to clear his throat. “At his home, I met Janan Coers and she told me that she had a Turkish-American friend, Emine.” He leaned his head against his fist not knowing what to say next.
“Yes, go on.”
He took a deep breath and said in a rush, “Janan does not know anyone in Leiden. She is going to be all alone at Carl’s funeral tomorrow and I thought . . . I hoped . . .”
The firm voice broke the silence. “I think we should talk to Emine about this, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Pieter answered in a low voice.
“I will call her now and tell her that a friend will be joining us for lunch.” He gave Pieter the directions. “You can tell her the whole story.”
Tell her the whole story? How could he do that? She would despise him for what he had done. “Thank you, I’ll be there.”
Pieter climbed the broad stone steps and paused at the door of the venerable four-story brick home on the Reguliersgracht Canal with its bell-shaped gable roof. He leaned on the railing to rest and took another look at the graceful bridges arching over the canal. Pulling himself erect, he rang the bell and gave his name to the black-clad man who opened the door and identified himself as Deman. At his bidding, Pieter stepped into the vestibule and followed him across the black-and-white tiled hall as a tall man walked toward him with a slight limp.
“I am Marc van Etten,” he said with his hand outstretched. “I remember you now. You were a year or so ahead of me at Leiden.”
Pieter nodded, grateful for Marc’s attempt to put him at ease. “It is very good of you to let me come,” he managed to say.
“The ladies are in the library,” Marc said, leading the way.
As he followed Marc into the library, Pieter was acutely aware of three women studying him: a tall, beautiful woman with an oval face, dark hair, and sapphire blue eyes that were measuring him, an older woman with white hair sitting erectly in her chair braced for any more problems life might bring her, and a little girl who was regarding him with shy interest.
“Emine,” Marc said quietly, putting an arm around his wife’s shoulders, “may I present Pieter Bentinck? He has brought us news of your friend Janan.”
Her voice was grave as she acknowledged the introduction, her eyes questioning.
“My grandmother, Mevrouw Beatrix,” Marc said, leading Pieter to the chair where the matriarch of the family sat.
With a bow, Pieter took the hand that was extended to him and shook it gently.
“Our daughter, Mina,” Marc said with a hand on Mina’s head.
“Juffrouw, Mina,” Pieter said in a soft voice as he took her hand.
“Come,” Marc said briskly offering his arm to Mevrouw Beatrix. “I think”—he nodded in the direction of the housekeeper standing in the doorway—“Nehls is trying to tell us that lunch is ready to be served.”
As Emine, holding Mina’s hand, walked beside Pieter across the hall to the dining room, she said in a low voice, “I must know. Is she all right?”
His response came slowly. “She is well.”
It was Mevrouw Beatrix who broke the silence as soon as the soup had been served. “Bentinck?” She considered Pieter thoughtfully. “I met a Maarten Bentinck a long time ago. He had a beautiful new wife but I can’t remember her name.”
“Mei Ling. Her name was Mei Ling.” He took a sip of the chilled Chablis that had been served with the fish chowder before continuing. “I live with my Great-Uncle Maarten . . . now.” He paused and then continued, “He has told me how, as a young man, he was sent to Jakarta and how he met a lovely young lady named Mei Ling there.”
“He is alone now?” Mevrouw Beatrix asked softly.
“Yes.” Pieter glanced in Mina’s direction and said carefully, “He had been estranged from the family until very recently when he asked me to come and live with him.”
She also glanced at Mina. “I don’t believe I knew your mother and father.”
“My mother is well and working as a solicitor,” he answered briefly.
“I see.” She took his lead. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“I have two brothers, one older and one younger, but unfortunately”—he turned to Mina with a smile— “there are no girls in my family.”
Marc brought Mevrouw Beatrix’s personal questioning to a halt. “I have been away from clinical practice for a few years and so am somewhat out of contact with that side