Tabitha in Moonlight by Betty Neels Page A

Tabitha ran her there in the Fiat after an early breakfast and then went back to the flat. It was going to be a delightful day, warm even for summer, with a vivid blue sky which made Tabitha disinclined for any of the chores she had told herself she would do. Nevertheless, she got her bucket and suds and cloths and started to clean the car; a job she detested but which was long overdue. She had been working without much enthusiasm for ten minutes or so when the Bentley crept up noiselessly behind her and Mr van Beek, looking cool and elegant and lazier than ever, stepped out and strolled towards her. Tabitha dropped the sponge back into the bucket with a tremendous splash and said with artificial calm:
    â€˜Good morning. I thought you were at the Johnsons’.’
    â€˜Hullo. Yes, I am…’ before he could go on she said quickly, without thinking: ‘Lilith’s not home.’
    He half smiled at some secret joke she felt she wasn’t sharing. ‘No, she isn’t. I wondered if you would like a day out. I feel like a breath of sea air. I hope you do too.’
    So that was it, thought Tabitha; Lilith had refused to spend the day with him and the next best thing was herself, because she was after all Lilith’s stepsister and one of the family—or so he imagined. What more natural than for a man to cultivate the good offices of his future sister-in-law? She spent a few anxious moments warring with her pride, knowing that the battle was lost before she had offered herself even the mildest of reasons as to why she should refuse. She said amiably:
    â€˜Yes, that would be nice, but I’m in the middle of doing this.’
    He held out a hand and took the sponge from her. ‘Go and fetch whatever you swim in,’ he advised. ‘I’ll finish this for you. I suppose there isn’t any coffee?’
    She turned at the door. ‘By the time you’re done, it’ll be ready,’ she promised.
    He was putting the final polish to the roof of the car when she returned. In twenty minutes or so she had not only made coffee but changed her dress, re-done her hair and touched up her face, as well as finding a beach bag and her swimsuit. She packed it rather impatiently, because only that week she had intended to buy herself a bikini, something rather dashing and colourful, and somehow hadn’t got around to it. Now she would have to wear her last year’s swimsuit—not, she assured herself, that it would make a scrap of difference what she wore.
    â€˜Coffee’s ready!’ she called, and as he came towards her with the bucket in one hand, ‘Thank you, Mr van Beek.’
    He stopped short in front of her. ‘I know it wouldn’t be quite the thing to call me Marius in the ward, but couldn’t you bring yourself to do so at all other times? It makes me feel very old, for one thing, and for another, it gives me the disagreeable sensation that you don’t approve of me.’
    Tabitha said briskly: ‘How ridiculous! Why shouldn’t I approve of you? And I certainly don’t consider you old.’ She added kindly: ‘I’m twenty-five myself, you know, and women get older much faster than men.’
    â€˜And that,’ said Marius as he took his mug of coffee, ‘is the sort of comforting remark which you can be relied upon to make at all times.’
    Tabitha thought he was joking; it wasn’t until they had sat down opposite each other at the kitchen table that she looked at his face and saw that he was serious and knew that he had meant every word—a fact which she found didn’t please her at all; it merely proved that he thought of her as Tabby—kind Tabby, if you like—but Tabby, just as everyone else did.
    â€˜Very good coffee,’ said Marius pleasantly, and she nodded, unaware that he had been watching her closely. ‘We make excellent coffee in my country—you should try it some