Real Love or Fake Read online

  “Dear Step-Papa,

  Thank you very much indeed for the fifty pounds and I am very grateful. I will try not to be extravagant but, of course, as I do not know London, it may take time to find all the things I require.

  I have just remembered that a friend of Mama’s wrote to me only a month ago saying that, when I returned to England, she would be very pleased if I would stay with her and her family at their house in Mayfair and also visit them in the country.

  I think, therefore, that Nanny and I might go there for three nights and perhaps stay with them at their country house for the weekend.

  Thank you again for all your kindness.

  Your affectionate stepdaughter,

  Lela.”

  When she and Nanny left at five-thirty, there were only two footmen in the hall to see them off and she gave one of them her letter.

  “Give this to Sir Robert when he wakes,” she said, “and, if he asks why we left so early, say that I thought, as we had so much to do, the sooner we arrived in London the better.”

  “I’ll see that the Master gets your message, miss,” the footman smiled.

  It did not take them long to reach London.

  They hired a carriage to Blackwall rather than waste time trying to find a train from another Station.

  They caught the Steamer with fifteen minutes to spare and once they were aboard Lela gave a sigh of relief.

  Nanny, however, was far more practical than she was. She tipped a Steward to find them good seats and ordered tea and biscuits.

  They were in need of something to eat after travelling for so many hours.

  As the Steamer moved away from the dock, Lela began to feel a sense of adventure and daring which she was sure that her father would have understood.

  She remembered that he once said to her,

  “Never be afraid to grasp an opportunity when it presents itself. It is hesitation and indecision that are dangerous in life.”

  She knew that he was thinking of tactics he had used on the battlefield and she thought that it was very appropriate at this moment as she was fighting a battle against superior odds.

  If she was not to be forced into this horrible and frightening marriage, then the only thing she could do was to use tactics that would surprise the enemy.

  ‘How can I marry a man I have seen only twice in my life and who I feel an actual revulsion for?’ she asked herself.

  She remembered the hoarse passion in his voice and what had scared her in his eyes.

  She had scrubbed her neck until the skin was almost raw because she wanted to erase the feeling of his lips.

  She was so intent on her thoughts that she did not notice when they were out at sea that it was becoming somewhat turbulent and many of the passengers were being sick.

  Nanny survived by having endless cups of strong tea, which the Steward brought her with a grin.

  “Bein’ in the summer this be mild to what we often ’ave to put up with,” he confided.

  “Then the sooner you build bigger ships the better!” Nanny, who always managed to have the last word, retorted.

  When they reached Rotterdam, it was easy to take a train for The Hague.

  Nevertheless they did not arrive until late in the evening and Lela was afraid that her aunt might have gone away from her house.

  It was difficult since she had not seen her for many years to remember what her Aunt Edith had looked like, but she was sure that she would resemble her mother.

  From the kind things she had said in the letter she had written after she learned of her death, Lela was quite sure that she would be welcome.

  Ah elderly maid opened the door of an attractive red brick house with white surrounds to the window and square gables on the roof.

  “Will you please tell Baroness van Alnrardt that her niece is here,” Lela said.

  The elderly maid looked at her in astonishment, then at Nanny and the luggage that the coachman was lifting down from the carriage.

  “The Baroness is in bed,” she answered, speaking excellent English.

  “I am sorry to be so late – ” Lela began.

  “She’s ill,” the maid informed her, “and has been for some time.”

  Lela gave a little cry.

  “Then I must see her at once. I had no idea that she was unwell.”

  The maid took her up a wooden staircase and opened a door on the first floor.

  “Your niece to see you, madam,” she announced abruptly.

  Lela entered the room and saw, sitting up in bed, a very much older replica of her mother.

  She saw at first glance that her aunt was ill, her hair was white and there were deep lines on her face.

  At the same time the resemblance was obvious and she ran eagerly to the bedside to say,

  “Aunt Edith, it is Lela! I have come to you because I need your help.”

  “What a surprise, my dear child,” the Baroness exclaimed. “And how pretty you are and exactly like your mother.”

  “And you are like her too,” Lela replied. “I was afraid that I would not remember you, but now I do, and please forgive me for coming here without letting you know.”

  “You are not alone?” the Barones asked.

  “No, of course not. Nanny is with me, as she has been ever since I was a baby and she remembers when you came to our house in the country many years ago.”

  “I remember it well too. But why, dear child, do you need my help?”

  “I want to tell you all about it, but please would it be all right for us to stay – here with you? We have nowhere else to go.”

  “Of course you can stay,” the Baroness replied, “but I cannot understand what has happened. I thought after your mother’s death that you would be with your stepfather.”

  “That is what I am going to explain.”

  The Baroness rang a bell by her bedside,

  “First,” she suggested, “I am sure that you will want to take off your travelling clothes and have something to eat. Geertruida will look after you and show you where you can sleep.”

  Lela found that Geertruida was not the only servant in the house, but there were three of them and her aunt lived comfortably.

  The food was excellent, if slightly heavy, as Dutch food usually was.

  But she had a very pretty bedroom and Nanny was well looked after.

  When she told her aunt what had happened after her mother’s death, she was horrified.

  “But, of course, you cannot marry a man you have seen only twice,” she exclaimed, “and who is so much older than you. It is disgraceful of Sir Robert to propose such a thing and I shall tell him so if I see him.”

  Lela gave a cry of horror.

  “But you must not see him and – neither must I! When Step-Papa has made up his mind about something, even Mama had the greatest difficulty – in making him change it. In fact she usually failed.”

  “Then you will just have to hide yourself here until we can think of a solution,” the Baroness smiled.

  “That is what I was hoping you would allow me to do and it will be lovely to be with you and – be able to talk about Mama and Papa.”

  “I loved your mother very dearly,” the Baroness answered. “We had a great deal in common even though she was ten years younger than I was. But, as my late husband was a Diplomat, we were continually travelling and I therefore saw far too little of her after I married.”

  She held out her hand to Lela.

  “But having you here will make up for my missing Mildred, although I am afraid you, dear child, will find it very dull.”

  “l am sure that is impossible. As I drove through the town from the Station, I could see how beautiful The Hague is and, of course, I want to visit the famous Museums.”

  “You have heard of them?” the Baroness asked in surprise.

  “In the Art School in Florence they talked about the pictures in Holland and I believe that they were a little jealous of your Rubenses and Rembrandts.”

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nbsp; The Baroness laughed.

  “As a country we have a unique position in the art world and, of course, in Florence they taught you to love and understand paintings.”

  “I myself have been having special lessons in painting for the last year,” Lela told her.

  “I so wish that my husband was still alive,” the Baroness said. “When he retired he took up painting. Naturally he had always been a collector of art and he said that at last he had time to be an artist!”

  “I do hope you have some of his pictures for me to see,” Lela asked.

  “Quite a number of them and what is more, you can use his studio.”

  Lela’s eyes lit up.

  “Are you sure you would not mind my doing that?”

  “I would love you to,” her aunt replied, “and you will find everything you need there. But first you must visit the Mauritshuis, which, as I expect you already know, is the most famous Museum of painting we have in The Hague.”

  “Of course I am longing to do so.”

  That night Lela went to bed early because she was very tired.

  *

  The next day on her aunt’s instructions, she went up to the attic and found the most delightful studio that she could ever have imagined.

  The Baron had certainly been determined to make the most of his artistic talent. He had put in a large North window, which every artist requires to give him the best possible conditions for painting.

  The ceiling was surprisingly high for an attic and the walls were covered with pictures that he had painted, many of them copies of the famous Masters.

  Having explored the studio, Lela ran excitedly downstairs to thank her aunt for saying that she could use it.

  She found the Baroness looking rather pale and with deep lines under her eyes.

  “How do you feel, Aunt Edith?” she asked.

  “I had a bad night, my dear.”

  “It’s not my fault, I hope?”

  “The excitement of your coming here may have had something to do with it,” her aunt admitted, “but I am, I am afraid, a very ill woman.”

  Lela sat down beside the bed.

  “I feel very ashamed I have not asked you about it before, but I did not realise that you are – so seriously ill.”

  “I have a growth in my inside and, although the doctors wish to chop me about, I will not allow it.”

  Her aunt put out a thin white hand to take hers.

  “I think you will understand, my dear, that I have no wish to live to be very old and in any case major operations are seldom very successful.”

  “But, Aunt Edith – ” Lela began to protest.

  Her aunt silenced her with a gesture of her other hand.

  “If you are going to live with me, I think I should explain my position. I loved my husband very dearly and without him I feel very lonely.”

  She paused to look at Lela searchingly before she went on,

  “Had I been fortunate enough to have a child of my own, things would have been different. I have two stepsons, but, although Johan is very kind to me, he is away at the moment in Java where he is the Governor of a Province.”

  Lela was listening intently and aware, as she held her aunt’s hand, that it was very cold.

  “When the doctors first told me that I needed an operation,” the Baroness went on, “they said that there was a fifty-fifty chance of it being successful. But they also told me that it would be very expensive.”

  Lela looked at her in surprise and she added,

  “I have enough money to live on provided I am careful, but not enough for any large expenditure such as surgery in Holland would cost.”

  Lela did not know what to say and her aunt continued,

  “I did, however, consider writing to my stepson, Johan, when his brother Nicolaes began behaving in a very disgraceful manner.”

  “What did he do?” Lela asked.

  “He ran up debts and then tried to persuade me to sell some of the pictures from this house, which my husband had left especially to Johan. And when I refused he became very disagreeable.”

  Her voice sharpened.

  “I knew then that, if I left the house and went to hospital, he would take the pictures and it would be difficult for anybody to stop him.”

  “I have never heard of anything – so disgraceful!” Lela cried. “But you surely cannot refuse to have an operation – if it will cure you?”

  “I have no wish to live,” the Baroness responded, “and it would be a waste of the money that Johan will need when I am gone, as he has a large family.”

  “You cannot leave it – ” Lela began, but the Baroness checked her.

  “I have no wish to argue any more about it. I am sometimes in pain, but the doctors have given me something to prevent it from overwhelming me. However it will make all the difference to have you here and perhaps I shall feel so happy that by a miracle 1 shall be cured.”

  “I do not like to – think of you – suffering,” Lela said, “and Nanny told me that Mama felt terribly – tired before she died.”

  There was a sob in her voice that she could not prevent and her aunt went on,

  “I am sure, my dear, that your mother is near you now and is glad that we are together.”

  “Of course she is,” Lela agreed. “In fact I think it was Mama – who sent me to you when I was feeling desperate at the idea of being forced into marriage – with Mr. Hopthorne.”

  “I am certain that is true,” the Baroness smiled wanly. “Now I am tired of talking about myself and, as you are a painter like my husband, I have a commission for you.”

  “A commission?” Lela exclaimed.

  “It is a rather fascinating story. My husband became great friends with Destombe, who was a well-known collector of pictures.”

  The Baroness laughed as she continued,

  “They used to sit for hours talking about different paintings and I have never known two men to be more absorbed by any subject.”

  “I think all artists become dedicated to their work,” Lela stated.

  “That is true, my dear, and it was my husband who persuaded Destombe to leave Jan Vermeer’s Head of a Young Girl to the Mauritshuis when he died.”

  Lela knew that Vermeer was one of the most successful painters in Holland in the seventeenth century.

  She did not interrupt as the Baroness carried on,

  “It seems incredible, but Destombe acquired the Vermeer portrait for his collection for only two guilders and thirty cents. Now, of course, it has been acclaimed as one of the greatest of his paintings and it has just been hung in the Mauritshuis.”

  “Then I shall see it! How exciting!” Lela exclaimed.

  “You will not only see it, but I want you to copy it for me. As you realise, I am too ill to go to the Museum myself.”

  “But, of course, I will,” Lela answered, “and it will be – very exciting for me.”

  “It will make me very happy. I have heard so much about this wonderful portrait that I almost feel as if the girl it depicts is one of the family.”

  They both laughed and Lela suggested,

  “I will go to the Mauritshuis this afternoon and I suppose I may take one of the canvasses – that are upstairs in the studio?”

  “Of course you may, dear, but do be careful to choose one of the right period.”

  Lela looked puzzled and her aunt explained.

  “My husband was a perfectionist and, when he started to paint, he was determined to use canvasses of the century of whatever picture he was copying, so he collected them wherever he could.”

  “What a clever idea!” Lela exclaimed.

  “That is what I thought,” her aunt replied, “and you will find them all upstairs together with the right paints. They are all neatly labelled because my husband was very meticulous about such things.”

  “Thank you for giving me something – so exciting to do,” Lela said. “I only hope I shall do justice to Vermeer’s beautiful girl.”

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bsp; She set off immediately after luncheon with Nanny for the Museum.

  She had found a canvas exactly as her aunt had described, which was of the seventeenth century. There was, in fact, a stack of them in one corner of the studio.

  She saw that some of them were painted on already, but with rather bad pictures that she supposed the Baron intended to erase. She could understand that in his desire for perfection the canvas would be very important.

  Similarly the paints, which were also labelled, were arranged on shelves and there was no possibility of her using paints of the wrong constituents.

  The Mauritshuis Museum was, as she had expected, in a very attractive house, which had been the private residence of one of the most important figures in Dutch history.

  Last night, before she was too tired to talk anymore, Lela had persuaded heir aunt to tell her about Johan Maurits Van Nassau, who was the founder of the Museum.

  “He was one of my husband’s heroes,” the Baroness told her, “and, like the people in the pictures he copied, I cannot help thinking that Johan Maurits is a close friend who I can never escape from.”

  Lela laughed.

  Her aunt had gone on to explain how Johan Maurits had fought the Spaniards in Brazil besides having an absorbing interest in everything that was new and unusual.

  Then she added,

  “In fact he was a combination of the old world and the new, the physical and the spiritual, which is very rare in men all over the world.”

  As Lela thought of him and, as looked at his portrait, she could not help thinking that he was the sort of man she would like to marry.

  He would be both brave and adventurous!

  Equally he would be consciously aware of the things that belonged to the World beyond the World that he was living in.

  ‘I don’t suppose that men like him exist today,’ she thought a little sadly.

  She then began to feel excited about the picture that she was to copy for her aunt.

  When she had sat in the Uffizi Gallery in Florence copying a painting by Botticelli, her teacher had been pleased with her efforts.

  He had said when she started,

  “You have to feel what you are painting and, although you are copying a great Master, I want to find something of yourself in the picture when it is finished.”