to being desired by young men and saw no reason why Piet Barol should be exempt from the general rule. She was shorter than her sister, radiantly blond, high spirited and popular, with (as Hilde told Didier, who told Piet) thick ankles she went to great lengths to keep secret.
Like her father, Constance was instinctively competitive and had devoted much effort to acquiring the power she wielded over her contemporaries. Her methods relied on the magnetism of her person and the impact she could make with it when she chose. Though she complained of living in a backwater, in fact Amsterdam’s size suited Constance—because it is easier to rule unchallenged over a duchy than an empire. Her world was the city; her stage the salons and ballrooms of its canal houses; her subjects the privileged children who had been the playmates of her youth. Like Piet, she had developed over time a highly artificial naturalness that failed to charm only the least susceptible and allowed her to triumph through seduction rather than violence. Many women, despite themselves, formed intense friendships with Constance, for she was loyal and sympathetic and listened with attention. Those who did not feared her, and were wise to do so.
It was rare for a rival to challenge Constance directly. When one did they discovered that Louisa Vermeulen-Sickerts, generally so silent, was capable of devastating sarcasm and quite prepared to unleash it on her sister’s behalf. Louisa’s maxim was: “Those who laugh are always right.” She was very good at ensuring that people laughed with the sisters, not against them.
Men grew sleepless and erratic over Constance, and she had already (so the newspapers said) received and rejected eighteen offers of marriage, as against three for the glacial Louisa. This discrepancy made no difference to the girls’ friendship, which was devoted and tender. This was partly because Louisa discouraged all suitors, finding none to her taste, while her sister took satisfaction from quantity as well as quality.
Constance kept her paramours in the state of consuming desire that cannot long survive its fulfillment. She had no inclination to give up her sister’s company and the freedoms of life beneath her parents’ roof; and because Louisa felt the same, neither of them had ever seriously considered becoming any man’s wife. The girls were unforgiving in the matter of masculine failings, and Constance in particular derived a cruel, self-regarding pleasure from observing how much young men minded when she dropped them.
Maarten Vermeulen-Sickerts knew that his girls—unlike the lesser daughters of lesser men—would remain highly eligible late into their twenties and was delighted to keep them at home as long as he could. He was amused by Constance’s artifice, because beneath it she was warm and funny and family minded—as Piet learned from listening to the sisters through Didier Loubat’s window.
Only with Louisa was Constance wholly herself, and this was partly because Louisa abhorred contrivance of any sort. In private, the listening young men half felt that Louisa was the dominant sister, which would not at all have been the verdict of someone who encountered the girls in public. On her balcony after dinner, Louisa dissected Constance’s vanities so savagely that Constance screamed with laughter and threatened to wet herself.
Louisa was the schemer, the silent observer, the strategist behind the maintenance of Constance’s position at the apex of the little world that was all she knew, or cared to know. Louisa designed Constance’s clothes, adamantly refusing her requests for frills, stays and unnecessary adornments. She decided the set of her hair, forced her to brave the sun in August, and took charge of her care during the occasional bouts of hysterical darkness, succeeded by lethargy, that punctuated the shiny ebullience of her daily performances. Louisa teased her sister for toying with men but deftly assisted
Like her father, Constance was instinctively competitive and had devoted much effort to acquiring the power she wielded over her contemporaries. Her methods relied on the magnetism of her person and the impact she could make with it when she chose. Though she complained of living in a backwater, in fact Amsterdam’s size suited Constance—because it is easier to rule unchallenged over a duchy than an empire. Her world was the city; her stage the salons and ballrooms of its canal houses; her subjects the privileged children who had been the playmates of her youth. Like Piet, she had developed over time a highly artificial naturalness that failed to charm only the least susceptible and allowed her to triumph through seduction rather than violence. Many women, despite themselves, formed intense friendships with Constance, for she was loyal and sympathetic and listened with attention. Those who did not feared her, and were wise to do so.
It was rare for a rival to challenge Constance directly. When one did they discovered that Louisa Vermeulen-Sickerts, generally so silent, was capable of devastating sarcasm and quite prepared to unleash it on her sister’s behalf. Louisa’s maxim was: “Those who laugh are always right.” She was very good at ensuring that people laughed with the sisters, not against them.
Men grew sleepless and erratic over Constance, and she had already (so the newspapers said) received and rejected eighteen offers of marriage, as against three for the glacial Louisa. This discrepancy made no difference to the girls’ friendship, which was devoted and tender. This was partly because Louisa discouraged all suitors, finding none to her taste, while her sister took satisfaction from quantity as well as quality.
Constance kept her paramours in the state of consuming desire that cannot long survive its fulfillment. She had no inclination to give up her sister’s company and the freedoms of life beneath her parents’ roof; and because Louisa felt the same, neither of them had ever seriously considered becoming any man’s wife. The girls were unforgiving in the matter of masculine failings, and Constance in particular derived a cruel, self-regarding pleasure from observing how much young men minded when she dropped them.
Maarten Vermeulen-Sickerts knew that his girls—unlike the lesser daughters of lesser men—would remain highly eligible late into their twenties and was delighted to keep them at home as long as he could. He was amused by Constance’s artifice, because beneath it she was warm and funny and family minded—as Piet learned from listening to the sisters through Didier Loubat’s window.
Only with Louisa was Constance wholly herself, and this was partly because Louisa abhorred contrivance of any sort. In private, the listening young men half felt that Louisa was the dominant sister, which would not at all have been the verdict of someone who encountered the girls in public. On her balcony after dinner, Louisa dissected Constance’s vanities so savagely that Constance screamed with laughter and threatened to wet herself.
Louisa was the schemer, the silent observer, the strategist behind the maintenance of Constance’s position at the apex of the little world that was all she knew, or cared to know. Louisa designed Constance’s clothes, adamantly refusing her requests for frills, stays and unnecessary adornments. She decided the set of her hair, forced her to brave the sun in August, and took charge of her care during the occasional bouts of hysterical darkness, succeeded by lethargy, that punctuated the shiny ebullience of her daily performances. Louisa teased her sister for toying with men but deftly assisted
Similar Books
