Ida Brandt (26 page)

But Mrs Mourier had tears in her eyes as she said:

“Seeing you again, Emilie, will nevertheless be awfully difficult for Aline.”

The waiting-room began to fill up as Kate peeled an orange and the general’s wife and Mrs Schleppegrell talked about Geneva chocolate. “Yes, Emilie,” said the admiral’s wife, “if it would not be too much trouble for you to order twenty pounds for me to be sent direct. Geneva chocolate is what Fanny likes best of course.”

Karl appeared among the travellers with his stick under his arm and leaning slightly forward. “Oh,” he said, “I suppose you’ve been here for an hour already.”

He kissed Mrs von Eichbaum on the cheek and gave her a small bottle of eau de Cologne in Russia leather for the journey. “A little present for you,” he said. Karl was managing his money remarkably well recently, and he was really very attentive by nature. He greeted all the others, and Mrs Mourier said with a smile:

“He is an attentive son. I’m sure he will be a good husband.”

“Are you sure of that?” said Karl, who was standing between Mrs Mourier and Kate, and he wrinkled his nose.

“Hm, what are the qualities of a good husband?” said Kate.

“That he is a real man,” said Karl.

Kate looked up, and something appeared in her eyes for a brief moment that made Karl as it were move closer to the back of her chair.

“Yes, Karl is right in that,” said Mrs Mourier.

The door to the waiting-room opened and Julius gathered the smaller pieces of luggage.

“But in Geneva,” Mrs von Eichbaum was heard to say to Mrs Schleppegrell, “one can always attend the Reformed Church.”

Fanny, who was looking at Karl and Kate through her pince-nez, said to the general’s wife: “Yes, they have a new minister now, and he is said to speak in such a beautiful way.”

Mrs Mourier, who was the last to rise, said: “Oh, I am never keen on hearing ministers I do not know.”

They all emerged on to the platform and Mrs von Eichbaum found a compartment. There was something about Mrs von Eichbaum that immediately persuaded conductors and the like to shower her with attention even though she did not exactly give the impression that she would be giving a tip. She got in while all the others except Karl and Kate clustered together around the door, so that Nurse Kjær, who came running up, quite out of breath, with Ida’s bouquet could hardly reach the step.

“There are just a few flowers from Miss Brandt. She could unfortunately not come herself.”

Mrs von Eichbaum took the flowers and expressed her thanks: it was so kind of Miss Brandt. And Nurse Kjær disappeared again just as suddenly and embarrassingly flushed as when she had arrived, while Mrs von Eichbaum, sitting with the bouquet, said:

“My dears, that was really kind of her, but flowers are
simply
one of the least practical things I can imagine for a journey. Take them home with you, Vilhelmine, and put them in some water.”

And she handed the roses to Mrs Mourier:

“I would only put them in the luggage rack here and find them withered in the morning.”

The flowers were passed to Kate, who stood there holding them.

“They are beautiful,” she said, looking down with supreme indifference at the long La France roses.

“Yes,” said Karl, smiling suddenly and so nicely down at the pink flowers. “She meant well, damn it.”

Then he returned to his theme – they had been talking about Knuth’s riding skill – and he wrinkled his nose at the thought of the count.

“No, he’s a fine jumper, by Jove. Where did you come across
him
?”

“He has been garrisoned at Aarhus. And you refuse to ride with me.”

“It’s a lovely animal,” was all Karl said with a vague nod.

The conductors closed the doors and the latecomers rushed out of the waiting-rooms, followed by panting hotel porters. Doors were opened and closed again, and suddenly, for a moment, it was as though everyone was quarrelling, porters, conductors and travellers.

“My dear,” said Mrs von Eichbaum, standing bolt upright at the window of her compartment, “I cannot understand that people who are about to embark on a journey can never arrange their time better.”

∞∞∞

The train had left and they only saw Mrs von Eichbaum’s white handkerchief once more before all turned and left.

When they reached the main hall, Karl said:

“I could actually come riding tomorrow.”

“But Knuth’s coming now,” replied Kate.

“Well then, he can come with us,” said Karl.

That was agreed, and Karl left.

Mrs Schleppegrell and Fanny decided to take the tramcar home, while the others took a cab. They spoke about Aline, and the general’s wife said:

“We do not condemn her. But you know there are things one simply does not comprehend.”

“Well,” said Mrs Mourier, staring straight ahead, “there is a little of it in all of us, and when you don’t become closely attached to the one you have.”

“Yes, dear,” replied the general’s wife, “but, there are things, you know, that one has to restrain.”

Kate sat watching the Schleppegrells. They were stepping into the tramcar now. Mrs Schleppegrell always had the conductor take a really firm hold around her waist.

“Fanny,” she said when they were both safely aboard, “I do not think we should tell anyone that we were at the station.”

Mrs Mourier had arrived home and had collapsed in a chair still wearing her outdoor clothes. Her thoughts were with Aline.

“Well,” she said, “the worst is still to come for her.” She was thinking of Aline and her arrival home.

“Kate, will you put those flowers in water.”

Kate looked around.

“I forgot them in the cab,” she said, and went in to Victoria.

Mrs Mourier remained seated with her outdoor clothes on. She smiled: she had thought of Karl. She so liked him. There are no airs and graces about him, she always said to the general’s wife.

∞∞∞

Ida was in the café, by the fire, beside the well-laid table, when the door opened and she rose – flushed right down over her neck – but it was only Mr Ellingsen bringing a note.

Ida opened it and read it, immediately, while standing in the middle or the floor, and there came such a strange sudden pain in her breast.

“I am afraid I shall have to go riding with the butter this morning. Will see you soon. Karl.”

“Is the gentleman ill?” said Ellingsen, very quietly. He had only taken one look at her face.

“Yes,” said Ida, almost without realising it.

She just took a look at the table.

“Let me pay you,” she said, suddenly smiling (it was all so reasonable: it was naturally Mrs von Eichbaum who had arranged it yesterday evening at the station) but she suddenly realised that Ellingsen would recognise the purse, so she said:

“Oh no, it can wait.” And she went on to talk to Ellingsen as he helped her on with her coat and said goodbye to him without turning round.

Ellingsen closed the door and cleared the table and smoothed the serviettes a little. There was something about the movements of his hands as he did this that suggested concern, as though he were distributing black-edged hymn sheets in a choir loft.

Ida walked along the road, erect and quick, smiling once more. It was so reasonable and Karl was so fond of riding. (The thought of Karl’s name brought the smile back to her eyes, which had been as it were round and stiff, although there was plenty of radiance in them.) She continued to smile. Yes, he rode so elegantly.

But – yes – she would walk quickly, for if they were riding and came this way…She was nevertheless reluctant to meet them.

However, for whatever reason, she walked slowly every now and then and it was as though the heads of the old gentlemen who were taking their walk only came into sight suddenly, when they were right upon her, so that she hardly managed to nod to them. But the old judge stopped her and held both her hands tight between his knitted mittens. What lovely weather it was today, he said, and so bright.

“Aye, it’s a wonderful air for those of us who are hard of hearing,” he said. But at that moment Ida heard the sound of horses trotting behind her, and she simply
had
to leave him: it must be them, though it sounded as though there were three horses…

Ida did not herself know why she took such a deep breath when she had half turned to see Knuth come trotting along – there, on the other side of Kate.

The horses came ever closer, and Ida was about to acknowledge them when Kate Mourier reined in her horse.

“Good morning, Miss Brandt,” she said, up on the animal, and the others stopped like her.

Ida flushed and then turned pale.

“Good morning,” she said, and the stiff expression that had been there before returned to her eyes.

“You can be sure we have been for a long ride,” said Kate, while Karl, who was close to Ida and had been unable to catch her eye, allowed, as though by chance, the furthest tip of his riding whip to touch Ida’s cheek quite lightly, causing Ida, with the speed of lightning, to look up for a second.

“Ugh,” said Kate, looking out across the lake (Knuth did not take his eyes of Ida) “It must be awful to work in the madhouse on a day like this.”

She nodded again and they rode off.

“She’s quite sweet really,” she said as they cantered along.

“Yes,” said Karl slowly: “She’s so lovely when she’s upset.”

Kate laughed, “Good heavens, that’s so like you. Is she not lovely when she’s happy?”

“No,” said Karl.

“Why?”

Karl rode on a little. “I suppose she’s not used to being happy,” he said and nodded.

Knuth had come half a horse length behind the others: he turned around twice in the saddle to look back.

“Come on, Knuth,” Kate called, and Knuth quickened his pace. Shortly afterwards, he asked:

“Is she in the Municipal?”

“Yes,” replied Karl.

“Allez-y.”

They broke into a sharp trot.

During each break in the barracks that morning, Knuth went around in a strange manner, chewing at the knob on his whip.

Brahe stood there with his legs apart, grinning. He knew what was wrong when Knuth chewed at his whip and his eyes took on, as it were, a darker shade.

“Nonsense,” said Knuth. But he continued to chew at his whip. She had had a lovely smile by Gad, as she stood there looking up at that fellow.

Ida was at home. She had nodded to the porter and spoken to Josefine on the stairs – Josefine’s skirts swished wonderfully during these days – and up in her room she had closed her window: she was conscious of only one thing, all the time: the gentle touch of Karl’s whip on her cheek.

∞∞∞

“Blast, oh, I don’t think he saw me.” Karl jumped around the corner of the stairs up to Ida’s room at about five o’ clock just as Dr Quam opened the door on the first floor. He stood by her door for a moment until he heard Quam’s steps die away down the corridor.

Then he knocked twice on the door, as was his custom.

“You looked so lovely this morning,” he kept saying to Ida; and he stayed with her until the very last minute.

But when he came down, Quam was standing outside the ward with the noisy patients, talking to Sister Koch.

“Good evening,” he said softly as he went past.

Sister Koch made no reply, but she gave him such a furious look, and her conversation with Quam came to a halt.

“I really do wonder,” she said suddenly, in the midst of something else: “what people like that are
thinking
of…”

Dr Quam stood for a moment:

“I suppose there are people who never think very far,” he said. “And things are easier for them when they don’t think further than they want to.”

Sister Koch closed her lips so tightly that they were no more than a line.

After a slight pause, she said:

“Tell me, doctor, what is really to be done with this world?”

Quam whistled.

“I’ve no idea, unless a certain number of men were to be treated in the same way as stallions and turned into work horses quietly pulling a big cart.”

He was silent for a while:

“In that way,” he went on: “The excellent result would be achieved of depopulating the earth as far as possible.”

“You are a sensible man, doctor,” said Sister Koch.

“Well,” said Quam: “God knows. I suppose you become bitter by going around in a lunatic asylum, most of all when you think of those who have not been confined to one.”

∞∞∞

The cab stopped outside the door in Toldbodvejen, and Karl emerged:

“Right, now get the shawl down over your ears.”

Ida was to act the part of the general’s wife as she passed Svendsen, the porter, walking on tiptoe to look the right height and laughing, with the lace scarf covering her face.

“He’s there, damn it,” said Karl, glancing at the porter’s hatch as Ida went past on stretched feet.

“There.”

They were safely inside the courtyard, and they both laughed, quietly. But nodding towards him, Karl said:

“But it was his confounded fault the admiral’s family moved out.”

“Why?”

Karl smacked his lips. “The admiral’s an old rogue,” was all he said. They crept up the stairs, and Ida stumbled and laughed again before they reached the door.

“You’ re trembling,” said Karl as he helped her off with her coat.

“Yes,” said Ida, laughing but trembling nevertheless. But Karl, opening the door to the dining room, simply said: “They’ re in bed,” as though it was for this reason she was trembling. Ida waited for a while in his room until Karl came back.

“They’ re asleep,” he said, and he took Ida, who still walked cautiously, inside to the living room, where the lamps were lit and the wine was on the table.

“Oh, it’s so lovely,” said Ida, laying her head against his shoulder.

“Yes,” said Karl: “You’ re the daughter-in-law this evening.”

For a moment Ida gave him a radiant look while blushing at the same time, and Karl, who had met her eyes drew his shoulder away just a little, something of which he himself was perhaps not aware, but which she nevertheless sensed.

“It’s the navy’s Madeira,” said Karl.