Little Girl Lost by Val Wood Page B

put his head back on his pillow. ‘Try telling that to the purveyors of cheese and gin,’ he said croakily. ‘I think you’ll find they have a different opinion.’
    Frederik told him that he hoped to be back in Netherlands within three weeks and Nicolaas said he would look forward to it and he must stay with them again. He put out his hand. ‘Take great care, my good friend, and thank you for your friendship. I shall rest more easily now that I know you will watch over Cornelia, although I won’t hold you to any commitment that you can’t easily accomplish.’
    Frederik took the offered hand and tears fell unbidden down his cheeks. ‘Farewell,’ he said huskily. ‘Not goodbye, for I look forward to seeing you next time,’ and bent and kissed his boyhood friend tenderly on the forehead. ‘
God zegene u
.’ God bless you.
    At the bottom of the stairs he held his fingers to his eyes to quell the tears before he went to say goodbye to Cornelia. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered as he took her hand. ‘I do not have your strength to withstand such anguish.’
    â€˜It is a matter of taking one day at a time, one hour at a time, one minute at a time,’ she said softly. ‘And that way the whole day passes and you are through it and ready for the next one.’ She gently brushed his wet cheek with her fingertips. ‘We shall hope to see you again soon, and if anything should occur before then, perhaps I might write to you?’
    â€˜Of course,’ he murmured. ‘Do not hesitate. I can be here within a day.’
    â€˜You have been a good friend,’ she said. ‘To both of us. It is appreciated; you have gone beyond the bond of friendship.’
    He shook his head. ‘I have done nothing. I wish that I could have done more.’ He kissed her on both cheeks and then, without thinking, he put his arms around her. For a moment only, he held her close. He felt her take a sudden breath before he released her.
    â€˜I beg your pardon,’ he began, but she gave a tremulous smile.
    â€˜It is best not to be too kind to me, Frederik, or my questionable resolve to be strong will weaken,’ she whispered.
    As the carriage bowled along the road to Amsterdam, he mused on the week just past. He’d felt like one of the family as they had sat and chatted after supper. Cornelia had found him a pair of slippers and a woollen jacket belonging to Nicolaas so that he could be more comfortable than dressed in his formal coat, and after Nicolaas had gone to bed she had taken off her white cap as she talked and unplaited her braids, running her fingers through her thick hair without a thought for the impropriety of such conduct in front of a man who wasn’t her husband. He had never seen Rosamund with her hair undressed except in bed, and more often than not she wore a bed cap. There was something, he reflected, quite pleasurable about such long, soft and luxurious tresses. With the undulating waves falling around her shoulders, Cornelia was not the usual image of a Dutch woman one might see in a painting, calm and peaceful, her passions and emotions controlled in much the same way as her hair was confined beneath a cap.
    Lost in his musings, he barely noticed the familiar landscape of rich green fields interspersed with dykes and ditches and only vaguely glanced at the polder mills in the distance as their sails turned and the pumps drained the land. It was all so familiar and well loved, and although it seemed not to have changed since he was a boy he was aware that there was constant renewal as engineers worked to keep the low-lying land safe from the invading sea.
    Making a quick decision, he asked the driver to take him to his mother’s house. After the time he had spent with Nicolaas and Cornelia, his conscience told him that he didn’t see enough of his family, and that business could wait.
    She was delighted to see him even