Wish with the Candles. Бетти Нилс

young mechanic she addressed in English grinned and disappeared to reappear a minute later with an older man who said, ‘Good day, miss,’ and when he had read the note she handed to him, looked at her with a smile and asked, ‘You stay at the hotel?’ and when Emma nodded, went on, ‘De Witte Engel—by the canal in the centrum, you cannot miss. The boy will come for the car. OK?’

      ‘Oh, very OK,’ said Emma with relief. ‘I think I need a new plug.’

      The man smiled again. ‘That comes in order, miss. Make no trouble.’ Which she rightly surmised to mean that she wasn’t to worry about it.

      Oudewater was rather like going through a door into Grimms’ Fairy Tales; the road was cobbled and narrow and there was, inevitably, a canal splitting it down the middle, reflecting the great variety of gabled roofs of the old houses lining it. Possibly because it was so small, the little town seemed full of people. Emma drove cautiously down one side of the canal, crossed a bridge and went slowly up the other side until she reached the hotel. It was small and dark and cool inside, although through an open door at the back of the hall Emma could see the May sunshine streaming on to a small garden. There was no one to be seen, but there were voices clearly to be heard behind several of the doors leading from the hall. Emma, obedient to a large placard which requested ‘Bellen, SVP’, rang the enormous brass bell standing beneath it, and one of the doors opened and an elderly man, not very tall but immensely thick through, appeared.

      ‘We should like to stay the night,’ stated Emma, who was ever hopeful that the man might speak English.’ It was a relief when he said at once, ‘Certainly, miss. Yourself and…?’

      ‘My mother. How much is it for bed and breakfast?’

      ‘Twelve gulden and fifty cents each, miss. Two rooms, perhaps? We are not yet so busy.’ He turned round with surprising lightness for so large a man and took two large keys, each attached to a chain with a brass ball on its end. ‘You would like to see them?’

      The rooms were in the front of the hotel, overlooking the bustling street and its canal, and although they were sparsely furnished they were spotlessly clean with wash-basins squeezed into their corners.

      ‘Plumbing?’ inquired Mrs Hastings, who liked her warm bath. They followed the landlord down an immensely long passage which ended in a door which he flung open with a flourish to reveal a narrow tiled room with what appeared to be a wooden garden seat up against one wall and a bath shaped like a comfortable armchair. ‘Very nice,’ said Emma before her mother could comment on the garden seat. ‘We may stay two nights.’

      The landlord nodded and led the way downstairs again and while they filled in their cards at the desk, fetched their bags and took them upstairs. When he came down Emma inquired hopefully:

      ‘I suppose we couldn’t have tea?’

      ‘Certainly, miss.’ He waved a hand like a ham in the direction of the coffee room. ‘And perhaps an evening meal?’

      Which seemed a splendid idea; the ladies agreed without hesitation and opened the coffee room door.

      It was dark, just like the hall, but in an old and comfortable way, with windows overlooking the street and a great many little tables dotted around. There were large upholstered chairs too and a billiard table in the middle which sustained a neatly laid out collection of papers.

      Over tea and little wafer-thin biscuits, they discussed their day.

      ‘A very satisfactory one,’ murmured Mrs Hastings. ‘How many miles have we done, darling?’

      Emma said promptly, ‘Only about ninety, but we did Utrecht very thoroughly, didn’t we, and Leiden. I liked Leiden and all those dear little villages between.’

      Her mother agreed a little absentmindedly; she was thinking about something else. ‘Do you suppose that car was badly damaged, Emma? I wasn’t very near, but I couldn’t see a mark on it.’

      ‘Nor could I,’ Emma frowned thoughtfully, ‘and I don’t quite understand why he said we should hear through the AA. That time I bumped into those cows—you remember?—it was the insurance firm, and I’m sure you’re supposed to exchange names and addresses.’

      Mrs Hastings said brightly, ‘Well, he knows ours; I saw him looking at the luggage labels. I suppose he’ll send the bill to you.’ She added not quite so brightly, ‘Shall we be able to pay it?’

      ‘Of course,’ said Emma sturdily, stifling doubts, ‘it won’t come for ages, they never do, and it won’t be much. Don’t you worry about it.’ She frowned again. ‘But we didn’t see him drive away, did we? Supposing he couldn’t. Perhaps he’s still there…’

      ‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Hastings. ‘Now you’re worrying; that sort of car never breaks down. Let’s go for a walk.’

      They explored the town first, and then, because it was such a pleasant evening, strolled along a country road which seemed to lead nowhere. ‘A pity we have to go back,’ remarked Mrs Hastings. ‘It’s been such a lovely holiday, Emma dear, and so sweet of you to let me tag along with you. You might have had more fun with someone of your own age.’

      ‘Fiddlesticks,’ said Emma vigorously. ‘I’ve loved every minute of it, too—I’m glad we chose Holland, and if I’d gone with someone else they might have wanted to do things I didn’t want to do. We’ve seen a lot—besides, we like poking around, don’t we?’

      Her mother agreed. ‘Shall we go to Gouda tomorrow?’

      ‘Yes, and the day after, Schoonhoven and then we can go to that place Wijk something or other. There’s enough money for us to see the Son et Lumière at the castle. We can go south from there in time to catch the night boat from Zeebrugge.’

      ‘Ten days go so quickly,’ remarked her mother on a sigh, ‘but with Kitty coming home—and it wouldn’t be kind to leave her alone. It’s a pity Gregory and Susan couldn’t have her, but with a new baby in the house…’

      ‘Well, I couldn’t have had a longer holiday, anyway. Sister Cox is having her feet done as soon as I get back.’

      ‘Poor thing,’ said her mother, and meant it; she had only met Sister Cox at Hospital fêtes, on which annual occasions the Theatre Superintendent showed only the better side of her nature. ‘Let’s go back, I’m hungry.’

      They dined at one of the tables in the coffee room with a sprinkling of other guests who were, however, not dining but drinking beer or coffee and when the mood took them, playing billiards as well. They greeted the two ladies with friendliness and then, with perfect manners ignored them while they ate. The food was good although limited in choice and Emma, who had no weight problems, enjoyed everything she was offered and then sat back watching the players while she and her mother drank their coffee. Perhaps it was because of her obvious interest in the game that she was asked, in peculiar but understandable English, if she played herself, and when she admitted that she did and was asked if she would care for a game she took it as something of a compliment, for in none of the other hotels they had visited had she ever seen a woman playing. She took a cue and gave such a good account of herself that there was a little round of applause when the game was finally finished, even though she hadn’t won. Thinking about it in her little bedroom later she wondered if, despite the language difficulty, she should have told them that she had played with her father for years before he died, and was considered something of an expert even though she wasn’t wildly enthusiastic about the game. She went on to wonder, for no reason at all, if the man they had met that afternoon played too; if so, she would dearly love to beat him. She smiled at the silliness of the thought as she went to sleep.

      They went to Gouda the next day and spent a long time looking at the Town Hall, which was quaint and very old and being in the middle of the square, could be seen properly by just walking slowly round it. They went to Sint Janskerk too, because the guide book told them to and were very glad that they had because of its quiet spaciousness and lovely stained glass windows. When they came out at last, they wandered off into the little lanes and