Real Love or Fake Read online

  So he simply told himself firmly that, however attractive the women who Hans produced for him, he had no intention of becoming involved with any of them.

  He had learned a lesson that would last him for years, if not for his lifetime.

  *

  In The Hague Lela was battling with her conscience.

  She was trying wildly to find some excuse for not agreeing to what she knew was a diabolical suggestion by Mr. Nijsted.

  Before she met the Baroness that afternoon, she had promised herself that she would think over his suggestion and tell him her answer the next morning.

  As they walked home, Nanny asked her,

  “What was that gentleman talkin’ to you about, Miss Lela?”

  “He was a friend of the Baron,” Lela replied.

  She did not say anything more and they walked on in silence until Nanny piped up,

  “He had a lot to say for himself! You be careful when you’re talkin’ to strange gentlemen who haven’t been introduced properly to you.”

  “He knew all about Aunt Edith’s illness,” Lela answered, “and I am afraid that she is worse than I had thought.”

  “So they tell me,” Nanny agreed. “I shouldn’t be surprised if she died very quickly before anyone does anythin’ about it.”

  When Lela was alone in her bedroom that night, she asked her mother what she should do.

  ‘It is – wrong and – wicked to be so – deceitful and if it is – discovered that I have deliberately tricked an Englishman, I might be sent to – prison!’

  She covered her face with her hands and went on,

  ‘Help me – Mama. Tell me – what I – should do. Shall I try to save Aunt Edith by doing – something that I am – sure is wrong?’

  She hardly slept that night, tossing and turning until morning eventually came.

  Then she went upstairs to the studio to collect another canvas the same size as the one she had taken before.

  Nanny was curious as to why she should want it, but she gave her an evasive answer.

  When they arrived at the Mauritshuis, Nanny went to her usual seat in the window and started to crochet.

  Lela propped the canvas that she had been working on against the wall and put the new canvas on her easel.

  She began again to paint in the head of the girl as she had done previously.

  She had been working for only half an hour when Mr. Nijsted arrived.

  He walked up to her and, although she was conscious of him standing behind her, she did not speak.

  He looked at the unfinished painting on the floor and above it Vermeer’s original for some minutes before he said,

  “It is excellent! I congratulate you, Miss Cavendish, on having such real talent.”

  “Take the – picture! Take – it!” Lela said almost violently. “I don’t – want to think – about it – or hear what you have to – say when you sell it. It is – wrong! I know that what we are – doing is wrong – but, if it saves my aunt from dying – perhaps God will – forgive me.”

  “I am sure He will do that,” Mr. Nijsted replied. “However it is not a question of my taking it to the Marquis of Kyneston, Miss Cavendish, but for you to show it to him.”

  Lela put down her palette and paintbrush and stared at Mr. Nijsted incredulously.

  “I-I show it to him?” she asked after a moment. “Do you expect me – to take it to – him?”

  “Of course. I cannot tell a story that is yours.”

  “I-I don’t – understand.”

  “It is quite simple. You have come to stay with your aunt, but find her very ill and unable to afford an operation that the Surgeons say is urgent if her life is to be saved.”

  Lela made a little murmur, but she did not speak and so Mr. Nijsted went on,

  “You searched the house for something you could sell to pay the cost of the operation, knowing that there was no time to consult Baron Johan van Alnrardt, who is in Java, and who has been left his father’s collection.”

  Mr. Nijsted paused for a moment as if to make the story more dramatic before he continued,

  “Then, almost like a miracle, you found in the Baron’s studio this picture which you think, you are almost sure, is a sketch made by Vermeer prior to painting Head of a Young Girl which now hangs in the Mauritshuis.”

  Mr. Nijsted lowered his voice as he said,

  “You have told no one what you have found because you are afraid if you do so, Nicolaes van Alnrardt, who is known to be trying to grab any picture he can lay his hands on, may hear of it.”

  He looked at her to see if she was listening before he went on,

  “Instead, as you have been told of the arrival of the Marquis of Kyneston, who, like yourself, is English, you have brought the picture to him knowing that you can trust him, while you might, in your ignorance, easily be cheated by a Dutch dealer.”

  When Mr. Nijsted stopped speaking, there was a smile almost of triumph on his lips as if he was delighted with his story.

  Listening to him Lela was aware of the way that his mind worked.

  She had to admit that it was a clever tale with just enough truth about it to make it sound completely plausible.

  Then instinctively because she was frightened, she said quickly,

  “I-I cannot do it.”

  Mr. Nijsted flung up his hands in a gesture that was more eloquent than words.

  He did not reply and after a moment she asked piteously,

  “How – can I? How can I do – anything like that? If the Marquis becomes aware of my deception – I could be denounced as a-a – forger!”

  “Not if you stick to the story as I have told it,” Mr. Nijsted insisted slowly, as if speaking to a child. “You found this sketch in the Baron’s studio, you have no idea who has painted it, but you know that the Baron was a close friend of Destombe, who gave the Vermeer to the Mauritshuis Gallery.”

  He was very persuasive as he continued,

  “It is easy therefore to imagine that he at the same time bought the sketch that Vermeer made for the picture, which is what most artists do before they embark on a major work.”

  Lela knew this to be true and Mr. Nijsted went on,

  “Then he must have kept it in his house, not intending to reveal his possession of it until Vermeer’s finished Masterpiece was hung in the Museum.”

  Again Lela thought that it was a good explanation that might be accepted by anybody who had no reason to be suspicious.

  As if he guessed what she was thinking, Mr. Nijsted asked,

  “Who could imagine for a moment that a girl as young as yourself and who is not known to have any particular artistic ability could copy Vermeer’s work so skilfully and with the correct paints and canvas of the period he lived in?”

  “I – suppose it is a – strange coincidence,” Lela admitted, as if the words were forced from between her lips.

  “So strange in fact that no one will question such a story for one moment,” Mr. Nijsted persisted. “So, Miss Cavendish, you have to be brave and remember only that you are saving your aunt’s life.”

  “If I do – deceive the Marquis,” Lela said hesitantly, “h-how shall I – tell him what money I require and – how much should I – ask?”

  “That is something that you will not be involved in. When the Marquis asks you what the sketch is worth or what you want for it, you tell him the truth that you have no idea.”

  Lela looked at him wide-eyed.

  “You will also say that you have not mentioned your find to your aunt, but you have thought of getting in touch with Jan Nijsted, who both bought and sold pictures for the Baron and was his close friend.”

  “Surely the Marquis will ask me why I have not already done so?” Lela enquired sharply.

  “If he does,” Mr. Nijsted replied, “you look shy and girlish and say that, as you know so little about Holland, having only just arrived here, you thought it would be wiser to trust an Englishman rather than a Dutchman whom you have nev
er met.”

  “I see you have thought it all out – very cleverly. But I am – frightened – I am frightened of – doing something that I – know is – wrong.”

  “But because you have come here today, bringing the canvas that is nearly completed and have started on another one, I know that you intend to save your aunt at the expense of your conscience,”

  “Very well,” Lela sighed. “But if it is I who – has to go to the Marquis – how shall I do so?”

  “A carriage will be waiting for you at one o’clock and I suggest you have an early luncheon and then travel to Amsterdam with the old woman you have brought with you, but on no account are you to tell her what you are doing.”

  “She will be – very curious.”

  “You can say that I have entrusted you with a parcel to take to the Marquis because he is English and I have sworn you to secrecy as to its contents.”

  Lela sighed again.

  ‘More lies – more subterfuge,’ she thought.

  She knew that it would be very difficult to deceive Nanny.

  “Now, just carry out my instructions,” Mr. Nijsted said, a note of authority in his voice. “When I bring you the money for your aunt’s operation, you can get in touch with the doctors and tell them that they can go ahead with the operation. Then you will be sure that you have done the right thing.”

  “I can – only hope – so,” Lela murmured miserably.

  Without saying anything more, Mr. Nijsted went away.

  Lela went on painting, feeling that it was hard to concentrate on anything but the ordeal that lay ahead of her.

  It was half past eleven when she suggested to Nanny that they should go.

  “Why so early?” she asked.

  “We are going into Amsterdam – after luncheon,” Lela replied.

  “Is it somethin’ to do with the gentleman who was talkin’ to you just now?”

  “Yes, Nanny, he has asked me to take a parcel to the – Marquis of Kyneston, who has apparently just arrived in Amsterdam – and he is lending me his carriage.”

  “The Marquis of Kyneston?” Nanny asked. “Now, why should you have anythin’ to do with him, I’d like to know?”

  “Have you heard of – him?” Lela asked.

  “Quite enough to know that he is someone you should not be associatin’ yourself with unless you are properly chaperoned, as your mother would wish you to be.”

  “I have only to take him a parcel from Mr. Nijsted.”

  “I should have thought he’s healthy and strong enough to carry his own parcel!” Nanny remarked tartly.

  “It is because the Marquis is – English and I am – English too – ” Lela tried to explain.

  “Well, it certainly seems strange to me,” Nanny went on, “and I’m sure your aunt would disapprove if she knew you were careerin’ off to meet a man you don’t know, just because he’s English!”

  “Oh, please, Nanny, you must not tell Aunt Edith – and upset her. I am sure that like me, you will enjoy seeing Amsterdam, which I might not otherwise have had the opportunity of doing – as Aunt Edith is so ill.”

  “I was talkin’ to her coachman last night,” Nanny related, “and she’s got a nice carriage and a horse, which, although he’s gettin’ old, is still quite strong. I thinks we might drive around and have a look at the town when you’re not paintin’ as though your life depended on it.”

  “I think that is a good idea,” Lela answered, “but I have promised now to go to Amsterdam and, of course, you will have to come with me.”

  “I should hope so!” Nanny exclaimed. “Your mother wouldn’t want you gallivantin’ about a City all by yourself! And I’m sure the Marquis’ll think it ever so odd!”

  “Then we will leave at one o’clock.”

  Although Nanny grumbled, she had the feeling that she wanted to see Amsterdam as much as she did herself and it would be exciting going there in a comfortable carriage, which they found was drawn by two horses.

  Lela put on one of the prettiest gowns that she had brought from Florence and a hat that seemed almost like a halo on her fair hair.

  When she was alone in her bedroom, she packed up the canvas very carefully and carried it down the stairs before Nanny joined her.

  She hoped that it would escape her notice.

  But, when it was laid opposite to them on the small seat, Nanny said suspiciously,

  “That parcel you’re takin’ to the Marquis looks to me the same size as the picture you were paintin’ on the easel.”

  “Oh, Nanny, you are not to ask questions! I promised Mr. Nijsted I would not discuss with anybody else what he wants the Marquis to see and I cannot break my word.”

  Nanny sniffed and was obviously offended that she was being kept out of something secret.

  They drove for at least a mile in silence.

  Lela was thrilled with the windmills that they were passing, the canals on one side of them and the trees that took away the austerity of the land, which was so flat that it seemed to vanish into a distant horizon.

  Then at last they were in Amsterdam.

  Now there were the beautiful houses that Lela had read so much about.

  Also romantic bridges over the canals, which made her aware that the whole City was built on water. She could see the tall spires of the Churches as they drove through the narrow crowded streets.

  She thought how excited she would be if it was not for the fear in her heart.

  She was sure that Mr. Nijsted would have arranged a time for her to meet the Marquis.

  When the coachman turned his horses down the very narrow street running parallel with a canal, she felt her fear increase until it was hard to breathe.

  Each house seemed to her to be more picturesque and more spectacular than the last.

  Then they drew up outside one that was particularly outstanding.

  Now she could think only that in a few minutes she would have to lie and lie convincingly.

  As she bent forward to pick up the canvas, she realised that her hands were trembling.

  The footman climbed down from the box and rang the bell.

  When the door was opened, he assisted Lela from the carriage.

  Nanny followed her and they walked up the steps and into what she could see was a very beautiful panelled hall with a curving staircase rising to the floor above.

  Lela and Nanny stood for a moment until a servant wearing what seemed to be rather an unusual livery said,

  “If you are Jungfrau Cavendish, his Lordship is waitin’ to receive you.”

  “I’ll wait here,” Nanny said and seated herself on a wooden chair that bore the Count’s Coat of Arms.

  Feeling very small and afraid, Lela then followed the servant.

  He flung open the door of a room where the sunshine was pouring through the three high windows.

  In front of a finely carved Medieval fireplace there was a tall imposing-looking man whom she was sure was the Marquis.

  For a moment she felt that it was impossible to move towards him as if her feet were glued to the floor.

  Then with an effort she walked forward and, when she reached the Marquis, she dropped him a small curtsey.

  There was no doubt of the look of surprise on his face as he asked,

  “You are the Miss Cavendish I was expecting?”

  “Y-yes – my Lord.”

  It was an effort to speak and, as if he realised that she was shy, he remarked,

  “I had the idea that you would be older and I think too I was expecting you to look like a Dutchwoman.”

  There was just a touch of amusement in his voice and Lela forced a little smile to her lips.

  “I am – English – my Lord.”

  “I was told you wanted to see me urgently, Miss Cavendish, and, as the message came through the servants of Count Hans van Ruydaal with whom I am staying, it was not very explicit.”

  “I asked to – see you – my Lord, for a special – reason.”

  She
was upset and perturbed. It had not been made clear to the Marquis, as she had expected, that she was bringing him a picture.

  Then she was quick-brained enough to realise that Mr. Nijsted had said that her visit was to be a secret.

  Therefore, until she told the Marquis, it was obvious that he would not know the reason.

  Now he said,

  “Please sit down, Miss Cavendish, and tell me what this is all about. Are you stranded in Amsterdam without any money or perhaps you have been kidnapped by a Dutch pirate!”

  He was talking to put Lela at her ease, but he was actually astonished by her appearance.

  He had been so sure when he had been told that an Englishwoman wished to see him urgently that it was the usual trouble such as somebody stranded in a foreign country with no means of getting home.

  Or else, as he had said jokingly, she had somehow become involved in a reprehensible manner with men who she could not escape from.

  He was aware that Lela was elegantly dressed and therefore unlikely to be penniless.

  But he had never imagined that anybody could look so incredibly lovely and at the same time be so afraid.

  It was obvious to him that something was very wrong.

  As she sat down, as he suggested on the sofa, he thought that it was a long time since he had seen a woman of any age who was so beautiful.

  A connoisseur of beauty, he considered himself a judge of women even though he despised them.

  He knew at once that Lela was a lady and only good breeding could have produced such perfect features, such slim fingers and such a high instep.

  He was therefore increasingly curious as to why she was here and, because she seemed almost incapable of speaking, he said very gently,

  “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I-I have brought you – a p-picture, my Lord.”

  “A picture?”

  This was something that the Marquis had not expected, Now he realised for the first time, because he had been looking at her face, that she carried a parcel under her right arm.

  She held it out to him and he said,

  “I suppose, because people talk, that you are aware I am here to buy pictures.”

  “I was – told that, my Lord, and I have – brought you a – picture that I – think you might be – interested in.”