed, and those same 
eyes were unusually dark, the colour ofpansies, 
fringed with long curling lashes which were the 
envy of her friends. She pulled a face at her 
reflection and turned her back on it to sit at the 
desk and apply herself to the miscellany upon 
it, but after ten minutes or so she laid down her 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 13

 pen and picked up the latest copy of the Nursing

 Times; perhaps there would be a job in it which 
might suit her.


 There was—miles away in Scotland. The 
hospital was small, it was true, but busy, and 
they wanted an energetic working Sister, able 
to organise and teach student nurses the secrets 


of orthopaedics. She marked it with a cross and 
went back to her writing, telling herself that it 
was just exactly what she had been looking for, 
but as she applied herself once more to the delicate 
task of giving days off to her staff without 
disrupting the even flow of work, several doubts 
crept into her mind; not only was the hospital a 
satisfying distance from Mr van Doorninck, it 
was also, unfortunately, an unsatisfying distance 
from her own home. Holidays, not to mention 
days off, would be an almost impossible undertaking. 
She went home to Somerset several 
times a year now, and once a month, when she 
had her long weekend, she drove herself down 
in the Fiat 500 she had bought cheap from one of 
the housemen. She frowned, trying to remember 
her geography, wondering if Somerset was 
further away from the northern coasts of 
Scotland than was London. She could always 
spend a night with her Aunt Mary who lived on 
the edge of a hamlet rejoicing in the incredible 
name of Twice Brewed, hard by Hadrian's Wall, 
but even then she would have to spend another 
night on the road. And what was she going to 
tell her friends when they found out that she 
intended to leave? She had no good reason for 


14 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

doing so, she had never been anything but happy 
until Mr van Doorninck turned up and destroyed 
her peace of mind, and even now she was happy 
in a way because she was sure of seeing him 
three times a week at least. She frowned. Put 
like that, it sounded ridiculous—she would have 
to find some really sensible reason for giving in 
her notice. She picked up her pen once more; 
she would puzzle it out later, when she was 

off duty. 
But there was no opportunity; she had forgotten 
that it was Jenny Reed's birthday and that 
they were all going out together to the cinema, 
so she spent the rest of the evening with half a 
dozen of the younger Sisters and shelved her 
problems.
There wasn't much time to think next day 
either, for the three victims of a car crash were 
admitted in the early hours of the morning and 
she was summoned early to go on duty and open 
up the theatre. Staff was already there when she 
arrived and so was the junior nurse, her eyes 
round with excitement as she began the humbler 
routine tasks which fell to her lot. 
'Oh, Sister,' she breathed, 'they're in an 
awful bad way! Lottie Jones—she's on nights 
in the Accident Room, she says they've broken 
every bone in their bodies.' 
Deborah was putting out the sharps and 
needles and collecting the electrical equipment. 
'In which case we're going to be here for a very 
long time,' she remarked cheerfully. 'Where's 
Nurse Patterson?' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 15

 That young lady, only half awake, crept 
through the door as she put the question, wished 
her superior a sleepy good morning and went 
on to say: 'They're mincemeat. Sister, so 
rumour has it, and where's the night staff? 
Couldn't they have at least started...?'

 'It's not only our three,' Deborah pointed out 
crisply. 'They've had a busy night, the general 
theatre has been on the go since midnight. Get 
the plaster room ready, will you. Nurse, and then 
see to the bowls.'

 She was on the point of scrubbing up ready 
to start her trolleys when Mr van Doorninck 
walked in. She looked at him twice, because 
she was accustomed to seeing him either in his 
theatre gown and trousers, or a selection of 
sober, beautifully cut grey suits, and now he 
was in slacks and a rather elderly sweater. It 
made him look younger and much more 
approachable and it seemed to have the same 
effect on him as well, for he said cheerfully, 
'Hullo—sorry we had to get you up early, but 
I wanted you here. Do you suppose they could 
send up some coffee—I can tell you what I 
intend doing while we drink it.' He glanced 
around him. 'These three look as though they 
could do with a hot drink, too,' a remark which 
sent Patterson scurrying to the telephone to 
order coffee in the consultant's name, adding a 
gleeful rider that it was for five people and was 
to be sent up at once.

 Deborah led the way to her office, offered Mr 
van Doorninck a chair, which he declined, and 


16 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

sat down herself behind her desk. She had taken 
off her cap and had her theatre cap and mask in 
her hand, but she put these down now and rather 
absent-mindedly began to thrust the pins more 
securely into the great bundle of hair she had 
twisted up in such a hurry. She did it with a lack 
of self-consciousness of which she was unaware 

and when she looked up and caught his eye, 

she said, 'Sorry about this—there wasn't much 

time, but I'm listening.'

 'Three cases,' he began. 'The first is a young 
man—a boy, I should say, fractured pelvis, left 
and right fractured femurs, I'm afraid, and a

 fractured patella—fragmented, I shall have to

 remove the whole thing. The other two aren't

 quite so bad—fractured neck of femur, com


pound tib and fib and a/few ribs; the third one

 has got off comparatively lightly with a com


minuted fracture of left femur and a Potts'. I

 think if we work the first case off, stop for a

 quick breakfast, and get the other two done

 afterwards—have you a list for Mr Squires this

 morning? Doesn't he usually start at eleven

 o'clock?' 
Deborah nodded. 'But it's a short list and I'm 
sure he'll agree to start half an hour later if he 
were asked.' 
'How are you placed for staff? Will you 
be able to cover both theatres? You'll be 
running late.' 
It was Staff's half day before her days off, 
but he wouldn't know about that. Deborah said 
positively: 'I can manage very well; Bob will 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 17

 be on at eight o'clock and both part-time staff

 nurses come in.'

 She made a show of consulting the off-duty

 book before her. She wouldn't be able to go off 
duty herself, for she was to be relieved by one 
of the part-time staff nurses; she would have to 
telephone her now, and get her to come in at 
one o'clock instead.

 'When would you like to start?' she wanted 
to know calmly. 
He glanced at his watch. 'Ten minutes, if 
you can.'

 She got up from her chair. 'We'll be ready— 
you'll want the Smith-Petersen nails, and shall 
I put out the McLaughlin pin-plate as well? And 
will you want to do a bone graft on the tib 
and fib?'

 'Very probably. Put out everything we've got, 
will you? I'll pick what I want, we can't really 
assess the damage until I can get the bone 
fragments away.'

 He followed her out of the office and they 
walked together down the wide corridor to the 
scrubbing-up room, where Peter was already at 
one of the basins. Deborah wished him good 
morning and went to her own basin to scrub— 
ten minutes wasn't long and she had quite a lot 
to do still.

 The operation lasted for hours, and unlike 
other jobs, there was no question of hurrying it 
up; the broken bones had to be exposed, tidied 
up, blood vessels tied, tissue cut away and then 
the pieces brought together before they were 


18 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

joined by means of pins or wires, and only then 
after they had been X-rayed.

 Mr van Doorninck worked steadily and with 
the absorption of a man doing a difficult jigsaw 
puzzle, oblivious of time or anything else. 
Deborah, with an eye on the clock, sent a nurse 
down to breakfast with the whispered warning 
to look sharp about it; Staff went next and when

 Bob came on at eight o'clock and with him 
the other two student nurses, she breathed more 
freely. She still had to telephone Mrs Rudge, 
the part-time staff nurse, but she lived close by 
and with any luck she would be able to change 
her duty hours; she would worry about that later. 
She nodded to Bob to be ready with the drill, 
checked swabs with the junior nurse, and tidied 
her trolleys.

 The case was wheeled away at long last, and 
as the patient disappeared through one door, 
Mr van Doorninck and Peter started off in the 
opposite direction. 'Twenty minutes?' said Mr 
van Doorninck over his shoulder as he went, 
not waiting for her reply.

 'You must be joking,' Deborah muttered 
crossly, and picked up a handful of instruments, 
to freeze into immobility as he stopped abruptly. 
'You're right, of course—is half an hour 
better?'

 She said 'Yes, sir,' in a small meek voice and 
plunged into the ordered maelstrom which was 
the theatre. Twenty minutes later she was in her 
office, her theatre cap pushed to the back of her 
head, drinking the tea Staff had whistled up for 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 19 

her and wolfing down buttered toast; heaven 

knew when she would get her next meal.. .

 She certainly didn't get it at dinner-time, for 
although the second case proved plain sailing, 
even if slow, the third presented every small 
complication under the sun; the femur was in 
fragments, anyone less sure of himself than Mr 
van Doorninck might have felt justified in 
amputating below the knee, but he, having made 
up his mind that he could save the limb, set to 
work to do so, and a long and tedious business 
it was, necessitating Deborah sending Mrs 
Rudge to the second theatre to take care of Mr 
Squires who had obligingly agreed to take his 
list there, and she had taken two of the nurses 
with her, a circumstance which had caused Staff 
Nurse Perkins to hesitate about taking her half 
day, but it was impossible to argue about it in 
theatre; she went, reluctantly.

 The operation lasted another hour. Deborah 
had contrived to send the nurses to their dinners, 
but Bob she didn't dare to send; he was far too 
useful and understood the electric drills and the 
diathermy machine even better than she did 
herself—besides, she was scrubbed, and at this 
stage of the operation there was no question 
of hampering Mr van Doorninck for a single 
second.

 It was half past two when he finally straightened 
his back, thanked her politely for her 
services and walked away. She sent Bob to his 
belated dinner, and when Mrs Rudge arrived 
from the other theatre, went downstairs herself 


20 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

to cold beef and salad. There was certainly no 
hope of off-duty for her now. Mrs Rudge would 
go at four o'clock and that would leave herself 
and two student nurses when Bob went at five. 
She sighed, eating almost nothing, and presently 
went over to the Nurses' Home and tidied herself 
in a perfunctory manner, a little horrified at 
the untidiness of her appearance—luckily it had 
all been hidden under her cap and mask.

 It had just turned four o'clock when the Accident 
Room telephoned to say that there was a 
small child coming up within minutes with a 
nasty compound fracture of upper arm. Deborah 
raced round collecting instruments, scrubbing 
to lay the trolley while telling the nurses, a little 
fearful at having to get on with it without Staff 
to breathe reassuringly down their necks, what 
to do next. All the same, they did so well that she 
was behind her trolley, scrubbed and threading 
needles when the patient was wheeled in, followed 
by Mr van Doorninck and Peter.

 'Oh,' said Deborah, taken delightfully by surprise, 
'I didn't know that it would be you, sir.'

 'I was in the building. Sister,' he informed 
her, and accepted the towel clip she was holding 
out. 'You have been off duty?'

 She passed him a scalpel. 'No.' 
'You will be going this evening?' 
She took the forceps off the Mayo table and 


held them ready for Peter to take. 'No,' then 
added hastily, in case he should think she was 
vexed about it, 'It doesn't matter in the least.'

 He said 'Um' behind his mask and didn't 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 21 

speak again during the operation, which went 
without a hitch. All the same, it was almost six 
o'clock when they were finished and it would 
be another hour before the theatre was restored 
to its pristine state. It was a great pity that Peter 
had to put a plaster on a Potts' fracture—it was 
a simple one and he did it in the little plaster 
room, but he made a good deal of mess and 
Deborah, squeezing out plaster bandages in 
warm water for him to wind round the broken 
leg, found her temper wearing thin. It had been 
a long day, she was famished and tired and she 
must look a sight by now and there were still 
the books to write up. She glanced at the clock. 
In ten minutes the nurses were due off duty; she 
would have to stay and do her writing before 
she closed the theatre. She sighed and Peter 
cocked an eyebrow at her and asked: 'Worn 
out. Deb?'

 'Not really, just hungry, and I haven't had 
time to do my hair properly or see to my face 
all day. I feel a fright.' She could hear her voice 
sounding cross, but he ignored it and agreed 
cheerfully:

 'You look pretty awful—luckily you're so 
gorgeous, it doesn't matter, though the hair is a 
trifle wild.'

 She giggled and slapped a wet bandage into 
his outstretched hand.

 'Well, it doesn't matter, there's no one to 
see me. I shall eat an enormous supper and fall 
into bed.'

 'Lucky girl—I'm on until midnight.' 


22 STARS THROUGH THE MIST


 She was instantly sympathetic. 'Oh, Peter, 
how awful, but there's not much of a list for Mr 
Squires tomorrow afternoon and only a handful 
of replasters and walking irons—you might be 
able to get someone to give you a hand.'

 He nodded. 'We're on call, aren't we?'

 That was true; Clare's was on call until 
Thursday. 'I'll keep my fingers crossed,' she 
promised him. 'And now be off with you, I want 
to clear up.'

 It was very quiet when the nurses had gone. 
Deborah tugged her cap off her dreadfully 
untidy hair, kicked off her shoes, and sat down 
at her desk. Another ten minutes or so and she 
would be free herself. She dragged her thoughts 
away from the tantalising prospect of supper 
and a hot bath and set to on the operation book.

 She was neatly penning in the last name when 
the unit doors swung open and her tired mind 
registered the disturbing fact that it was Mr van 
Doominck's large feet coming down the corridor, 
and she looking like something the sea had

 washed up. She was still frantically searching

 for her shoes when he came in the door. She

 rose to her stockinged feet, feeling even worse

 than she looked because he was, by contrast,

 quite immaculate—no one, looking at him now,

 would know that he had been bent over the

 operating table for the entire day. He didn't look

 tired either; his handsome face, with its straight

 nose and firm mouth, looked as good-humoured

 and relaxed as it usually did.

 Deborah spoke her thoughts aloud and quite 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 23

 involuntarily. 'Oh, dear—I wasn't expecting

 anyone and I simply...' She broke off because 
he was smilling nicely at her. 'I must look quite 
awful,' she muttered, and when he laughed 
softly: 'Is it another case?' He shook his head. 
'You want to borrow some instruments—half a 
minute while I find my shoes...'

 He laughed again. 'You won't need your 
shoes and I don't want any instruments.' He 
came a little further into the room and stood 
looking at her. She looked back at him, bewildered, 
her mind noting that his Dutch accent 
seemed more pronounced than usual although 
his English was faultless.

 'How do you feel about marrying me?' he 
wanted to know blandly. 


 CHAPTER TWO 

SHE was so amazed that she couldn't speak. 
Just for one blissful moment she savoured the 
delightful idea that he had fallen in love with 
her, and then common sense took over. Men 
in love, however awkward about the business, 
weren't likely to employ such a cool manner 
as his. He had sounded for all the world as 
though he wanted her to fit in an extra case on 
his next list or something equally prosaic. She 
found her voice at last and was surprised at its 
steadiness. 'Why do you ask me?' she wanted 
to know.

 She watched his nod of approval. The light 
over the desk showed up the grey hair at his 
temples and served to highlight the extreme fairness 
of the rest. His voice was unhurried as he 
said pleasantly:

 'What a sensible girl you are—most women 
would have been demanding to know if I were 
joking. I have noticed your calm manner when 
we have worked together, and I am delighted to 
see that it isn't only in the operating theatre that 
you are unflurried.'

 He was silent for so long that Deborah, 
desperate for something, anything to do, sat 
down again and began to stack the various notebooks 
and papers neatly together. That there

 24 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 25 

was no need to do this, and indeed it would 
merely give her more work in the morning sorting 
them all out again, escaped her notice. He 
might think her sensible and calm; inside, happily 
concealed by her dark blue uniform, she 
was bubbling like a cauldron on the boil.

 Presently, in the same pleasant voice, he went 
on: 'I will explain. I am returning to Holland to 
live very shortly; my father died recently and 
it is necessary for me to live there—there are 
various obligations—' he dismissed them with 
a wave of his hand and she wondered what they 
might be. 'I shall continue with my work, naturally, 
but we are a large family and I have a great 
many friends, so there will be entertaining and 
social occasions, you understand. I have neither 
the time nor the inclination to arrange such 
things, neither do I have the slightest idea how 
to run a household. I need a wife, someone 
who will do these things and welcome my 
friends.'

 He paused, but she wasn't looking at him. 
There were some retractors on the desk, put 
there for repair; she had picked them up and 
was polishing their handles vigorously with the 
cloth in which they were wrapped. He leaned 
across the desk and took them from her without 
a word and went on: 'I should tell you that I 
have been married. My wife died eight years 
ago and I have had no wish to become deeply 
involved with any woman since; I do not want 
to become deeply involved with you, but I see 
very little likelihood of this; we have worked 


26 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

together now for two years and I believe that I 
understand you very well. I would wish for your 
companionship and friendship and nothing 
more. I am aware that women set great store by 
marrying for love and that they are frequently 
unhappy as a consequence. Perhaps you do not 
consider what I am offering enough, and yet it 
seems to me that we are ideally suited, for you 
have plenty of common sense, a delightful 
manner and, I think, similar tastes to my own. 
I can promise you that your life will be pleasant 
enough.' His blue eyes stared down at her from 
under half-closed lids. 'You're twenty-seven,' 
he told her, 'and pretty enough to have had several 
chances of marrying and settling down with 
a husband and children, but you have not wanted 
this—am I right?'

 She nodded wordlessly, squashing a fleeting, 
nonsensical dream of little flaxen-haired van 
Doornincks as soon as it had been bom. Because 
she simply had to know, she asked: 'Have you 
any children?'

 'No,' his voice was so remote that she wished

 she hadn't spoken, 'I have two brothers and a

 sister, all married—there are children enough

 in the family.'

 Deborah waited for him to ask her if she liked

 children, but he didn't, so after a minute or two's

 silence she said in a quiet little voice:

 'May I have some time to think about it? You

 see, I've always imagined that I would marry

 someone I...' She stopped because she wasn't

 sure of her voice any more. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 27 
'Loved?' he finished for her in a depressingly 
matter-of-fact tone. 'I imagine most girls do, 
but I think that is not always the best way. A 
liking for each other, consideration for one's 
partner, shared interests—these things make a 
good marriage.' 
She stared at him, her lovely eyes round. She 
hadn't supposed him to be a cold man, although 
he was talking like one now. Either he had been 
unhappy in his first marriage or he had loved 
his wife so dearly that the idea of loving any 
other woman was unthinkable to him. She found 
either possibility unsatisfactory. With a tremendous 
effort she made herself be as businesslike 
as he was. 'So you don't want children—or— 
or a wife?' 
He smiled. 'Shall we discuss that later? Perhaps 
I haven't made myself quite plain; I admire 
and like you, but I'm not in love with you and 
I believe that we can be happy together. We 
are sensible, mature people and you are not, I 
believe, a romantic girl...' 
She longed to tell him how wrong he was. 
Instead: 'You don't believe in falling in 
love, then?' 
He smiled so charmingly that her outraged 
heart cracked a little. 
'And nor, I think, do you, Deborah, otherwise 
you would have been married long ago—you 
must be single from choice.' 
So that was what he thought; that she cared 
nothing for marriage and children and a home 


28 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

other own. She kept her angry eyes on the desk 
and said nothing at all.

 Presently he said, 'I have offended you. I'm 
sorry, but I find myself quite unable to be anything 
but honest with you.'

 She looked up at that and encountered his 
blue stare. 'I've had chances to marry,' she told 
him, at the same time wondering what would 
happen if she told him just why she had given 
up those same chances. 'Did you love your 
wife?' The question had popped out before she 
had been able to stop it and she watched the 
bleak look on his face as it slowly chilled her.

 He said with a bitter little sneer which hurt 
her, 'All women are curious.. .'

 'Well, I'm not all women,' she assured him 
sharply, 'and I'm not in the least curious'— 
another lie—'but it's something I should 
have to know—you said you wanted to be 
honest.'

 He looked at her thoughtfully. 'You're quite

 right. One day we will talk about her. Will it

 suffice for the moment if I tell you that our

 marriage was a mistake?' He became his usual

 slightly reserved self again. 'Now that I have

 told you so much about myself, I do not see that

 you can do anything else but marry me.'

 She answered his smile and was tempted to

 say yes at once, but common sense still had a

 firm place inside her lovely head; she would

 have to think about it. She told him so and he

 agreed unconcernedly. 'I shall see you on

 Thursday,' he observed as he went to the door. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 29 

'I'll leave you to finish your writing. Good 
night, Deborah.' 
She achieved a calm 'Good night, Mr van 
Doorninck,' and he paused on the way out to 

say: 'My name is Gerard, by the way, but perhaps 
I shouldn't have told you that until 
Thursday.'

 Deborah did no more writing; she waited until 
she heard the swing doors close after him and 
then shovelled the books and papers into 
a drawer, pell-mell. They could wait until 
tomorrow—she had far too much on her mind 
to be bothered with stupid matters like off-duty 
and laundry and instruments which needed 
repairing. She pinned on her cap anyhow, found 
her shoes at last, locked the theatre, hung the 
keys on the hook above the door, and went down 
to supper. Several of her friends were as late as

 she was; they greeted her with tired good nature

 and broke into a babble of talk to which she

 didn't listen until the Accident Room Sister

 startled her by saying, 'Deb, whatever is the

 matter? I've asked you at least three times what

 van Doorninck did with those three cases we

 sent up, and you just sit there in a world of

 your own.'

 'Sorry,' said Deborah, 'I was thinking,'

 a remark which called forth a little ripple of

 weary laughter from everyone at the table. She

 smiled round at them all and plunged obligingly

 into the complexities of the three patients'

 operations. 


30 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 'No off-duty?' someone asked when she had 
finished. 
Deborah shook her head. 'No—I'll make it 
up some time.' 
'He works you too hard,' said a pretty dark 

girl from the other side of the table. 'Cunning 
wretch, I suppose he turned on the charm and 
you fell for it.'

 The Accident Room Sister said half-jokingly, 
'And what wouldn't you give to have the chance 
of doing just that, my girl? The handsome Mr 
van Doorninck is a confirmed bachelor, to the 
sorrow of us all, and the only reason Deb has 
lasted so long in theatre is because she never 
shows the least interest in him, so he feels safe 
with her. Isn't that right. Deb?'

 Deborah blushed seldom; by a great effort of 

will she prevented herself from doing so now. 
She agreed airily, her fingers crossed on her lap, 
and started on the nourishing rice pudding which 
had been set before her. She wouldn't have rice 
pudding, she promised herself. Perhaps the 
Dutch.. .she pulled her thoughts up sharply; she 
hadn't decided yet, had she? It would be ridiculous 
to accept his offer, for it wouldn't be the 
kind of marriage she would want in the first 
place, on the other hand there was the awful 
certainty that if she refused him she would never 
see him again, which meant that she would 
either remain single all her days or marry someone 
else without loving him. So wasn't it better 
to marry Mr van Doorninck even if he didn't 
love her? At least she would be with him for 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 31

 the rest of her life and he need never find out

 that she loved him; he hadn't dis'covered it so

 far, so why should he later on?

 She spooned the last of the despised pudding, 
and decided to marry him, and if she had regrets 
in the years to come she would only have herself 
to blame. It was a relief to have made up her 
mind, although perhaps it had been already 
made up from the very moment when he had 
startled her with his proposal, for hadn't it been 
the fulfilment of her wildest dreams?

 She retired to her room early on the plea of 
a hard day and the beginnings of a headache, 
determined to go to bed and think the whole 
preposterous idea over rationally. Instead of 
which she fell sound asleep within a few minutes 
of putting her head on the pillow, her thoughts 
an uncontrollable and delicious jumble.

 She had time enough to think the next day, 
though. Wednesday was always a slack day in 
theatre even though they had to be prepared for 
emergencies. But there were no lists; Deborah 
spent the greater part of the day in the office, 
catching up on the administrative side, only 
sallying forth from time to time to make sure 
that the nurses knew what they were about. She 
went off duty at five o'clock, secretly disappointed 
that Mr van Doorninck hadn't put 
in an appearance—true, he hadn't said that he 
would, but surely he would feel some 
impatience? Upon reflection she decided that 
probably he wouldn't, or if he did, he would 
take care not to let it show. She spent the evening 


32 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

washing her hair and doing her nails, with the 
vague idea that she needed to look her best when 
he arrived at ten o'clock the next morning.

 Only he didn't come at ten. She was in theatre, 
on her knees under the operating table because 
one of the nurses had reported a small fault in 
its mechanism. She had her back to the door 
and didn't hear him enter; it was the sight of his 
large .well-polished shoes which caused her to 
start up, knocking her cap crooked as she did 
so. He put out a hand and helped her to her feet 
without effort, rather as though she had been 
some small slip of a girl, and Deborah exclaimed 
involuntarily, 'Oh—I'm quite heavy. I'm too 
tall, you must have noticed.' Her eyes were on 
his tie as she babbled on: 'I'm so big.. .!'

 'Which should make us a well-suited couple,' 
he answered equably. 'At least, I hope you will 
agree with me, Deborah.'

 She put a hand up to her cap to straighten

 it, not quite sure what she should answer,

 and he caught her puzzled look. 'Not quite

 romantic enough?' he quizzed her gently.

 'Have dinner with me tonight and I'll try and

 make amends.'

 She was standing before him now, her lovely

 eyes on a level with his chin. 'I don't know—

 that is, I haven't said...'

 His heavy-lidded eyes searched hers. 'Then

 say it now,' he commanded her gently. It seemed

 absurd to accept a proposal of marriage in an

 operating theatre, but there seemed no help for

 it. She drew breath: 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 33

 'Yes, I'll marry you, Mr van Doorninck.' She 
uttered the absurd remark in a quiet, sensible 
voice and he laughed gently.

 'Gerard, don't you think? Can you manage 
seven o'clock?' 
Her eyes left his chin reluctantly and met his. 
'Yes, I think so.' 
'Good. I'll fetch you—we'll go to the 
Empress if you would like that.'

 Somewhere very super, she remembered 
vaguely. 'That will be nice.' An inadequate 
answer, she knew, but he didn't appear to find 
it amiss; he took her two hands lightly in his 
and said: 'We'll have a quiet talk together—it 
is essential that we should understand each other 
from the beginning, don't you agree?'

 It sounded very businesslike and cool to her; 
perhaps she was making a terrible mistake, but 
was there a worse mistake than letting him go 
away for ever? She thought not. For want of 
anything better to say, she repeated, 'That will 
be nice,' and added, 'I must go and scrub, you 
have a list as long as your arm.'

 It stretched longer than an arm, however, by 
the time they had finished. The second case held 
them up; the patient's unexpected cardiac arrest 
was a surprise which, while to be coped with, 
flung a decided spanner in the works. Not that 
Mr van Doorninck allowed it to impede his 
activities—he continued unhurriedly about his 
urgent business and Deborah, after despatching 
Staff to the other end of the table to help the 
anaesthetist in any way he wished, concentrated 


34 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 
upon supplying her future husband's wants. The 
patient rallied, she heard Mr van Doorninck's 
satisfied grunt and relaxed herself; for a patient 
to die on the table was something to be avoided 
at all costs. The operation was concluded and 
the patient, still unconscious and happily 
unaware of his frustrated attempts to die, was 
borne away and it was decided that a break for 
coffee would do everyone some good. Deborah, 
crowding into her office with the three men and 
sharing the contents of the coffee pot with them, 
was less lucky with the biscuit tin, for it was 
emptied with a rapidity she wouldn't have prevented 
even if she could have done so; the sight 
of grown men munching Rich Tea biscuits as 
though they had eaten nothing for days touched 
her heart. She poured herself a second cup of 
coffee and made a mental note to wheedle the 
stores into letting her have an extra supply. 
The rest of the morning went well, although 
they finished more than an hour late. Mr van 
Doorninck was meticulously drawing the 
muscle sheath together, oblivious of time. He 
lifted an eyebrow at Peter to remove the clamps 
and swab the wound ready for him to stitch and 
put out an outsize gloved hand for the 
needleholder which Deborah was holding ready. 
He took it without a glance and paused to 
straighten his back. 'Anything for this afternoon, 
Sister?' he enquired conversationally. 
'Not until three o'clock, sir.' She glanced at 
Peter, who would be taking the cases. 'A baby 
for a gallows frame and a couple ofColles.' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 35

 'So you will be free for our evening together?'

 'Yes, sir.' Hadn't she already said so? she 
asked herself vexedly, and threaded another 
needle, aware of the pricked ears and held 
breaths around her and Peter's swift, 
astonished look.


 Mr van Doorninck held out his needleholder 
for her to insert the newly threaded needle. He 
said deliberately so that everyone could hear, 
'Sister Culpeper and I are engaged to be 
married, so we are—er—celebrating this 
evening.'


 He put out a hand again and Deborah slapped 
the stitch scissors into it with a certain amount 
of force, her fine bosom swelling with annoyance—
giving out the news like that without so 
much as a word to her beforehand! Just wait 
until we're alone, she cautioned him silently, her 
smouldering look quite lost upon his downbent, 
intent head. And even if she had wanted to speak 
her mind, it would have been impossible in the 
little chorus of good wishes and congratulations. 
She made suitable murmurs in reply and 


/ scowled behind her mask. 
But if she had hoped to have had a few words 
with him she was unlucky; the patient was no 
.sooner stitched than he threw down his instruments, 
ripped off his gloves and made off with 
the long, leisurely stride which could only have 
been matched on her part by a frank run. She 
watched him go, fuming, and turned, away to 
fob off the nurses' excited questions. 
Her temper had improved very little by the 


36 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

time she went off duty. The news had spread, 
as such news always did; she was telephoned, 
stopped in the corridors and besieged by the 
other Sisters when she went down to tea. That 
they were envious was obvious, but they were 
pleased too, for she was well liked at Clare's, 
and each one of them marvelled at the way 

she had kept the exciting news such a close 

secret.

 'He'll be a honey,' sighed Women's Surgical 
Sister. 'Just imagine living with him!' She 
stared at Deborah. 'Is he very rich. Deb?'

 'I—i don't really know.' Deborah was by 
now quite peevish and struggling not to show 
it. It was a relief, on the pretext of dressing up

 for the evening, when she could escape. All the

 same, despite her ill-humour, she dressed with

 care in a pinafore dress of green ribbed silk,

 worn over a white lawn blouse with ballooning

 sleeves and a fetching choirboy frill under her

 chin, and she did her hair carefully too, its

 smooth wings on her cheeks and the compli


cated chignon at the back of her neck setting off

 the dress to its greatest advantage. Luckily it

 was late August and warm, for she had no suit


able coat to cover this finery; she rummaged

 around in her cupboard and found a gossamer

 wool scarf which she flung over her arm—and

 if he didn't like it, she told her reflection crossly,

 he could lump it. 
Still buoyed up by indignation, she swept 
down the Home stairs, looking queenly and still 
slightly peevish, but she stopped in full sail in 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 37 

the hall because Mr van Doorninck was there, 
standing by the door, watching her. He crossed 
the polished floor and when he reached her said 
the wrong thing. 'I had no idea,' he commented, 
'that you were such a handsome young woman.'

 His words conjured up an outsize, tightly corseted 
Titanic, when her heart's wish was to be 
frail and small and clinging. She lifted pansy 
eyes to his and said tartly, 'My theatre gowns 
are a good disguise...' and stopped because she 
could see that he was laughing silently.

 'I beg your pardon, Deborah—you see how 
necessary it is for me to take a wife? I have 
become so inept at paying compliments. I like 
you exactly as you are and I hope that you will 
believe that. But tell me, why were you looking 
so put out as you came downstairs?'

 She felt mollified and a little ashamed too. 'I 
was annoyed because you told everyone in 
theatre that we were engaged—I didn't know 
you were going to.'

 He chose to misunderstand her. 'I had no 
idea that you wished it to remain a secret.' He 
smiled so nicely at her that her heart hurried 
its beat.

 'Well—of course I didn't.'

 'Then why were you annoyed?'

 An impossible question to answer. She smiled 
reluctantly and said: 
'Oh, I don't know—perhaps I haven't quite 
got used to the idea.' 
His blue eyes searched hers calmly. 'You 
have had second thoughts, perhaps?' 


38 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 'No—oh, no.'

 He smiled again. 'Good. Shall we go?'

 They went through the Home door together, 
and she was very conscious of the unseen eyes 
peering at them from the net-covered windows, 
but she forgot all about them when she saw 
the car drawn up waiting for them. She had 
wondered from time to time what sort of car he 
drove, and here it was—a BMW 3 OCSL, a 
sleek, powerful coupe which looked as though 
it could do an enormous speed if it were allowed 
to. She paused by its door and asked: 'Yours?'

 'Yes. I could use a larger car really, but once 
I'm in it it's OK, and she goes like a bird. We'll 
change her, though, if you prefer something 
roomier.'

 Deborah had settled herself in her seat. 'She's 
super, you mustn't dream of changing her.' She 
turned to look at him as he got in beside her. 'I 
always imagined that you would drive something 
stately.'

 He laughed. 'I'm flattered that you spared 
even such thoughts as those upon me. I've a 
Citroen at home, an SM, plenty of room but not

 so fast as this one, I take it that you drive?'

 He had eased the car into the evening traffic

 and was travelling westward. 'Well,' said

 Deborah, 'I drive, but I'm not what .you would

 call a good driver, though I haven't had much

 opportunity...'

 'Then we must find opportunity for you—

 you will need a car of your own.'

 In Piccadilly, where the traffic was faster and 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 39 

thinner, he turned off into Berkeley Street and

 stopped outside the Empress Restaurant. A truly 
imposing place, she discovered, peeping discreetly 
about her as they went in—grandly 
Victorian with its red plush and its candelabra. 
When they were seated she said with disarming 
frankness: 'It rather takes my breath away.'

 His mouth twitched. 'Worthy of the occasion, 
I hope.' He opened his eyes wide and she was 
surprised, as she always was, by their intense 
blue. 'For it is an occasion, is it not?'

 She studied him; he was really extraordinarily 
handsome and very distinguished in his dinner 
jacket. After a moment he said softly:

 'I hope I pass muster?'

 She blinked and smiled rather shyly. 'I beg 
your pardon—I didn't mean to stare. Ws just 
that—well, you never see a person properly in 
theatre, do you?'

 He studied her in his turn. 'No—and I made 
a mistake just now. I called you handsome, and 
you're not, you're beautiful.'

 She flushed delicately under his gaze and he 
went on blandly: 'But let us make no mistake, 
I'm not getting sentimental or falling in love 
with you, Deborah.' His voice had a faint edge 
which she was quick to hear.

 She forced her own voice to normality. 'You 
explained about that, but supposing you should 
meet someone with whom you do fall in love? 
And you might, you're not old, are you?'

 'I'm thirty-seven,' he informed her, still 
bland, 'and I have had a number of years in 


40 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

which to fall in and out of love since Sasja's 
death.' He saw her look and smiled slightly. 
'And by that I mean exactly what I said; I must 
confess I've been attracted to a number of 
women, but I didn't like them—there is a 
difference. I like you, Deborah.'

 She sipped the drink he had ordered and 
studied the menu card and tried not to mind too 
much that he was talking to her as though she 
were an old friend who had just applied for a 
job he had going. In a way she was. She put 
the idea out of her head and chose Supreme 
de Turbot Mogador and settled for caviare for 
starters, then applied herself to a lighthearted 
conversation which gave him no opportunity of

 turning the talk back to themselves. But that

 didn't last long; with the coming of the Vacherin

 Glace he cut easily into her flow of small talk

 with: 
'As to our marriage—have you any objection 
if it takes place soon? I want to return to Holland 
as quickly as possible and I have arranged to 
leave Clare's in ten days' time. I thought we 
might get married then.' 
Deborah sat with her fork poised midway 
between plate and mouth. 'Ten days' time?' she 
uttered. 'But that's not possible! I have to give 
a month's notice.' 
'Oh, don't concern yourself with that. I can 
arrange something. Is that your only objection?' 
'You don't know my family.' 
'You live in Somerset, don't you? We might 
go down there and see them before we go to 


 STARS THROUGH THE-MIST 41 
Holland—unless you wish to be married from 
your home?' 
It was like being swept along a fast-moving 
river with not even a twig in sight. 'I—I hadn't 
thought about it.' 
'Then how would it be if we marry quietly 
here in London and then go to see your parents?' 
'You mean surprise them?' 
'I'll be guided by you,' he murmured. 
She thought this rather unlikely; all the same 
it was a good idea. 
'Father's an historian,' she explained, 'and 
rather wrapped up in his work, and Mother— 
Mother is never surprised about anything. They 
wouldn't mind. I'd like a quiet wedding, but in 
church.' 
He looked surprised. 'Naturally. I am a 
Calvinist myself and you are presumably

 Church of England. If you care to choose your 
church I'll see about the licence and make the 
arrangements. Do you want any guests?'


 She shook her head; it didn't seem quite right 
to invite people to a marriage which was, after 
all, a friendly arrangement between two people 
who were marrying for all the wrong reasons— 
although there was nothing wrong with her 
reason; surely loving someone was sufficiently 
strong grounds for marrying them? And as for 
Gerard, his reasons, though very different, held 
a strong element of practical common sense. 
Besides, he believed her to be in complete agreement 
with him over the suitability of a marriage 
between two persons who, presumably, had no 


 42 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 intention of allowing their hearts to run away 
with their feelings. She wondered idly just what 
kind of a girl might steal his heart. Certainly not 
herself—had he not said that he liked her, 
and that, as far as she could see, was as far as 
it went. i

 She drank her coffee and agreed with every 
show of pleasure to his suggestion that they 
should go somewhere and dance.

 He took her to the Savoy, where they danced 
for an hour or more between pleasant little interludes 
at the table he had secured well away from 
the dance floor. She was an excellent dancer 
and Gerard, she discovered, danced well too, if 
a trifle conservatively. Just for a space she forgot 
her problems and gave herself to the enjoyment 
of the evening, and presently, drinking 
champagne, her face prettily flushed, she found 
herself agreeing that a light supper would be 
delightful before he took her back to Clare's. It 
was almost three o'clock when he stopped the 
car outside the Home. He got out of the car with 
her and opened the heavy door with the latch 
key she gave him and then stood idly swinging 
it in his hand.

 'Thank you for a delightful evening,' said 
Deborah, and tried to remember that she was 
going to marry this large, quiet man standing 
beside her, and in ten days, too. She felt sudden 
panic swamp the tenuous happiness inspired by 
the champagne and the dancing, and raised her 
eyes to his face, her mouth already open to give 
utterance to a variety of thoughts which, largely 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 43 
because of that same champagne, no longer 
made sense. 
The eyes which met hers were very kind. 
'Don't worry, Deborah,' he urged her in his 
deep, placid voice. 'It's only reaction; in the 
morning everything will be quite all right again. 
You must believe me.' 
He bent and kissed her cheek, much as though 
he were comforting a child, and told her to go 
to bed. 'And I'll see you tomorrow before I go 
to Holland.' 
And because she was bewildered and a little 
afraid and her head had begun to ache, she did 
as he bade her. With a whispered good night 
she went slowly up the stairs without looking 
back to see if he was watching her, undressed 
and got into bed, and fell at once into a dreamless 
sleep which was only ended by her alarm 
clock warning her to get up and dress, astonished 
to find that what Gerard had said was quite 
true; everything did seem all right. She went 
down to breakfast and in response to the urgent 
enquiries of her companions, gave a detailed 
account of her evening and then, fortified by 
several cups of strong tea, made her way to the 
theatre unit. 
There wasn't much doing. Mr Squires had a 
couple of Smith-Petersen pins to insert, a bone 
graft to do, and there was a Carpal Tunnel—an 
easy enough list, for he kept strictly to straightforward 
bone work, leaving the bone tumours 
to Gerard van Doorninck. They were finished 
by one o'clock and Deborah had time to go 


44 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

down to dinner before sending Staff off duty. 
The theatre would have to be washed down that 
afternoon and she wanted to go through the 
sharps; some of the chisels needed attention, 
as did the grooved awl and one or two of the 
rugines. She would go down to the surgical 
stores and see what could be done. She had 
them neatly wrapped and was on the point 
of making her way through the labyrinth of 
semi-underground passages to the stores, when 
Gerard walked in. 'Hullo,' he said. 'Going 

somewhere?' 
She explained about the sharps, and even as 
she was speaking he had taken them from her 

and put them on the desk. 'Later. I have to go 
again in a few minutes. I just wanted to make 
sure...' he paused and studied her with cool 
leisure. Apparently her calm demeanour pleased 
him, for he said: 'I told you that everything 
would be all right, didn't I?' and when she 
nodded, longing to tell him that indeed nothing 
was right at all, he went on: 'I've seen about 
the licence—there's a small church round the 
corner, St Joram's. Would you like to go and 
see it and tell me if you will marry me there?'

 Her heart jumped because she still wasn't 
used to the idea of marrying him, although 
her face remained tranquil enough. 'I know 
St Joram's very well, I go there sometimes. I 
should like to be married there.'

 He gave a small satisfied sound, like a man 
who had had a finicky job to do and had succeeded 
with it sooner than he had expected. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 45 
'I'll be back on Monday—there's a list at ten 
o'clock, isn't there? I'll see you before we start.' 
He took her hand briefly, said goodbye even 
more briefly, and retraced his steps. Deborah 
stood in the empty corridor, listening to his 
unhurried stride melt into the distance and then 
merge into the multitude of hospital sounds. 
Presently she picked up the instruments and 
started on her way to the surgical stores. 


 CHAPTER THREE 

THE warmth of the early September morning 
had barely penetrated the dim cool of the little 
church. Deborah, standing in its porch, peered 
down its length; in a very few minutes she was 
going to walk down the aisle with Gerard beside 
her and become his wife. She wished suddenly 
that he hadn't left her there while he returned 
to lock the car parked outside, because then 
she wouldn't have time to think. Now her head 
seethed with the events of the last ten days; 
the interview with Miss Bright, the Principal 
Nursing Officer, and the astonishing ease with 
which she found herself free to leave exactly 
when Gerard had wanted her to; the delight and 
curiosity of her friends, who even at that very 
moment had no idea that she was getting married 
this very morning; she had allowed them to think 
that she and Gerard were going down to her 
parents in Somerset. She had even allowed them 
to discuss her wedding dress, with a good deal of 

friendly bickering as to which style and material 
would suit her best, and had quietly gone out 
and shopped around for a pale blue dress and 
jacket and a wisp of a hat which she had only 
put on in the ear, in case someone in the hospital 

should have seen it and guessed what it might 

be, for it was that sort of a hat. But the hat was

 46 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 47 

the only frivolous thing about her; she looked 
completely composed, and when she heard 
Gerard's step behind her, she turned a tranquil 
face to greet him, very much at variance with 
her heart's secret thudding.

 He had flowers in his hand, a small spray of 
roses and orange blossom and green leaves. 'For 
you,' he said. 'I know that you should have a 
bouquet, but it might have been difficult to hide 
from your friends.' He spoke easily with no sign 
of discomposure and proceeded to fasten them 
on to her dress in a matter-of-fact manner. When 
he had done so, he stood back to look at her. 
'Very nice,' was his verdict. 'How lucky that 
we have such a glorious morning.' He looked 
at his watch. 'We're a few minutes early, shall 
we stroll round the church?'

 They wandered off, examining the memorials 
on the walls and the gravestones at their feet, 
for all the world, thought Deborah, slightly 
light-headed, as though they were a pair of tourists. 
It was when they reached the pulpit that 
she noticed the flowers beautifully arranged 
around the chancel. She stopped before one particularly 
fine mass of blooms and remarked: 
'How beautiful these are, and so many of them. 
I shouldn't have thought that the parish was rich 
enough to afford anything like this.'

 She turned to look at her companion as she 
spoke and exclaimed:

 'Oh, you had them put here. How—how 
thoughtful!'

 'I'm glad you like them. I found the church 


48 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

a little bare when I came the other day—the 
vicar's wife was only too glad to see to them 
for me.' 
'Thank you,' said Deborah. She touched the 
flowers on her dress. 'And for these too.'

 They had reached the chancel at exactly the 
right moment; the vicar was waiting for them 
with two people—his wife, apparently, and 
someone who might have been the daily help, 
pressed into the more romantic role of witness.

 The service was short. Deborah listened to 
every word of it and heard nothing, and even 
when the plain gold ring had been put upon her 
finger she felt as though it was someone else 
standing there, being married. She signed the 
register in a composed manner, received her 
husband's kiss with the same calm, and shook 
hands with the vicar and the two ladies, then 
walked out of the little church with Gerard. He 
was holding her hand lightly, talking quietly as 
they went, and she said not a word, only noticed 
every small detail about him—his grey suit, the 
gold cufflinks in his silk shirt, the perfection of 
his polished shoes—who polished them? she 
wondered stupidly—and his imperturbable 
face. He turned to smile at her as they reached 
the door and she smiled back while hope, 
reinforced by her love, flooded through her. She 
was young still and pretty, some said beautiful, 
men liked her, some enough to have wanted to 
marry her; surely there was a chance that Gerard 
might fall in love with her? She would be seeing 
much more of him now, take an interest in his 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 49 

life, make herself indispensable, wear pretty 

clothes...

 'My dear girl,' said Gerard kindly, 'how 
distraite you have become—quite lost in 
thought—happy ones, I hope?'

 They were standing by the car arid he had 
unlocked the door as he spoke and was holding 
it open for her, his glance as kind as his voice. 
She got in, strangely vexed by his kindness, and 
said too brightly: 'It was a nice wedding. I—I 
was thinking about it.'

 He nodded and swung the car into the street. 
'Yes, one hears the words during a simple ceremony—
I have always thought that big social 
weddings are slightly unreal.'

 It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him if 
his previous wedding had been just such a one, 
but it seemed hardly a fitting time to do so. She 
launched into a steady flow of small talk which 
lasted until they were clear of the centre of the 
city and heading west.

 But presently she fell silent, staring out at the 
passing traffic as the car gathered speed, casting 
around in her mind 4'or something to talk about. 
There was so much to say, and yet nothing. She 
was on the point of remarking—for the second 
time—about the weather when Gerard spoke. 'I 
think we'll lunch at Nately Scures—there's a 
good pub there, the Baredown. I don't know 
about you, Deborah, but getting married seems 
to have given me a good appetite.'

 His manner was so completely at ease that 
she lost her awkwardness too. 'I'm hungry too,' 


50 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

she agreed, 'and I didn't realise that it was 
already one o'clock. We should be home by 
tea time.'

 It was during lunch that one or two notions, 
not altogether pleasant, entered her head and 
quite unknown to her, reflected their disquiet in 
her face. They were sitting back at their ease, 
drinking their coffee in a companionable silence 
which Gerard broke. 'What's on your mind, 

Deborah?'

 She put some more sugar into her cup 
although she didn't want it, and stirred it 
because it gave her something to do. She began 
uncertainly: 'I was just thinking—hoping that 
Mike, my elder brother, you know, will be home 
for a day or two with Helen—his wife.'

 He smiled very faintly. 'Why?' 
'Well, I was thinking about—about rooms. 


You see, the house is very old and there 
aren't...' She tried again. 'There is Mother and 
Father's room and a big guest room, all the other 
bedrooms are small. If Mike and Helen are there 
they'll be in the guest room, which makes it 
easy for us, because then we shall have our own 
rooms and there won't be any need for me to 
make an excuse—I mean for us not sharing a 
room.' She .gave him a determinedly matter-offact 
look which he returned with an urbane one 
of his own. 'I don't suppose you had thought

 about it?' 
'Indeed I had—I thought a migraine would 
fill the bill.' 
'Do you have migraine?' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 51

 'Good God, girl, no! You.'

 She said indignantly: 'I've never had

 migraine in my life, I don't even know what it

 feels like. I really don't think. . .'

 He gave her an amused glance. 'Well, it

 seems the situation isn't likely to arise, doesn't

 it? We can hardly turn your brother and his wife

 out of their room just for one night.' He had

 spoken casually, now he changed the subject 

abruptly, as they got up to go.

 'It was nice of you not to mind about going 
straight back to Holland. We'll go away for a 
holiday as soon as I can get everything sorted 
outattheGrotehof.'

 She nodded. 'Oh, the hospital, yes. Have you 
many private patients too?'

 He sent the car tearing past a lorry. 'Yes, 
and shall have many more, I think. I'm looking 
forward to meeting your family.'

 She stirred in her seat. 'Father is a little 
absent-minded; he doesn't live in the present 
when he's busy on a book, and Mother— 
Mother's a darling. Neither of them notices 
much what's going on around them, but Mother 
never questions anything I do. Then there's 
Mike—and Helen, of course, and John and 
Billy, they're fourteen and sixteen, and Maureen 
who's eleven. There are great gaps between us, 
but it's never seemed to matter.'

 They were almost at Salisbury when she ventured 
to remark: 'I don't know anything about 
your family and I'm terrified of meeting them.'

 He slowed the car down and stopped on the 


52 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

grass verge and turned to look at her. 'My dear 
Deborah—you, terrified? Why? My mother is 
like any other mother, perhaps a little older than 
yours; she must be, let me see, almost sixty. My 
two brothers, Pieter and Willem, are younger 
than I, my sister Lia comes between us—she's 
married to an architect and they live near 
Hilversum. Pieter is a pathologist in Utrecht, 
Willem is a lawyer—he lives in den Haag.'

 'And your mother, does she live with you?'

 'No, she didn't wish to go on living in the 
house after my father died—I'm not sure of the 
reason. She has a flat close by. We see each 
other often.'

 'So you live alone?'

 'There is Wim, who sees to everything—I 
suppose you would call him a houseman, but 
he's more than that; he's been with us for so 
long, and there is Marijke who cooks and keeps 
house and Mevrouw Smit who comes in to 
clean. Mother took Leen, who has been with us 
ever since I can remember, with her when she 
moved to the flat.'

 'Is your house large?'

 'Large?' he considered her question. 'No— 
but it is old and full of passages and small staircases; 
delightful to live in but the very devil to 
keep clean.' He gave her a quick, sidelong

 glance. 'Marijke arid Mevrouw Smit see to

 that, of course. You will be busy enough in

 other ways.'

 'What other ways?' asked Deborah with 
vague suspicion. 



 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 53 
T told you, did I not, that I need to entertain 
quite a lot—oh, not riotous parties night after 
night, but various colleagues who come to the 
hospital for one reason or the other—sometimes 
they bring their wives, sometimes they come on 
their own. And there is the occasional dinner 
party, and we shall be asked out ourselves.' 
'Oh. How did you manage before?' 
He shrugged. 'Marijke coped with the odd 
visitor well enough, my mother acted as hostess 
from time to time. Remember I have been away 
for two years; I spent only a short time in 
Amsterdam each month or so, but now I am 
going back to live I shall be expected to do my 
share of entertaining. You will be of the greatest 
help to me if you will deal with that side of 
our life.' 
'I'll do my best, though it's rather different 
from handing instruments...' 
He laughed. 'Very. But if you do it half as 
well you will be a great success and earn my 
undying gratitude.' 
She didn't want his gratitude; she wanted his 
love, but nothing seemed further from his 
thoughts. Dinnerparties, though, would give her 
the opportunity to wear pretty clothes and make 
the most of herself—he might at least notice 
her as a person. She began to plan a suitable 
wardrobe.. . 
The road was surprisingly empty after they 
had left Salisbury behind. At Warminster they 
turned off on to the Frome road and then, at 
Deborah's direction, turned off again into the 


 54 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 byroads, through the small village of Nunney 
and then the still smaller one of Chantry. Her 
home lay a mile beyond, a Somerset farmhouse, 
with its back tucked cosily into the hills behind 
it, and beautifully restored and tended by Mr 
Culpeper and his wife. It looked delightful now 
in the afternoon sun, its windows open as was 
its front door, its garden a mass of colour and 
nothing but the open country around it. Deborah 
gave a small sigh of pleasure as she saw it. 
'That's it,' she told Gerard.

 'Charming,' he commented. 'I hope your 
parents will ask us back for a visit. I can see 
that it is a most interesting house—those 
windows...' he nodded towards the side of the 
house, 'their pediments appear most inter


esting.' 
He brought the car to a halt before the door

 and as he helped her out she said with something 
like relief: 'Father will be delighted that you 
noticed them, they're very unusual. Probably

 he'll talk of nothing else and quite forget that 
we're married.' They were walking to the door. 
'Do you really know something of sixteenthcentury 
building?'

 'A little.' He smiled down at her and said 
unexpectedly: 'You look very pretty in that blue 
, dress. Shall I ring the bell?'

 For answer she shook her head and let out a 
piercing whistle, answered almost immediately 
by an equally piercing reply followed by:

 'Debby, is it really you? I'm in the sitting room. 
Come in, darling. I can't leave this.. .' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 55 
The hall was cool, flagstoned and bare of 
furniture save for an old oak chest against one 
wall and a grandfather clock. Deborah went 
through one of the open doors leading out of it 
and walked across the faded, still beautiful carpet 
to where her mother was kneeling on the 
floor surrounded by quantities of manuscript. 
'Your father dropped the lot,' she began, preparing 
to get up. 'I simply have to get them into 
some sort of order.' 
She was a great deal smaller than her daughter, 
but they shared the same lovely face and 
pansy eyes. She leaned up to hug her daughter 
with a happy:'This is a lovely surprise. Are you 
on holiday or is it just a couple of days?' Her 
eyes lighted upon Gerard. 'You've had a lift— 
who's this?' She added thoughtfully, just as 
though he wasn't there: 'He's very goodlooking.' 
She smiled at him and he returned her 
smile with such charm that she got to her feet, 
holding out a hand. 
'Mother,' said Deborah with the kind of 
cheerful resignation her children had acquired 
over the years, 'this is Gerard van Doorninck. 
We got married this morning.' 
Her parent remained blissfully calm and 
shook hands. 'Well now,' she exclaimed, not in 
the least put out, 'isn't that nice? Debby always 
has known her own mind since she could handle 
a spoon. I should have loved to have been at the 
wedding, but since I wasn't - -e'll have a little 
celebration here.' She studied ^ tall quiet man 


56 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

before her. 'If I'm your mother-in-law, you're 
quite entitled to kiss me.'

 And when he had: 'I hope Debby warned you 
about us. You see, my husband and I seldom go 
out, we're far too happy here and it's so quiet 
he can work undisturbed—and as for me, the 
days are never long enough. What do you do 
for a living?' she shot at him without pause.

 'I'm an orthopaedic surgeon—I've been at 
Clare's for two years now. Deborah was my 
Theatre Sister.'

 Mrs Culpeper nodded her slightly untidy 
head. 'Nasty places, operating theatres, but I 
suppose one can fall in love in one just as easily 
as anywhere else.' She spun round and 
addressed her daughter. 'Darling, how long are 
you staying, and when did you get married?'

 'Just tonight. Mother, and we got married this 
morning.' 
'In church, I hope?' 
'Yes—that little one, St Joram's, just round 
the corner from Clare's.'

 'Quite right too. Your other's here with

 Helen—they're in the guest-room, of course.'

 She handed Gerard the manuscript in an

 absentminded manner. 'Where am I to put

 you both?'

 'Don't worry. Mother,' said Deborah in

 a hurry. 'I'll have my own room and Gerard

 can have Billy's—it's only for tonight—we

 couldn't think of turning Mike and Helen out.'

 Her mother gave her a long, thoughtful look. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 57

 'Of course not, dear, and after all, you have the

 rest of your lives together.'

 Deborah agreed with her calmly, not looking

 at Gerard.

 'Good, that's settled—two such sensible

 people. Gerard, will you take these papers into

 the study across the hall and tell my husband

 that you're here? You may have to say it twice

 before he pays any attention; he found an inter


esting stone in the garden this morning—I

 believe it's called a shepherd's counting stone.

 You have a Dutch name.'

 'I am Dutch, Mrs Culpeper.' And Deborah, 
stealing a look, was glad to see that Gerard 
wasn't in the least discomposed.,

 'I saw Queen Wilhelmina once,' Mrs 
Culpeper went on chattily, 'in London, during 
the war.' She turned to Deborah. 'Your father 
will be most interested, Debby. Come and put 
the kettle on for tea, dear.'

 Deborah tucked her arm into her mother's. 
'Yes, dearest, but wouldn't it be nicer if Gerard 
had me with him when he meets Father?'

 'He looks perfectly ah'- to introduce himself,' 
declared her volatik ' vent. 'I meant to 
have had tea hours ago. Come along, dear.'

 Deborah looked across the room to where 
Gerard was standing, his arms full of papers. 
'Do you mind?' she asked him.

 'Not in the least. In fact it's an eminently 
sensible suggestion.' He smiled at her and she 
realized with astonishment that he was enjoying 
himself. 


58 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 They all met again ten minutes later. She was 
standing at the table in the large, low-ceilinged 
kitchen, cutting sandwiches and listening to 
her mother's happy rambling talk while she 
arranged the best Spode tea service on a tray, 
when the door opened and the two men came 
in. Mr Culpeper was a tall man, almost as tall 
as his new son-in-law, with a thin upright body 
and a good-looking face which wore its usual 
abstracted expression. He was almost bald, but 
his moustache and neat Van Dyck beard were 
still brown and thick. He came across the room 
to where Deborah stood and flung an arm around 
her shoulders and kissed her with fondness. He 
said without preamble: 'I like your husband, 
Debby—no nonsense about him, and th. ' • God 
I've at last found someone in the family ^nio is 
interested in pediments.'

 His eyes lighted upon the plate of sandwiches 
before her and he helped himself to one and bit 
into it with relish. 'Mike and Helen won't be 
back just yet, so let's have tea.' He took the tray

 from his wife and led the way to the sitting room. 
Tea was a success, largely because Gerard 

joined in the conversation with an ease of 
manner which made him seem like an old friend 
of the family, and later, when they had been left 
together in her room—'for of course you will 
want to unpack for Gerard', her mother had 
said—Deborah asked him: 'You aren't bored? 
You see, we all love them very much and we 
don't in the least mind when they forget things 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 59

 and or start talking as though we weren't

 there. ..'

 He took her hands in his. 'No, Deborah, I'm 
not bored, nor would I ever be here with your 
parents. They are charming people and 
they have found the secret of being happy, 
haven't they? I envy someone like your mother, 
who can cast down her teacup and dash into 
the garden because a thrush is singing particularly 
sweetly—and your father. . .they are a 
devoted couple, I believe.'


 She was very conscious of his hands. 'Yes, 
they are. I suppose that's why they view the 
world with such kindness and tolerance and at 
the same time when ^'ey want to, the two of 
them just retire i; , < a—a sort of shell 
together—they're vei/unworldly.' She looked 
at him a little anxiously. 'I'm not a bit like 
them,' she assured him. 'We're all very practical 
and sensible; we've looked after them all our 
lives.' She smiled. 'Even little Maureen!'


 He bent his head to kiss her cheek gently. 
'That's why you're such a nice person, I expect. 
You know, I had forgotten that people could 
live like this. Perhaps the rest of us have our 
values wrong, working too hard, making money 


I we have to worry about, going on holiday's we 

; don't enjoy—just because everyone else does.' 

, 'But you're not like that.' She was quite 

I certain of it. 

; 'Thank you for saying that. I hope I'm not, 

•„ but I'm often discontented with my life, though 
| perhaps now that I have you for a companion I 

60 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

shall find more pleasure in it.'

 She was breathless, but it would never do to 
let him see that. She moved her hands ever so 
slightly and he let them go at once. She turned 
away, saying lightly: 'I shall do my best, only 
you must tell me what you like and what you 
don't like-—but you must never think that I shall 
be bored or find life dull. There's always so 
much to see and do and I love walking and 
staring round at things.'

 He laughed. 'How restful that sounds—I like 
that too. We'll walk and stare as often as we 
can spare the time. I have a small house in 
Friesland and several good friends living 
nearby. We must spend some weekends there.'

 Deborah turned t' ace him again, once more 
quite composed. '/ ;)ther house? Gerard, I've 
never asked you because there hasn't been much 
time to talk and it didn't seem important, but 
now I want to know. You haven't a lot of money 
or anything like that, have you?'

 The comers of his mouth twitched, 'As to 
that, Deborah, I must plead guilty, for I do have

 a good deal of money and I own a fair amount

 of land besides;' He studied her face. 'Would

 you have married me if you had known?'

 'I don't know. Yes, I do—I should have mar


ried you just the same because you would have

 known that I wasn't doing it for your money—

 at least, I hope you would.'

 She saw the bleak look erase all expression

 from his face and wondered what she had said

 to cause it. 'Oh dear, have I annoyed you?' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 61 
The look had gone; perhaps she had imagined 
it. 'No, Deborah, and I'm glad to hear that is 
how you feel about it. Now supposing I take my 
case to Billy's room and unpack what I need, 
and then do you suppose we might have a stroll 
in your father's delightful garden?' 
A suggestion to which she agreed happily 
enough. 
It was good to see Mike and Helen again, and 
even if they were surprised at her news, it was 
only to be expected. The evening was passed 
pleasantly, with some of Mr Culpeper's prized 
Madeira brought out to drink the bride's health 
and a buzz of family talk interrupted by excited 
telephone conversations with Maureen and her 
brothers. , .d as for Deborah, the evening had 
become a -appy dream because when they had 
walked in the garden, Gerard had given her a 
ring with the matter-of-fact observation that she 
should have had it before they were married; he 
had gone to Holland to fetch it and had forgotten 
to give it to her. It was a beautiful ring, a 
diamond, an enormous one, in a strange oldfashioned 
setting of two pairs of hands 
supporting the stone on either side. She had 
exclaimed over its beauty, watching its rainbow 
colours as she turned her hand from side to side 
in order to see it better, thanking him nicely, 
trying to forget that he himself had forgotten. 
He told her that it was the traditional betrothal 
ring of his family. 'At least,' he had explained, 
'there are two, exactly alike. My grandmother 
left this one to me as I was the eldest grandson, 


62 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

and—' he became silent and she, anxious to 
help him out, said: 'What a sensible idea! The 
other ring will be left to—to whoever is your 
heir—that means,' she hurried on, 'that the 
wives don't have to give up their engagement 
rings. I wonder how that all started?'

 He replied casually. 'Oh, an ancestor of 
mine—he had a very youthful wife, and when 
their son married she was still a young woman 
and flatly refused to give up her ring, so because 
he loved her to distraction he had another made 

just like it.' 
They had laughed about it together, although 
secretly she thought it a charming story, and 
later the ring had been admired and discussed 
and admired again. Only when she was at last 
in her own room lying in her white-painted bed 
amidst her small, familiar possessions, did she 
allow herself to shed a few tears because the 
dream would never come true, of course; she 
would have to be sensible and make Gerard a 
good wife and be thankful that he at least liked 
her. But at the same time, she promised herself 
fiercely through her tears, she would never give 
up trying to make him love her. 
She wakened early by reason of the early 
morning sun shining in through the open 
window and was on the point of getting up when 
there was a tap on the door and Gerard came in. 
His good morning was friendly, his manner as 
matter-of-fact as it had been the previous 
evening. 
'I hoped you would be awake,' he said. 'I 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 63 
have been wondering if you would like to pay 
lightning visits to your brothers and sister before 
we leave for Holland? The boys are at Wells, 
aren't they? Twelve miles, no further, and Wells 
to Sherborne is under twenty-five and on our 
way, in any case, for we can pick up the 
Winchester road from there. The ferry doesn't 
sail until midnight, so as long as we don't linger 
over meals, we should have ample time.' He 
sat down on the end of her bed. 'Would you 
like that?' 
Deborah smiled her pleasure. 'Oh, Gerard, 
how kind of you to think of it! I'd simply love 
it—you're sure there's time?' 
'Positive.' He looked at his watch. 'It's half 
past six—a little early perhaps. . .?' 
'Mother always gets up at seven. I'll go down 
and make the tea and tell her. We can have 
breakfast when we want, no one will mind. 
When do you want to leave?' 
'Half past eight. I'll come down with you— 
better still,' he got off the bed, 'I'll go down 
and put the kettle on.' 
By the time Deborah reached the kitchen he 
had the kettle boiling and a tray laid with cups 
and saucers and milk and sugar, which surprised 
her very much, for she hadn't supposed him to 
be the kind of man who would be handy about 
the house, indeed, even now, in need of a shave 
and in a dressing gown of great magnificence, 
he contrived to look more than elegant and the 
making of early morning tea seemed alien to hris 
nature. There was, she guessed, a great deal to 


64 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

his character of which she knew nothing.

 She took the tea upstairs, whispered their 
plans to her mother, who thought it a splendid 
idea and accepted them without demur, and then 
went hack to the kitchen to drink her tea with 
Gerard, and because the morning was such a 
beautiful one, they wandered through the back 
door and strolled round the garden admiring the 
flowers, their tea cups in their hands, stopping 
to take an occasional sip.

 'What a delightful way in which to start the 
day,' commented Gerard, back in the kitchen.

 Deborah agreed. 'And one can do it almost 
anywhere,' she pointed out, 'provided there's a 
strip of grass and a few flowers, or a pleasant 
walk nearby.. .have you a dog?'

 'Yes, though he hasn't seen a great deal of 
me lately; Wim stands proxy for me, though. 
And there are two cats, but they belong to 
Marijke.'

 'What do you call your dog?' 
'Smith, he's a Jack Russell. He goes everywhere 
with me when I'm home.' 
'I hope he'll like me; I could take him 
for walks.'

 'You shall.' He took her cup from her and 
put it tidily in the sink. 'Shall we get dressed? 
What do we do about breakfast? Shall we get 
our own?'

 'Everyone will be down—but we can always 
start if they're not,' 
They left exactly on time amidst a chorus of 
good wishes and goodbyes and urgings to return 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 65

 as soon as possible, coupled with a great many

 messages from Mrs Culpeper for the boys and

 Maureen.

 All of which Deborah faithfully passed on,

 although her listeners were all far too excited to

 pay any attention to them; the boys, naturally

 enough, were much more interested in the car

 than in their sister, and she was agreeably surprised 
to find how well Gerard got on with them. 
Her notions of him were sadly out, she admitted 
to herself as they took a boisterous leave of Billy 
and John and tore down the Fosse Way towards 
Sherborne and Maureen. She had always 
thought of him as being a perfect darling, of 
course, because she loved him, but also a little 
reserved as well as being a quiet man. He was 
still quiet, of course, but he obviously enjoyed 
the boys' company and she hadn't expected that.

 It was mid-morning by now and Maureen 
came dancing out of her class to cast herself 
into her elder sister's embrace. 'Debby,' she 
shrilled, 'how lovely—tell me all about the 
wedding and what did you wear. ..?' She 
stopped to smile at Gerard and then throw herself 
with enthusiasm at him. 'Oh, you do look 
nice,' she assured him. 'Just wait till I tell the 
girls—can I come and stay with you soon?' She 
plucked impatiently at his arm. 'You're very 
good-looking, aren't you? which is a good thing 
because Debby's quite beautiful, isn't she, and 
thank heavens you're so tall because now she 
can wear high heels if she wants to.' She didn't, 
wait for him to answer but turned her attention 


66 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

to Deborah again. 'You haven't told me what 
you wore.' 
'This dress I'm wearing—it was a very quiet 
wedding, darling.'

 Deborah smiled at her small sister; she and 
the boys were all so large, but Maureen took 
after her mother in her smallness, although at 
the moment she had no looks at all, only a great 
deal of charm.

 'Shall I come and have lunch with you?' she 
wanted to know.

 It was Gerard who answered her. 'Sorry, 
Maureen. We're on our way home to Holland, 
but how about paying us a visit in the holidays? 
We'll come over and fetch you.'

 She flung her arms around him. 'Oh, will 
you? Will you really? Promise?'

 'Promise.' He bent and kissed her small elfin 
face and looked at Deborah. 'We must go, my 
dear,' and he smiled half-humorously over the 
child's head.

 They had time and to spare when they reached 
Dover, for the big car had eaten up the miles 
and they had stopped only briefly on the way. 
Gerard parked the car in the queue and invited 
Deborah to get out.

 'There's an hotel just outside the dock gates,' 
he told her. 'We have ample time to have dinner 
before we go on board.'

 When they reached the hotel it was long past 
the time that dinner was served, but Gerard 
seemed to have little difficulty in persuading the 
waiter that just this once he might stretch a point. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 67 
They dined simply, watching the harbour below 
from their table in the window. 
Deborah was surprised to find that there was 
a cabin booked for her when they got on board; 
the crossing was barely four hours and she 
wasn't in the least tired, but when she said so, 
Gerard merely smiled and told her that it would 
be a good idea if she were to get some sleep. 'It 
can be very noisy,' he explained. 'Even if you 
don't sleep, you can read—I'll get you some 
magazines. And my cabin is next to yours, so 
you have only to knock if you want anything.' 
She thanked him, wishing that they could 
have spent the time together talking, for she 
suspected that once they got to his home he 
would be swallowed up in his work almost at 
once and she might see very little of him. He 
was going to take up the appointment which had 
been waiting for him in the hospital where he 
had been a consultant for some years; she felt 
sure that he would want to start at once. 
She lay down on her bunk and pulled a 
blanket over her and opened the first of the 
magazines. Long before the ferry sailed, she was 
asleep. 


 CHAPTER FOUR 

DEBORAH was called with a cup of tea and a 
polite request from the steward that she would 
join her husband in the lounge as soon as she 
was ready. Gerard was waiting for her, looking, 
at four-fifteen in the morning, quite immaculate, 
so that she was glad that she had taken trouble 
with her own appearance; her face nicely made 
up, her hair as neat as it always was, her blue 
outfit fresh and creaseless from its careful hang


ing while she slept. 
It was still dark when they landed, but Gerard

 shot away as though he knew the road blindfold, 
which, she conceded, was probably the case. 
But although he drove fast he didn't allow it to

 interfere with the casual conversation which he 
carried on, explaining in which direction they 
were going, pointing out the towns as they 
passed through them and warning her when they 
approached the frontier between Belgium and 
Holland.

 It was growing lighter now. They passed 
through the small town ofSluis with its narrow, 
twisting streets, still so quiet in the early morning 
and then out again on to the straight 
tree-lined road, making for the ferry at Breskens. 
'There is another route,' he told her, 'through 
Antwerp and Breda, but it's usually loaded with

 68 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 69 

traffic. Even with a possible delay on the ferry 
I find this way shorter now that the new bridges 
and roads are open to Rotterdam.'

 It was light enough to see by now and 
Deborah, wide awake, asked endless questions 
and could barely wait to drink the coffee he 
fetched for her on board the ferry, because she 
wanted to see everything at once as they crossed 
the great river. She thought Flushing disappointingly 
dull, although the sea-front, which 
she could see in the distance, was probably 
delightful with its long line of hotels facing the 
beach. But she had little enough chance to do 
more than glimpse it, for Gerard skirted the town 
and took the motorway to Goes, past factories 
and shipyards and a great deal of dreary flat 
country. She would have liked to have commented 
upon this, for after Somerset she found 
it depressing, but she held her tongue, and 
presently, once they were past Goes, on the fine 
road crossing the islands, speeding towards 
Rotterdam, she cheered up, for here the country 
was green and pretty in the morning sunlight 
and the houses with their steep red roofs and 
the solid farms looked delightful enough. Even 
Rotterdam, even though there was little to see 
but towering flats and factories and docks, was 
interesting and bustling with early workers, and 
the more so because Gerard told her a great 
deal about it as he eased the car through the 
ever-increasing traffic with a patience and good 
humour she was sure she would never have had.

 Once through the city and on the motorway 


70 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

once more, Gerard remarked: 'We could have 
crossed the river lower down and gone through 
Europoort on the new road to Delft, but you 
have already seen so many factories and blast 
furnaces—this way is more interesting and we 
can stop in Delft and have breakfast. Reyndorp's 
Prinsenhof will be open by now.'

 Delft, Deborah discovered at once, was quite 
a different kettle of fish. Gerard parked the car 
in one of the main streets of the picturesque 
little town and led her across the road to the 
restaurant, where they obligingly served them 
with an ample breakfast at a table in a window 
overlooking the street. There were already 
plenty of people going to work on their bicycles, 
milk carts, bread carts, carts loaded with vegetables 
and weaving in and out of them, hordes 
of schoolchildren on their motorised bikes.

 'Everything seems to start very early,'

 Deborah exclaimed. 'Look, there's a shop open

 already.'

 'A good many open at eight o'clock, some


times earlier. I suppose we breakfast earlier than

 they do in England—we lunch at midday, and

 most people have an evening meal about six

 o'clock.'

 'That makes a very long evening.'

 His blue eyes twinkled. 'Ah, yes—but the

 Dutchman likes to sit at home reading his paper, 

•drinking his glass of gin and surrounded by his 
wife and children. Perhaps you find that dull, 
but we don't think so.' 
Deborah shook her head; it didn't sound dull 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 71

 at all. She enjoyed for a fleeting moment a vivid 

picture of Gerard and herself on either side of 

the hearth with a clutch of small van Doornincks 

between them. She brushed the dream aside 

briskly; he had told her that he had a great many 

friends and entertained quite frequently and that 

they would go out fairly often, and perhaps, as 

there were to be no little van Doornincks, that 

was a very good thing.

 They were less than forty miles from 
Amsterdam now and once back on the motorway 
it seemed even less. They seemed to come 
upon the city suddenly, rising abruptly from the 
flat fields around it and Gerard had perforce to 
slow down, turning and twisting through narrow 
streets and along canals which looked so charming 
that she wished that they might stop so that 
she might take a better look. Presently he turned 
into a busy main street, only to cross it and turn 
down another narrow street bordering a canal.

 "Where are we now?' she ventured to ask.

 'The Keizersgracht. It's a canal which runs 
almost in a full circle round the city. There are 
other canals which follow its line exactly, rather 
like a spider's web. All of them contain beautiful 
old houses, most of which are embassies or 
warehouses or offices now.'

 She peered around her; the houses were large, 
tall and built on noble lines with big square 
windows and great front doors, and despite this 
they contrived to look homelike. She said so 
and heard him laugh. 'I'm glad you like them, 
for here we are at my—our home.' 


72 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 He had slowed the car and stopped outside a 
double-fronted, red brick house, its front door 
reached by a double row of steps, its windows, 
in orderly rows, large and square, its roof, 
Deborah could see, craning her pretty neck, 
ended in a rounded gable which leaned, very 
slightly, forward. She would have liked to have 
stood and stared, just as she would have paused 
by the canals, but Gerard was waiting for her. 
He took her hand as she got out of the car and 
drew it under his arm and mounted the steps to 
the door which opened as they reached it.

 This would be Wim, she guessed, a short, 
thick-set man with grizzled hair and blue eyes 
set in a round, cheerful face. He shook Gerard's 
proffered hand with pleasure and when Gerard 
introduced him to Deborah, took her hand too 
and said in heavily accented, difficult English:

 'I am happy, Mevrouw. It is a moment to 
rejoice. My felicitations.' 
She thanked him, and without knowing

 it pleased him mightily by remarking on his 
knowledge of English, adding the rider that she 
hoped that her Dutch would be as good. Upon 
this small wave of mutual friendliness they

 entered the hall, while Wim closed the door

 behind them.

 The hall was narrow, although it had two deep

 alcoves, each with a wall table and a mirror

 hanging above. Along one side, between them,

 was a double door, carved and arched, and

 beyond them a carved wooden staircase. On the

 other side of the hall there were three doors 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 73

 and an arched opening reached by several

 descending steps, coming up which now was a

 tall, thin, middle-aged woman, with pale hair

 which could have been flaxen or equally well

 grey. She wore a rather old-fashioned black

 dress and a large print apron and although her

 face seemed severe she was smiling broadly.

 now. She broke at once into speech and then

 turned to Deborah, her hand held out, and began

 all over again. When she finally stopped 

Deborah smiled and nodded and asked Gerard 

urgently: 'Please will you tell Marijke that I'll 

learn Dutch just as soon as I can, so that we can 

have the pleasure of talking to each other?'

 She watched him as he repeated what she 
had said in his own language. It sounded like 
nonsense to her, but she supposed that if she 
worked hard enough at it, she would at least 
learn the bare bones of it in a few weeks, and 
anyway, it seemed that she had said the right 
thing, for Marijke was smiling more broadly 
than ever. She shook Deborah's hand again, said 
something to Gerard in which the word coffee 
was easily recognisable, arid went back down 
the steps while Wim opened the first of the doors 
in the hall for them to enter.

 The room had a very high ceiling of ornamental 
plaster work and panelled walls ending in a 
shelf two thirds of the way up, upon which 
rested a collection of china which Deborah supposed 
was Delft. The furniture was comfortable, 
upholstered in a russet velvet which went well 
with the deep blues and greens and ambers of 


74 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

the vast carpet. The lampstands were delicate 
china figures holding aloft cream and russet 
shades. She found the room delightful, although 
it was a good deal more splendid than she had 

expected. 
They had their coffee sitting side by side upon 
a small settee covered in exquisite needlework, 

and somehow the sight of the old, beautifully 
simple silver coffee service on its heavy tray 
flanked by cups which should by rights have 
been in some museum, so old and fragile were 

they, depressed her; she had expected comfort, 

certainly, but this was more than comfort, it was 

an ageless way of life which she would have to 

learn to live. She shivered a little, thinking of 

the dinner parties; possibly the guests would 

dislike her.. .

 'It's all strange, isn't it?' Gerard was at his 
most placid, 'but it's home. All this'—he waved 
a large, square hand—'has been handed down

 from one son to the next, whether we have 

wanted it or not, though to be honest, I love

 every stick and stone of the place, and I hope

 that you will too,' He put down his coffee cup.

 'You will be tired. Would you like to go to bed?'

 She was quite taken aback. 'Oh, no, thank

 you, I'm not in the least tired. If I might just go

 to my room, I could1'unpack and change my

 clothes. I expect you have a great deal to do.'

 She saw at once that she had said the right

 thing, for the relief on his face, quickly sup


pressed, was real enough. 'Yes, I have. Shall

 we meet again for lunch? I've asked Mother 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 75

 round.' He smiled nicely. 'You'll feel better

 once you have met her.'

 She got to her feet and he walked with her to

 the door, opened it and called for Marijke. Even 
as Deborah started up the staircase in the wake 
of the older woman, she heard him cross the 
hall to the front door.

 Her room was at the back of the house and 
her luggage was already in it. As soon as 
Marijke had left.her she went to the window, to 
discover a small garden below, with a fountain 
in its centre and tubs of flowers grouped round 
it. There was grass too, only a very small circle 
of it, but it looked green and fresh, and brooding 
over the cheerful little plot was a copper beech, 
rustling faintly in the wind.

 Deborah turned her back on the pleasant 
scene presently to survey the room; large and 
airy and furnished in the style of Chippendale, 
probably genuine pieces, she thought, caressing 
the delicate lines of the dressing table. There 
was a vast cupboard along one wall with a door 
beside it and on the opposite wall a tallboy. The 
bed was wide and covered with the same pastel 
pale chintz as the curtains, the carpet was a deep 
cream and the lamps and small armchair were 
covered in pink striped silk. A beautiful room. 
She sighed her content and hastened to open the 
first of its three doors. A bathroom with another 
door leading back on to the landing, she glanced 
quickly at its luxury and crossed the room. The 
second door opened on to a short corridor lined 
with cupboards and lighted by a window on its 


76 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

other side, there was a door at its end and she 
opened that too and went in. Gerard's luggage 
was there, so this was his room, smaller than her 
own and a little severe but just as comfortable. It, 
too, had a door leading on to the landing and a 
bathroom built into a deep alcove.

 She went back the way she had come and had 
a bath and put on a plain cotton jersey dress the 
colour of apricots, then sat down at the dressing 
table and did her face with great care and 
arranged her hair in its smooth wings with the 
chignon at the back, put her engagement ring 
back on her finger and, after a long look at 
herself in the handsome mirror, made her way 
downstairs.

 There were voices in the sitting room and she 

heard Gerard's laugh. His mother had arrived. 
She trod firmly down the. staircase and had 
almost reached the bottom when he appeared in

 the sitting room doorway, 
'I thought I heard you,' he greeted her smilingly, 
and whistled briefly. A small dog 
scampered past him and across the hall. 'Here's 
Smith, I've just fetched him from the vet.' 
Smith had halted in front of her and she sat

 down on the stairs and put out a gentle hand. 
'Hullo, Smith,' she said, 'I hope we're going to 
be friends.' The dog stared at her with bright


 black eyes, and after a moment wagged his tail 
and allowed her to stroke him, and when she 
got to her feet, walked quite soberly beside her 
to where Gerard was waiting.

 He took her arm as they went into the sitting 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 77

 room and led her over to the window where his

 mother sat. She wasn't at all what Deborah had

 imagined she would be; small for a start, almost

 as small as her own mother, and her eyes were

 brown and kind. Her nose was an autocratic

 little beak, but the mouth below it was as kind

 as the eyes. She stood up as they reached her

 and said in excellent English:

 'Deborah, my dear, welcome to the family.

 You do not know how happy I am to see Gerard

 married, and to such a lovely girl. I must say

 that he described you very well, but I have been

 longing to meet you. Gerard, bring a chair over

 here so that I can talk to Deborah—and pour us 

all a drink.'

 And when Deborah was seated and he had 
gone to the other end of the room where the 
drinks were laid out on a Pembroke table: 'You 
must not think that I order him about, my dear. 
Indeed, I would not dream of doing any such 
thing, but just now and again I pretend to do so 
and he pretends to do as I wish. It works very 
well for us both. And now tell me, what do you 
think Of this house?'

 'I've only seen a very little of it; Gerard had 
things to do... What I have seen I find quite 
beautiful.'

 The older lady nodded complacently. 'I knew 
you would like it—love it, I hope. I did, still 
do, but my husband and I were devoted and 
without him it doesn't seem the same—besides, 
I was determined to leave it the moment Gerard 
told me about you.' She smiled faintly. 'I think 


78 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

I guessed before that.' She gave Deborah a long, 
thoughtful look and Deborah looked back at her, 
her eyes quiet

 'Then he lived in a huge flat,' his mother 
explained, taking it for granted that Deborah 
knew what she was talking about. She shuddered 
delicately. 'He loathed it, although he 
never said so...' she broke off as Gerard came 

towards them. 
'Champagne,' he announced, 'as befits an 
occasion,' and he lifted his glass to Deborah. 
They lunched without haste, although the 
moment they had finished Gerard excused himself 
on the pretext of a visit to the hospital as 

well as his consulting rooms to see what his 

secretary had got for him. 'Mother will love to 

show you the house,' he told Deborah as he 

prepared to leave. 'Don't wait tea—I don't

 expect to be back much before six.'

 She smiled and nodded because that was what

 she would have to learn to do cheerfully from

 now on; watch him go through the front door

 arid then wonder where he had gone to and what

 he was doing and who he was with.. .it didn't

 bear thinking about. She turned to her mother


in-law with a too-bright smile and professed

 herself eager to explore the house.

 Gerard had been right when he had described

 it as being full of narrow passages and old stair


cases, and some of the rooms were very small,

 although all were charmingly furnished.

 Deborah wandered up and down with Mevrouw

 van Doorninck,- stopping to peer at family por



 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 79

 traits oradmire a mirror or one of the trifles of

 silver or china with which the house was filled.

 When they had finally completed their tour, she

 said: 'I feel as though I had turned you out,

 Mevrouw van Doorninck. How could you bear

 to leave?'

 'It was a wrench, Deborah, but I have some

 of the furniture in the flat and all my personal

 treasures. I had made up my mind before

 Gerard's father died that I would leave, although

 Gerard didn't want it. You see, I wanted him to 

marry again, and if I had stayed here, he might 

never have done so. But living on his own, with


out a wife to greet his guests and arrange his 

dinner parties and run the house.. .that sounds 

all wrong, my dear, but I don't mean it to be. 

He talked about you several times when he came 

home from Clare's, you know. He told me what 

a quiet, sensible girl you were and how capable 

and charming, and I hoped that he would ask 
you to many him, and you see that I have my 
wish.' She patted Deborah's hand. 'You must 
come and see me very soon—tomorrow if 
Gerard can spare the time, and then in a day or 
so I shall give a small dinner party for you so 
that you can meet the family. You will feel a 
little strange at first, but I'm sure that Gerard 
will arrange for you to have Dutch lessons and 
show you round Amsterdam and show you off 
to his friends. Very soon you will settle down 
quite nicely.'

 And indeed, to all intents and purposes 
Deborah did settle down. To the world around 


80 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

1 

her she presented a calm, unruffled face, charming 
manners and a smiling acceptance of her 
new way of life. True to her promise, Mevrouw 
man Doorninck had given her dinner party, 
where she had met Gerard's sister and brothers; 
three nice people anxious to make her feel at / 
home. They were considerably younger than he 
and she liked them at once. She met the children 
too; Lia had two boys, and Pieter and Willem 
had a boy and a girl each, all rather alike with 
pale flaxen hair and blue eyes and just as willing 
as their parents to absorb her into the family, 
the older ones trying out their school English 
on her, the toddlers not caring what language 

she spoke.

 And because Gerard had done nothing about 
it, she had asked Wim's advice and found herself 
an old dry-as-dust professor, long retired

 from his university chair at Leiden, and applied 

herself assiduously to her Dutch—a disheartening 
task, she soon discovered, what with 
the verbs coming at the end of a sentence instead 
of the middle and the terrible grammar, but at 
least she had learned a few dozen words, correctly 
pronounced—the old professor had seen 
to that. It was amazing the amount one could 
learn when one applied oneself and one had, 
sadly enough, time idle on one's hands.

 But there was one person amongst the many whom 
she met whom she could not like— 
Claude van Trapp, a man younger than Gerard 
and a friend of the family since their boyhood 
days. He was good-looking, and what she would 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 81 
suppose could be described as good fun. He was 
certainly an intelligent man, and yet Deborah 
mistrusted him; she found his charm false, and 
the snide remarks he let fall from time to time 
seemed to her to be spiteful more than witty. It 
surprised her that Gerard tolerated him with a 
careless good humour which annoyed her, and 
when the opportunity occurred she had, in a 
roundabout way, tried to discover the reason for 
this. But he had only laughed and shrugged his 
great shoulders. 'A little sharp in the tongue, 
perhaps,' he conceded, 'but we have known 
each other since our pram days, you know.' 
She hadn't pursued the subject, for it was 
apparent that Gerard was so tolerant of Claude's 
comings and goings to the house that he hardly 
noticed him and indeed probably believed him 
to be the boy he had known. She knew him to 
be incapable of pettiness or meanness himself, 
so he certainly wouldn't expect it or look for 
it in his friends. He was, in fact, blinded by 
familiarity and she could do nothing about it. 
But after the first few meetings, she contrived 
to slip away on some pretext or other when 
Claude came to the house; easily enough done, 
for she was taking her duties seriously and there 
was always something to do around the house, 
and when his company was unavoidable she 
behaved with an impeccable politeness towards 
him, meeting his malicious titbits of gossip and 
innuendoes with a charming vagueness, ignoring 
his thinly veiled contempt for her apparent 


82 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

dimness, just as she ignored his admiring 
glances and sly looks.

 It was after she had been in Holland a bare 
three weeks that Claude called one afternoon. 
She was in the little garden with Smith, sitting 
under the shade of the copper beech while she 
learned the lesson Professor de Wit had set her. 
It was a beautiful day and she felt a little drowsy, 
for the night before they had given their first 
dinner party, quite a small one but nerveracking. 
All the same, it had been a success 
and she had been elated by Gerard's pleased 
comments afterwards; she had even allowed 
herself the satisfaction of knowing that he had 
admired her in the new dress she had bought for 
the occasion, a pale green silk sheath. She had 
worn the thick gold chain his mother had given 
her and of course, her lovely ring. After the 
guests had gone home, he had followed her into 

the drawing room and leaned against the wall, 
watching her as she went round plumping up 
cushions, restoring chairs to their original places 
and moving the small tables carefully. It was a 
room she already loved, its grandeur mitigated 
by a pleasant homeliness, brought about, she 
was sure, by the fact that it was lived in. She 
moved a priceless Rockingham vase to a place 
of safety and said with satisfaction: 'There, now 
it looks like itself again—I think your friends 
must love coming here, Gerard.'

 'I daresay.' He sauntered across the pale 
Aubusson carpet towards her. 'A pleasant and 
successful evening, Deborah, and you were a 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 83

 perfect hostess. I knew that you would make me

 an excellent wife—you are also a very charming

 and beautiful one.' He bent and kissed her.

 'Thank you, my dear.'

 She had waited, hoping foolishly that he

 might say more; that he found her attractive,

 even that he was falling a little in love with her,

 but his bland: 'What a wise choice I have made,'

 gave her little consolation. She had said a little 
woodenly that she was pleased that she was 
living up to his good opinion of her and wished 
him a. good night, to go to her room and lie very 
wide awake in her vast bed until the early hours 
of the rnorning. Three weeks, she had reminded 
herself, and that was only a fraction of the lifetime 
ahead of her, playing the hostess to 
Gerard's friends, helping him in every way she 
could, keeping his home just as he wanted it, 
taking an interest in his work on those all too 
rare occasions when he talked about it.

 She remembered that she didn't even know 
where the hospital was, nor for that matter, his 
consulting rooms, and when she had asked him 
he had said kindly that he imagined she had 
enough to fill her days without bothering her 
head about such things, and then, sensing her 
hurt, had offered to take her to the hospital and 
show her round.

 It was almost as though he were keeping her 
at arms' length.. .and yet he had been good to 
her and very kind; she had a more than generous 
allowance, and true to his promise, Maureen 
was to visit them in a week's time and when 


84 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 
Deborah had admired a crocodile handbag he 

had bought it for her without hesitation. He had 
bought her a car too—a Fiat 500—and opened 
accounts at all the larger shops for her. He was 

generous to a fault, and she repaid him in the 
only ways she knew how; by breakfasting with 
him each morning even though he was 
immersed in his post which she opened for him, 
and after he had gone, sorted for his secretary 
to attend to when she came during the morning. 
And she was always waiting for him when he

 got home in the evenings, sitting with Smith in

 the garden or reading in the sitting room. She

 wasn't sure if this was what he wanted her to

 do, and it was difficult to tell because he was

 unfailingly courteous to her, but at least she was

 there if he should want to talk. In a week or two,

 when she knew him a little better, she would

 ask him. 
She applied herself to her Dutch grammar 
again and twiddled Smith's ears gently. There 
was still an hour before Wim would bring the 
tea and Gerard had said that he would be late 
that evening. She sighed and began to worry her

 way through the past tense of the verb to be.

 Her earnest efforts were interrupted by the 
appearance of Claude. She looked up in some 
surprise as he lounged across the little plot

 of grass. 
'Oh, hullo, Claude,' she forced her voice to 
politeness. 'I didn't hear the bell.' 
'I walked in,' he told her coolly. 'A lovely 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 85

 afternoon and nothing to do—I thought I might

 invite myself to tea.'

 She closed her book. 'Why, of course,' and

 felt irritated when he sat down beside her and

 took it from her.

 'What's this? Dutch grammar—my goodness, 
you are trying hard, aren't you? Does 
Gerard know, or did he fix it up for you?'

 She became evasive. 'I have lessons from a 
dear old professor—it's a difficult language, but 
I know quite a few words already, as well as 
one or two sentences.'

 '"I love you," for instance, or should it be 
"do you love me?", he asked, and added: 'Oh, 
I've annoyed you—I must apologise, but the 
idea of Gerard loving anyone is so amusing that 
I can't help wondering.'

 Deborah turned to look at him, amazed at the 
fury of the rage she was bottling up. 'I know 
that you are a very old friend of Gerard's, but I 
don't care to discuss him with anyone. I hope 
you understand that.'

 'Lord, yes,' he said easily. 'You have my 
fullest admiration, Debby—it must be hellishly 
difficult.'

 'I prefer you not to call me Debby,' she told 
him austerely, and then, her curiosity getting 
the better of her good sense: 'What must be 
difficult?'

 He grinned. 'Why, to be married to Gerard, 
of course. Everyone knows what a mess he made 
of his first marriage—no wonder the poor girl 
died...' 


86 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 She had had enough; if he had intended to 
anger her, he had succeeded; her fury bubbled 
over as she got up, restraining herself with difficulty 
from slapping his smiling face. She said 
in a voice which shook with anger: 'I was told 
you were Gerard's friend, but you aren't behaving 
like a friend! I haven't the least idea what 
you're talking about, and I don't want to know. 
I think you should go—now!'

 He didn't budge, but sat looking up at her, 
grinning still. 'If only I knew you better there 
would be a number of interesting questions I 
should like to ask, though I daresay you 
wouldn't answer them. I had no idea that you 
had such a nasty temper. Does Gerard know 
about it, I wonder?'

 'Does Gerard know what?' asked Gerard 
from the shadow of the door, and Deborah 
jumped at the sound of his quiet voice, hating 
herself for doing it, whereas Claude didn't 
move, merely said: 'Hullo, there—early home, 
aren't you? The newly married man and 

all that?'

 Deborah suddenly didn't care if Claude was 

an old family friend or not; she said hotly: 'I 

was just asking Claude to leave the house, but 

now you're here, Gerard, I think he should tell

 you why.'

 'No need, my dear.' Gerard sounded almost 

placid. 'I'm afraid I have been guilty of eaves


dropping—it was such an interesting

 conversation and I couldn't bring myself to

 break it up.' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 87

 He strolled across the grass to join them. 'Get

 up,' he ordered Claude, and his voice was no

 longer placid, but cold and contemptuous. 'It is

 a strange thing,' he commented to no one in

 particular, 'how blind one becomes to one's

 friends, though perhaps friends isn't quite the

 operative word. Deborah is quite right; I think

 you should leave my house—this instant,

 Claude, and not come back.'

 Claude had got to his feet. 'You're joking.. '

 'No.'

 'Just because I was going to tell Debby...' he 

turned to look at her, 'Deborah—about Sasja? 

Don't be ridiculous, Gerard, if I don't tell her 

someone else will.'

 'Possibly, but they would tell the truth. What 
were you going to tell her, Claude?' The coldness 
of his voice was tinged with interest.

 'I—? Only that. . .' 
Deborah had had enough; she interrupted 
sharply: 'I'm going to my room.'

 Her husband put out a hand and took her arm 
in a gentle grip which kept her just where she 
was, but he didn't look at her.

 'Get out,' he advised Claude softly, 'get out 
before I remember that you were once a friend 
of mine, and if you come here again, annoying 
my wife, I'll make mincemeat of you.'

 Deborah watched Claude go, taking no notice 
of his derisive goodbye. She didn't look at 
Gerard either, only after the faint slam of the 
front door signalled the last of Claude van Trapp 
did she say once more: 'If you don't mind— 


88 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

I've a headache. .. I'll get Wim to bring you 
out some tea.'

 'Wait, Deborah.' Gerard had turned her round 
to face him, his hands on her shoulders. 'I'm 
sorry about this—I had no idea that Claude... 
thank you for being loyal, and in such circumstances. 
You have every right to be angry, for I 
should have told you the whole sorry story 
before our marriage, but it is one I have tried to 
forget over the years, and very nearly succeeded—
the idea of digging it all up again...'

 'Then I don't want to hear it,' declared 
Deborah. 'What possible difference could it 
make anyway? It isn't as though we're— 
we're. ..'

 'In love?' he finished for her. 'No, but we 
are friends, companions if you like, sharing our 
lives, and you have the right to know—and I 
should like to tell you.' He had pulled her close 
and his arms were very comforting—but that 
was all they were. She leaned her head against 
his shoulder and said steadily: 'I'm listening.'

 'I married Sasja when I was twenty-eight. She 
was nineteen and gay and pretty and so young. 
I was studying for my fellowship and determined 
to be a success because I loved—still 
love—my work and nothing less than success 
would do. It was my fault, I suppose, working 
night after night when we should have been 
out dancing, or going to parties or the theatre. 
Perhaps I loved her, but it wasn't the right kind 
of love, and I couldn't understand why she 
hadn't the patience to wait until I had got my 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 89 
feet on the bottom rung of the ladder, just as 
she couldn't understand why I should choose to 
spend hour after hour working when I could 
have been taking her out.' He sighed. 'You see, 
I had thought that she would be content looking 
after our home—we had a modern flat in 
Amsterdam—and having our children.' His 
even voice became tinged with bitterness. 'She 
didn't want or like children and she had no interest 
in my work. After a year she found someone 
else and I, God forgive me, didn't discover it 
until she was killed, with the other man, in a 
plane crash.' 
Deborah said into the superfine cloth of his 
shoulder: 'I'm sorry, Gerard, but I'm glad I 
know.' She lifted her face to meet his. 'I wanted 
to slap Claude—I wish I had!' 
She was rewarded by his faint smile. 'He 
was right in a way, you know—I was really 
responsible for Sasja's death.' 
'He was not! He made it sound underhand 
and beastly—quite horrible—and it wasn't like 
that, nor was it your fault.' 
'Yes, it was, Deborah—I married the wrong 
girl just because I was, for a very short time, in 
love with her. Now you know why I don't want 
to become involved again—why I married you.' 
'And if that's a compliment, it's a mighty odd 
one,' she told herself silently, and swallowed 
back the tears tearing at her throat. 
Out loud, she said matter-of-factly: 'Well, 
now you've told me, we won't talk about Sasja 


90 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

again.' She took a heartening breath. 'You don't 

still love her?'

 His voice was nicely reassuring. 'Quite sure. 
My love wore thin after a very few months— 
when she died I had none left.'

 And Deborah's heart gave a guilty skip of 
joy; she was sorry about Sasja, but it was a long 
time ago, and she hadn't treated Gerard very 
well. She registered a mental resolve to find out 
more about her from her mother-in-law when

 the occasion was right, for it seemed to her that 
, Gerard was very likely taking a blame which

 wasn't his. She drew away from him and said

 briskly: 'I'll get the tea, shall I? Would you like

 it out here?'

 She was glad of the few minutes' respite to

 compose herself once more into the quiet com


panion he expected when he came home; she

 and Wim took the tea out between them and

 when she sat down again under the copper beech

 she saw that Gerard was leafing through her

 Dutch grammar.

 She poured the tea and waited for him to

 speak. 'Something I forgot,' he said slowly. 'I

 should have arranged lessons for you.'

 'As a matter of fact,' she began carefully,

 sugaring his tea and handing him the cup, 'I do

 have lessons. I asked around and I go to a dear

 old man called Professor de Wit four times a

 week. He's very good and fearfully stern. I've

 had eight lessons so far. He gives me a great

 deal of homework.'

 Gerard put. the book down. 'I have under



 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 91 
estimated you, Deborah,' he observed wryly. 
'Tell me, why are you going to all this trouble?' 
She was taken aback. 'Trouble? It's no 
trouble, it's something to do. Besides, how can 
I be a good wife if I can't even understand my 
husband's language? Not all your friends speak 
English.' 
He was staring at her, frowning a little. 'You 
regard our marriage as a job to be done well— 
is that how you think of it, Deborah?' 
She took a sandwich with a hand which 
trembled very slightly; it would never do for 
him to get even an inkling. 'Yes,' she declared 
brightly. 'Isn't that what you wanted?' and when 
he didn't reply, went on: 'Maureen will be here 
next week. I know you won't have any time to 
spare, but will you suggest the best outings for 
her? I thought I'd take her to Volendam in the 
Fiat—all those costumes, you know—and then 
we can go to the Rijksmuseum and the shops 
and go round the canals in one of those boats. 
I'm longing to go—and the Palace, if it's open.' 
'My poor Deborah, I've neglected you.' 
'No. I knew that you were going to be busy, 
you told me so. Besides, I've had several weeks 
in which to find my own feet.' 
He smiled. 'You're as efficient a wife and 
hostess as you were a Theatre Sister,' he told 
her. And because she thought he expected it of 
her, she laughed gaily and assured him that that 
had been her ambition. 
Presently he got to his feet. 'I've a couple of 
patients to see at my consulting rooms,' he told 


92 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

her, 'but I'll be back within the hour. Are we 
doing anything this evening?' 
She shook her head. Perhaps he would take 
her out—she would wear the new dress. ..

 'Good. Could we dine a little earlier? I've a 
mass of work to do; a couple of quiet hours in 
the study would be a godsend to me.'

 Deborah even managed a smile. 'Of course— 
half past six? That will give you a lovely long 
evening.'

 He hesitated. 'And you?'

 She gave him a calm smiling look from her 
lovely eyes. 'I've simply masses of letters to 
write,' she lied. 


 CHAPTER FIVE 

THEY fetched Maureen the following week, 

travelling overnight to arrive at Sherborne in 

the early morning, picking up an ecstatic child 
beside herself with excitement, and driving on 
to Deborah's home for lunch. The boys were 
home for the half-term holiday too and it was 
a noisy hilarious meal, with the whole family 
talking at once, although Mr Culpeper confined 

his conversation to Gerard, because, as he 
remarked a little severely to the rest of his 
family, he appeared to be the only calm person 
present. He had, it was true, greeted his various 
children with pleasure, but as he had just 
finished translating an Anglo-Saxon document 
of some rarity, and wished to discuss it with 
someone intelligent, he took little part in the 
rather excited talk. Deborah could hear various 
snatches of her learned parent's rambling dissertation 
from time to time and wondered if Gerard 
was enjoying it as much as he appeared to be. 
She decided that he was; he was even holding 
his own with her father, something not many 
people were able to do. They exchanged brief 
smiles and she turned back to Maureen's endless 
questions.

 They left shortly afterwards, driving fast to 
catch the night ferry, and Maureen, who had sat

 93 


94 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

in front with Gerard, had to be persuaded to go 
to the cabin with Deborah when they got on 
board; the idea of staying up all night, and on a 
boat, was an alluring one, only the pleasures in 
store in the morning, dangled before her sleepy 
eyes by Gerard, convinced her that a few hours 
of sleep was a small price to pay for the novelty 
of driving through a foreign country at half past 
four in the morning.

 The weather was fine, although it was still 
dark when they landed. Maureen, refreshed by 
a splendid nap, sat beside Gerard once more, 
talking without pause. Deborah wondered if he 
minded, although it was hard to tell from his 
manner, which was one of amused tolerance 
towards his small sister-in-law. Once or twice 
he turned to speak to her and she thought that 
there was more warmth in his voice when he 
spoke, but that could be wishful thinking, for 
after the unpleasant business with Claude and 
all that he had told her about his marriage to

 Sasja, she had hoped that perhaps his feelings

 might have deepened from friendship to even

 the mildest of affection.

 She was to think that on several occasions

 during the next few days, but never with cer


tainty. Gerard, it seemed, could spare the time

 to take his small relative round and about where

 he had not found it possible with herself, and

 Deborah caught herself wondering if he was

 seizing the opportunity to get upon a closer foot


ing with herself. He drove them to Volendam,

 obligingly helped Maureen purchase postcards 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 95 

and souvenirs, admired the costumed villagers, 

standing ready to have their photos taken by the 

tourists, and when Maureen wished that she had 

a camera so that she could take her own pictures, 

purchased one for her. And what was more, he 

showed nothing but pleasure when she flung her 

arms around him and thanked him extrava


gantly for it.,

 They lunched that day at Wieringerwerf, after 
the briefest of visits to Hoorn. The restaurant 
was on the main road, a large, bustling place, 
colourful with flags and brightly painted chairs 
and tables on its terraces; not at all the sort of 
place Gerard would choose to go to for himself, 
Deborah suspected, but Maureen, eyeing the 
coloured umbrellas and the comfortable restaurant, 
pronounced it super. She chose her 
lunch from an enormous menu card and told 
Gerard that he was super too, and when he 
laughed,said:

 'But it's true, you are super. I'm not surprised 
that Debby married you. If you could have 
waited a year or two, I'd have married you 
myself. Perhaps you have some younger 
brothers?'

 'Married, I'm afraid, my dear—but I have a 
number of cousins. I'll arrange for you to meet 
them next time you come and you can look them 
over.' Deborah saw no mockery in his face and 
loved him for it.

 Maureen agreed to this. 'Though I don't suppose 
you'll want me again for a little while. I 
mean, there are so many of us, aren't there? 


96 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

You'll only want a few at a time.'

 Gerard glanced at Deborah. 'Oh, I don t 
know,' he said easily. 'I think it would be rather 
fun if all of you were to come over and spend 

Christmas. There's plenty of room.'

 She beamed at him. 'I say, you really are the 
greatest! I'll tell Mother, so's she can remind 
Father about it, then it won't coine as a surprise

 to him—he forgets, you know.'

 She polished off an enormous icecream 
embellished with whipped cream, chocolate, 
nuts and fruit, and sighed blissfully. 'Where do

 we go next?' she wanted to know. 
Gerard glanced at his watch. 'I'm afraid back 
home. I have a list this afternoon at four 
o'clock.' 
'You won't be home for dinner?' asked 
Deborah, trying to sound casual. 
'I very much doubt it. Can you amuse yourselves?' 
'Of course.' Had she not been amusing herself 
times without number all these weeks? 
'Shall I get you something cooked when you

 come in?' 
'Would you? It could be any time.' 
It was late when he got back, Marijke had

 gone to bed, leaving Wim to lay a tray for his 
master. So it was Deborah who went down to 
the kitchen and heated soup and made an

 omelette and a fresh fruit salad and carried them 
up to the dining room. 
She arranged everything on the table and 
when Gerard was seated went to sit herself in 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 97 

one of the great armchairs against the wall.

 'I hope it was successful,' she essayed, not 
knowing if he was too tired to talk or if he 
wanted to talk about it.

 He spooned his soup. 'Entirely successful. 
You're referring to the case this afternoon—I 
had no idea that you knew about it.'

 'I didn't. You always have a list on Thursday 
afternoons, but you have never been later than 
eight o'clock, so I guessed. ..'

 He laughed. 'I keep forgetting that you've 
worked for me for two years. It was an important 
patient and he had come a long way in the hope 
that I could help him, but he refused utterly to 
allow me to begin the operation until his wife 
had arrived.'

 'Was it a chondroma?'

 'Yes.'

 'Poor man, but I'm glad you could help him. 
His wife must be so thankful.'

 Gerard began on the omelette. 'I imagine so,' 
and when he didn't say anything else she said 
presently: 'Thank you for spending so much 
time with us today. Maureen loved it.'

 'And you?'

 'I loved it too; it's all foreign to me, even 
though I live here now.'

 He frowned. 'I keep forgetting that too. I 
shan't have a minute to spare tomorrow, but I'll 
manage an afternoon the day after—have you 
any plans?'

 'Could we go somewhere for tea? Maureen 
loves going out to tea, especially if it's com



98 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

bined with sightseeing. I could take her on a 
round of the canals tomorrow.'

 He speared the last of the omelette, complimented 
her upon her cooking and observed: 'I 
know I'm booked up for tomorrow, but how 
would it be if you both came to the hospital and 
had a look round? I'll get one of the housemen 
to take you round. Go to the—no, better still, 
I'll come home and pick you up, only you 
mustn't keep me waiting. Paul van Goor can 
look after you and see you into a taxi afterwards. 
Would you like that?'

 She said very quietly: 'Enormously,' wondering 
if he was being kind to Maureen or if he 
was allowing her to share his life just a little at 
last. 'If you'll tell us what time you want us to 
be ready, we'll be waiting.' She got up. 'Would 
you like the brandy? I'm going to fetch the 
coffee.'

 'Shall we go into the sitting room and share 
the pot between us?'

 She loathed coffee so late at night, but she 
would gladly swallow pints of it if he wanted 
her to talk to. Perhaps the operation had been a 
bit of a strain—she had no idea who the impor


tant patient might be and she had too much sense

 to ask. All the same, when she had poured coffee

 for them both she asked him: 'I'd love to hear

 about the op if it wouldn't bore you—which

 method did you use?'

 She had done the right thing, she could sense

 that. He told her, using terms he had no need to

 explain, describing techniques she understood 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 99 
and could comment upon with intelligence. It 
was very late when he had finished, and when 
he apologised for keeping her up she waved a 
careless hand and said in a carefully matter-offact 
voice: 'I enjoyed it.' 
She took the tray back to the kitchen, wished 
him goodnight and went quickly upstairs, 
because she couldn't trust herself to preserve 
her careful, tranquil manner any longer. 
She and Maureen were to be ready at half 
past one on the following afternoon, and at 
exactly that time Gerard came for them. He was 
preoccupied but, as always, courteous during 
the short drive. The Grotehof hospital was in 
the centre of the city, tucked away behind some 
of its oldest houses. The building was old too, 
but had been extended and modernized until it 
was difficult to see where the old ended and the 
new began. The entrance was in the old part, 
through a large, important door leading to a 
vast tiled hall. It was here that Gerard, with a 
muttered word of apology, handed them over 
with a hasty word of introduction to a young 
and cheerful houseman, Paul van Goor, who, 
obviously primed as to his task, led them 
through a labyrinth of corridors to the children's 
ward, talking all the time in excellent English. 
From there they went to the surgical block, 
the medical block, the recreation rooms, the 
Accident Room, the dining room for the staff 
and lastly the theatre block, the newest addition 
to the hospital, he told them proudly. It consisted 
of six theatres, two for general surgery, one for 


100 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

ENT, one for cardio-thoracic work and two for 
orthopaedics. They couldn't go inside, of 
course, although Deborah longed to do so, and 
when she peered through the round window in 
the swing doors she felt a pang of regret that it 
was no longer her world; she amended that— 
the regret was because it was still Gerard's 
world and she no longer had a share in it, for at 
least at Clare's she worked with him. Now she 
was a figurehead in his house, running it 
smoothly and efficiently, dressing to do him 
credit, living with him and yet not sharing 

his life.

 She sighed, and Paul asked her if she was 
tired and when she said no, suggested that they 
might like to go back through the hospital 

garden, very small but lovingly tended. They 
returned via lengthy staircases and roundabout 
passages, Deborah deep in thought, Maureen 
and Paul talking earnestly. They were passing 
a great arched doorway when a nurse flung it 
open and coming towards them from the other 
side was Gerard, a different Gerard, surrounded 
by a group of housemen and students, his registrar, 
the Ward Sister and a handful of nurses. If 
he saw them he took no notice; Deborah hadn't 
expected him too. She managed to snatch at 
Maureen's hand as she lifted it to wave to him.

 'No, you can't, darling,' she said urgently.

 'Not here, it wouldn't do. I'll explain later.'

 She had done her best to do so on their way

 to Mevrouw van Doorninck's flat in the taxi

 Paul had got for them, but all Maureen said 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 101

 was: 'Oh, Debby, how stuffy you are—he's my

 brother-in-law, and you're married to him, of

 course he can wave to us if he wants to; impor


tant people do just what they like and no

 one minds.'

 She was inclined to argue about it; fortunately

 she was kept too occupied for the rest of the

 afternoon, for Gerard's mother had gathered the

 family together to meet Maureen and the party 

was a merry one. 'Only,' as Mevrouw van 

Doorninck declared to Deborah, as they drank 

their tea and nibbled the thin sugary biscuits,

 'it's such a pity that Gerard can't be here too. I 
had hoped now that he was married.. .it is as 
though he is afraid to be happy again.' She 
glanced at Deborah, who said nothing at all, 
and went on presently: 'He seems very fond of 
Maureen, such a sweet child. I look forward to 
meeting the rest of your family, my dear.'

 'I'm sure they're just as eager to meet you, 
Mevrouw van Doorninck.' Deborah was 
relieved that they had left the subject of Gerard. 
'They're all coming over to spend Christmas.'

 'Christmas?' Her companion gave her 
another sharp look. 'A great deal could happen 
by then.'

 Deborah would have liked to ask her motherin-
law what, in heaven's name, could happen 
in this well-ordered, well-organised world in 
which she now lived. A flaming row, she told 
herself vulgarly, would relieve the monotony, 
but Gerard was difficult to quarrel with—he 
became at once blandly courteous, placidly 


102 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

indifferent, a sign, she had decided forlornly, 
that he didn't consider her of sufficient importance 
in his life to warrant a loss of temper.

 She and Maureen got up to go presently, 
walking back to the house in the Keizersgracht, 
to curl up in the comfortable chairs in the sitting 
room and discuss the delights of Christmas and 
the not so distant pleasures of the next day when 
Gerard had promised to take them out.

 He telephoned just before dinner, to say that 
he was detained at the hospital and would dine 
with a colleague and she wasn't to wait for him. 
All the same she sat on, long after Maureen had 
gone to bed and Wim and Marijke had gone to 
their rooms. But when the clock struck midnight 
and there was no sign of him, she went to bed 
too, but not to sleep. She heard his quiet steps 
going through the quiet house in the early hours 
of the morning and lay awake until daylight, 
wondering where he had been and with whom.

 He was at breakfast when she got down in 
the morning, looking, Deborah thought, a little 
tired but as impeccably dressed as he always 
was, and although she wanted very much to ask 
him why he had come home so very late the 
night before, she held her tongue, remarked on 
the pleasant morning and read her letters.- She 
was rewarded for this circumspect behaviour by 
trim saying presently:

 'I promised to take you both out this afternoon. 
I'm sorry, but it won't be possible. Could 
you find something to do, do you suppose?'

 She wouldn't let him see her disappointment. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 103

 'Of course—there are a hundred and one things 
on Maureen's list. She'll be disappointed, 
though.'

 'And you.' His glance was thoughtful.

 'Oh, I'll be disappointed too; I love sightseeing. 
As it's her last day, I'll take her to 
Schevingenen. She'll love it there, and your 
mother was telling me of a lovely tea-room near 
the sea.'

 She smiled at him, a friendly, casual smile, 
to let him see that it was of no importance whatever 
that he had had to cry off, and picked up 
the rest of her post, only to put it down again 
as a thought struck her.

 'Gerard, would you rather not take Maureen 
back tomorrow? I can easily take her in the Fiat. 
Rather a comedown for her after the BMW and 
the Citroen, I know, but I've been on the road 
several times now and you said yourself that my 
driving had improved.. .'

 He frowned at her across the table. 'I don't 
like the idea of you going that distance, though 
I must confess that it would be awkward for me 
to leave.'

 'That's settled, then,' she said briskly. 'Only 
if you don't mind, I think I'll spend a night at 
home; I don't think I'd be much good at turning 
round and coming straight back.'

 'An excellent idea.' He was still frowning. 
'I wonder if there's someone who could drive 
you—Wim's taking Mother up to Friesland or 
he could have gone; there may be someone at 
the hospital.' 


104 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 'Don't bother,' said Deborah quickly, 
'you've enough to do without that. I'll be quite 
all right, you know, you don't need to give it 

another thought.' 
'Very well. I won't, though if it had been 
anyone else but you...' 
She was left to decide for herself if he had 
intended that as a compliment or not.

 They were on their way back from 
Schevingenen that afternoon when she found 
herself behind her husband's car. He was driving 
the Citroen, and seated beside him was a 
small, dark, and very attractive woman, a circumstance 
which made Deborah thankful that 
Maureen was so taken up with a large street 
organ in the opposite direction that she saw 

nothing. 
Presently the traffic allowed her to slip past 
him. Without looking she was aware of his sudden 
stare as she raced the little car ahead of 
the Citroen while Maureen chattered on, still 
craning her neck to see the last of the organ. 
Deborah answered her small sister's questions 
mechanically while her thoughts were busy. So 
Gerard couldn't spare the time to take them out, 
though seemingly he had leisure enough to drive 
around with a pretty woman during an afternoon 
which was to have been so busy. She had, she 
told herself savagely, two minds to stay home 
for a good deal longer than one night. There 
were, if her memory served her right, several 
social engagements within the next week or 
so—let him attend them alone, or better still, 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 105 

with his charming companion. She frowned so 
fiercely at the very idea that Maureen, turning 
to speak to her, wanted to know if she had a 
headache.

 Gerard was home for dinner. Deborah greeted 
him with her usual calm friendliness, hoped that 
his day hadn't been too busy and plunged into an 
account of their outing that afternoon, pausing at 
the end of it to give him time to tell her that he 
had seen her, and explain his companion. But 
he said nothing about it at all, only had a short 
and lively conversation with Maureen and 
joined her in a game with Smith before shutting 
himself up in his study.

 Deborah exerted herself to be entertaining 
during dinner, and if her manner was overbright, 
her companions didn't seem to notice. 
After the meal, when Gerard declared himself 
ready to take Maureen on a boat tour of the 
lighted canals, even though it was almost dark 
and getting chilly, she pleaded a headache and 
stayed at home, working pettishly at a petitpoint 
handbag intended for her mother-in-law's 
Christmas present.

 She and Maureen left after breakfast the next 
morning to catch the midday ferry from 
Zeebrugge and Gerard had left the house even 
earlier; over breakfast he had had very little to 
say to her, save to advise her to take care and 
wish her a pleasant journey, but with Maureen 
he had laughed and joked and given her an enormous 
box of chocolates as a farewell present 
and responded suitably to her uninhibited hugs. 


106 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 They made good time to the ferry, and once 
on board, repaired to the restaurant where, over 
her enormous lunch, Maureen talked so much 
that she didn't notice that Deborah was eating 

almost nothing. 
The drive to Somerset was uneventful. By 
now the little girl was getting tired; she dozed 
from time to time, assuring Deborah that she 
did so only to ensure that she would be wide 
awake when they reached home. Which left 
Deborah with her thoughts, running round and 
round inside her head like mice in a wheel. None 
of them were happy and all of them were of 
Gerard. 
They reached home at about midnight, to find 
her parents waiting for them with hot drinks and 
sandwiches and a host of questions. 
Deborah was answering them rather sleepily 
when the telephone rang and Mr Culpeper, 
annoyed at the interruption, answered it testily. 
But his sharp voice shouting, 'Hullo, hullo' in 
peremptory tones changed to a more friendly 
accent. 'It's Gerard,' he announced, 'wants to 
speak to you. Deb.' 
She had telephoned the house in Amsterdam 
on their arrival at Dover, knowing very well that 
he wouldn't be home and leaving nothing but a 
brief message with Wim. She picked up the 
receiver now, schooling her voice to its usual 
calm and said: 'Hullo, Gerard.' 
His voice was quiet and distinct. 'Hullo, 
Deborah. Wim gave me your message, but I 
wanted to hear for myself that you had got home 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 107 
safely. I hope I haven't got you out of bed.' 
'No. You're up late yourself.' 
His 'Yes' was terse. He went on quickly: 'I 
won't keep you. Have a good night's sleep and 
drive carefully tomorrow. Good night, Debby.' 
She said good night and replaced the receiver. 
He had never called her Debby before; she wondered 
about it, but she was really too tired to 
think. Presently they all went to bed and she 
slept without waking until she was called in the 
morning. 
She was to take Maureen back to school after 
breakfast and then continue on her return journey. 
It seemed lonely after she had left her little 
sister, still talking and quite revived by a good 
night's sleep. There hadn't been much time to 
talk to her mother while she had been home, 
and perhaps that was a good thing; she might 
have let slip some small thing.. .all the same, 
it had been a cheerful few hours. Her parents, 
naturally enough, took it for granted that she 
was happy and beyond asking after Gerard and 
agreeing eagerly to the Christmas visit they had 
said little more; there had been no chance 
because Maureen had so much to talk about. 
It would have been nice to have confided in 
someone, thought Deborah, pushing the little 
car hard along the road towards the Winchester 
bypass, but perhaps not quite loyal to Gerard. 
The thought of seeing him again made her 
happy, but the happiness slowly wilted as the 
day wore on. There had been brilliant sunshine 
to start with, but now clouds were piling up 


108 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

behind her and long before she reached Dover, 
it was raining, and out at sea the sky showed a 
uniform greyness which looked as though it 
might be there for ever.

 She slept for most of the crossing, sitting in 
a chair in the half-filled ship; she was tired and 
had been nervous of getting the car on board. 
Somehow with Maureen she hadn't found it 
frightening, but going up the steep ramp to the 
upper car deck she had quaked with fright; it 
was a relief to sit down for a few hours and 
recover her cool. She fetched herself a cup of 
coffee, brought a paperback and settled back. 
They were within sight of land when she woke 
and feeling tired still, she tidied herself and after 
a hasty cup of tea, went to the car deck.

 Going down the ramp wasn't too bad, 
although her engine stalled when she reached 
the bottom. Deborah found herself trembling as 
she followed the cars ahead of her towards the 
Customs booth in the middle of the docks road. 
Suddenly the drive to Amsterdam didn't seem 
the easy journey she had made it out to be when 
she had offered to take Maureen home. It 
stretched before her in her mind's eye, dark and 
wet, with the Breskens ferry to negotiate and 
the long-drawn-out, lonely road across the

 islands, and Rotterdam. . .she had forgotten 
what a long way it was; somehow she hadn't 
noticed that when she was with Gerard, or even 
when she had taken Maureen back, but then it 
had been broad daylight.

 She came to a halt by the Customs, proffered 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 109 

her passport and shivered in the chilly night air 

as she wound down the window. The man 

smiled at her. 'You will go to the left, please, 

Mevrouw.' He waved an arm towards a road 

leading off from the main docks road.

 Deborah was puzzled; all the cars in front of 
her were keeping straight on. She said slowly 
so that he would be sure to understand: 'I'm 
going to Holland—don't I keep straight on to 
the main road?'

 He was still smiling but quite firm. 'To the 
left, Mevrouw, if you will be so good.'

 She went to the left; possibly they were 
diverting the traffic; she would find out in good 
time, she supposed. She was going slowly 
because the arc lights hardly penetrated this 
smaller side road and she had no idea where it 
was leading her, nor was there a car in front of 
her. She was on the point of stopping and going 
back to make sure that she hadn't misunderstood 
the Customs man, when her headlights picked 
out the BMW parked at the side of the road and 
Gerard leaning against its boot. In the bad light 
he looked enormous and very reassuring too; 
she hadn't realized just how much she had 
wanted to be reassured until she saw him there, 
standing in the pouring rain, the collar of his 
Burberry turned up to his ears, a hat pulled down 
over his eyes. She pulled up then and he walked 
over to her and when she wound down the 
window, said: 'Hullo, my dear. I thought it 
might be a good idea to come and meet you and 
drive you back—the weather, you know. ..' 


110 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 She was still getting over her surprise and joy 
at seeing him. Her 'hullo' was faint, as was her 
protesting: 'But I can't leave the Fiat here?'

 She became aware that Wim was there too, 
standing discreetly in the background by his 
master's car. Gerard nodded towards him. 'I 
brought Wim with me, he'll take the Fiat back.' 
He opened the car door. 'Come along, Deborah, 
we shall be home in no time at all.'

 She got out silently and allowed herself to 
be tucked up snugly beside him in the BMW, 
pausing only to greet Wim and hope that he 
didn't mind driving the Fiat home.

 'A pleasure, Mevrouw,' grinned Wim cheerfully, 
'but I think that you will be there first.' 
He put out a hand to take the car keys from her 
and raised it in salute as he walked back to 
her car.

 As Gerard reversed his own car and swept 
back the way she had come Deborah asked: 'Oh, 
is that why he told me to come this way and not 
out of the main gate?'

 'Yes—I was afraid that we might miss you 
once you got past the Customs. Did you have a 
good trip back?'

 For a variety of reasons and to her great shame 
her voice was drowned in a sudden flood of 
tears. She swallowed them back frantically and

 they poured down her cheeks instead. She stared

 out of the window at the outskirts of the town—

 flat land, dotted here and there with houses, it

 looked untidy even in the dim light of the over


head street lamps—and willed herself to be 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 11 1 

calm. After a minute Gerard said 'Deborah?' 

and because she would have to say something 

sooner or later she managed a 'Yes, thank you,' 

and spoilt it with a dreary snivel.

 He slid the car to the side of the road on to a 
patch of waste land and switched off the engine. 
He had tossed off his hat when he got into the 
car; now he turned his handsome head and 
looked down at her in the semi-dark. 'What 
happened?' he asked gently, and then: 'Debby, 
I've never seen you cry before.'

 She sniffed, struggled to get herself under 
control and managed:

 'I hardly ever do—n-nothing's the m-matter, 
it's just that I'm tired, I expect.' She added on 
a small wail: 'I was t-terrified—those ramps on 
the ferry, they were ghastly—I thought I'd 
never reach the top and I didn't notice with 
Maureen, but when I was by m-myself it was 
awful, and the engine stalled and it was raining 
and when I got off the ferry it s-seemed s-such 
a long way to get home.' She hiccoughed, blew 
her nose and mopped her wet cheeks.

 'I should never have let you go alone, I must 
have been mad. My poor girl, what a thoughtless 
man I am! You see, you are—always have 
been—so calm and efficient and able to cope, 
and then last night when I telephoned you, you 
sounded so tired—I rearranged my work to 
come and meet you. I remembered this long 
dark road too, Deborah, and in the Fiat it would 
be even longer. Forgive me, Deborah.'

 She sniffed. His arm, flung along the back of 


112 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

the seat and holding her shoulders lightly, was 
comforting, and she was rapidly regaining her 
self-control. Later, she knew, she would be furious 
with herself for breaking down in this stupid 
fashion. She said in a voice which was nearly 
normal: 'Thank you very much, Gerard. It was 
only because it was raining and so very dark.'

 She felt his arm slide away. 'I've some coffee 
here—Marijke always regards any journey 
more than ten miles distant from Amsterdam 
as being fraught with danger and probable 
starvation and provides accordingly. 
Sandwiches, too.'

 They ate and drank in a companionable 
silence and presently Gerard began to talk, 
soothing nothings about her parents and her 
home and Smith—perhaps he talked to his more 
nervous patients like that, she thought sleepily, 
before he told them that he would have to operate. 
He took her cup from her presently and said: 
'Go to sleep, Deborah, there's nothing to look 
at at this time of night—I'll wake you when we 
reach Amsterdam.'

 She started to tell him that she wasn't tired 
any more, and fell asleep saying it.

 She wakened to the touch of his hand on her 
arm. 'A few minutes,' he told her, and she was 
astonished to see the still lighted, now familiar 
streets of the city all around them. But the 
Keizersgracht was only dimly lit, its water 
gleaming dimly through the bare trees lining the 
road. It was still raining, but softly now, and 
there were a few lights from the houses they 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 113 
passed. As they drew up before their own front 
door, she saw that the great chandelier in the hall 
was beaming its light through the glass transom 
over the door and the sitting room was lighted 
too so that the wet pavement glistened in its 
glow. Gerard helped her out of the car and took 
her arm and they crossed the cobbles together 
as the front door was flung open and Marijke, 
with a wildly barking Smith, stood framed 
within it. 
Going through the door Deborah knew at that 
moment just how much she loved the old house; 
it welcomed her, just as Marijke and Smith were 
welcoming her, as though she had returned from 
a long and arduous journey. She smiled a little 
mistily at Marijke arid bent to catch Smith up 
into her arms. They went into the sitting room 
and Gerard took her coat, then Marijke was there 
almost at once with more hot coffee and a plate 
of paper-thin sandwiches. She talked volubly to 
Gerard while she set them out on the silver tray 
and carried it over to put on the table by 
Deborah's chair. When she had gone, Deborah 
asked: 'What was all that about?' 
He came to sit opposite her and now she could 
see the lines of fatigue on his face, so that before 
he could answer she asked: 'Have you had a 
hard day?' 
He smiled faintly. 'Yes.' 
'You've been busy—too busy, lately.' 
'That is no excuse for letting you go all that 
way alone.' 


114 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 She said firmly: 'It was splendid for my driving. 
I'll not mind again.' 
'There won't be an again,' he told her briefly. 

'and Marijke was talking about you.' 
'Oh—I recognised one word—stomach.' 
It was nice to see him laugh like that. 'She 

said that you look tired and that beautiful women 
should never look other than beautiful. She 
strongly advised nourishment for your—er— 
stomach so that you would sleep like a rose.'

 Deborah said softly: 'What a charming thing 
to say, about the rose, I mean. Dear Marijke— 
she and Wim, they're like the house, aren't 
they?' And was sorry that she had said it, 
because he might not understand. But he did; 
the look he gave her was one of complete understanding. 
She smiled at him and then couldn't 
look away from his intent gaze. 'You saw me 
the other afternoon,' he stated the fact simply. 
'You have been wondering why I couldn't find 
the time to take you and Maureen on a promised 
trip and yet have the leisure to drive around with 
a very attractive woman—she was attractive, 
did you not think so?'

 'Yes.'

 'I don't discuss my patients with you, you 
know that, I think—although I must confess I 
have frequently wished to do so—but I do not 
wish you to misunderstand. The patient upon 
whom I operated the other evening was...' he 
named someone and Deborah sat up with a jerk, 

although she said nothing. 'Yes, you see why I 
have been so worried and—secretive. The lady 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 115 
with me was his wife. She had been to Schiphol 
to meet her daughter, who was breaking her 
journey on her way home to get news of her 
father. At the last moment his wife declared that 
she was unable to tell her and asked me to do 
it. We were on our way back to the hospital 
when you saw us. I should have told you sooner. 
I'm not sure why I didn't, perhaps I was piqued 
at the way you ignored the situation. Any other 
woman—wife—would have asked.' 
'It was none of my business,' she said stiffly. 
'I didn't know. ..' 
'You mean that you suspected me of having 
a girl-friend?' He was smiling, but she sensed 
his controlled anger. 
There was no point in being anything but 
honest with him. 'Yes, I think I did, but it still 
wouldn't be my business, and it shouldn't matter, 
should it?' 
He hadn't taken his eyes off her. 'I believe 
you said that once before. You think that? But 
do you not know me well enough to know that 
I would have been quite honest with you before 
I married you?' 
Her head had begun to ache. 'Oh, yes, indeed, 
but that wasn't what I meant. What I'm trying 
to say is that I've no right to mind, have I?' 
Gerard got to his feet and pulled her gently 
to hers. 'You have every right in the world,' he 
assured her. 'I don't think our bargain included 
that kind of treatment of each other, Deborah. I 
don't cheat the people I like.' 
She didn't look at him. 'No, I know that, truly 


116 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

I do. I'm sorry I was beastly. I think I'm tired.'

 They walked together out of the room and in 
the hall he kissed her cheek. 'I'll wait for Wim, 
he shouldn't be much longer now. And by the 
way, I've taken some time off. In a couple of 
days I'll take you to the house in Friesland, and 
we might go and see some friends of mine who 
live close by—she's English, too.'

 Deborah was half way up the stairs. 'That 
sounds lovely,' she told him and then turned 
round to say: 'Thank you for coming all that 
way, it must have been a bind after a hard 
day's work.'

 He didn't answer her, but she was conscious 
of his eyes on her as she climbed the stairs. 


 CHAPTER SIX

 BUT before they went to Friesland Deborah met

 some other friends of Gerard's. She had spent

 a quiet day after her return, arranging the menu

 for a dinner party they were to give during the

 following week, paying a morning visit to her 
mother-in-law, telephoning her own mother and 
writing a few letters before taking Smith for a 
walk. She was back home, waiting for Gerard's 
return from the Grotehof after tea, when the 
telephone rang.

 It was a woman's voice, light and sweet, 
enquiring ifMijnheer van Doorninck was home. 
'No,' said Deborah, and wondered who it was, 
'I'm sorry—perhaps I could take a message?' 
She spoke in the careful Dutch the professor 
had taught her, and hoped that the conversation 
wasn't going to get too involved.

 'Is that Gerard's wife?' asked the voice, in 
English now, and when Deborah said a little 
uncertainly: 'Why, yes—' went on: 'Oh, good. 
I'm Adelaide van Essen. My husband's paediatrician 
at the Grotehof and a friend of Gerard. 
We got back from England last night and Coenraad 
telephoned me just now and told me about 
you. You don't mind me ringing you up?'

 'I'm delighted—I don't know any English 
people here yet.'

 117 


118 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 'Well, come and meet me—us, for a start. 
Come this evening. I know it's short notice, but 
I told Coenraad to ask Gerard to bring you to 
dinner—you will come?'

 'I'd love to.' Deborah paused. 'I'm not sure 
about Gerard, he works late quite a lot and often 
works at home;'

 She had the impression that the girl at the 
other end of the line was concealing surprise. 
Then: 'I'm sure he'll make time. We haven't 
seen each other for ages and the men are 
old friends. We live quite near you, in the 
Herengracht—is seven o'clock too early? Oh, 
and here's our number in case you want to ring 
back. Till seven, then. I'm so looking forward 
to meeting you.'

 Deborah went back to her chair. The voice 
had sounded nice, soft and gentle and friendly. 
She spent the next ten minutes or so in deciding 
what she should wear and still hadn't made up 
her mind when Gerard came in.

 His hullo was friendly and after he had 
enquired about her day, he took a chair near her. 
'I met a friend of mine at the Grotehof this 
afternoon,' he told her. 'Coenraad van Essen— 
he's married to an English girl. They're 
just back from England and they want us to 
go round for dinner this evening. Would you 
like to go? It's short notice and I don't know 
if it will upset any arrangements you may have 
made?'

 She chose a strand of silk and threaded 

her needle. 'His wife telephoned a few minutes 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 119

 ago. I'd like to go very much. She suggested 
seven o'clock, so I had better go and talk to 
Marijke.'

 Marijke hadn't started the cutlets and the 
cheese souffle; Deborah, in her laborious Dutch 
and helped by a few words here and there from 
Wim, suggested that they should have them the 
following day instead and apologised for the 
short notice. To which Marijke had a whole lot 
to say in reply, her face all smiles. Deborah 
turned to Wim. 'I don't quite understand. . .'

 'Marijke is saying that it is good for you 
to see a lady of your own age and also 
English. She wishes you a merry evening.' 
He beamed at her. 'Me, I wish the same also, 
Mevrouw.'

 She wore the pink silk jersey dress she had 
been unable to resist the last time she had visited 
Metz, the fashionable dress shop within walking 
distance of the house, and went downstairs to 
find Gerard waiting for her. 'I'm not late?' she 
asked anxiously as she crossed the hall.

 'No—I wanted a few minutes with you. Shall 
we go into the sitting room?'

 Deborah's heart dropped to her elegant shoes. 
What was he going to tell her? That he was 
going away on one of his teaching trips—that 
he wouldn't be able to take her to Friesland 
after all? She arranged her face into a suitable 
composure and turned to face him.

 'Did you never wonder why I had not given 
you a wedding gift?' he asked her. 'Not because 
I had given no thought to it; there were certain 


120 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

alterations I wanted done, and only today are 
they finished.'

 He took a small velvet case from his pocket 
and opened it. There were earrings inside on 
its thick satin lining; elaborate pearl drops in a 
diamond setting. She looked at them with something 
like awe. 'My goodness,' she uttered, 
'they're—they're beautiful! I've never seen 
anything like them.'

 He had taken them from their box. 'Try them 
on,' he invited her. 'They're very old, but the 
setting was clumsy; I've had them re-set to my 
own design. You are tall enough to take such a 
style, I think.'

 She had gone to the mirror over the sofa table 
and hooked them in and stood looking at them. 
They were exquisite, and he was right, they 
suited her admirably. She turned her lovely head 
and watched the diamonds take fire. 'I don't 
know how to thank you,' she began. 'They're 
magnificent!'

 Thanking him didn't seem quite enough, so 
she went to him and rather hesitantly kissed his 
cheek. 'Do you suppose I might wear them this 
evening?' she asked.

 'Why not?' He had gone over to the small 
secretaire by one of the windows and was opening 
one of its drawers. He returned with another,

 larger case in his hand. 'This has been in the

 family for quite some time too,' he observed as

 he gave it to her. 'I've had it re-strung and the

 clasp re-set to match the earrings.'

 Deborah opened the case slowly. There were 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 121

 pearls in it, a double row with a diamond and

 pearl clasp which followed the exact pattern of

 the earrings. She stared at it and all she could 

manage was an ecstatic 'Oh!' Gerard took them 

from her and fastened them round her neck and 

she went back to the mirror and had another 

look; they were quite superb. 'I don't know how 

to thank you,' she repeated, quite at a loss for 

words. 'It's the most wonderful wedding present 

anyone could dream of having.'

 He was standing behind her, staring at her 
reflection. After a moment he smiled faintly. 
'You are my wife,' he pointed out. 'You are 
entitled to them.' He spoke lightly as he 
turned away.

 He need not have said that, she thought 
unhappily, looking at her suddenly downcast 
face in the mirror. It took her a few moments to 
fix a smile on to it before she turned away and 
picked up her coat.

 'Do we walk or go in the car?' she asked 
brightly.

 He helped her into her coat and she could 
have been his sister, she thought bitterly, for all 
the impression she made upon him. 'The car,' 
he told her cheerfully. 'It's almost seven, perhaps 
we had better go at once.'

 The house in the Herengracht was bigger than 
Gerard's but very similar in style. Its vast front 
door was opened as they reached it and an 
elderly man greeted them with a 'Good evening, 
Mevrouw—Mijnheer.'

 Gerard slapped him on the shoulder. 


122 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 
'Tweedle, how are you? You haven't called me 
Mijnheer for many a long day.' He looked at 
Deborah, smiling. 'This is Tweedle, my dear, 
who has been with Coenraad since he was a 
toddler. I daresay you will meet Mrs Tweedle 

presently.'
'Indeed, she will be delighted,' Tweedle 
informed them gravely, adding: 'The Baron and 
Baroness are in the small sitting room, Mr 

Gerard.' 
He led the way across the panelled hall and 
opened a door, announcing them as he did so, 
and Deborah, with Gerard's hand under her 
elbow urging her gently on, went in. 
The room was hardly small and she saw at a 
glance that it was furnished with some magnificent 
pieces worthy of a museum, yet it was 
decidedly lived in; there was a mass of knitting 
cast down carelessly on a small drum table, a 
pile of magazines were tumbled on to the sofa 
table behind the big settee before the chimneypiece, 
and there was a pleasant scent of flowers, 
tobacco and—very faint—beeswax polish. 
There were two people in the room, a man as 
tall as Gerard but somewhat older, his dark hair 
greying at the temples, horn-rimmed glasses 
astride his handsome beaky nose. It was a kind 
face as well as a good-looking one, and Deborah 
decided then and there that she was going to 
like Gerard's friend. The girl who got up with 
him was small, slim and very pretty, with huge 
dark eyes and a mass of bright red hair piled 
high. She was wearing a very simple dress of 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 123

 cream silk and some of the loveliest sapphires

 Deborah had ever set eyes on. She felt Gerard's

 hand on her arm again and went forward to

 receive the baron's quiet welcome and the

 charming enthusiasm of his small wife, who,

 after kissing Gerard in a sisterly fashion, led her 

to a small sofa and sat down beside her. 
'You really are a dear to come at a moment's 
notice,' she declared. 'You didn't mind?'

 Deborah shook her head, smiling. She was 
going to like this small vivid creature. 'If was 
kind of you to ask us. I'm so glad to meet another 
English girl. Gerard has been so busy and—and 
we haven't been married very .long. I've met a 
great many of his colleagues, though.'

 Her companion glanced at her quickly. 'Duty 
dinners,' she murmured, 'and the rest of the time 
they're immersed in their work. Coenraad says 
you were Gerard's Theatre Sister.'

 'Yes. I worked for him for two years while 
he was at Clare's.' She felt she should have been 
able to say more about it than that, but she could 
think of nothing. There was a pause before her 
hostess asked: 'Do you like Amsterdam? I love 
it. We've a house in Dorset and we go there 
whenever we can, and to my parents, of course. 
The children love it.'

 She didn't look old enough to have children. 
'How many have you?' Deborah asked.

 'Two.' Adelaide turned to take the drink her 
husband was offering her and he corrected her 
smilingly: 'Two and a half, my love.'

 Deborah watched him exchange a loving 


124 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

glance, full of content and happiness, and swallowed 
envy as she heard her host say: 'Do you 
hear that, Gerard? You're going to be a godfather 
again—some time in the New Year.' And 
when Gerard joined them, he added: 'We'll do 
the same for you, of course.'

 Everyone laughed; this was the sort of 
occasion, Deborah told herself bitterly, that she 
hadn't reckoned with. She made haste to ask the 
children's names and was at once invited to visit 
them in their beds.

 'They won't be asleep,' their doting mother 
assured her, 'at least Champers won't. Lisa's 
only eighteen months old and drops off in 
seconds. Champers likes to lie and think.'

 She led the way up the curving staircase and 
into the night nursery where an elderly woman 
was tidying away a pile of clothes. She was 
introduced as Nanny Best, the family treasure, 
before she trotted softly away with a bright nod. 
The two girls went to the cot first; the small girl

 in it was a miniature of her mother, the same

 fiery hair and preposterous lashes, the same

 small nose. She was asleep, her mother dropped

 a kiss-on one fat pink cheek and crossed the

 room to the small bed against the opposite wall.

 There was no doubt at all that the small boy

 in it was the baron's son. Here was the dark

 hair, the beaky nose and the calm expres


sion. He grinned widely at his mother, offered

 a hand to Deborah and after kissing them both

 good night, declared his intention of going

 to sleep. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 125

 They went back downstairs and were met in 
the hall by the Labrador dogs. 'Castor and 
Pollux,' Adelaide introduced them, and tucked 
an arm into Deborah's. 'Call me Adelaide,' she 
begged in her sweet voice. 'I'm going to call you 
Deborah.' She paused to look at her companion. 
'You're quite beautiful, you know, no wonder 
Gerard married you.' Her eyes lingered on the 
earrings. 'I like these,' she said, touching them 
with a gentle finger, 'and the pearls, they suit 
you. How lucky you are to be tall and curvy, 
you can wear all the jewels Gerard will doubtless 
give you, but look at me—one pearl 
necklace and I'm smothered!'

 They laughed together as they entered the 
room and the two men looked up. Coenraad 
said: 'There you are, darling—do you girls want 
another drink before dinner?'

 The meal was a splendid one. Deborah, looking 
round the large, well appointed dining room, 
reflected how well the patrician families lived 
with their large old houses, their priceless 
antique furniture, their china and glass and silver 
and most important of all, their trusted servants 
who were devoted to them and looked after their 
possessions with as much pride as that of then


owners. 
She was recalled to her surroundings by 
Adelaide. 'So you're going to Friesland,' she 
commented. 'I expect Gerard will take you to 
see Dominic and Abigail—she's English, too— 
they live close by. They're both dears. They've 
a house in Amsterdam, of course, but they go 


126 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

to Friesland when they can. Abigail is expecting 
a baby in about six months.' She grinned happily. 
'Won't it be fun, all of us living near 
enough to pop in and visit, and so nice for the 
children—they can all play together.'

 Deborah agreed, aware that Gerard had 
stopped talking and was listening too. 'What are 
the schools like?' she heard herself ask in a 
voice which sounded as though she really 
wanted to know.

 They stayed late; when they got back home 
the house was quiet, for Wim and Marijke had 
long since gone to bed, but the great chandelier 
in the hall still blazed and there were a couple 
of lamps invitingly lighting the sitting room. 
Deborah wandered in and perched on the side 
of a chair.

 'You enjoyed the evening?' Gerard wanted 

to know, following her.

 'Very much—what a nice person Adelaide

 is, and so is Coenraad. I hope I did the right

 thing, I asked them to join our dinner party

 next week.'

 'Splendid. Coenraad and I have known each

 other for a very long time.' He went on: 'He

 and Addy are very devoted.'

 'Yes.' Deborah didn't want to talk about that,

 it hurt too much. 'I'm looking forward to meet


ing Abigail too.'

 'Ah, yes, on Saturday. We'll leave fairly

 early in the morning, shall we, go to the

 house first and then go on to Dominic's place

 in the afternoon. Probably they'll want us to 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 127 

stay for dinner, but as I'm not going in to the 
Grotehof in the morning, it won't matter if 
we're late back.'

 She got up. 'It sounds delightful. I think I'll 
go to bed.' She put a hand up to the pearl necklace. 
'Thank you again for my present, Gerard. 
I'll treasure it, and the earrings.'

 He was switching off the lamps. 'But of 
course,' he told her blandly. 'They have been 
treasured for generations of van Doorninck 
brides, and I hope will continue to be treasured 
for a long time to come.'

 She went upstairs wondering why he had to 
remind her so constantly that married though 
they were, she was an—she hesitated for a 
word—outsider. 

Deborah half expected that something would 
turn up to prevent them going to Friesland, but 
it didn't. They left soon after eight o'clock, travelling 
at a great pace through Hoorn and Den 
Oever and over the Afsluitdijk and so into 
Friesland. Once on the land again, Gerard turned 
the car away from the Leeuwarden road, to go 
through Bol sward and presently Sneek and 
into the open country beyond. Deborah was 
enchanted with what she saw; there seemed to 
be water everywhere.

 'Do you sail at all?' she wanted to know of 
Gerard.

 He slowed the car and turned into a narrow 
road running along the top of a dyke. He looked 
years younger that morning, perhaps because he. 


128 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

was wearing slacks and a sweater with a gay 
scarf tucked in its neck, perhaps because he had 
a whole day in which to do as he liked.

 'I've a small yacht, a van der Stadt design, 
around ten tons displacement—she sails like 
a dream.'

 She wasn't sure what ten tons displacement 
meant. 'Where do you keep her?'

 'Why, at Domwier—I can sail her. down the 
canal to the lake. I've had no time this summer 
to do much sailing, though, and it's getting late 
in the year now, though with this lovely autumn 
we might have a chance—would you like to 
come with me?'

 'Oh, please, if I wouldn't be a nuisance; I 
don't know a thing about boats, but I'm willing 
to learn.'

 'Good—that's a dare, if the weather holds. 
We're almost at Domwier—it's a very small 
village; a church, a shop and a handful of houses. 
The house is a mile further on.'

 The sun sparkled on the lake as they 
approached it, the opposite shore looked green 
and pleasant with its trees and thickets, even 
though there weren't many leaves left. They

 drove through a thick curtain of birch and pine

 and saw the lake, much nearer now, beyond

 rough grass. She barely had time to look at it

 before Gerard turned into a short sandy lane and

 there was the house before them. It looked like

 a farmhouse without the barn behind it, built

 square and solid with no-nonsense windows and

 an outsize door surmounted by a carving of two 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 129

 white swans. The sweep before the house was 
bordered by flower beds, still colourful with 
dahlias and chrysanthemums, and beyond them, 

'' grass and a thick screen of trees and bushes 
through which she glimpsed the water again. 
Smith tumbled out of the car to tear round the 
garden, barking ecstatically, while they made 
their way rather more soberly to the front door. 
It stood open on to a tiled hall with a door on 
either side and another at its end through which 
came a stout woman, almost as tall as Gerard.

 That she was delighted to see them was obvious, 
although Deborah could discover nothing of 
what she was saying. It was only when Gerard 
said: 'Forgive us, we're speaking Fries, because 
Sien dislikes speaking anything else,' that she 
realised that they were speaking another language 
altogether. Her heart sank a little; now 
she would have to learn this language too! As 
though he had read her thoughts, Gerard added: 
'Don't worry, you won't be expected to speak 
it, though Sien would love you for ever if you 
could learn to understand just a little of what 
she says.'

 'Then I'll do that, I promise. Do you come 
up here often?'

 He corrected her gently: 'We shall, I hope, 
come up here often. Once things are exactly as 
I want them at the hospital, I shall have a good 
deal more time. I have been away for two years, 
remember, with only brief visits.'

 'Yes, I know, but must you work so hard 
every day? I mean, you're not often home...' 


 130 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 She wished she hadn't said it, for she sensed his 
withdrawal. 
'I'm afraid you must accept that, Deborah.' 
. He was smiling nicely, but his eyes were cool.

 He turned back to Sien and said something to 
her and she shook Deborah's hand and, still 
talking, went back to the kitchen.


 Gerard flung an arm round Deborah's shoulders 
and led her to the sitting room. 'Coffee,' 
he invited her, 'and then we'll go round the 
place.' His manner was friendly, just as though 
he had forgotten their slight discord.

 The room was simply furnished in the traditional 
Friesian style, with painted cupboards 
against the walls, rush-seated chairs, a stove 
with a tiled surround and a nicely balanced 
selection of large, comfortable chairs. There was 
a telephone too and a portable television tucked 
discreetly in a corner. 'It's simple,' Gerard had 
seen her glance, 'but we have comfort and

 convenience.' 
Most decidedly, she agreed silently, as Sien 
came in with a heavy silver tray with its accompanying 
silver pot and milk jug and delicate

 cups. The coffee was delicious and so was the 
spiced cake which accompanied it. They sat 
over it and Deborah, determined to keep the

 conversation on safe ground, asked questions 
about the house and the furniture and the small 
paintings hung each side of the stove. She found 
them enchanting, just as beautiful in their way 
as the priceless portraits in the Amsterdam 
house; the ancestors who had sat for Paulus 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 131 

Potter, the street scene by Hendrik Sorgh and 

the two by Gen-it Berckheyde; she had admired 

them greatly, almost nervous of the fact that she 

was now in part responsible for them. But these 

delicate sketches and paintings were much 

smaller and perfect to the last hair and whis


ker—fieldmice mostly, small animals of all 

kinds, depicted with a precise detail which she 

found amazing,

 'They're by Jacob de Gheyn,' Gerard told 
her. 'An ancestress of mine loved small animals, 
so her husband commissioned these for her, and 
they have been there ever since. I agree with 
you, they're quite delightful. Come and see the 
rest of the house.'

 The dining room was on the other side of the 
hall, with a great square bay window built out to 
take in the view of the lake beyond, comfortably 
furnished with enormous chairs covered in 
bright patterned damask. There was a Dutch 
dresser against one wall, decked with enormous 
covered tureens and rows of old Delftware. 
There was a similar dresser in the kitchen too 
which Deborah could see was as up-to-date as 
the latest model at the Ideal Home Exhibition, 
and upstairs the two bathrooms, tiled and cosily 
carpeted, each with its pile of brightly coloured 
towels and a galaxy of matching soaps and 
powders, rivalled the luxury of the town house. 
By contrast the bedrooms were simply furnished 
while still offering every comfort, even the two 
small attic rooms, reached by an almost perpendicular 
flight of miniature stairs, were as thickly 


132 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

carpeted and as delightfully furnished as the 
large rooms on the floor below.

 As they went downstairs again she said a little 
shyly: 'This is a lovely house, Gerard—how 
wonderful to come here when you want peace 
and quiet. I love the house in Amsterdam, but I 
could love this one as much.'

 He gave her an approving glance. 'You feel 
that? I'm glad, I have a great fondness for it. 
Mother too, she comes here.frequently. It's quiet 
in the winter, of course.'

 'I think I should like it then—does the lake 
freeze over?'

 They had strolled into the dining room and 
found Sien busy putting the finishing touches 
to the lunch table. 'Yes, though not always hard 
enough for skating. I can remember skating 
across to Dominic's house during some of the 
really cold winters, though.'

 'But it's miles. . .'

 He poured her a glass of sherry. 'Not quite. 
Round about a mile, I should suppose. We shall 
have to drive back to the road presently, of 
course, and go round the head of the lake. It's 

no distance.'

 They set off after a lunch which Deborah had 
thoroughly enjoyed because Gerard had been 
amusing and gay and relaxed; and she had never

 felt so close, and she wondered if he felt it too.

 It was on the tip of her tongue to try and explain

 a little to him of how she felt—oh, not to tell

 him that she loved him; she had the good sense

 to see that such a statement would cook her 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 133

 goose for ever, but to let him see, if she could,

 that she was happy and contented and anxious

 to please him. But there was no chance to say

 any of these things; they left immediately after

 lunch and the journey was too short to start a

 serious talk.

 Dominic's house, when they reached it, was

 a good deal larger than their own but furnished

 in a similar style. Dominic had come to meet 
them as they got out of the car, his arm around 
his wife's shoulders. He was another large man. 
Deborah found him attractive and almost as 
good-looking as Gerard, and as for his wife, she 
was a small girl who would have been plain if 
happiness hadn't turned her into a beauty. She 
shook hands now and said in a pretty voice:

 'This is a lovely surprise—we heard that 
Gerard had married and we had planned to come 
and see you when we got back to Amsterdam. 
We were returning this week, but the weather's 
so marvellous, and once the winter starts it goes 
on and on.'

 Inside they talked until tea came, and presently 
when Gerard suggested that they should 
go, there was no question of it. 'You'll stay to 
dinner,' said Abigail. 'Besides,' and now she 
was smiling, 'I mustn't be thwarted, because of 
my condition.' There was a general laugh and 
she turned to Deborah. 'Well, I'm not the only 
one, I hear Adelaide van Essen is having another 
baby—isn't she a dear?'

 Deborah agreed. 'It's wonderful to find 
some other English girls living so close by.' She 


134 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

added hastily, 'Not that I'm lonely, but I find 
Dutch rather difficult, though I am having 
lessons.'

 'Professor de Wit?' asked Abigail. 'Adelaide 
went to him. I nursed his brother before I 
married Dominic.' The two girls plunged into 
an interesting chat which was only broken by 
Dominic suggesting mildly that perhaps Abigail 
should let Bollinger know that there would be 
two more for dinner.

 Abigail got up. 'Oh, darling, I forgot. 
Deborah, come and meet Bolly—he came over 
from England with me, and he's part of the 
household now.'

 She smiled at her husband as they left the 
room, and Deborah, seeing it, felt a pang of 
sadness. It seemed that everyone else but herself 
and Gerard was happily married. Walking to the 
kitchen, half listening to Abigail's happy voice, 
she wondered if she had tried hard enough, or 
perhaps she had tried too much. Perhaps she 
annoyed him in some way, or worse, bored him. 
She would have to know. She resolved to 
ask him.

 She did so, buoyed up by a false courage 
induced by Dominic's excellent wine. They 
were half way home, tearing along the 
Afsluitdijk with no traffic problems to 
occupy him.

 'Do I bore you, Gerard?' she asked, and heard

 the small sound he made. Annoyance?

 Impatience? Surprise, perhaps.

 But when he answered her his voice was as 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 135 

cool and casually friendly as usual. 'Not in the 
least. What put such an idea into your head?'

 'N-nothing. I just wondered if you were quite 
satisfied—I mean with our marriage; if I'm 
being the kind of wife you wanted. You see, 
we're not much together and I don't know a 
great deal about you—perhaps when you get 
home in the evening and you're tired you'd 
rather be left in peace with the paper and a drink. 
I wouldn't mind a bit...'

 They were almost at the end of the dyke, 
approaching the great sluices at its end. Gerard 
slowed down and gave her a quick look in the 
dark of the car.

 He said on a laugh: 'I do believe you're trying 
to turn me into a Dutchman with my gin 
and my paper after a hard day's work!' His 
voice changed. 'I'm quite satisfied, Deborah. 
You are the wife I wanted, you certainly don't 
bore me, I'm always glad to see you when I 
get home, however tired I am.' His voice 
became kind. 'Surely that is enough to settle 
your doubts?'

 Quite enough, she told him silently, and quite 
hopeless too. An irrational desire to drum her 
heels on the floorboards and scream loudly took 
possession of her. She overcame it firmly. 'Yes, 
thank you, Gerard,' and began at once to talk 
about the house in Friesland. The subject was 
threadbare by the time they reached Amsterdam, 
but at least she had managed not to mention 
themselves again.

 It was late and she went straight to bed, 


136 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

leaving Gerard to take Smith for his last perambulation 
and lock up, and in the morning when 
she came down it was to hear from Wim that 
he had been called to the hospital in the very 
early morning and hadn't returned. It was almost 
lunchtime when he did, and as his mother had 
been invited for that meal, it was impossible to 
ask him about it; in any case, even if they had 
been alone, he would probably not have told her 
anything. She applied herself to her mother-inlaw's 
comfort and after lunch sat in the drawing 
room with her, listening to tales of the family 
and making suitable comments from time to 
time, all the while wondering where Gerard had 
got to. He had gone to his study—she knew 
that, because he had said that he had a telephone 
call to make, but that was more than two hours 
ago. The two ladies had tea together and 
Deborah had just persuaded the older lady to 
stay to dinner when Gerard joined them with 
the hope that they had spent a pleasant afternoon 
and never a word about his own doings.

 He told her the reason for his absence that 
evening after he had driven his mother back to 
her flat.

 'Before you ask me any of the questions I feel 
sure are seething inside your head, I'll apologise 
most humbly.'

 'Apologise? Whatever for?' She put down 
the book she had been reading and stared at him 
in astonishment. 
'Leaving you with Mother for the entire 
afternoon.' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 137

 'But you had some calls to make—some

 work to do, didn't you?'

 He grinned suddenly and her heart thumped 
against her ribs because he looked as she knew 
he might look if he were happy and carefree and 
not chained to the hospital by chains of his own 
forging. 'I went to sleep.' And when she goggled 
at him: 'I know, I'm sorry, but the fact is, I had 
some work to do after we got home last night 
and I stayed up until two o'clock or thereabouts, 
and I had to go to the Grotehof for an emergency 
op at five.'

 'Gerard, you must have been worn out! Why 
on earth didn't you tell me, why won't you let 
me help you...' That wouldn't do at all, so she 
went on briskly: 'And there was I telling your 
mother that you never had a minute to call your 
own, working at your desk even on a Sunday 
afternoon.'

 He was staring hard at her. 'You're a loyal 
wife,' he said quietly, and she flushed faintly 
under his eyes.

 'I expect all wives are,' she began, and saw 
the expression on his face. It had become remote 
again; he was remembering Sasja, she supposed, 
who hadn't been loyal at all. 'Shall we have 
dinner early tomorrow evening so that you can 
get your work done in good time? Have you a 
heavy list in the morning?'

 'That was something I was going to tell you. 
I've changed the list to the afternoon—two 
o'clock, because" I thought we might go for a 
run in the morning.' 


138 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 A little colour crept into her cheeks again, 
but she kept her voice as ordinary as possible. 
'That sounds nice. Where shall we go?'

 'Not too far. The river Vecht, perhaps—we 
could keep off the motorway and there won't 
be much traffic about this time of the year.'

 Deborah agreed happily, and later, in bed, 
thinking about it, she dared to hope that perhaps 
Gerard's first rigid ideas about their marriage 
weren't as rigid as they had been. She slept 
peacefully on that happy thought.

 They were out of Amsterdam by nine o'clock 
the next morning, driving through the crisp 
autumn air. Gerard took the road to Naarden 
and then turned off on to the narrow road following 
the Vecht, going slowly so that Deborah 
could inspect the houses on its banks, built by 
the merchant princes in the eighteenth century, 
and because she found them so fascinating he 
obligingly turned the car at the end of the road 
and drove back again the same way, patiently 
answering her questions about them. They had 
coffee in Loenen and because there was still 
plenty of time before they had to return to 
Amsterdam he didn't follow the road to Naarden 
again, but turned off into the byroads which 
would lead them eventually back to the city.

 The road they were on stretched apparently 
unending between the flat fields, and save for a 
group of farm cottages half a mile away, and 
ahead of them the vague outline of a farmhouse,

 there was nothing moving except a farm tractor

 being driven across a ploughed field. Deborah 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 139 

watched the driver idly as they came level with 

him. 'He must be lonely,' she said idly, and 

then urgently: 'Gerard, that tractor's going to 

turn over!'

 She was glad that he wasn't one of those 
men who asked needless questions; they weren't 
travelling fast, so he slid to a halt and had the 
door open as the tractor, some way off, reared 
itself up like an angry monster and crashed down 
on to its hapless driver.

 Even in his hurry, it warmed Deborah's heart 
when Gerard leaned across her to undo her door 
and snap back her safety belt so that she could 
get out quickly. There was a narrow ditch 
between the road and the field; he bridged it 
easily with his long legs and then turned to give 
her a hand before they started to run as best they 
might across the newly turned earth.

 The man had made no sound. When they 
reached him he was unconscious, trapped by the 
bonnet of the tractor, its edge biting across the 
lower half of his body.

 It was like being back in theatre, thought 
Deborah wildly, working in a silent agreed pattern 
which needed no speech. She found a pulse 
and counted it with care while Gerard's hands 
began a careful search over the man's body.

 'Nasty crack on his head on this side,' she 
offered, and peered at the eyes under their closed 
lids. 'Pupil reaction is equal,'

 Gerard grunted, his fingers probing and feeling 
and probing again.

 'I'm pretty sure his pelvis is fractured. God 


140 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

knows what's happened to his legs—how's his 
pulse?' She told him and he nodded. 'Not too 
bad,' and examined more closely the wound on 
the man's head. 'Can't feel a fracture, though I 
think there may be a crack. We've got to get 
this thing eased off him, even if it's only a 
centimetre.'

 He slid a powerful arm as far as it would 
go and heaved with great caution and slowness. 
'Half an inch would do it.' He was 
talking to himself. 'Your belt, Debby—if we 
could budge this thing just a shade and stuff 
your belt in. ..'

 She had her belt off while he was still speaking. 
'How about trying to scoop the earth from 
under him and slip the belt in?'

 He had understood her at once. He crouched 
beside the man, the belt in his hand, his arm 
ready to thrust it between the bonnet's rim and 
the man's body. Deborah dug with speedy calm; 
there was nothing to use but her hands. She 
felt the nails crack and tear and saw, in a 
detached way, the front of her expensive tweed 
two-piece gradually disappear under an encrustation 
of damp earth, but presently she was able 
to say: 'Try now,,Gerard.'

 It worked, albeit the pressure was eased 
fractionally and wouldn't last long. Gerard withdrew 
his arm with great care and said: 'We have 
to get help.' His voice was as calm as though 
he was commenting upon the weather. 'Take 
the keys and drive the car to that farm we saw 
ahead of us and ask.. .no, that'll take too long, 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 141 

I'll go. Stay here—there's nothing much you 

can do. Push the belt in further if you get the 

chance.' He got to his feet. 'Thank heaven 

you're a strapping girl with plenty of strength 

and common sense!'

 He started to run back towards the car, leaving 
her smouldering; did he really regard her as 
strapping? He had made her sound like some 
muscly creature with no feminine attributes at 
all! Deborah chuckled and the chuckle changed 
to a sob which she sternly swallowed; now was 
no time to be feminine. She took the man's pulse 
once more and wondered how long she would 
have to wait before Gerard got back.

 Not long—she saw the car racing down the 
road and prayed silently that there would be 
nothing in the way. The next minutes seemed 
like eternity. Deborah turned her head at length 
to see Gerard with four or five men, coming 
towards her. They were carrying ropes and when 
he was near enough she said in the matter-offact 
voice he would expect of her: 'His pulse is 
going up, but it's steady. What are you going 
to do?'

 'Get ropes round this infernal'thing and try 
and drag it off.' 
'You'll get double hernias,' she warned him 
seriously.

 Gerard gave a crack of laughter. 'A risk we 
must all take. I fear, there's no other tractor for 
miles around.'

 He turned away from her and became 
immersed in the task before him. They had the 


 142 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

ropes in place and were heaving on them 

steadily when the first police car arrived, dis


gorging two men to join the team of sweat


ing, swearing men. The tractor shuddered and 
rolled over with a thud, leaving the man free 
just as the second police car and an ambulance 

arrived.

 Gerard scarcely heeded them; he was on his 
knees, examining the man's legs. 'By some 
miracle,' he said quietly to Deborah, 'they're 
not pulped. I may be able to do something about 
them provided we can get at him quickly 
enough. Get me some splints.'

 She went to meet the ambulance men making 
all the speed they could over the soft earth. She 
had no idea what the word splint was in Dutch, 
but luckily they were carrying an armful, so 
she took several from one rather astonished 
man, smiled at him and raced back to Gerard. 
He took them without a word and then said: 
'Good lord, girl, what am I supposed to tie 
them with?'

 She raced back again and this time the ambulance 
man ran to meet her and kept beside her 
as she ran back with the calico slings. There was 
help enough now, she stood back and waited 
patiently. It took a long time to get the man 
on to the stretcher and carry him, with infinite 
caution across the field to the waiting ambulance. 
She waited until the little procession had 
reached it before following it and when she 
reached the car there was no sign of Gerard, so 
she got in and sat waiting with the patience she 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 143

 had learned during her years of nursing. The

 ambulance drove off presently and one of the

 policemen leaned through the car window and

 proffered her a note—from Gerard, scribbled in

 his almost undecipherable scrawl. 'I must go

 with the ambulance to the Grotehof,' he had

 written on a sheet torn out of his pocket book.

 'Drive the car back and wait in the hospital

 courtyard.' He had signed it 'G' and added a

 postscript: 'The BMW is just like the Fiat, only

 larger.'

 All the same, reading these heartening words, 
Deborah felt a pang of nervousness; she had 
never driven the BMW; if she thought about it 
for too long she would be terrified of doing so. 
She thanked the policeman who saluted politely, 
and happily ignorant of the fact that she was 
almost sick with fright, drove away. It was quite 
five minutes before she could summon up the 
courage to press the self-starter.

 She was still shaking when she stopped the 
car cautiously before the entrance to the 
hospital, wondering what she was supposed to 
do next. But Gerard had thought of that; 
Deborah was sitting back in her seat, taking a 
few calming breaths when the Medical Ward 
Sister, whom she had already met, popped her 
head through the window. 'Mevrouw van 
Doorninck, you will come with me, please.'

 'Hullo,' said Deborah, and then: 'Why, 
Zuster?'

 'It is the wish of Mijnheer van Doorninck.' 
Her tone implied that there was sufficient reason 


144 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

there without the need for any more questions.

 'Where is he?' asked Deborah, sitting stubbornly 
where she was.

 'In theatre, already scrubbed. But he wishes 
most earnestly that you will come with me.' She 
added plaintively: 'I am so busy, Mevrouw.'

 Deborah got out of the car at once, locked it 
and put the keys in her handbag. She would 
have to get them to Gerard somehow; she had 
no intention of driving through Amsterdam in 
the BMW—getting to the hospital had been bad 
enough. She shuddered and followed the Sister 
to the lift.

 They got out on the Medical floor and she 
was bustled through several corridors and 
finally through a door. 'So—we are here,' murmured 
the Sister, said something to whoever 
was in the room, gave Deborah a smile and tore 
away. Deborah watched her go, knowing 
just how she felt; probably she was saying the 
Dutch equivalent of 'I'll never get finished,' 
as she went; even the simple task of escorting

 someone through the hospital could make a

 mockery of a tight and well-planned schedule

 of work.

 It was Doctor Schipper inside the room wait


ing for her. Deborah had met him before; she

 and Gerard had had dinner with him and his

 wife only the week before. She wished him a

 good afternoon, a little puzzled, and he came

 across the little room to shake her hand.

 'You are surprised, Mevrouw van Doorninck,

 but Gerard wishes most urgently that you should 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 145 
have a check-up without delay. He fears that 
you may have strained yourself in some way— 
even a small cut...' 
'I'm fine,' she declared, aware of sore hands. 
'Well, I've broken a few fingernails and I was 
scared stiff!' 
A young nurse had slid into the room, so 
Deborah, submitting to the inevitable, allowed 
herself to be helped out of her deplorable dress 
and examined with thoroughness by Doctor 
Schipper. He stood back at length. 'Quite OK,' 
he assured her. 'A rapid pulse, but I imagine 
you had an unpleasant shock—the accident was 
distressing...' 
'Yes, but I think it was having to drive the 
car which scared me stiff. I only drive a Fiat 
500, you know—there's quite a difference. Can 
I go home now?' 
'Of course. Nurse will arrange for you to have 
a taxi, but first she will clean up your hands, 
and perhaps an injection of ATS to be on the 
safe side—all that earth. ..' 
She submitted to the nurse's attentions and 
remembered the car keys just as she was ready 
to go. 'Shall I leave them at the front door?' she 
asked Doctor Schipper. 
He held out a hand. 'Leave them with me— 
I'll get them to Gerard. He won't want them 
just yet, I imagine.' 
Deborah thanked him, reminded him that he 
and his wife were dining with them in a few 
days' time and set off for the entrance with 
the nurse, where she climbed into a taxi and 


146 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

went home to find Wim and Marijke, worried 
about their non-appearance for lunch, waiting 
anxiously.

 She was herself again by the evening, presenting 
a bandbox freshness to the world marred 
only by her deplorable nails and an odd bruise 
or two. She had deliberately put on a softly 
clinging dress and used her perfume with discreet 
lavishness; studying herself in the mirror, 
she decided that despite her height and curves, 
she looked almost fragile. She patted a stray 
wisp of hair into position, and much comforted 
by the thought, went downstairs to wait for 

Gerard.

 He came just before dinner, gave her a brief 
greeting and went on: 'Well, we've saved the 
legs and I've done what I could with the pel-
vis—he's in a double hip spica.' He poured their 
drinks and handed hers, at the same time looking 
her over with what she could only describe 
to herself as a professional eye. 'Schipper told 

me that you were none the worse—you've 

recovered very well. Thank heaven you were 

with me!'

 'Yes,' she spoke lightly without looking at 
him. 'There's nothing like beef and brawn...'

 His eyes strayed over her, slowly this time 
and to her satisfaction, not in the least professionally. 
'Did I say that? I must have been 
mad! Anyone less like beef and brawn I have 
yet to see—you look charming.'

 Deborah thanked him in a level voice while 

her heart bounced happily. When he asked to 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 147 

see her hands she came and stood before him, 
holding them out. There were some scratches 
and the bruises on her knuckles were beginning 
to show, and the nails made her shudder. He put 
his drink down and stood up and surprised her 
very much by picking up first one hand and then 
the other and' kissing them, and then, as if that 

wasn't enough, he bent his head and kissed her 
cheek too. 


 CHAPTER SEVEN 

DEBORAH had gone to sleep that night in a 
state of mind very far removed from her usual 
matter-of-factness. She wakened after hours of 
dreaming, shreds and tatters with no beginning 
and no end and went downstairs with the remnants 
of those same dreams still in her eyes. 
Nothing could have brought her down to earth 
more quickly than Gerard's brief good morning 
before he plunged into a list of things he begged 
her, if she had time, to do for him during the 
day—small errands, which she knew quite well 
he would have no time to see to for himself, but 
it made her feel like a secretary, and from his 
businesslike manner he must think of her as that, 
or was he letting her know that his behaviour 
on the previous evening was a momentary weakness, 
not to be taken as a precedent for the 
future?

 She went round to see her mother-in-law in 
the afternoon. The morning had been nicely 
filled with Gerard's commissions and a lesson 
with the professor, and now, burdened with her 
homework, she made her way to Mevrouw van 
Doorninck's flat, walking briskly because the 
weather, although fine, was decidedly chilly. 
She paused to look at one or two shops as she 
went; the two-piece she had worn the day before

 148 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 149

 was a write-off; the earth had been ground into

 its fine fabric and when she had shown it to

 Marijke that good soul had given her opinion,

 with the aid of Wim, that no dry-cleaner would

 touch it. She would have to buy another outfit 

to replace it, Deborah decided, and rang the bell.

 Mevrouw van Doorninck was pleased to see 
her. They got on very well, for the older woman 
had accepted her as a member of the family 
although she had never invited Deborah's confidence. 
She was urged to sit down now and tell 
all that had happened on the previous day.

 'I didn't know you knew about it,' observed 
Deborah as she accepted a cup of tea. 
'Gerard telephoned me in the evening—he 
was so proud of you.'

 Deborah managed to laugh. 'Was he? I only 
know that he thanked heaven that I was a strong 
young woman-and not a—a delicate feminine 
creature.'

 She turned her head away as she spoke; it was 
amazing how that still hurt. Her mother-in-law's 
reply was vigorous. 'You may not be delicate, 
my dear, but you are certainly very feminine.! 
can't imagine Gerard falling in love with any 
other type of woman.'

 Deborah drank some tea. 'What about Sasja?' 
she asked boldly. 'Gerard told me a little about 
her, but what was she really like—he said that 
she was very pretty.'

 'Very pretty—like a doll, she was also a 
heartless and immoral young woman and wildly 
extravagant. She made life for Gerard quite 


150 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

unbearable. And don't think, my dear,' she went 
on dryly, 'that I tried to interfere or influence 
Gerard in any way, although I longed to do so. 
I had to stand aside and watch Gerard make the 
terrible mistake of marrying her. Infatuation is 
far worse than love, Deborah, it blinds one to 
reality; it destroys. . .fortunately he had his 
work.' She sighed. 'It is a pity that work has 
become such a habit with him that he hardly 

knows how to enjoy life any more.' She looked 
at Deborah, who stared back with no expression 
at all. 'You have found that, perhaps?'

 'I know he's very busy getting everything just 
as he wants it at the Grotehof—I daresay when 
he is satisfied he'll have more time to spare.'

 'Yes, dear.' Mevrouw van Doorninck's voice 
had that same dryness again, and Deborah wondered 
uneasily if she had guessed about Gerard 
and herself. It would be unlikely, for he always 
behaved beautifully towards her when there 
were guests or family present—he v always 
behaved beautifully, she amended, even when 
they were alone. Her mother-in-law nodded. 
'I'm sure you are right, my dear. Tell me, who is 
coming to the dinner party tomorrow evening?'

 Deborah recited the names. She had met most 
of the guests already, there were one or two, 
visiting specialists, whose acquaintance she had 
yet to make; one of them would be spending 
the night. She told her mother-in-law what she 
intended wearing and got up to go. When she 
bent to kiss the older lady's cheek she was surprised 
at the warmth of the kiss she received in 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 151

 return and still more surprised when she said:

 'If ever you need help or advice, Deborah, and

 once or twice 1 have thought. . .no matter. If

 you do, come to me and 1 will try and help you.'

 Deborah stammered her thanks and beat a

 hasty retreat, wondering just what Gerard's

 mother had meant.

 She dressed early for the dinner party because

 she wanted to go downstairs and make sure that 
the table was just so, the flowers as they should 
be and the lamps lighted. It was to be rather a 
grand occasion this time because the Medical 
Director of the hospital was coming as well as 
the Burgemeesterofthe city, who, she was given 
to understand, was a very important person 
indeed. She was wearing a new dress for the 
occasion, a soft lavender chiffon with long full 
sleeves, tight cuffed with a plunging neckline 
discreetly veiled by pleated frills. There was a 
frill round the hem of the skirt too and a swathed 
belt which made the most of her waist. She had 
added the pearls and the earrings and hoped that 
she looked just as a successful consultant's wife 
should look.

 'Neat but not gaudy,' she told herself aloud, 
inspecting her person in the big mirror on the 
landing, not because she hadn't seen it already 
in her room where there were mirrors enough, 
but because this particular mirror, with its elaborate 
gilded frame somehow enhanced her 

appearance. 
'That's a decidedly misleading statement.' 
Gerard's voice came from the head of the stairs 


152 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

and she whirled round in a cloud of chiffon to 
face him.

 'You're early, how nice! Everything's ready 
for you—I'm going down to see about 
the table.'

 'This first.' He held out a large old-fashioned 
plush casket. 'You told me the colour of 
your dress and it seemed to me that Great-aunt 
Emmiline's garnets might be just the thing to 

go with it.' 
Deborah sat down on the top tread of the 
staircase, her skirts billowing around her, and 
opened the box. Great-aunt Emmiline must have 
liked garnets very much; there were rings and 
brooches and two heavy gold bracelets set with 
large stones, earrings and a thick gold necklace 
with garnets set in it. 
'They're lovely—may I really borrow them? 
I'll take great care...' 
He had come to sit beside her. 'They're yours, 
Deborah. I've just given them to you. I imagine 
you can't wear the whole lot at once, but there 
must be something there you like?' 
'Oh, yes—yes. Thank you, Gerard, you give 
me so much.' She smiled at him shyly and 
picked out one of the bracelets and fastened it 
round a wrist. It looked just right; she added the

 necklace, putting the precious pearls in her lap. 
She wasn't going to take off her engagement 
ring; she added two of the simpler rings to the

 other hand and found a pair of drop earrings. 
She added her pearl earrings to the necklace in 
her lap and hooked in the garnets instead and 


•-•'••wfvasssss

 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 153 

went to look in the mirror. Gerard was right, 
they were exactly right with the dress. 'Have I 
got too much on?' she asked anxiously.

 'No—just right, I should say. That's a pretty 
dress. What happened to the one you spoilt?' 
'It's ruined. I showed it to Marijke—the stain 
has gone right through.' 
I'm sorry. Buy yourself another one. I'll 
pay for it.'

 Deborah was standing with the casket clasped 
to her breast. 'Oh, there's no need, I've ,got 
heaps of money from my allowance.'

 'Nevertheless you will allow me to pay for 
another dress.' he insisted blandly. 
'Well—all right, thank you. I'll just put 
these away.'

 When she came out of her room he had gone. 
There was nothing to do downstairs, she had 
seen to everything during the day and she knew 
that Marijke and Wim needed no prompting 
from her. She went and sat by the log fire Wim 
had lighted ,in the drawing room and Smith, 
moving with a kind of slow-motion stealth, 
insinuated himself on to her silken lap. But he 
got down again as Gerard joined them, pattering 
across the room when his master went to fetch 
the drinks and then pattering back again to 
arrange himself on Gerard's shoes once he 
had sat down. A cosy family group, thought 
Deborah, eyeing Gerard covertly. He looked 
super in a black tie—he was a man who would 
never lose his good looks, even when he was 
old. She had seen photos of his father, who in 


154 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

his mid-seventies had been quite something— 
just like his son, sitting there, stroking Smith 

with the toe of his shoe and talking about 

nothing in particular. It was a relief, when the 

doorbell signalled the arrival of the first of their 

guests, because she had discovered all at once 

that she could not bear to sit there looking at 

him and loving him so much.

 The evening was a success, as it could hardly 
have failed to have been, for Deborah had 
planned it carefully; the food was delicious and

 the guests knew and liked each other. She had

 felt a little flustered when the Burgemeester had

 arrived, an imposing, youngish man with a

 small, plump wife with no looks to speak of but

 with a delightful smile and a charming voice.

 She greeted Deborah kindly, wished her happi


ness upon her recent marriage and in her rather

 schoolgirl English wanted to know if she spoke

 any Dutch. It was a chance to pay tribute to

 the professor's teaching; Deborah made a few

 halting remarks, shocking as to grammar but

 faultless as to accent. There was a good deal

 of kindly laughter and when the Burgemeester

 boomed: 'Your Dutch is a delight to my ear,

 dear lady,' her evening was made.

 She had had no time to do more than say hullo

 to Coenraad and Adelaide, but after dinner, with

 the company sitting around the drawing room,

 the two girls managed to get ten minutes

 together. 
'Very nice,' said Adelaide at once, 'I can see 
that you're going to be a wonderful wife for 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 155 

Gerard—it's a great drawback to a successful 

man if he hasn't got a wife to see to the social 

side. When I first married I thought it all rather 

a waste of time, but I was wrong. They talk 

shop—oh, very discreetly, but they do—and 

arrange visits to seminars and who shall play 

host when so-and-so comes, and they ask each 

other's advice. . . I like your dress, and the 

garnets are just the thing for it—another van 

Doorninck heirioom, I expect? I've got some 

too, only I have to be careful—my hair, you 

know.' She grinned engagingly. 'Did you go to 

Friesland?'

 Deborah nodded. 'Yes, I loved the house, we 
had lunch there and then we went to see Dominic 
and Abigail. It's lovely there by the lake.'

 'And what's all this about an accident? 
The hospital was positively humming with it. 
Coenraad told me about it, but you know what 
men are.'

 They spent five minutes more together before 
Deborah, with a promise to telephone Adelaide 
in a few days, moved across the room to engage 
her mother-in-law in conversation.

 It was after everyone had gone, and Doctor 
de Joufferie, their guest for the night, had retired 
to his room, that Gerard, on his way to let Smith 
out into the garden, told her that Claude was 
back in Amsterdam after a visit to Nice. 'I hear 
he's sold his house here and intends to live in 
France permanently.'

 ''Oh.' She paused uncertainly on her way to 
bed. 'He won't come here?' 


156 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 'Most unlikely—if he does, would 
you mind?'

 Deborah shook her head. 'Not in the least,' 
she assured her husband stoutly, minding 
very much.

 Her answer was what he had expected, for he 
remarked casually. 'No, you're far too sensible 
for that and I have no doubt that you would deal 
with him should he have the temerity to call.' 
He turned away. 'That's a pretty dress,' he told 
her for the second time that evening.

 She thanked him nicely, wishing that he had 
thought her pretty enough to remark upon that 
too; apparently he was satisfied enough that she 
was sensible.

 She ruminated so deeply upon this unsatisfactory 
state of affairs that she hardly heard his 
thanks for the success of the evening, but she 
heard him out, murmured something inaudible 
about being tired, and went to bed.

 Doctor de Joufferie joined them for breakfast 
in the morning, speaking an English almost as 
perfect as Gerard's. The two men spent most of 
the time discussing the possibility of Gerard 
going to Paris for some conference or other:

 'And I hope very much that you will accompany 
your husband,' their visitor interrupted himself 
to say. 'My wife would be delighted to show 
you a little of Paris while we are at the various 
sessions.'

 Deborah gave him a vague, gracious answer; 
she didn't want to hurt the doctor's feelings, 
but on the other hand she wasn't sure whether 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 157

 Gerard would want her to go with him; he had 
never suggested, even remotely, such a possibility. 
She led the conversation carefully back to 
the safe ground of Paris and its delights, at the 
same time glancing at her husband to see how 
he was reacting. He wasn't, his expression was 
politely attentive and nothing more, but then it 
nearly always was; even if he had no wish to 
take her, he would never dream of saying so.


 The two men left together and she accompanied 
them to the door, to be pleasantly 
surprised at the admiration in the Frenchman's 
eyes as he kissed her hand with the hope that 
they might meet again soon. She glowed 
pleasantly under his look, but the glow was 
damped immediately by Gerard's brief, cool 
kiss which just brushed her cheek.


 She spent an hour or so pottering round the 
house, getting in Wim's way, and then went to 
sit with her Dutch lesson, but she was in no 
mood to learn. She flung the bpoks pettishly 
from her and went out. Gerard had told her to 
buy a new dress—all right, so she would, and 
take good care not to look too closely at the 


.price tag. She walked along the Keizersgracht 
until she came to that emporium of high fashion, 
Metz, and once inside, buoyed up by strong 
feelings which she didn't bother to define, she 
went straight to the couture department. She had 
in mind another tweed outfit, or perhaps one of 
the thicker jersey suits. She examined one or 
two, a little shocked at their prices, although 
even after so short a time married to Gerard, she 


158 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

found that her shock was lessening.

 It was while she was prowling through the 
thickly carpeted alcove which held the cream of 
the Autumn collection that she saw the dress— 
a Gina Fratini model for the evening—white 
silk, high-necked and long-sleeved, pin-tucked 
and gathered and edged with antique lace. 
Deborah examined it more closely; it wouldn't 
be her size, of course, and even if it were, when 
would she wear it, and what astronomical price 
would it be? She circled round it once more; it 
would do very well for the big ball Gerard had 
casually mentioned would take place at the 
hospital before Christmas, and what about 
the Burgemeester's reception? But the size? The 
saleswoman, who had been hovering discreetly, 
pounced delicately. She even remembered 
Deborah's name, so that she felt like an old 
and valued customer, and what was more, her 
English was good.

 'A lovely gown, Mevrouw van Doorninck,' 
she said persuasively, 'and so right for you, and 
I fancy it is your size.' She had it over her arm 
now, yards and yards of soft silk. 'Would you 
care to try it on?'

 'Well,' said Deborah weakly, 'I really came

 in for something in tweed or jersey.' She caught

 the woman's eye and smiled. 'Yes, I'll try it on.'

 It was a perfect fit and utterly lovely. She

 didn't need the saleswoman's flattering remarks

 to know it. The dress did something for her,

 although she wasn't sure what. She said quickly,

 before she should change her mind: 'I'll take 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 159

 it—will you charge it to my husband, please?'

 It was when she was dressed again, watching

 it being lovingly packed, that she asked the 
price. She had expected it to be expensive, but 
the figure the saleswoman mentioned so casually 
almost took her breath. Deborah waited for 
a feeling of guilt to creep over her, and felt 
nothing; Gerard had insisted on paying for a 
dress, hadn't he? Declining an offer to have it 
delivered, she carried her precious box home.

 She would have tried it on then and there, but 
Wim met her in the hall with the news that 
Marijke had a delicious souffle only waiting to 
be eaten within a few minutes. But eating lunch 
by herself was something quickly done with, so 
she flew upstairs to her room and unpacked the 
dress. It looked even more super than it had 
done in the shop. She put it on and went to turn 
and twist before the great mirror—she had put 
on the pearls and the earrings and a pair of satin 
slippers; excepting for the faint untidiness of the 
heavy chignon, she looked ready for a ball.

 'Cinderella, and more beautiful than ever,' 
said Claude from the stairs.

 Deborah turned round slowly, not quite 
believing that he was there, but he was, smiling 
and debonair, for all the world as though Gerard 
had never told him not to enter the house again.

 'What are you doing here?' she asked, and 
tried to keep the angry shake from her voice.

 'Why, come to pay you a farewell visit. I'm 
leaving this city, thank heaven, surely you've 
heard that? But I couldn't go until I had said 


160 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

goodbye to you, but don't worry, I telephoned 
the hospital and they told me that Gerard was 
busy, so I knew that it was safe to come, and 
very glad I am that I did. A ball so early in the 
day? Or is the boy-friend coming?'

 Her hand itched to slap his smiling face. 'How 
silly you are,' she remarked scathingly. 'And 
you have no right to walk into the house as 
though it were your own. Why didn't you ring 
the bell?'

 'Ah, I came in through the little door in the 
garden. You forget, my lovely Deborah, that I 
have known this house since many years; many 
a time I've used that door.' He was lounging 
against the wall, laughing at her, so that her 
carefully held patience deserted her.

 'Well, you can go, and out of the front door 
this time. I've nothing to say to you, and I'm 
sure Gerard would be furious if he knew that 
you had come here.'

 He snapped his fingers airily. 'My dear good 
girl, let us be honest, you have no idea whether 
Gerard would be annoyed or not; you have no 
idea about anything he does or thinks or plans, 
have you? I don't suppose he tells you anything. 
Shall I tell you what I think? Why, that you're 
a figurehead to adorn his table, a hostess for 
his guests and a competent housekeeper to look 
after his home while he's away—and where 
does he go, I wonder? Have you ever wondered?

 Hours in the Grotehof—little trips to Paris,

 Brussels, Vienna, operating here, lecturing there

 while you sit at home thinking what thoughts?' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 161 
He stopped speaking and stared at her pinched 
face. 'I'm right, aren't I? I have hit the nail 
on its English head, have I not? Poor beautiful 
Deborah.' He laughed softly and came closer. 
'Leave him, my lovely, and come to Nice with 
me—why not? We could have a good time 
together.' 
She wasn't prepared for his sudden swoop; 
she was a strong girl, but he had hold of her 
tightly, and besides, at the back of her stunned 
mind was the thought that if she struggled too 
much her beautiful dress would be ruined. She 
turned her face away as he bent to kiss her and 
brought up a hand to box him soundly on the 
ear. But he laughed the more as she strained 
away from him, her head drawn back. So that 
she didn't see or hear •Gerard coming up the 
stairs, although Claude did. She felt his hold 
tighten as he spoke. 
'Gerard—hu\lo,jongen, I knew you wouldn't 
mind me calling in to say goodbye to Deborah, 
and bless her heart, she wouldn't let me go 
without one last kiss.' ' 
She felt him plucked from her, heard, as in a 
dream, his apology, no doubt induced by the 
painful grip Gerard had upon him, and watched 
in a detached way as he was marched down the 
stairs across the hall to disappear in the direction 
of the front door, which presently shut with 
some force. Gerard wasn't even breathing 
rapidly when he rejoined her, only his eyes 
blazed in his set face. 


162 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 'You knew he was coming?' His tone was 
conversational but icy. 
'Of course not.' She was furious to find that 
she was trembling. 
'How did he get in? Doesn't Wim open 
the door?'

 'Of course he does—when the bell rings. 
He—he came in through the door in the garden. 
I had no idea that he was in the house until he 
spoke to me here.' She essayed a smile which 
wavered a little. 'I'm glad you came home.'

 'Yes?' His eyebrows rose in faint mockery. 
'You didn't appear to be resisting Claude with 
any great show of determination.' 
She fired up at that. 'He took me by surprise.

 I slapped his cheek.'

 'Did you call Wim?'

 Deborah shook her head. Truth to tell, it

 hadn't entered her head.

 Her husband stared at her thoughtfully. 'A

 great strapping girl like you,' he commented

 nastily. 'No kicking? No struggling?'

 She hated him, mostly because he had called

 her a strapping girl. She wanted to cry too, but

 the tears were in a hard knot in her chest. She

 said sullenly: 'I was trying on this dress—it's

 new...' He laughed then and she said desper


ately: 'You don't believe me, do you? You

 actually think that I would encourage him.' Her

 voice rose with the strength of her feelings.

 'Well, if that's what you want to believe, you

 may do so!' 
She swept to her bedroom door and 



 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 163 
remembered something as she reached it. 'I 
bought this dress because you told me to and 
I've charged it to you—it's a model and it cost 
over a thousand gulden, and I'm glad!' She 
stamped her foot. 'I wish it had cost twice 
as much!' 
She banged the door behind her and locked 
it, which was a silly action anyway, for when 
had he ever tried the door handle? 
She took the dress off carefully and hung it 
away and put on a sober grey dress, then combed 
her hair and put on too much lipstick and went 
downstairs. She was crossing the hall when 
Gerard opened his study door and invited her to 
join him in a quiet voice which she felt would 
be wiser to obey; She went past him with her 
head in the air and didn't sit down when he 
asked her to. 
'I came home to pack a bag,' he told her 
mildly, all trace of ill-humour vanished. 'There 
is an urgent case I have to see in Geneva and 
probably operate on. I intend to catch the five 
o'clock flight and I daresay I shall be away for 
two days. I'm sorry to spring it on you like this, 
but there's nothing important for a few days, 
is there?' 
'Nothing.' Wild horses wouldn't have 
dragged from her the information that it was 
her birthday in two days' time. She had never 
mentioned it to him and he had never tried to 
find out. 
He nodded. 'Good—' he broke off as Wim 
came in with a sheaf of flowers which he gave 


164 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

to Deborah. 'Just delivered, Mevrouw,' he told 
her happily, and went away, leaving a heavy 
silence behind him.

 Deborah started to open the envelope pinned 
to its elaborate wrapping and then stopped; 
supposing it was from Claude? It was the sort 
of diabolical joke he would dream up...

 She looked up and found Gerard watching 
her with a speculative eye and picked up the 
flowers and walked to the door. 'I'll pack you 
a case,' she told him. 'Will you want a black 
tie, or is it to be strictly work?'

 His eyes narrowed. 'Oh, strictly work,' he 
assured her in a silky voice, 'and even if it 
weren't, a black tie isn't always essential in 
order to—er—enjoy yourself.'

 He gave her a look of such mockery that she 
winced under it; it was almost as if Claude's 
poisoned remarks held a grain of truth.

 Outside she tore open the little envelope and 
read the card; the flowers were from Doctor 
Joufferie. She suppressed her strong desire to 
run straight back to Gerard and show it to him, 
and went to pack his bag instead.

 It was quiet in the house after he had gone. 
Deborah spent the long evening working at her 
Dutch, playing with Smith and leafing through 

magazines, and went to bed at last with a bad 
headache. She had expected Gerard to telephone, 
but he didn't, which made the headache 
worse. There was no call in the morning either; 
she hung around until lunchtime and then went 
out with Smith trotting beside her on his lead. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 165 

She walked for a long time, and it was on her 
way back, close to the house, that she stopped 
to pick up a very small child who had fallen 
over, the last in a line of equally small uniformed 
children, walking ahead of her. She had seen 
them before, and supposed that they went to 
some nursery school or other in one of the 
narrow streets leading from the Keizersgracht. 
She comforted the little girl, mopped up a grazed 
knee and carried her towards the straggling line 
of her companions. She had almost reached it 
when a nun darted back towards them, breaking 
into voluble Dutch as she did so.

 Deborah stood still. 'So sorry,' she managed, 
'my Dutch is bad.'

 The nun smiled. 'Then I will speak my bad 
English to you. Thank you for helping the little 
one—there are so many of them and my companion 
has gone on to the Weeshuis with a 
message.'

 Deborah glanced across the road to where 
an old building stood under the shadow of the 
great Catholic church. *0h',' she said, and 
remembered that a Weeshuis was an orphanage. 
'They're little orphans.'

 The nun smiled again. 'Yes. We have many 
of them. The older ones go to school, but these 
are still too small. We go now to play and sing 
a little after their walk. Once we had a lady 
who came each week and told them stories and 
played games with them. They liked that.' She 
held out her arms for the child and said: 'I thank 
you again, Mevrouw,' and walked rapidly away 


166 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

to where the obedient line of children waited. 
Deborah watched them disappear inside the 
orphanage before she went home.

 It was after her lonely tea that she had an 
idea. Without pausing to change her mind, she 
left the house and went back to the orphanage 
and rang the bell, and when an old nun came to 
peer at her through the grille, she asked to see 
the Mother Superior. Half an hour later she was 
back home again after an interview with that 
rather surprised lady; she might go once a week 
and play with the children until such time as a 
permanent helper could be found. She had 
pointed out hesitantly that she wasn't a Catholic 
herself, but the Mother Superior didn't seem to 
mind. Thursday evenings, she had suggested, 
and any time Deborah found the little orphans 
too much for her, she had only to say so.

 The morning post brought a number of cards 
and parcels for her. She read them while she ate

 her breakfast and was just .getting up from the

 table when Wim came in with a great bouquet

 of flowers and a gaily tied box.

 'Mijnheer told me to give you these,

 Mevrouw,' he informed her in a fatherly

 fashion, 'and Marijke and I wish you a very

 happy birthday.' He produced a small parcel

 with the air of a magician and she opened it at

 once. Handkerchiefs, dainty, lace-trimmed

 ones. She thanked him nicely, promised that she

 would go to the kitchen within a few minutes

 so that she could thank Marijke, and was left to

 examine her flowers. They were exquisite; roses 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 167

 and carnations and sweet peas and lilies, out of

 season and delicate and fragrant. She sniffed

 at them with pleasure and read the card which

 accompanied them. It bore the austere message:

 With best wishes, G. So he had known all the

 time! She opened the box slowly; it contained

 a set of dressing table silver, elegantly plain

 with her initials on each piece surmounted by

 the family crest. There was another card too,

 less austere than its fellow. This one said: 'To

 Deborah, wishing you a happy birthday.'

 She went upstairs and arranged the silver on 
her dressing table, and stood admiring it until 
she, remembered that she had to see Marijke.

 She spent a long time arranging the flowers so 
that she was a little late for her lesson and Professor 
de Wit was a little put out, but she had 
learnt her lesson well, which mollified him sufficiently 
for him to offer her a cup of coffee 
when they had finished wrestling with the Dutch 
verbs for the day. She went back home presently 
to push the food around her plate and then go 
upstairs to her room. Her mother-in-law was in 
Hilversum, she could hardly telephone Adelaide 
and tell her that it was her birthday and she 
was utterly miserable. Thank heaven it was 
Thursday; at least she had her visit to the 
orphans to look forward to.

 There was still no word from Gerard. 
Deborah told Wim that she was going for a walk 
and would be back for dinner at half past seven 
as usual, and set out. The evenings were chilly 
now and the streets were crowded with people 


168 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

on their way home or going out to enjoy 
themselves, but the narrow street where the 
orphanage was was quiet as she rang the bell.

 The orphans assembled for their weekly junketings 
in a large, empty room overlooking the 
street, reached through a long narrow passage 
and a flight of steps, and one of the dreariest 
rooms Deborah had ever seen, but there was a 
piano and plenty of room for twenty-eight small 
children. It was when she had thrown off her 
coat and turned to survey them that she 
remembered that her Dutch was, to say the least, 
very indifferent. But she had reckoned without 
the children; within five minutes they had discovered 
the delights of 'Hunt the Slipper' and 
were screaming their heads off.

 At the end of the hour they had mastered 
Grandmother's Steps too as well as Twos and 
Threes, and for the last ten minutes or so, in 
order that they might calm down a little, she 
began to tell them a story, mostly in English of 
course, with a few Dutch words thrown in here 
and there and a great deal of mime. It seemed 
to go down very well, as did the toffees Deborah

 produced just before the nun came to fetch them

 away to their supper and bed. An hour had never

 gone so quickly. She kissed them good night,

 one by one, and when they had gone the empty

 room seemed emptier and drearier than ever.

 She tidied it up quickly and went home.

 Indoors, it was to hear from Wim that Gerard

 had telephoned, but only to leave a message

 that he would be home the following evening. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 169 

Deborah thanked him and went to eat her dinner, 
choking it down as best she could because 
Marijke had thought up a splendid one for her 
birthday. Afterwards, with Smith on her lap, she 
watched TV. It was a film she had already seen 
several times in England, but she watched it to 
its end before going to bed.

 Gerard came home late the following afternoon. 
Deborah had spent the day wondering 
how to greet him. As though nothing had happened? 
With an apology? She ruled this one out, 
for she had nothing to apologize for—with a 
dignified statement pointing out how unfair he 
had been? She was still rehearsing a variety of 
opening speeches when she heard his key in 
the door.

 There was no need for her to make a speech 
of any kind; it riled her to find that his manner 
was exactly as it always was, quiet, pleasant— 
he was even smiling. Taken aback, Deborah 
replied to his cheerful hullo with a rather uncertain 
one followed by the hope that he had had 
a good trip and that everything had been successful. 
And would he like something to eat?

 He declined her offer on his way to the door. 
'I've some telephoning to do,' he told her. 'The 
post is in the study, I suppose?'

 She said that yes, it was and as he reached 
the door, said in a rush: 'Thank you for the 
lovely flowers and your present—it's quite 
super—I didn't know that you knew...'

 'Our marriage certificate,' he pointed out 
briefly. 'I'm sorry I was not here to celebrate 


170 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

it in the usual Dutch manner—another year, 
perhaps.' 
'No, well—it didn't matter. It's a marvellous 
present.' 
Gerard was almost through the door. He 
paused long enough to remark: 
'I'm glad you like it. It seemed to me to be a 

suitable gift.' He didn't look at her and his voice 

sounded cold. He closed the door very quietly 

behind him.

 Deborah threw a cushion at it. 'I hate him,' 
she raged, 'hate him! He's pompous and cold 
and he doesn't care a cent for me, not one cent— 
a suitable present indeed! And just what was he 
doing in Geneva?' she demanded of the room 
at large. She plucked a slightly outraged Smith 
from the floor and hugged him to her. 'None of 
that's true,' she assured him fiercely, and 
opened the door and let him into the hall. She 
heard him scratching on the study door and after

 a few moments it was opened for him.

 They dined together later, apparently on the

 best of terms; Deborah told Gerard one or two

 items which she thought might interest him, but

 never a word about the orphans. The van

 Doornincks were Calvinists; several ancestors

 had been put to death rather nastily by the

 Spaniards during their occupation of the

 Netherlands. It was a very long time ago, but

 the Dutch had long memories for such things.

 She didn't think that Gerard would approve of

 her helping, even for an hour, in a convent. Her

 conscience pricked her a little because she was 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 171 

being disloyal to him; on the other hand, she 

wasn't a Catholic either, but that hadn't made 

any difference to her wish to help the children 

in some small way. She put the matter out of 

her mind and asked him as casually as possible 

about his trip to Geneva.

 She might have saved her breath, for although 
he talked about Switzerland and Geneva in particular, 
not one crumb of information as to his 
activities while he was there did he offer her. 
She rose from the table feeling frustrated and 
ill-tempered and spent the rest of the evening 
sitting opposite him in the sitting room, doing 
her embroidery all wrong. Just the same, when 
she went to bed she said quite humbly: 'I'm 
really very sorry to have bought such an expensive 
dress, Gerard—I'll pay you back out of my 
next quarter's allowance.'

 'I offered you a new dress,' he reminded her 
suavely. 'I don't remember telling you to buy 
the cheapest one you saw. Shall we say no more 
about it?'

 Upon which unsatisfactory remark she went 
to bed.

 It didn't seem possible that they could go 
on as before, with no mention of Claude, no 
coolness between them, no avoiding of each 
other's company, but it was. Deborah found that 
life went on exactly as before, with occasional 
dinner parties, drinks with friends, visits to her 
mother-in-law and Gerard's family and an 
occasional quiet evening at home with Gerard— 
and of course the weekly visit to the orphans. 


172 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 It was getting eolder now, although the 
autumn had stretched itself almost into winter 
with its warm days and blue skies. But now the 
trees by the canal were without leaves and the 
water looked lifeless; it was surprising what a 
week or so would do at that time of year, and 
that particular evening, coming home from the 
convent, there was an edge of winter in the air.

 Deborah found Gerard at home. He was 
always late on Thursdays and when she walked 
into the sitting room and found him there she 
was surprised into saying so.

 'I've been out,' she explained a little inadequately. 
'It was such a nice evening,' and 
then could have bitten out her tongue, for there 
was a nasty wind blowing and the beginnings 
of a fine, cold rain. She put a guilty hand up to 
her hair and felt its dampness.

 'I'll tell Marijke to serve dinner at once,' she 
told him, 'and change my dress.'

 That had been a silly thing to say too, for 
the jersey suit she was wearing was decidedly 
crumpled from the many small hands which had 
clung to it. But Gerard said nothing and if his 
hooded eyes noticed anything, they gave 
nothing away. She joined him again presently

 and spent the evening waiting for him to ask her

 where she had been, and when he didn't, went

 to bed in a fine state of nervous tension.

 Several days later he told her that he would

 be going away again for a day and possibly the

 night as well.

 'Not Geneva?' asked Deborah, too quickly. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 173

 He was in the garden, brushing Smith. 'No—

 Arnhem.'

 'But Arnhem is only a short distance away,'

 she pointed out, 'surely you could come home?'

 He raised his eyes to hers. 'If I should come

 home, it would be after ten o'clock,' he told her

 suavely. 'That is a certainty, so that you can

 safely make any plans you wish for the evening.'

 She stared at him, puzzled. 'But I haven't any 
plans—where should I want to go?'

 He shrugged. 'Where do you go on Thursday 
evenings?' he asked blandly, and when she hesitated, 
'That was unfair of me—I'm sorry. I only 
learned of it through overhearing something 
Wim said. Perhaps you would rather not 
tell me.'

 'No—that is, no,' she answered miserably. 'I 
don't think so.' 
Gerard flashed her a quizzical glance. 'Quid 
pro quo?' he asked softly.

 She flushed and lifted her chin. 'When I 
married you, you made it very clear what you 
expected of me. Maybe I've fallen short of—of 
your expectations, but I have done my best, but 
I wouldn't stoop to paying you back in your 
own coin!'

 She flounced out of the room before he could 
speak and went to her room and banged the 
door. They were going out that evening to dinner 
with a colleague of Gerard's. She came downstairs 
at exactly the moment when it was 
necessary to leave the house, looking quite magnificent 
in the pink silk jersey dress and the 


174 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

pearls and with such a haughty expression upon 
her lovely face that Gerard, after the briefest 
of glances, forbore from speaking. When she 
peeped at him his face was impassive, but she 
had the ridiculous feeling that he was laughing 
at her.

 He had left the house when she got down in 
the morning. She had breakfast, did a few chores 
around the house and prepared to go out. She 
was actually at the front door when the telephone 
rang and when she answered it, it was to 
hear Sien's voice, a little agitated, asking for 
Gerard.

 'Wim,' called Deborah urgently, and made 
placating noises to Sien, and when he came: 
'It's Sien—I can't understand her very well, but 
I think there's something wrong.'

 Sien had cut her hand, Wim translated, and 
it was the local doctor's day off and no one near 
enough to help; the season was over, the houses, 
and they were only a few, within reach were 
closed for the winter. She had tied her hand up, 
but it had bled a great deal. Perhaps she needed 
stitches? and would Mevrouw forgive her for 
telephoning, but she wasn't sure what she 
should do.

 'Ask her where the cut is,' commanded 
Deborah, 'and if it's still bleeding.' And when 
Wim had told her, gave careful instructions: 
'And tell her to sit down and try and keep her 
arm up, and that I'm on my way now—I'll be 
with her in less than two hours.'

 She was already crossing the hall to Gerard's 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 175

 study where she knew there was a well-stocked

 cupboard of all she might require. She chose

 what she needed and went to the front door. 'I

 don't know how long I shall be, Wim,' she said.

 'You'd better keep Smith here. I expect I may

 have to take Sien to hospital for some stitches

 and then try and find someone who would stay 

a day or two with her—she can't be alone.'

 'Very good, Mevrouw,' said Wim in his 
fatherly fashion, 'and I beg you to be careful on 
the road.'

 She smiled at him—he was such an old dear.

 'Of course, Wim, I'll be home later.'

 'And if the master should come home?'

 Deborah didn't look at him. 'He said after ten 
this evening, or even tomorrow, Wim.'

 She drove the Fiat fast and without any holdups, 
for the tourists had gone and the roads were 
fairly empty; as she slowed to turn into the little 
lane leading to the house she thought how lovely 
it looked against the pale sky and the wide 
country around it, but she didn't waste time 
looking around her; she parked the car and ran 
inside.

 Sien had done exactly as she had been told. 
She looked a little pale and the rough bandage 
was heavily bloodstained, but she greeted 
Deborah cheerfully and submitted to having the 
cut examined.

 'A stitch or two,' explained Deborah in her 
threadbare Dutch, knowing that it would need 
far more than that, for the cut was deep and 
long, across the palm. 


176 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 'Coffee,' she said hearteningly, and made it 
for both of them, then helped Sien to put on her 
coat and best hat—for was she not going to 
hospital to see a doctor, she wanted to know 
when Deborah brought the wrong one—locked 
the door and settled her companion in the little 
car. It wasn't far to Leeuwarden and Sien knew 
where the hospital was.

 She hadn't known that Gerard was known 
there too. She only had to give her name and 
admit to being his wife for Sien to be given VIP 
treatment. She was stitched, given ATS, told 
when to come again and given another cup of 
coffee while Deborah had a little talk with the 
Casualty Officer.

 'Can I help you at all?' he wanted to know 
as he handed her coffee too.

 She explained thankfully about Sien being

 alone. 'If someone could find out if she has a

 friend or family nearby who would go back with

 her for a day or two, I could collect them on the

 way back. If not, I think I should take her back

 with me to Amsterdam or stay here myself.'

 She waited patiently while Sien was ques


tioned. 'There's a niece,' the young doctor told

 her, 'she lives at Warga, quite close to your

 house. Your housekeeper says that she will be

 pleased to stay with her for a few days.'

 'You're very kind,' said Deborah gratefully.

 'It's a great hindrance not being able to speak

 the language, you know. My husband will be

 very grateful when he hears how helpful you

 have been.' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 177

 The young man went a dusky red. 'Your husband 
is a great surgeon, Mevrouw. We would 
all wish to be like him.'

 She shook hands. 'I expect you will be,' she 
assured him, and was rewarded by his 
delighted smile.

 Sien's niece was a young edition of her aunt, 
just as tall and plump and just as sensible. 
Deborah drove the two of them back to the 
house, gave instructions that they were to telephone 
the house at Amsterdam if they were in 
doubt about anything, asked them if they had 
money enough, made sure that Sien understood 
about the pills she was to take if her hand got 
too painful, wished them goodbye, and got into 
the Fiat again. It was early afternoon, she would 
be home for tea. 


 CHAPTER EIGHT 

BUT she wasn't home for tea; it began to rain 
as she reached the outskirts of the city, picking 
her careful way through streets which became 
progressively narrower and busier as she neared 
the heart of the city. The cobbles glistened in 
the rain, their surface made treacherous; 
Deborah had no chance at all when a heavy lorry 
skidded across the street, sweeping her little car 
along with it. By some miracle the Fiat stayed 
upright despite the ominous crunching noises it 
was making. Indeed, its bonnet was a shapeless 
mass by the time the lorry came to a precarious 
halt with Deborah's car inextricably welded 
to it.

 She climbed out at once, white and shaking 
but quite unhurt except for one or two sharp 
knocks. The driver of the lorry got out too to 
engage her immediately in earnest conversation, 
not one word of which did she understand. 
Dutch, she had discovered long since, wasn't 
too bad provided one had the time and the circumstances 
were favourable. They were, at the 
moment, very unfavourable. She looked round 
helplessly, not at all sure what to do—there 
were a dozen or more people milling about 
them, all seemingly proffering advice.

 'Can't anyone speak English?' she asked her

 178 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 179

 growing audience. Apparently not; there was a

 short pause before they all burst out again, even

 more eager to help. It was a relief when Deborah

 glimpsed the top of a policeman's cap above

 the heads, forging its way with steady authority

 towards her. Presently he came into full view,

 a grizzled man with a harsh face. Her heart sank; 
awful visions of spending the night in prison 

and no one any the wiser were floating through 

her bemused brain. When he spoke to her she 

asked, without any hope at all: 'I suppose you 

don't speak English?'

 He smiled and his face wasn't harsh any 
more. 'A little,' he admitted. 'I will speak to 
this man first, Mevrouw.'

 The discussion was lengthy with a good deal 
of argument. When at length the police officer 
turned to her she hastened to tell him:

 'It wasn't anyone's fault—the road was 
slippery—he. skidded, he wasn't driving fast 
at all.'

 The man answered in a laboured English 
which was more than adequate. 'He tells me 
that also, Mevrouw. You have your papers?'

 She managed to open the car's battered door 
and took them out of her handbag. He examined 
her licence and then looked at her. 'You are wife 
of Mijnheer Doorninck, chirurg at the Grotehof 
hospital.'

 She nodded.

 'You are not injured, Mevrouw?'

 'I don't think so—I feel a little shaky.' She 
smiled. 'I was scared stiff!' 


180 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 'Stiff?' He eyed her anxiously. 
'Sorry—I was frightened.'


 'I shall take you to the hospital in one 
moment.' He was writing in his notebook. 'You 
will sit in your car, please.'

 Deborah did as she was told and he went 
back to talk some more to the lorry driver, who 
presently got into his cab and drove away.

 'It will be arranged that your car'—his eye 
swept over the poor remnant of it—'will be 
taken to a garage. Do not concern yourself about 
it, Mevrouw. Now you will come with me, 

please.' 
'I'm quite all right,' she assured him, and 
then at his look, followed him obediently to the 
police car behind the crowd, glad to sit down 
now, for her legs were suddenly jelly and one 
arm was aching. 
They were close to the hospital. She was 
whisked there, swept from the car and ushered 
into the Accident Room where Gerard's name 
acted like a magic wand; she barely had time 
to thank the policeman warmly before she was 
spirited away to be meticulously examined from 
head to foot. There was nothing wrong, the 
Casualty Officer decided, save for a few painful 
bruises on her arm and the nasty shock she 
had had. 
'I will telephone and inform Mijnheer van 
Doorninck,' he told her, and she stifled a giggle, 
for Gerard's name had been uttered with such 
reverence. 'He's not home,' she told him, 'not 
until late this evening or tomorrow morning— 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 181 

he's in Arnhem. In any case, I'm perfectly 
all right.'

 She should have suspected him when he 
agreed with her so readily, suggesting that she 
should drink a cup of tea and have a short rest, 
then he would come back and pronounce her fit 
to go home.

 She drank the tea gratefully. There was no 
milk with it, but it was hot and sweet and it 
pulled her together and calmed her down. She 
lay back and closed her eyes and wondered what 
Gerard would say when he got back. She was 
asleep in five minutes.

 She slept for just over an hour and when she 
wakened Gerard was there, staring down at her, 
his blue eyes blazing from a white face. She 
wondered, only half awake, why he looked so 
furiously angry, and then remembered where 
she was.

 She exclaimed unhappily: 'Oh, dear—were 
you home after all? But I did tell them not to 
telephone the house...'

 'I was telephoned at Arnhem. How do 
you feel?'

 Deborah ignored that. 'The fools,' she said 
crossly, 'I told them you were busy, that there 
was no need to bother you.'

 'They quite rightly ignored such a foolish 
remark. How do you feel?' he repeated.

 She swung her legs off the couch to let him 
see just how normal she was. 'Perfectly all right, 
thank you—such a fuss about nothing.' She 
gulped suddenly. 'I'm so sorry, Gerard, I've 


182 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

made you angry, haven't I? You didn't have to 
give up the case or anything awful like that?'

 His grim mouth relaxed into the faintest of 
smiles. 'No—I had intended returning home 
this evening, anyway. And I am not angry.'

 She eyed him uncertainly. 'You look...' She 
wasn't sure how he looked; probably he was 
tired after a long-drawn-out operation. She 
forced her voice to calm. 'I'm perfectly able 
to go home now, Gerard, if that's convenient 

for you.' 
He said slowly, studying his hands: 'Is that 
how you think of me? As someone whose 
wishes come before everything else? Who 
doesn't give a damn when his wife is almost 
killed—a heartless tyrant?' 
She was sitting on the side of the couch, conscious 
that her hair was an untidy mop halfway 
down her neck and that she had lost the heel of 
a shoe and her stockings were laddered. 'You're 
not a heartless tyrant,' she protested hotly. 
'You're not—you're a kind and considerate 
husband. Can't you see that's why I hate to 
hinder you in any way? It's the least I can do— 
I'd rather die...' 
She had said too much, she realized that 
too late. 
'Just what do you mean by that?' he asked 
her sharply. 
Deborah opened her mouth, not having any 
idea what to say and was saved from making 
matters worse by the entry of the Casualty 
Officer, eager to know if she felt up to going 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 183

 home and obviously pleased with himself

 because he had come under the notice of one of

 the most eminent consultants in the hospital and

 treated his wife to boot. He was a worthy young

 man, his thoughts were written clearly on his

 face, Deborah thanked him cordially and was 
pleased when Gerard added his own thanks with 
a warmth to make the young man flush with 
pleasure. She hadn't realized that Gerard was 
held in such veneration by the hospital staff; the 
things she didn't know about him were so many 
that it was a little frightening—certainly they 
were seen to the entrance by an imposing 
number of people.

 The BMW was parked right in front of the 
steps; anyone else, she felt sure would have been 
ordered to move their car, for no one could get 
near the entrance, but no one seemed to find 
anything amiss. Gerard helped her in and she 
sat back with a sigh. As he drove through the 
hospital gateway she said apologetically: 'The 
police said they would take the Fiat away and 
they'd let you know about it. It—it's a bit 
battered.'

 'It can be scrapped.' His voice was curt. 'I'll 
get you a new car.'

 That was all he said on the way home and 
she could think of nothing suitable to talk about 
herself. Besides, her head had begun to ache. 
Wim and Marijke were both hovering in the hall 
when they got in. Gerard said something to them 
in Dutch and Marijke came forward, talking 
volubly. 


184 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 
'Marijke will help you to bed,' Gerard 
explained. 'I suggest that you have something 
to eat there and then get a good sleep—you'll 
feel quite the thing by the morning.' His searching 
eyes rested for a brief, professional minute 

on her face. 'You have a headache, I daresay, 
I'll give you something for that presently. Go 
up to bed now.'

 She would have liked to have disputed his 
order, but when she considered it, bed was the 
one place where she most wanted to be. She 
thanked him in a subdued voice and went 
upstairs, Marijke in close attendance.

 She wasn't hungry, she discovered, when she 
was tucked up against her pillows and Marijke 
had brought in a tray of soup and chicken. She 
took a few mouthfuls, put the tray on the side 
table and lay back and closed her eyes, to open

 them at once as Gerard came in after the most

 perfunctory of knocks. He walked over to the

 bed, took her pulse, studied the bruises begin


ning to show on her arm, and then stood looking

 down at her with the expression she imagined

 he must wear when he was examining his

 patients—a kind of reserved kindliness.

 'You've not eaten anything,' he observed.

 'I'm not very hungry.'

 He nodded, shook some pills out of the box

 he held, fetched water from the carafe on the

 table and said: 'Swallow these down—they'll

 take care of that headache and send you

 to sleep.' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 185

 She did as she was bid and lay back again 
against the pillows. 
'Ten minutes?' she wanted to know. 'Pills 
always seem to take so long to work.'

 'Then we might as well talk while we're waiting,' 
he said easily, and sat down on the end of 
the bed. 'Tell me, what is all this about Sien? 
Wim tells me that you went up to Domwier 
because she had cut her hand.'

 'Yes—the doctor wasn't there and it sounded 
as though it might have needed a stitch or two— 
she had six, actually. I—I thought you would 
want me to look after her as you weren't home.'

 He took her hand lying on the coverlet and 
his touch was gentle. 'Yes, of course that was 
exactly what I should have wanted you to do, 
Deborah. Was it a bad cut?'

 She told him; she told him about their visit 
to the hospitalat Leeuwarden too, adding: 'They 
knew you quite well there—I didn't know. ..' 
There was such a lot she didn't know, she 
thought wearily. 'I got the doctor there to find 
out if Sien had any friends or family—I fetched 
her niece, they seemed quite happy together.' 
She blinked huge, drowsy eyes. 'I forgot—I 
said I would telephone and make sure that Sien 
was all right. Could someone...?'

 'I'll see to it. Thank you, my dear. What a 
competent girl you are, but you always were in 
theatre and you're just as reliable now.'

 She was really very sleepy, but she had to 
answer that. 'No, I'm not. I bought that terribly 
expensive dress just to annoy you—and what 


186 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

about Claude? Have you forgotten him? You 
thought I was quite unreliable with him, 
didn't you?'

 She was aware that her tongue was running 
away with her, but she seemed unable to help 
herself. 'Don't you know that I...?' She fell 
asleep, just in time.

 She was perfectly all right in the morning 
except for a badly discoloured arm. All the 
same, Marijke brought her breakfast up on a 
tray with the injunction, given with motherly 
sternness, to eat it up, and she was closely followed 
by Gerard, who wished her a placid good 
morning and cast a quick eye over her. 'I've 
told Wim,' he said as he was leaving after the 
briefest of stays, 'that if anyone telephones 
about the Fiat that he is to refer them to me. 
And by the way, Sien is quite all right. I telephoned 
last night and again this morning. She 
sends her respects.'

 Deborah smiled. 'How very old-fashioned 
that sounds, and how nice! But she's a nice 
person, isn't she? I can't wait to learn a little of , 
her language so that we can really talk.'

 He smiled. 'She would like that. But first 
your Dutch—it's coming along very nicely, 
Deborah—your grammar is a little wild, but 
your accent is impeccable.'

 She flushed with pleasure. 'Oh, do you really 
mean that? Professor de Wit is so loath to praise. 
I sometimes feel that I'm making no headway 
at all.' She smiled at him. 'I'm glad you're 
pleased.' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 187

 He opened the door without answering her. 
'I shouldn't do too much today,' was all he said 
as he went.

 If he had been there for her to say it to, she 
would have told him that she didn't do too much 
anyway because there was nothing for her to 
do, but that would have sounded ungrateful; he 
had given her everything she could possibly 

want—a lovely home, clothes'beyond her wildest 
dreams, a car, an allowance which she 
secretly felt was far too generous—all these, 

and none of them worth a cent without his love 
and interest. She had sometimes wondered idly 
what the term 'an empty life' had meant. Now 
she knew, although it wouldn't be empty if he 
loved her; then everything which they did would 
be shared—the dinner parties, the concerts, the 
visits to friends, just as he would share the 
burden of his work with her. Deborah sighed 
and got out of bed and went to look out of the 
window. It was a cold, clear morning. She got 
dressed and presently telephoned Adelaide van 
Essen and invited her round for coffee.

 It was two days later that Deborah mentioned 
at breakfast that she had never seen Gerard's 
consulting rooms and, to her surprise, was 
invited to visit them that very day.

 'I shan't be there,' he explained with his usual 
courtesy. 'I don't see patients there on a 
Thursday afternoon—it's my heavy afternoon 
list at the Grotehof, but go along by all means. 
Trudi, my secretary, will be there—her English 
is just about as good as your Dutch, so you 


188 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

should get on very well together.'

 He had left soon afterwards, leaving her a 
prey to a variety of feelings, not the least of 
which was the sobering one that he had shown 
no visible regret at not being able to take her 
himself. Still, it would be something to do.

 She went after lunch, in a new tweed suit 
because the sun was shining, albeit weakly. She 
was conscious that she looked rather dishy and 
consoled herself with the thought that at last she 
was being allowed to see another small, very 
small, facet of Gerard's life.

 The consulting rooms were within walking 
distance, in a quiet square lined with tall' brick 
houses, almost all of which had brass plates on 
their doors—a kind of Dutch Harley Street, she 
gathered, and found Gerard's name quickly 
enough. His rooms were on the first floor and

 Deborah was impressed by their unobtrusive

 luxury; pale grey carpet, solid, comfortable

 chairs, small tables with flowers, and in one

 corner a desk where Trudi sat.

 Trudi was young and pretty and dressed dis


creetly in grey to match the carpet. She

 welcomed Deborah a little nervously in an

 English as bad as her Dutch and showed her

 round, leaving Gerard's own room till last. It

 too was luxurious, deliberately comfortable and

 relaxing so that the patient might feel at ease.

 She smiled and nodded as Trudi rattled on, not

 liking to ask too many questions because, as

 Gerard's wife, she should already know the

 answers. They had a cup of tea together pres



 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 189 

ently and because Trudi kept looking anxiously 

at the clock, Deborah got up to go. Probably the 

poor girl had a great deal of work to do before 

she could leave. She was halfway across the 

sea of carpet when the door opened and Claude 

came in. She was so surprised that she came to 

a halt, her mouth open, but even in her surprise 

she saw that he was taken aback, annoyed too. 

He cast a lightning glance at Trudi and then 
back to Deborah. 'Hullo, my beauty,' he said.

 She ignored that. 'What are you doing here?' 
she demanded, 'I'm quite sure that Gerard 
doesn't know. What do you want?'

 He still looked shaken, although he replied 
airily enough. 'Oh, nothing much. Trudi has 
something for me, haven't you, darling?'

 The girl looked so guilty that Deborah felt 
sorry for her. 'Yes—yes, I have. It's downstairs, 
I'll get it.'

 She fled through the door leaving Deborah 
frowning at Claude's now smiling face. 'What 
are you up to?' she wanted to know.

 'I?' he smiled even more widely. 'My dear 
girl, nothing. Surely I can come and see my 
friends without you playing the schoolmarm 
over me?'

 'But this is Gerard's office...'

 'We do meet in the oddest places, don't we?' 
He came a step nearer. 'Jealous, by any chance? 
Gerard would never dream of looking for us 
here...'

 'You underestimate my powers,' said Gerard 
in a dangerously quiet voice. 'And really, this 


190 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

time, Claude, my patience is exhausted.'

 He had been standing in the open doorway. 
Now he crossed the room without haste, 
knocked Claude down in a businesslike fashion, 
picked him up again and frogmarched him 
out of the room. Deborah, ice-cold with the 
unexpectedness of it all, listened to the muddle 
of feet going down the stairs. It sounded as 
though Claude was having difficulty in keeping 
his balance. The front door was shut with quiet 
finality and Gerard came back upstairs. He 
looked as placid as usual and yet quite mur


derous. 
'Is this why you wanted to visit these rooms?'

 he asked silkily. 
She had never seen him look like that before.

 'No, you know that.'

 'Why is Trudi not here?'

 'Trudi?' She had forgotten the girl, she hadn't 
the least idea where she had gone. 'She went to 
fetch something for Claude—he didn't say what

 it was.' 
'She is downstairs, very upset,' he informed 
her coldly. 'She told me that she hadn't been 
expecting anyone else—only you.' 
Deborah gaped at him. 'She said that? But...' 
But what, she thought frantically—perhaps 
what Trudi had said was true, perhaps she hadn't 
expected Claude. But on the other hand he had 
told her that he had come to fetch something 
and that Trudi was an old friend. 
'Oh, please, do let me try and explain,' 
she begged, and met with a decided: 'No, 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 191 

Deborah—there is really no need.'

 She stared at him wordlessly. No, she supposed, 
of course there was no need: his very 
indifference made that plain enough. It just 
didn't matter; she didn't matter either. She 
closed her eyes on the bitter thought, all the 
more bitter because she had thought, just once 
or twice lately, that she was beginning to matter 
just a little to him.

 She opened her eyes again and went past him 
and down the stairs. Trudi was in the hall. 
Deborah gave her a look empty of all expression 
and opened the door on to the square. It looked 
peaceful and quiet under the late afternoon sky, 
but she didn't notice that; she didn't notice 
anything.

 Once in the house, she raced up to her room 
and dragged out a case and started to stuff it 
with clothes. There was money in her purse, 
enough to get her to England—she couldn't go 
home, not just yet at any rate, not until she had 
sorted her thoughts out. She would go to Aunt, 
Mary; her remote house by Hadrian's Wall was 
exactly the sort of place she wanted—a long, 
long way from Amsterdam, and Gerard.

 She was on her way downstairs with her case 
when the front door opened and Gerard came in. 
He shut it carefully and stood with his back to it.

 'I must talk to you, Deborah,' his voice was 
quiet and compelling. 'There's plenty of time if 
you're going for the night boat train. I'll drive 
you to the station—if you still want to go.'

 Deborah swept across the hall, taking no 


192 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

notice, but at the door, of course, she was forced 
to stop; only then did she say: 'I'll get a taxi, 
thank you—perhaps you will let me pass.'

 'No, I won't, my dear. You'll stay and hear 
what I have to say. Afterwards, if you still wish 
it, you shall go. But first I must explain.' He 
took the case from her and set it on the floor 
and then went back to lean against the door. 
'Deborah, I have been very much at fault—I'm 
not sure what I thought when I saw Claude this 

afternoon. I only know that I was more angry 
than I have ever been before in my life, and my 
anger blinded me. After you had gone Trudi told 

me the truth—that Claude had come to see her. 
She is going to Nice with him, but they had 

planned it otherwise—I was to know nothing 
about it until I arrived in the morning and found 
a letter from her on my desk.' He smiled thinly. 
'It seems that since Claude could not have my 
wife, he must make do with my secretary. None 
of this is an excuse for my treatment of you, 
Deborah, for which I am both ashamed and 
sorry. What would you like to do?'

 'Go away,' said Deborah, her voice thick with 
tears she would rather have died than shed. 'I've 
an aunt—if I could go and stay with her, just 
for a little while, just to—to.. .I've not been 
much of a success—I'd do better to go back to

 my old job.' 
He said urgently: 'No, that's not true. No man 
could have had a more loyal and understanding 
wife. It is I who have failed you and I am only 
just beginning to see.. .perhaps we could start 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 193 

again. You really want to go?' He paused and 
went on briskly: 'Come then, I'll take you to 
the station.'

 If only he would say that he would miss her— 
She thought of a dozen excuses for staying and 
came up with the silliest. 'What about your 
dinner, and Wim—and Sien?'

 'I'll see to everything,' he told her comfortably. 
'You're sure that you have enough clothes 
with you?'

 Deborah looked at him in despair; he was 
relieved that she was going. She nodded without 
speaking, having not the least idea what she had 
packed and not caring, and followed him out to 
the car. At the station he bought her ticket, 
stuffed some money into her handbag and saw 
her on to the train. She thought her heart would 
break as it slid silently away from the platform, 
leaving him standing there.

 By the time she reached Aunt Mary's she was 
tired out and so unhappy that nothing mattered 
at all any more. She greeted her surprised 
relation with a story in which fact and fiction 
were so hopelessly jumbled together that they 
made no sense at all, and then burst into tears. 
She felt better after that and Aunt Mary being 
a sensible woman not given to asking silly questions, 
she was led to the small bedroom at the 
back of the little house, told to unpack, given a 
nourishing meal and ordered with mild authority 
to go to bed and sleep the clock round. Which 
she did, to wake to the firm conviction that she 
had been an utter fool to leave Gerard—perhaps 


194 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 
he wouldn't want her back; he'd positively 
encouraged her to go, hadn't he? Could he be 
in love with some girl at long last and wish to 
put an end to their marriage and she not there 
to stop, if she were able, such nonsense? The 
idea so terrified her that she jumped out of bed 
and dressed at a great speed as though that would 
help in some way, but when she got downstairs 
and Aunt Mary took one look at her strained 
face, she said: 'You can't rush things, my dear, 
nor must you imagine things. Now all you need 
is patience, for although I'm not clear exactly 
what the matter is, you can be certain that it will 
all come right in the end if only you will give 
it time. Now go for a good long walk and come 
back with an appetite.' 
Aunt Mary was right, of course. After three 
days of long walks, gentle talk over simple 
meals and the dreamless sleep her tiredness 
induced, Deborah began to feel better; she was 
still dreadfully unhappy, but at least she could 
be calm about it now. It would have been nice 
to have given way to tears whenever she thought 
about Gerard, which was every minute of the 
day, but that would not do, she could see that 
without Aunt Mary telling her so. In a day or two 
she would write a letter to him, asking him—she

 didn't know what she would ask him; perhaps 
inspiration would come when she picked up 
her pen.


 The weather changed on the fourth day; layers 
of low cloud covered the moors, the heather lost 
its colour, the empty countryside looked almost 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 195 

frightening. There was next to no traffic on the 
road any more and even the few cottages which 
could be seen from Aunt Mary's windows had 
somehow merged themselves into the moorland 
around them so that they were almost invisible. 
But none of these things were reasons to miss 
her walk. She set off after their midday meal, 
with strict instructions to be back for tea and on 
no account to go off the road in case the mist 
should come down.

 Sound advice which Deborah forgot momentarily 
when she saw an old ruined cottage some 
way from the road. It looked interesting, and 
without thinking, she tramped across the heather 
towards it. It was disappointing enough when 
she reached it, being nothing but an empty shell, 
but there was a dip beyond it with a small 
dewpond. She walked on to have a closer look 
and then wandered on, quite forgetful of her 
aunt's words. She had gone quite a distance 
when she saw the mist rolling towards her. She 
thought at first that it must be low-lying clouds 
which would sweep away, but it was mist, creeping 
forward at a great rate, sneaking up on her, 
thickening with every yard. She had the good 
sense to turn towards the road before it enveloped 
her entirely, but by then it was too late to 
see where she was going.

 Shivering a little in its sudden chill, she sat 
down; probably it would lift very shortly. If she 
stayed where she was she would be quite safe. 
It would be easy to get back to the road as soon 
as she could see her way. It got too cold to sit 


196 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

after a time, so she got to her feet, stamping 
them and clapping her hands and trying to keep 
in one spot. And it was growing dark too; a little 
thread of fear ran through her head—supposing 
the mist lasted all night? It was lonely country— 
a few sheep, no houses within shouting distance, 
and the road she guessed to be a good mile 
away. She called herself a fool and stamped her 

feet some more. 
It was quite dark and the mist was at its 
densest when she heard voices. At first she told 
herself that she was imagining things, but they 
became louder as they drew closer—children's 
voices, all talking at once. 
'Hullo there!' she shouted, and was greeted 
by silence. 'Don't be frightened, I'm by myself 
and lost too. Shall we try and get together?' 
This time there was a babble of sound from 
all around her. 'We're lost too.' The voice was 
on a level with her waist. 'Miss Smith went to 
get help, but it got dark and we started to walk. 
We're holding hands.' 
'Who are you, and how many?' asked 
Deborah. Someone small brushed against her 
and a cold little hand found her arm. 'Oh, there 
you are,' it said tearfully. 'We're so glad to find 
someone—it's so dark. We're a school botany 
class from St Julian's, only Miss Smith lost the 
way and when the mist came she thought it 
would be quicker if she went for help. She told 
us to stay where we were, but she didn't come 
back and we got frightened.' The voice ended 
on a sob and Deborah caught the hand in her 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 197

 own and said hearteningly: 'Well, how lucky

 we've met—now we're together we've nothing

 to be afraid of. How many are there of you?'

 'Eight—we're still holding hands.'

 'How very sensible of you. May I hold hands

 too, then we can tell each other our names.'

 There was a readjustment in the ranks of the

 little girls; the circle closed in on her. Deborah 
guessed that they were scared stiff and badly 
needed her company. 'Who's the eldest of you?' 
she enquired.

 'Doreen—she's eleven.'

 'Splendid!' What was so splendid about being 
eleven? she thought, stifling a giggle. 'I expect 
the mist will lift presently and we shall be able 
to walk to the road. It's not far.'

 'It's miles,' said a plaintive voice so that 
Deborah went on cheerfully, 'Not really, and 
I can find it easily. My name's Deborah, by 
the way. How about stamping our feet to 
keep warm?'

 They stamped until they were tired out. 
Deborah, getting a little desperate, suggested: 
'Let's sit down. I know it's a bit damp, but if 
we keep very close to each other we shall keep 
warm enough. Let's sing.'

 The singing was successful, if a little out of 
tune. They worked their way through 'This old 
man, he played one', the School Song, 'Rule 
Britannia' and a selection of the latest pop tunes. 
It was while they were getting their breath after 
these musical efforts that Deborah heard a shout. 
It was a nice, cheerful sound, a loud hullo in a 


198 STARS THROUGH THE MIST. 

man's voice, answered immediately by a ragged 
and very loud chorus of mixed screams and 
shouts from the little girls.

 'Oh, that won't do at all,' said Deborah 
quickly. 'He'll get confused. We must all shout 
together at the same time. Everyone call 
"Here" when I've counted three.'

 The voice answered them after a few 
moments, sometimes tantalizingly close, sometimes 
at a distance. After what seemed a long 
time, Deborah saw a faint glow ahead of them. A 
torch. 'Walk straight ahead,' she yelled, 'you're 
quite close.'

 The glow got brighter, wavering from side to 
side and going far too slowly. 'Come on,' she 
shouted, 'you're almost here!'

 The faint glow from the torch was deceptive 
in the mist, for the next thing she knew Gerard

 was saying from the gloom above her head, 'A

 fine healthy pair of lungs, dear girl—I've never

 been so glad to hear your voice, though I'm glad

 you don't always bellow like that.'

 Surprise almost choked her. 'Gerard! Gerard,

 is it really you? How marvellous—how could

 you possibly know...'

 'Your Aunt Mary told me that you had gone

 for a walk and it seemed a good idea to drive

 along the road to meet you. When the mist got

 too thick I parked the car, and then it was I

 heard these brats squealing,' there were muffled

 giggles to interrupt him here, 'and I collected

 them as I came.' 
'You haven't got the botany class from 



 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 199 

St Julian's too?' she gasped. 'You can't have— 
I've got them here.'

 'Indeed I have—or a part of it. A Miss Smith 
went for help and left them bunched together, 
but being the little horrors they are, they 
wandered off.'

 'There aren't any missing?'

 'No—we counted heads, as it were. Seven 
young ladies—very young ladies.'

 Deborah had found his arm and was clutching 
it as though he might disappear at any moment. 
'I've got eight of them here. What must we do, 
Gerard?'

 'Why, my dear, stay here until the mist goes 
again. The car is up on the road, once we can 
reach it I can get you all back to Twice Brewed 
in no time at all.' He sounded so matter-of-fact 
about it that she didn't feel frightened any more. 
'Your aunt has got everything organised by' 
now, I imagine. She seemed to be a remarkably 
resourceful woman.' His hand sought and found 
hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 'In the 
meantime, I suggest that we all keep together, 
and don't let any of you young ladies dare to 
let go of hands. Supposing we sit?'

 There was a good deal of giggling and a tremendous 
amount of shuffling and shoving and 
pushing before everyone was settled, sitting in 
a tight circle. Deborah, with Gerard's great bulk 
beside her, felt quite light-hearted, and the children, 
although there was a good deal of whining 
for something to eat, cheered up too, so that for 
a time at least, there was a buzz of talk, but 


200 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

gradually the shrill voices died down until there 
was silence and, incredibly, she dozed too, to 
wake shivering a little with the cold despite the 
arm around her shoulders. She whispered at 
once in a meek voice: 'I didn't mean to go to 
sleep, I'm sorry,' and felt the reassuring pressure 
of Gerard's hand.

 'Not to worry. I think they have all nodded 
off, but we had better have a roll-call when they 
wake to be on the safe side.'

 'Yes. I wonder what the time is, it's so 
very dark.' 
'Look up,' he urged her, quietly. 'Above 
our heads.' 
By some freak of nature the mist had parted 
itself, revealing a patch of inky sky, spangled 
with stars. 'Oh, lovely!' breathed Deborah. 
'Only they don't seem real.'

 'Of course they're real,' his whisper was 
bracing. 'It's the mist which isn't real. The stars 
have been there all the time, and always will be, 
only sometimes we don't see them—rather like 
life.' He sighed and she wondered what he 
meant. 'You see that bright one, the second star 
from the right?'

 She said that yes, she could see it very well.

 'That's our star,' he told her surprisingly, and 
when she repeated uncertainly 'Ours?' he went 
on: 'Do you not know that for every star in the 
heavens there is a man and a woman whose 
destinies are ruled by it? Perhaps they never 
meet, perhaps they meet too late or too soon, 
but just once in a while they meet at exactly the 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 201 

right moment and their destinies and their lives 

become one.'

 In the awful, silent dark, anything would 
sound true; Deborah allowed herself a brief 
dream in which she indeed shared her destiny 
with Gerard, dispelled it by telling herself that 
the mist was making her fanciful, and whispered 
back: 'How do you know it's our star—it's 
ridiculous.'

 'Of course it's ridiculous,' he agreed affably, 
and so readily that she actually felt tears of disappointment 
well into her eyes. 'But it's a 
thought that helps to pass the time, isn't it? Go 
to sleep again.'

 And such was the calm confidence in his 
voice that she did as she was told, to waken in 
the bitter cold of the autumn dawn to an unhappy 
chorus of little girls wanting their mothers, their 
breakfasts, and to go home. Deborah was 
engulfed in them with no ears for anything else 
until she heard watery giggles coming from 
Gerard's other side, and his voice, loud and 
cheerful, declaring that they were all going to 
jump up and down and every few minutes 
bellow like mad. 'It's getting light; there will be 
people about soon.' He sounded quite positive 
about that. So they jumped and shouted, and 
although the mist was as thick as it ever was, at 
least they got warm, and surely any minute now 
the mist would roll away.

 It did no such thing, however. They shouted 
themselves hoarse, but there was no reply from 
the grey blanket around them. First one child 


202 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

and then another began to cry, and Deborah, 
desperately trying to instil a false cheer into her 
small unhappy companions, could hear Gerard 
doing the same, with considerably more success 
so that she found herself wondering where she 
had got the erroneous idea that he wasn't particularly 
keen on children. She remembered all 
at once what he had said about Sasja who hadn't 
wanted babies—the hurt must have gone deep. 
It seemed to her vital to talk about it even at so 
unsuitable a time and she was on the point of 
doing so when the mist folded itself up and 
disappeared. It was hard not to laugh; the little 
girls were still gathered in a tight circle, clutching 
each other's hands. They were white-faced 
and puffy-eyed, each dressed in the school uniform 
of St Julian's—grey topcoats and round 
grey hats with brims, anchored to their small 
heads by elastic under their chins. Some of them 
even had satchels over their shoulders and most 
of the hats were a little too large and highly 
unbecoming.

 There was an excited shout as they all stood 
revealed once more and a tendency to break 
away until Gerard shouted to them to keep 
together still. 'A fine lot we would look,' he 
pointed out good-naturedly, 'if the mist comes 
back and we all get lost again.' He looked round 
at Deborah and smiled. 'We'll hold hands again, 
don't you think, and make for the road.'

 They were half way there when they saw the 
search party—the local police, several farmers 
and the quite distraught Miss Smith who, when 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 203 

they met, burst into tears, while her botany class, 

with a complete lack of feeling for her distress 

and puffed up with a great sense of importance, 

told everyone severally and in chorus just how 

brave and resourceful they had been. It took a 

few minutes to sort them into the various cars 

and start the short journey to St Julian's.

 Deborah found herself sitting beside Gerard, 
with four of the smallest children crammed in 
the back. She was weary and untidy, but when 
he suggested he should drop her off at Aunt 
Mary's as they went past, she refused.

 On their way back from the school she began. 
'How did...?' and was stopped by a quiet: 'Not 
now, dear girl, a hot bath and breakfast first.'

 So it was only when they had breakfasted and 
she was sitting drowsily before a roaring fire in 
Aunt Mary's comfortable sitting room that she 
tried again. 'How did you know that I was here?'

 'I telephoned your mother.'

 'Oh—did she ask—that is, did she 
wonder...' 
'If she did, she said nothing. Your mother is 
a wise woman, Deborah.'

 'Why did you come?'

 He was lying back, very much at his ease, in 
a high-backed chair, his eyes half shut. 'I felt I 
needed a break from work, it seemed a good 
idea to bring the car over and see if you were 
ready to come back.' He added: 'Smith is breaking 
his heart—think about it. Why not go to bed 
now, and get a few hours' sleep?'

 Deborah got up silently. Smith might be 


204 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

breaking his doggy heart, but what about 
Gerard? There was no sign of even a crack; he 
was his usual calm, friendly self again, and no 
more. She went up to her little room and slept 
for hours, and when she came downstairs Aunt 
Mary was waiting for her.

 'I told you to have patience, Debby,' she 
remarked with satisfaction. 'Everything will 
come right without you lifting a finger, mark 
my words.'

 So when Gerard came in from the garden 
presently, she told him that she was ready to. go 
back with him when he wished. She woke 
several times in the night and wondered, despite 
Aunt Mary's certainty, if she had made the right 
decision. 


 CHAPTER NINE 

IT was two days before they returned to 
Amsterdam, two days during which Gerard, 
who had become firm friends with Aunt Mary, 
dug the garden, chopped wood and did odd jobs 
around the house, as well as driving the two 
ladies into Carlisle to do some shopping.

 They left after lunch, to catch the Hull ferry 
that evening, and Deborah, who had been alternately 
dreading and longing for an hour or so 
of Gerard's company, with the vague idea of 
offering to part with him and the even vaguer 
hope that he would tell her how much he had 
missed her, was forced to sit beside him in the 
car while he sustained a conversation about 
Aunt Mary, the beauties of the moors, the charm 
of the small girls they had met and the excellence 
of his hostess's cooking. Each time 
Deborah tried to bring the conversation round 
to themselves he somehow baulked her efforts; 
in the end, she gave up, and when they reached 
Hull, what with getting the car on board, arranging 
to have dinner and their cabins, there wasn't 
much need to talk. Quite frustrated, she pleaded 
a headache directly they had finished dinner and 
retired to her cabin. She joined him for an early 
breakfast, though, because he had asked her to; 
he had, he told her, an appointment quite early

 205 


206 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

in the morning at the hospital and didn't wish 
to waste any time.

 He talked pleasantly as they took the road to 
Amsterdam and Deborah did her best to match 
his mood, but at the house he didn't come in 
with her, only unloaded her case and waited 
until Wim had opened the door before he drove 
away. She followed Wim inside. Gerard hadn't 
said when he would be home, nor had he spoken 
of themselves. She spent a restless day until he 
came home soon after tea and, as usual, went to 

his study. But before he could reach the door 

she was in the hall, a dozen things she wanted 

to say buzzing in her head. In the end she asked 

foolishly: 'What about Trudi? Did you get 

someone to take her place?'

 He had halted and stood looking at her with 
raised eyebrows. 'Oh, yes—a middle-aged married 
woman, very sober and conscientious. You

 must go and see her for yourself some day.'

 Deborah was left standing in the hall, her

 mouth open in surprise. Did he suppose her to

 be jealous of something absurd like that? She

 mooned back into the sitting room. Smith at her

 heels. Of course she was jealous; he filled her

 with rage, he was exasperating and indifferent,

 but she was still jealous. She would have to cure

 that, she told herself sternly, if she was to have

 any peace of mind in the future—the uncertain

 future, she had to allow, and wondered why

 Gerard had wanted her back. But if she had

 hoped to see a change in his manner towards

 her, she was doomed to disappointment. He was 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 207 
a quiet man by nature, he seemed to her to be 
even quieter now, and sometimes she caught 
him staring at her in a thoughtful manner; it was 
a pity that his habit of drooping the lids over his 
eyes prevented her from seeing their expression. 
There was no hint of a return of those few 
strange moments on the moor; they had been 
make-believe, she told herself, and took pains 
to take up the smooth, neat pattern of their life 
together as though it had never been ruffled out 
of its perfection. 
She visited his family, arranged a dinner party 
for a medical colleague who was coming from 
Vienna and bought yet another new dress to 
wear at it. It was a very pretty dress, fine wool 
in soft greens and pinks, with a wide skirt. It 
would go very well with Tante Emmiline's garnets 
and perhaps, she hoped wistfully, Gerard 
might notice it. She hung it carefully in her 
clothes cupboard and went to get ready for the 
orphans' hour and for a number of muddled but 
sincere reasons, took almost every penny of her 
remaining allowance and when she reached the 
orphanage gate, stuffed the money into the alms 
box hung upon it, accompanying the action with 
a hotch-potch of wordless prayers—and later, 
when one of them was answered, took fresh 
heart. For Gerard noticed the new dress; indeed, 
he stood looking at her for so long that she 
became a little shy under his steady gaze and 
asked in a brittle little voice: 'Is there something 
wrong? Don't you like my dress?' She achieved 


208 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

a brittle laugh too. 'A pity, because it's too late 
to change it now.'

 His eyes narrowed and a little smile just 
touched the corners of his mouth. 'Far too late, 
Deborah,' he said quietly, 'and I wouldn't 

change a single. . .' his voice altered subtly. 
'The dress is delightful and you look charming.' 
He turned away as he spoke and the oldfashioned 
door bell tinkled through the house. 
'Our guests, my dear. Shall we go and 

meet them?'

 The other prayers must have become mislaid 
on'the way, thought Deborah miserably as she 
got ready for bed later that evening, for when 
their guests had gone Gerard had told her that 
he would be going to Vienna for a five-day 

seminar in a day's time. When he had asked her 

if she would like him to bring back anything for 

her she had replied woodenly that no, there was 

nothing, thank you, and made some gratuitous 

remark about a few days of peace and quiet and 

now was her chance to take the new Fiat and

 go and see Abigail, who was still in Friesland.

 Gerard had paused before he spoke. 'Why

 not?' he agreed affably, and looked up from

 the letters he was scanning. 'When is the baby

 due—several months, surely.'

 'Almost six. I've knitted a few things, I'll

 take them with me.'

 He nodded and went to open the door for

 her. 'Good idea.' He patted her kindly on the

 shoulder as she passed him. 'Sleep well, my 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 209 

dear,' and as an afterthought: 'I had no idea that 
you could knit.'

 The pansy eyes smouldered. 'It's something 
I do while you're away or working in your study. 
I get through quite an amount.' Her voice was 
very even and she added a pleasant: 'Good 
night, Gerard.'

 She didn't see him at breakfast, although he 
had left a scribbled note by her plate saying that 
he would be home for lunch—not later than one 
o'clock.

 But it was later than that, it was six in the 
evening. She had eaten her lunch alone, telling 
herself that was what being a surgeon's wife 
meant; something she had known about and 
expected; it happened to all doctors' wives— 
the young houseman's bride, the GP's lady, the 
consultant's wife, they all had to put up with it 
and so would she, only in their cases, a shared 
love made it easier. Deborah sighed, and loving 
him so much, hoped with all her heart that he, 
at least, was satisfied with their marriage. 
Apparently no more was to be said about Claude 
or any of the events connected with him, and in 
any case it was too late for recriminations 
now—besides, she wasn't sure if she had any; 
living with him, in the house he loved and which 
she had come to love too, was infinitely better 
than never seeing him again.

 She was in the garden playing with Smith 
when he joined her. He looked weary and a little 
grim and she said at once: 'I've a drink ready 
for you—come inside,' and then because she 


210 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

couldn't bear to see him looking like that: 'Must 
you go tomorrow, Gerard? Is it important?'

 He took the glass from her and-smiled in a 
way which somehow disturbed her. 'Yes, 
Deborah, I think it's very important—I have 
to be sure of something, you see. It involves 
someone else besides myself.'

 An icy finger touched her heart and she turned 
away from him. 'Oh, well, I'll telephone 
Abigail.'

 'I thought you had already arranged to 
visit her.'

 'No—it had quite slipped my mind,' she 
improvised hastily, because the reason she 
hadn't telephoned was because she had hoped, 
right until this last moment, that he might suggest 
her going with him, but he wouldn't do that 
now. Hadn't he said that there was someone 
else? She wondered if he had meant a patient 
and very much doubted it. She telephoned 
Abigail there and then, being very gay about it.

 She wished Gerard a cheerful goodbye after 
breakfast the next morning and after a fine storm 
of weeping in her room afterwards, dressed herself 
and drove the car to Friesland where she 
received a delighted welcome from Abigail and 
Dominic. They had come out to meet her, walking 
together, not touching, but so wrapped 
together in happiness so secure and deep that 
she could almost see it. For a moment she 
wished she hadn't come, but later, laughing and 
talking in their comfortable sitting room, it 
wasn't so bad. Indeed the day went too quickly. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 21 

Driving back Deborah contemplated the four 

days left before Gerard should come back. There 

was, of course, the orphans' hour, but that 
wasn't until Thursday. She would have to fill 
the days somehow. She spent the rest of the 
journey devising a series of jobs which would 
keep her occupied for the next day or two.

 She was a little early when she got to the 
orphanage on Thursday evening, but although 
it still wanted five minutes to the hour, the children 
were already assembled in the long, bare 
room. At least, thought Deborah, as she took 
off her coat and prepared for the next hour's 
boisterous games, the evening would pass 
quickly, and the next day Gerard would be back. 
She longed to see him, just as she dreaded his 
return, wondering what he would have to tell 
her, or perhaps he would have nothing to say, 
and that would be even harder to bear.

 She turned to the task in hand, greeting the 
children by name as they milled around her, 
separating the more belligerent bent on the 
inevitable fight, picking up and soothing those 
who, just as inevitably, had fallen down and 
were now howling their eyes out. Within five 
minutes, however, she had a rousing game of 
'Hunt the Slipper' going—a hot favourite with 
the orphans because it allowed a good deal of 
legitimate screaming and running about. This 
was followed by 'Twos and Threes'. A good 
deal of discreet cheating went on here; the very 
small ones, bent on getting there first, were 
prone to fall on their stomachs and bawl until 


212 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

Deborah raced to pick them up and carry them 
in triumph to the coveted place in the circle.

 There was a pause next, during which she did 
her best to tidy her hair which had escaped most 
of its pins and hung most untidily around her 
shoulders. But it took too long, besides, there 
was no one to see—the children didn't care and 
she certainly didn't. 'Grandmother's Steps' was 
to be the final game of the evening, and 
Deborah, her face to the wall, listened to the 
stampede of what the orphans imagined were 
their creeping little feet and thanked heaven that 
there was no one below them or close by. She 
looked over her shoulder, pretending not to see 
the hasty scramble of the slower children to 
achieve immobility, and turned to the wall 
again. Once. more, she decided, and then she 
would declare them all out and bring the game 
to a satisfactory conclusion.

 She counted ten silently and turned round. 
'All of you,' she began in her fragmental Dutch 
which the children understood so well. 'You're 
out.. .1 saw you move...' Her voice died in 
her throat and her breath left her; behind the 
children, halfway down, the room, stood Gerard.

 He came towards her slowly, pausing to pat 
a small tow-coloured head of hair or lift the more 
persistent hangers-on out of his way. When he 
reached her he said with a kind of desperate 
quietness; 'I thought I should never find you— 
such a conspiracy of silence.. .' •

 Her hand went to cover her open mouth. 
'Wim and Marijke, they knew—they dis



 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 213

 covered. They were sweet about it—don't be

 angry with them.' She searched his calm face

 for some sign; his eyes were hooded, there was

 the faintest smile on his mouth; she had no idea

 what his true feelings were. She went on earn


estly: 'You see, it's a Catholic convent and 
you—your family are Calvinists.' Her look 
-besought him to understand. 'You—you don't

 mix very well, do you? Separate schools and

 hospitals and...'

 'Orphanages?' he offered blandly.

 She nodded wordlessly and lapsed into

 thought, to say presently:

 'Besides, you're home a day early.'

 'Ah,' the lids flew open revealing blue eyes

 whose gleam made her blink. 'Am I to take it

 that that is a disappointment to you?'

 'Disappointment?' Her voice rose alarm


ingly. There were small hands tugging at her

 skirt, hoarse little voices chanting an endless

 'Debby' at her, but she hardly noticed them; she

 had reached the end of her emotional tether.

 'Disappointment? Disappointment? This

 week's been endless—they always are when

 you go away. I'm sick and tired—I won't go

 on like this, being a kind of genteel housekeeper

 and wondering all the time—every minute of

 every day—where you are and what you're

 doing and pretending that I don't care. ..'

 She was in full spate, but the rest of it never

 got said; she was gripped in an embrace which

 bade fair to crack her ribs, and kissed with a

 fierceness to put an end to all her doubts. 


214 STARS THROUGH THE MIST

 'How can a man be so blind?' Gerard spoke 
into her ear and the children's voices faded quite 
away from her senses. 'The star was there, only 
I didn't want to see it. I wanted to stay in the mist 
I had made—the nice safe mist which wouldn't 
allow anything to interfere with my work, 
because that was all I thought I had left. And 
yet I suppose I knew all the time. . .' He loosed 
his hold for the fraction of a minute and looked 
down into her face. 'I love you, my darling girl,' 
he said, and kissed her again; a pleasant state of 
affairs which might have gone on for some time 
if it hadn't been for the insistent pushes, tugs 
and yells from the orphans—it was story time 
and they knew their rights.

 It was Deborah who broke the spell between 
them. 'My darling, I have to tell them a story— 
just until seven o'clock.' She smiled at him, her 
pansy eyes soft with love; he kissed her once 
more» a gentle kiss this time, and let her go. 'A 
fairy story,' she told him.' "Rose Red and Rose 
White"...'

 His mouth twitched into a faint smile. 'In 
which language, dear heart?' he asked.

 'Both, of course—I don't know half the 
words.' She smiled again. 'Heaven knows what 
they're thinking of us at this moment!'

 'Nor I, though I'm very sure of what I'm 
thinking about you, but that can wait.'

 He pulled up the tattered old music stool so 
that she could sit on it and the children jostled 
happily against each other, getting as close as 
they could. 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 215

 'Rose Red and Rose White,' began Deborah 
in a voice lilting with not quite realized happiness, 
and the children fell silent as she plunged 
into the story, using a wild mixture of Dutch 
and English words and a wealth of gestures and 
mime and never doubting that the children 
understood every word, which, strangely 
enough, they did. They sat enrapt, their small 
mouths open, not fidgeting, and two of them 
had climbed on to Gerard's knees where he sat 
on one of the low window seats, listening to his 
wife's clear voice mangling the Dutch language. 
She had reached a dramatic point in her narrative 
when the room shook and trembled under the 
tones of the great bell from the church across 
the road.

 'Seven o'clock,' said Deborah, very conscious 
of Gerard's look. 'We'll finish next 
week,' and added, 'Sweeties!' at the top other 
voice, producing at the same time the bag of 


. toffees which signalled the end of play hour. 
She was marshalling her small companions 
into a more or less tidy line when the faint dry 
tinkle' of the front door bell whispered its way 
along the passage and up the stairs. It was followed 
almost at once by the Mother Superior, 
who greeted Deborah warmly, the children with 
an all-embracing smile, and an extended hand 
for Gerard, admirably concealing any surprise 
she might have felt at finding him there. 
'The little ones have been good?' she asked 
Deborah. 
'They always are. Mother. Do you want me 


216 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

to come on Friday next week, or is it to be 
Thursday again?'

 The nice elderly face broke into a smile. 'You 
will have the time?' The pale blue eyes studied 
Gerard, the hint of a question in their depths.

 'I approve of anything my wife does,' he told 
her at once, 'even though you and I are in— 
er—opposite camps.'

 She answered him gravely, although her eyes 
were twinkling. 'That is nice to know, Mijnheer 
van Doorninck. You like children?'

 He was looking at Deborah. 'Yes, Mother, 
although I'm afraid I've not had much to do 
with them.'

 'That will arrange itself,' the old lady assured 
him, 'when you have children of your own.' She 
glanced at Deborah, smiling faintly. 'Thank you 
for your kind help, my child. And now we 
must go.'

 The line of orphans stirred its untidy ranks; 
they hadn't understood anything of what had 
been said, and they wanted their supper, but first 
of all they wanted to be kissed goodnight by

 Debby, who always did. A small sigh went 
through the children as she started at the top of 

the line, bending over each child and hugging 
it, until, the last one kissed, they clattered out 
of the room and down the stairs. Deborah stood 
in the middle of the room, listening to the sound 
of their feet getting fainter and fainter until she 
could hear it no longer. Only then did she 
turn round.

 Gerard was still by the window. He smiled 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 217 

and opened his arms wide and she ran to him, 

to be swallowed up most comfortably in their 

gentle embrace.

 'My adorable little wife,' he said, and his 
words were heaven in her ears; she was five 
foot ten in her stockings and no slim wand of a 
girl; no one had ever called her little before. 
Perhaps Gerard, from his vantage point of 
another four inches, really did find her small. 
She lifted a glowing face for his face, and 
presently asked:

 'You're not angry about the orphans?' 
'No, my love. Indeed, they are splendid practice 
for you.'

 She leaned back in his arms so that she could 

see his face. 'You're not going to start an 

orphanage?'

 'Hardly that, dear heart—I hope that our children 
will always have a home.' 
'Oh.' She added idiotically: 'There are 
twenty-eight of them.' 
He kissed the top of her head. 'Yes? It seemed 
like ten times that number. Even so, I would 

.hardly expect...!' She felt his great chest shake

 with silent laughter. 'A fraction of that number

 would do very nicely, don't you agree?' And

 before she could answer: 'Don't you want to

 know why I have come back early?'

 'Yes—though it's enough that you're here.'

 She leaned up to kiss him.

 'Simple. I found myself unable to stay away

 from you a moment longer. At first, I wanted

 to keep everything cool and friendly and 


218 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 

impersonal between us, and then, over the 
weeks, I found it harder and harder to leave 
you, even to let you out of my sight, and yet I 
wouldn't admit that I loved you, although I 
knew in my heart—I could have killed Claude.'

 'But you let me go away—all the way to 
Aunt Mary's. . .' 
'My darling, I thought that I had destroyed 
any chance of making you love me.' 
'But I did love you—I've loved you for 
years...'

 He held her very close. 'You gave no sign, 
Debby—but all the same I had to follow you, 
and then I found you in the mist with all those 
little girls in their strange round hats.'

 Deborah laughed into his shoulder. 'You 
showed me our star,' she reminded him. 
'It's still there,' he told her. 'We're going to 
share it for the rest of our lives.' 
He turned her round to face the window. 
'There—you see?'

 The sky was dark, but not as dark as the 
variegated roofs pointing their gables into it, 
pointing, all of them, to the stars. The carillon

 close by played its little tune for the half hour

 and was echoed a dozen times from various

 parts of Amsterdam. It was all peaceful and

 beautiful, but Deborah was no longer looking

 at it. She had turned in her husband's arms to

 face him again, studying his face.

 'Are we going home?' she asked, when he

 had kissed her just once more, she said, 'Our

 home, darling Gerard.' 


 STARS THROUGH THE MIST 219

 'Our home, my love, although for me, Home 
will always be where you are.'

 There was only one answer to that. She 
wreathed her arms round his neck and 
kissed him.