No Greater Love - Eris Field Page 0,3

pastel carpets in his mother’s home. The house was larger than he had judged from the road, he thought as he noted a steep wooden stairway that hugged the wall behind the dining room and a narrow hall stretching to the back of the house. The house was a gem of color and comfort and as clean and orderly as any Dutch home.

Carl called over his shoulder, “Janan, come. I want you to meet Pieter.” He beamed at her as she hurried from the kitchen to join him. “He’s traveled all the way from Amsterdam to see me. He was a pupil of mine long ago and now he’s my very dear friend.” He took her arm urging her forward toward Pieter. “And this is the delightful child who takes such good care of me.”

Pieter felt his pulse race as he studied the slender woman standing in front of him. She was taller than he had first thought in the liquor store, probably five-foot-eight or so. The top of her head would come to his chin, and if she lifted her face, he could kiss those delicate lips without bending. He drew himself erect. Where had that thought come from?

“Pieter Bentinck,” he said huskily. “I’m Pieter.”

“Janan Coers.” She extended her hand and lifted her eyes to meet his gaze.

“The dear boy must stay with me, don’t you agree?”

“The bedroom at the top of the stairs on the right is ready,” she answered as she thought of the two rooms tucked under the eaves—a tiny room on the left that she used when Carl was ill or needed someone to stay with him and a larger one on the right. “He can use that one.”

“That’s very kind of you, Carl, but I have made a reservation at the Inn,” Pieter said.

“You wrote that you’re scheduled for some tests in Buffalo tomorrow.” Carl turned to Janan. ”You’ll drive him of course. The 400 section of the thruway can be treacherous this time of year.”

“Yes. I’ll be very happy to drive,” Janan answered calmly as she mentally rearranged her work schedule. What tests? He was a young man but he had fainted after just a few minutes of snow-shoveling. She ran through the causes of fainting in her mind—head injury, epilepsy, uncontrolled diabetes, cardiac problems, anemia. But tests for those conditions could have been done in Amsterdam. Why had he come all this way to have them done here?

Carl took Pieter’s arm. “Come. Let’s sit by the fire and be comfortable,” he said, gesturing toward the chairs beside the fireplace. “We will have a glass of Jenever and pretend that we are in Amsterdam.” He looked over his shoulder at Janan. “You must join us.” He poured two glasses of golden Jenever and a small glass of sherry for Janan who had slipped into the rocking chair. “Now, tell me all the news of home,” Carl said eagerly as he settled into his chair and cradled his drink. “Your brother? Crispin? And his wife, Ann Marie, isn’t it?”

“Yes, they are both well. Very eager to start a family but no children so far. He is still in Utrecht.” Pieter thought of the last time he had seen his older brother and could almost hear his words, ‘It’s time you were married.’ He smiled at Carl. “He’s still teaching at the University.”

Carl turned to Janan. “Crispin teaches in the International Human Rights and Criminal Justice Program.” He turned back to Pieter. “It has been more than 70 years but I hope there is still interest in restoring property seized by the Germans to the rightful owners?”

“Yes. There’s renewed interest at the local level,” Pieter answered carefully. After a moment of hesitation, he added, “My mother is very active in that effort,”

“Of course it was not just the Germans who robbed us,” Carl said caustically. “Some of the good neighbors of the Dutch Jews took their belongings even as they were being herded to the trains.”

“There have been reports of success in locating stolen paintings and antique furniture.”

“Paintings.” Carl snorted. “What about the deposits in the Dutch and Swiss banks? What about money and bonds in banks’ safe deposit boxes?” Carl’s voice was bitter. “What about the life insurance benefits that were never paid to the survivors of those murdered in the concentration camps?”

“My mother says that it is going better.”

Rubbing his chin, Carl muttered, “Enough of that!” In a softer voice, he asked, “How is your mother?”

“She’s well. She sends her greetings.” Pieter felt