Real Love or Fake Read online

“That is very kind of you,” but I hope you will not be disappointed if it is an artist who I am not interested in.”

  Taking a deep breath, Lela looked away from him as she said,

  “It is something – unusual – and I thought only you – could help me.”

  The Marquis raised his eyebrows.

  “If it is a question of a picture, I should have thought that almost everybody in Holland would be able to advise you on that subject!”

  Lela clasped her fingers together.

  “I am – here because you are – English, my Lord.”

  The Marquis had taken the picture from her, but he did not undo it.

  Instead he asked,

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means – that I – trust you.”

  The Marquis looked at her searchingly before he replied,

  “I find what you are saying a little difficult to understand.”

  As if she realised that she was not telling the story as she should be, Lela said,

  “My aunt is the Baroness van Alnrardt and her late husband was a close friend of Destombe.”

  She waited, thinking that the Marquis would recognise the name, but he only looked puzzled.

  “Destombe – who died recently,” Lela explained quickly, “was the gentleman who – left Vermeer’s Head of a Young Girl to the – Mauritshuis.”

  “I have heard of that picture and, of course, I must see it before I leave Holland.”

  “I am – staying with – my aunt,” Lela went on. “She is seriously ill and it is – essential that she should – have a – a very expensive operation.”

  Now there was a look in the Marquis’s eyes as if he began to realise the point of the story.

  But he did not say anything and Lela continued,

  “I was – looking around the house to see if there was – anything I could – sell and I found what appears to be – a sketch for Vermeer’s portrait in – one of the late Baron’s rooms.”

  “So that is what you have brought for me to see,” the Marquis declared.

  Lela had spoken so hesitatingly and with such shyness that he had had a little difficulty in following what she was saying.

  Now he told himself it was because she was hoping he would buy the picture and was therefore asking for money that she felt so embarrassed.

  He undid the string that she had tied the parcel up in and lifted out the picture.

  The moment he looked at it he was thrilled by the beauty of the subject and the way it had been painted.

  The face of the girl looking over her shoulder and the enquiring expression in her brown eyes made, he thought, one of the most attractive pictures he had ever seen.

  It was not completely finished.

  But it was impossible for him not to realise how skilfully Vermeer had arranged his subject, the light on the girl’s face against the dark background, the blue of the ribbon that covered her forehead against her skin and above all a sense of reality that made the picture seem almost as if it spoke to him.

  He stared at it for quite a long time before he asked,

  “Who else has seen this picture?”

  “No – one,” Lela replied.

  “You did not show it to your aunt?”

  “No, she is – very ill and, if it is – not, as I think it is, a sketch that Vermeer made – before his finished work – I would not – wish to raise her hopes.”

  “I can understand you feeling like that,” the Marquis reflected. “But it seems to me incredible that this sketch has not been seen before.”

  “I think,” Lela said slowly, trying to remember what Mr. Nijsted had told her, “that the Baron was – keeping it until – his friend Destombe died and the Mauritshuis – as had been arranged, had received – Vermeer’s finished portrait.”

  “Yes, I can see the point of that,” the Marquis agreed. “But it seems to me extraordinary that no one, as you say, is aware of its existence.”

  Lela made a little gesture with her hands.

  “Not as – far as I know. Of course – I have only just – arrived in Holland to – stay with my aunt.”

  “And, as you want to sell this sketch for her, what are you asking for it?” the Marquis enquired.

  “I have no idea of its – worth and that is why I have – come to you. I am afraid that if I – take it to the Dutch dealers – they might think – because I am so young that they need not offer me the right – price.”

  She paused and then, not looking at the Marquis in case he should see in her eyes that she was not speaking the truth, she said,

  “I-I thought that if you – spoke to Mr. Nijsted – who is I understand – the dealer who bought a – number of pictures – from the Baron, he would not – dare to deceive you – or rather my aunt – as he might otherwise – try to do.”

  “Nijsted?” the Marquis queried. “I am sure that is the name of one of the dealers I was told is honest. If moreover he knew the Baron, then, of course, it might make things easier for us both.”

  “Are you – saying, my Lord, that you will – buy the sketch?”

  “Of course I will buy it if it is what you say it is. And I promise you, Miss Cavendish, that I will pay what is a fair and just price.”

  “That is what I was – sure you would say,” Lela murmured.

  “Because I am English?”

  “Because you are a – gentleman, my Lord,” Lela stated without thinking.

  The Marquis laughed.

  “That is a very disarming statement and, of course, like a real gentleman, I will not try to cheat you.”

  Lela blushed and it made her look very beautiful.

  “I am sure – my Lord – you would not do that – and now I can go back.”

  “Where are you staying?” the Marquis enquired.

  “At The Hague – with my aunt.”

  “And you say she is very ill?”

  “Very ill indeed – and unless she has – the operation immediately – she may soon die.”

  “Then I promise you that I will make enquiries about this sketch as quickly as I can.”

  “Thank you very – very much – I am very – grateful.”

  Lela rose to her feet and so did he.

  For a moment they looked at each other.

  She had the feeling that he was looking deep into her soul and could see that she was trying to deceive him and, because she was frightened, she said quickly,

  “I-I must go, my Lord – I want to get back to my – aunt.”

  “I can understand,” the Marquis said, “and I only hope that I can be instrumental in helping her back to health.”

  They had reached the door by now.

  As he opened it, he saw Nanny sitting primly upright at the other end of the hall.

  “I see you have somebody with you,” he remarked.

  “My old Nanny – who came with me from England,” Lela explained.

  “May I say that I hope you will enjoy your stay in Holland, even though your aunt is so ill.”

  “Thank you – it is very beautiful – and very exciting for me to be here.”

  As she walked out into the hall, she had a sudden thought and stepped backwards.

  “There is – something I – must say,” she said in a voice a little above a whisper.

  The Marquis was surprised, as he had been following her from the room that they had just left.

  “You will not – understand, but – please when you return to England – please do not tell anybody – anybody at all – that you have met me – here in Holland.”

  She spoke in such an agitated way that the Marquis raised his eyebrows before he replied,

  “Am I to understand that this is a secret visit or that you are in hiding?”

  “Yes – I am in – hiding and it is very – important for me that nobody should – know.”

  Once again she was looking at him pleadingly.

  He thought that he had never before seen such beautiful eyes that
were so expressive.

  “Then, of course,” he said with a smile, “I must once again behave like a gentleman and keep your secret.”

  “Thank you – thank you!” Lela cried. “It was – stupid of me – not to mention it before.”

  Once again she moved into the hall and now Nanny was waiting for her at the open door.

  “Thank you very – very much, my Lord,” Lela said again, holding out her hand and curtseying as she did so.

  The Marquis felt her fingers trembling in his and thought it strange that she was still so frightened.

  As he watched her walk away, he thought that no one could move more gracefully or, as she reached the door and looked over her shoulder, be lovelier than the girl in the Vermeer portrait.

  Then, as they drove away and he saw her for a moment silhouetted against the water of the canal, he thought that she could not be real.

  He felt sure that he must have dreamt this whole strange encounter.

  But when he went back into the sitting room, there was the Vermeer sketch lying on the chair where he had left it.

  But instead of two brown eyes looking at him enquiringly, they were much larger and blue, while the small pointed face was framed by hair that was the colour of sunshine.

  Chapter Five

  Lela fortunately did not have to tell her aunt that she had been all the way to Amsterdam.

  When she arrived back, wondering what she should say, she found that the Baroness was fast asleep.

  She had obviously taken the special pills that took away her pain, but also inevitably made her drowsy.

  She therefore did not see the Baroness until late in the evening.

  After dinner when she went to her bedroom, she found her awake, but still not thinking very clearly.

  “Have you been all right, my dearest child?” she asked.

  “Yes, of course, Aunt Edith, and I are so sorry you are in pain.”

  “It has gone now,” the Baroness replied, “and tomorrow we must have a long talk together. I have remembered that I have some souvenirs of your mother that I am sure you would – enjoy seeing.”

  “I would love that,” Lela smiled.

  Realising that it was an effort for her aunt to speak, she kissed her very gently, wished her goodnight and went downstairs to find a book to read.

  It was too early to go to bed and so she went to the bookshelves and there were plenty of them in different rooms of the house.

  She then walked to a window and opened it to look out over the garden.

  The stars were coming out in the sky and it was all very quiet and extremely beautiful.

  As she looked out, she was thinking of how interesting it had been to meet the Marquis and how handsome he was.

  In fact, he was the only man she had really admired since her father had died.

  In contrast to the fathers of the girls she had stayed with when she was at school in Florence, her father had been a tall man.

  Although when she was older they had paid her compliments, she had thought it was just an exaggerated way of speaking and she had not been particularly interested in them anyway.

  But the Marquis was different.

  There was something in his deep voice that made him seem very much a man.

  Apart from that he had seemed very large and overwhelming in the small room where they had met.

  She wished that she had been able to discuss his horses with him and his home in England.

  She had known when she was in Florence that she was homesick for the green of the English countryside, the ancient great houses and the people whose blood was the same as her own.

  ‘I would like to know him better,’ she thought, but recognised that it was unlikely that she would ever see him again.

  Strangely enough, however, when she went to bed she dreamt about him.

  *

  Although in the morning she could not remember her dream at all clearly, she was vividly aware that she had been with him.

  She felt as if she was still aware of his vibrations beside her.

  When Nanny came to call her a little later, she said,

  “It’s goin’ to be ever so hot today, Miss Lela, and I’m not walkin’ all that way to the Museum in the heat!”

  Lela was about to protest and then, knowing that Nanny was old and disliked walking, she suggested instead,

  “Of course, Nanny, and we will not go out if it is too much for you. I will paint some of the flowers in the garden. I am sure that Aunt Edith would like a picture of them when she wakes up.”

  “Now, that’s what I calls real sensible,” Nanny grinned.

  Lela found a small new canvas among the others in the Baron’s studio and, taking her own paints, she went into the garden.

  The roses in their various different colours were very lovely.

  She thought that she would like to paint the tulips that Holland was famous for and then wondered nervously where she would be when spring came and the tulips were in bloom.

  As Nanny had said, it was very hot.

  The sun finally drove her back into the house, where she finished her picture upstairs in the studio.

  She glanced into her aunt’s bedroom to see if she was awake, but she was still asleep.

  It was nearly luncheontime when Lela came down from the studio to give her finished picture to her aunt.

  The Baroness was sitting up in bed looking very pale and drawn.

  Lela thought as she entered the room that, if the Marquis did not buy her sketch soon, it would be too late.

  Her aunt, however, made a great effort to admire the picture that she had painted for her and complimented her on her style.

  “You are a very clever artist, my dear,” she said, “and I only wish you could have come here when your uncle was alive. He would have been delighted with your work.”

  “Now you are paying me compliments I don’t deserve, Aunt Edith. His studio is so beautifully arranged and I think it was very clever of him to find so many canvasses of the different periods.”

  “I must confess,” her aunt answered, “that I find all those technicalities rather boring. As long as a picture is beautiful, I just want to look at it and it really does not matter to me whether it was painted yesterday or three hundred years ago!”

  Lela laughed and replied,

  “I am sure you should not say things like that when you are living in Holland!”

  “Of course not,” the Baroness agreed, “but they would understand me in England.”

  Lela went into the small dining room to have her luncheon alone and, when she had finished, Nanny came in to say,

  “Your aunt’s goin’ to sleep, so don’t disturb her and it’s somethin’ I’m goin’ to do too and for that matter the rest of the people in the household.”

  She spoke a little aggressively, as if she thought that Lela would insist on going to the Museum.

  Instead she said,

  “You rest, Nanny, and I am going to read some of the interesting books I have seen in the drawing room. Perhaps later, if it is cooler, we can go to the Mauritshuis.”

  She saw that Nanny was pleased with her reply and she went into the drawing room where all the windows were open.

  The doors had been left open as well and the scent of the flowers in the garden seemed to fill the house.

  Most of the books, as she expected, were written in Dutch, but there were also a number in French and one or two novels in English.

  Because she felt that it was good for her to practise her French, she picked up a novel by Guy de Maupassant.

  Putting her feet up on the sofa, she was soon absorbed in it.

  It must have been an hour or so later when she heard somebody come into the room and thought that it must be Nanny.

  “Have you had a good sleep – ” she began.

  Then she saw with surprise that it was not Nanny, but a weird young man, thickset and not particularly good-looking.

  In fact he had the heavy
, rather hard features of a Dutchman.

  For a moment she just stared at him and he stared at her as if he was surprised to see her.

  At last Lela rose to her feet, saying,

  “Good afternoon.”

  She spoke in English and the young man answered in the same language, but with a definite accent,

  “Who are you? Why are you here?” he demanded.

  “I am a guest of the Baroness van Alnrardt,” Lela said. “I am afraid you will not be able to see her as she is ill.”

  “I know that,” the man replied, “and I am Nicolaes van Alnrardt, the Baroness’s stepson.”

  Lela realised that this was the young man she had heard about from her aunt, who was behaving badly and trying to sell the pictures that belonged to his brother.

  She looked at him warily and then informed him,

  “The Baroness was my mother’s sister and I am her niece, Lela Cavendish.”

  “If that is who you are, you can give her a message,” Nicolaes van Alnrardt said.

  He looked round as he spoke.

  Then he went across the room to where on the wall was a charming picture by Hendrick Avercamp of people skating on ice.

  It was not very large but exceedingly fine and, as he lifted it down, Lela asked him,

  “What are you doing?”

  “I am taking this picture because I consider it mine.”

  “You cannot do that!” Lela exclaimed. “It is not yours – it belongs to your brother.”

  “What do you know about it? Anyway it is none of your business.”

  “I will not let you steal my aunt’s pictures because she is too ill to stop you,” Lela cried. “Put that picture back at once! You had better leave this house, you have no right to be here!”

  She spoke furiously and Nicolaes looked at her darkly and holding the picture in both hands.

  “You are going to be difficult, are you?” he asserted. “Get out of my way or you will be sorry you interfered.”

  “If you take that picture out of this house, I shall immediately send for the Police!” Lela threatened.

  She was standing between Nicolaes and the door and she felt that he was wondering if he could brush her aside and leave the room with the picture.

  She was determined that he should not do so.

  She reached out and held onto the frame with both hands, trying to wrest it from him, and saying as she did so,