The Tulip Eaters (10 page)

She turned back to Richards and heard the words shoot from her mouth. “You can all go to hell. I’m going to handle this myself.”

12

As soon as Richards left, Nora marched into her bedroom and began pulling clothes from her drawers and throwing them wildly into a suitcase. She pushed aside her dresses and retrieved a heavy leather jacket. She yanked it off the hanger and threw it onto the bed.

Marijke appeared, her eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing?”

Nora held up a pair of winter pants. “I wonder if these will be warm enough.”

“Nora! Are you out of your mind? You know you have to stay here. There’s nothing to be done. You heard Richards.”

Nora folded the pants and stuffed them into her bag. “And I told both of you that I’m going to handle this myself.” She saw the hurt in Marijke’s eyes and then sat on the bed, patting the place next to her. Marijke sat and crossed her arms. “I know you think I’m insane, too,” said Nora. “But I had a brainstorm while we were talking.”

Marijke pointed at Nora’s suitcase. “And what does that have to do with getting on an airplane?”

Nora smiled. She felt calmer than she had since that first hellish day. “I have a plan. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it days ago.” She paused. “I’m going to Amsterdam—to RIOD.”

“RIOD?”

Nora nodded. RIOD was the
Rijksinstituut voor Oorlogsdocumentatie,
the Dutch Institute for War Documentation. It was where Nico worked. “If there are any answers to be found, that’s where they’ll be.”

Marijke sat silently. Nora noted her furrowed brow, but ignored it as she walked into the bathroom and gathered her toiletries. She walked to the bed and threw them into her bag. She wouldn’t meet Marijke’s eyes. She couldn’t let anyone or anything deter her. Glancing now at the contents of her suitcase, she spoke quickly. “Thanks to Nico, I know every nook and cranny of that place, how it’s organized, how to do the research—”

Marijke stood, put her hand on Nora’s arm and held it fast. “What about your job?”

“I’ve got one week left of the two Bates promised me. I’ll ask for another. That should give me enough time.”

“Nora, I have something I must say.” Marijke’s voice was firm, laced with impatience. “I’m trying to help you get through this. Please know I can’t even imagine how horrible this is for you, but you’re completely losing control.” She paused. “You’re heading off on a wild-goose chase because you’re terrified that if you don’t do something—anything—you may have to accept that Rose may not be coming back.”

“That’s not true!”

Marijke shook her head. “At this point I have to agree with the lieutenant. You have to let him do his job. Regardless of what you now discover about your parents, how will any of that be either relevant or discovered in time to do Rose any good? We need to focus completely on the kidnapper right now—nothing else.” Marijke sat on the bed and stared at Nora, waiting for a response.

Nora felt bitterly disappointed. It was one thing for Richards to think she was crazy, but if Marijke believed she was completely off base, then was she? Her mind spun. Yes, she knew what she was proposing was a long shot, but how could she accept that the solution was to sit and do nothing? If the ransom call came, they could contact her in Amsterdam as quickly as in Houston. She had given Richards her bank information the first day in the event a ransom demand was made and she wasn’t available. Now she would further instruct the bank in writing that he was authorized to withdraw up to twenty thousand dollars. It was almost everything she had as a young doctor, but once her mother’s estate was probated, there would be more. For Rose, she would beg, borrow or steal.

No, she had to go with her gut. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I hoped that at least you would believe in me.”

Marijke shook her head. “Of course I believe in you! I believe that you’re a wonderful mother who is grasping at anything that might, but won’t, help her deal with a terrible situation.”

“Marijke, you don’t have children. You have no idea what this is like.”

“You’re right, and that is precisely my point. I bring a different, more logical perspective to bear on this. And I believe that the lieutenant is correct.” She paused. “But let’s put that aside. Tell me what you hope to accomplish with this plan of yours.”

Nora zipped up her suitcase. She knew now what Marijke’s real question was. “Yes, I’m going to call him.”

“Who?”

“You know very well who.” Nora reached under the bed and retrieved a long pair of boots.

“Nico?”

“Yes, Nico. He’s the only one who can help me.” Nora felt Marijke’s eyes searching hers. “Listen, I haven’t told you the truth about some important things.”

Marijke stood, took Nora by the hand and led her into the living room. She pushed Nora gently onto the couch and walked to the small bar. She took two crystal jiggers, went to the freezer in the kitchen and brought back a bottle of Dutch
genever.
Nora felt she was back in another time, another life.
Holland. Nico. Dinner and drinks with friends.
She lost herself in that until Marijke put the ice-cold glass into her hand. Each raised a glass to the other.
“Proost,”
they said, and took the first bracing sip.

Marijke settled back into one corner of the couch, facing Nora. “So,” she said. “What don’t I know? You and Nico lived together for two years in Amsterdam. I know that—I introduced you.”

Nora felt the cold gin slide down her throat and send out waves of warmth to her body. “What else did you know?”

Marijke shrugged. “I didn’t see you two that often, you know. I was busy working on my thesis on the effect of European economics on the Netherlands so I could
promoveren.
All I knew was that you were doing an advanced fellowship in pediatric surgery and when the job in Houston opened up for you, you two broke up.”

Nora nodded. It still hurt to think back on those agonizing weeks. She had tried again and again to persuade Nico to investigate the possibility of moving to Houston. Like the stubborn Dutchman he was, he refused to even consider it. His life was in Amsterdam at RIOD. He was determined to become its director general. He believed that he had no serious prospects in the States.

Nora looked up at Marijke. “And,” she said slowly, “you knew that he wanted me to stay in Holland, get married and have babies.”

“I knew he wanted to marry you. It was obvious. He was so in love with you and, from what I could tell, you adored him. What I didn’t know was that children were an issue.”

Nora grabbed the
genever
and poured another shot. “
Jezus,
Marijke, I was so naive. As crazy as it sounds now, I thought I didn’t want marriage or children. If I had agreed to stay in Holland, it meant that I virtually had to do college and medical school all over again. Nine years! I felt I had no choice. I had to go back to the States. That was where my future lay.” She sipped at her drink, reliving those endless nights of arguing and pleading.

“So,” said Marijke. “You broke up.”

Nora nodded, the heartbreak fresher than she thought it could be. “We agreed to part. And we did.”

Marijke curled up on the couch and shook her head. “So what didn’t you tell me?”

Nora hesitated, her heart still heavy with the guilt of nondisclosure, particularly toward so wonderful a friend. “Do you remember when I called you from Houston a few months after I got back?”

“Of course. That’s when you told me you had gotten pregnant—a one-night stand with some resident at the hospital.”

Nora put her glass down. Her eyes met Marijke’s. “That was a lie.”

“What do you mean?”

“The baby,” Nora whispered, as Rose’s blue eyes and soft red curls filled her mind’s eye.

“Kom nou,”
said Marijke. “What is it?”

Nora felt as if the world had dropped out beneath her feet. She took a long, ragged breath.

“Rose.” Her breath was a whisper on the wind. “She is Nico’s daughter.”

13

Marijke looked stunned. “I can’t believe you never told me this.”

Nora felt miserable at Marijke’s rebuke. “I’m sorry.”

“Then why?”

“Because it was too painful,” Nora blurted. “When Nico wouldn’t come to Houston with me, it broke my heart. Then to discover that I was pregnant with his baby—it was too much. I couldn’t bear to talk about it. Only my mother knew.”

“That’s crazy! How could you have his baby and not even tell him?” Marijke stood up and paced. Finally she stopped. “
Ach,
Nora, he had the right to know. Then he could have made his own decision.”

Nora felt the same torment she always had when she reflected upon that fateful decision. “I thought about it, really I did. In fact, I thought of little else during those nine long months.” She turned her palms up. “Do you think it was an easy decision? But I finally came to the conclusion that it was better. To make a fresh start. To raise Rose on my own.”

“But Nora, I know him. He would have found a way for the two of you to be together.”

“No. I refused to have him come to America simply because I was going to have a baby. He had made his position crystal clear. He had no intention of ever living here, even though I had been offered the opportunity of a lifetime, what I had always strived for.” Just talking about it made her heart ache. “I had no other choice.” The bitterness in her stomach felt like burnt sticks. “And he was willing to let us break up, refusing to even check out what he might be able to do here so we could stay together.”

She gave Marijke a pleading look. “Please understand. I didn’t want to trap him with Rose. If he had decided to come here for me, that would have been different.” She stared across the room. “So when I left, I accepted that he was never going to be part of my life. I didn’t want Rose to grow up confused, shuttling back and forth to Holland, never having a normal home.”

Marijke sat back and crossed her arms. Nora saw the stubbornness in her eyes that she felt in herself.
The Dutch,
she thought,
we are a hopeless breed.

“You were afraid. You wanted Rose all to yourself.”

“I—I don’t know.” She was so exhausted she didn’t know what to think.

Marijke slapped her hands on her thighs and then slid the phone across the coffee table to Nora. “Call him.” Her voice was unyielding. “Now.”

“I will.”

“And tell him about Rose? That she is his daughter and in terrible danger?”

“No, just that my daughter has been kidnapped and that I need his help to find her. I wouldn’t even ask that of him if I didn’t have to, but I have no choice.” She sighed. “But I worry how bitter he may still be about the breakup.”

“Nora, look at me.”

“What?”

“I have also not been truthful with you. When you asked me never to speak of Nico again after you left, I honored that. Now I have to tell you something, as well.”

Nora felt a sudden dread. “What?” she asked. “Is he sick?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Tell me!”

“He’s married.”

Pain slashed through Nora. “When?”

“Six months ago.”

Nora was stunned.
Nico—married?
She had never expected that. At least not so soon. How could he—not even two years since he had told her he loved her more than anyone he had ever known? Obviously he hadn’t. A metallic taste filled her mouth, as if she had bitten down on a piece of copper. She looked up at Marijke. “Is he...happy?”

“I don’t know. I don’t keep in touch with him. He avoids me since you left—probably too unpleasant for him. But I do know that he is now the Director of RIOD.” She pointed at the phone. “So call him.”

Nora opened a drawer in the coffee table. After digging around, she found her old address book and flipped through it. Her heart raced when she saw his home number. Probably wasn’t the same now. Or a woman would answer.
Could she take that?

No, she would call RIOD. She could reach him there. She prepared herself to be neutral, yet friendly. It didn’t matter how she felt. She had to beg for his help. She looked at her watch. Nine in the morning, 4:00 p.m. in Holland. She placed the call through the overseas operator. It rang twice before a male voice came through.

“
Met
Leo van Es—RIOD.”

Nora cleared her throat and forced her voice to sound professional. “May I speak with Dr. Nico Meijer,
alstublieft?
”

She heard a hesitation and the sound of papers rustling. “I am very sorry,
Mevrouw,
but Dr. Meijer is currently on vacation.”

Nora’s heart leaped, relieved not to have to speak to him, but that feeling vanished as fear replaced it. “When will he be back?”

Another rustling of paper. “Not until next week at the earliest.”

“Do you have a number where he can be reached? It is very important that I speak with him.”

“No,
Mevrouw.
Dr. Meijer did not leave a contact number.”

She should have known. Nico never left a number when on vacation. Time away was sacrosanct. Besides, the history of Holland during the Second World War could hardly be perceived by anyone as an emergency. Except now, she thought. A vision leaped into her mind—Nico with his new wife in Italy or Greece, laughing, probably staying at the same hotels they had stayed in, making love...

“Mevrouw?”

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I have a very urgent research matter I wonder if you could help me with.” She explained that she needed to obtain information about an Abram Rosen, killed near the end of the war, as well as the identities and activities of a few persons living in Amsterdam at the same time. She gave the clerk both names used by her parents.

“And how quickly do you require this information?” Nora heard surprise in his voice.
Why is this so urgent?
he must be thinking.

“Immediately.”

“I’m afraid not,” he said, finality clear in his voice. “We have only a very small staff here. Are you familiar with how we work?”

“Yes, I know all about that.” She had, after all, lived with Nico for two years. He so often had complained about the problems at the
Instituut,
from the bickering of the historians who formed the board to the antiquated manner in which the documents had been cataloged.

The clerk’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Of course, if your research is so important, you are always welcome to come here yourself.”

Nora stifled a groan. She had hoped to persuade Nico to order that the research be done quickly so when she arrived in Amsterdam, she could follow up on any leads. “I live in the U.S.,” she said. “Traveling is difficult for me at the moment. Isn’t there any way you can help me?”

“I’m afraid not. Perhaps you could let us know when you can come and I will be happy to set up an appointment for you.”

“If I did come, could I at least depend upon some assistance from your staff?”

“Of course,” he said. “One of our
medewerkers
would be pleased to help you.”

“Very well. I’ll make my travel plans.”

Marijke shook Nora’s arm. “What are you doing!” she hissed.

Nora held a hand over the mouthpiece. “Not now.”

The clerk was still talking. “So let us know when we can expect you. There is one proviso. Dr. Meijer recently made a new policy for access to the
Instituut.
You must present proper credentials.”

“What kind of credentials?”

“Graduate students and professors of universities, noted historians and others we approve on a case-by-case basis.”

“My understanding is that the public has open access to RIOD. It is supposed to be an educational tool for those interested in the time period.”

“Yes, it has always been so,” he said, “but now we must carefully monitor those who enter due to the alarming increase by certain factions who are attempting to establish a new Dutch Nazi party.” He cleared his throat. “We have had disturbances, thefts of historical documents, particularly those pertaining to the NSB.” He paused. “Do you know about the NSB?”

“Yes,” said Nora, trying to fight off the image of her mother in her drab NSB uniform cheering at Hitler rallies.

“May I ask if you fall into one of the categories to whom we offer access?” asked the clerk.

“Yes, I do. I am a professor of European Studies from Stanford University, specializing in the Netherlands during the Second World War.” She gave Marijke a sidelong glance and saw shock on her face. She pressed the receiver against her chest. “Marijke—not now,” she whispered. She spoke again into the receiver. “I can be there day after tomorrow. I will most likely arrive at the
Instituut
before noon.”

“Perfect.” Nora could hear the relief in his voice. He was ready to get rid of her. “Your name, please?”

“Professor Aantje van Doren.”

“
Tot gauw,
Dr. van Doren.”

“Yes.” She heard flatness in her voice. “Until then.”