“I have a feeling you’re right.” She smiled gently.
The man who had originally woken her up returned with a pair of crutches. He took control of the wheelchair and passed the crutches to Victor. With a smooth motion he turned and wheeled her out of the room. The hall was long, a dingy gray-blue and very old looking. Light bulbs dotted the ceiling along the corridor.
At the end of the hall they came to electronic doors that opened to a driveway where a car was waiting.
People with cameras were there, and they immediately started snapping pictures. “Oh, no.” Annie reached up self-consciously and pushed at her hair. “This is awful.”
She glanced down in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry for this,” Victor said and stepped up to the large dark vehicle that sat at the curb. A man was waiting and pulled the door open.
Victor slid in and allowed the other person to lift Annie into the car. “Is this the car I hit?” she asked, confused.
“No.”
“Is this your car?” was her next question. It was a luxurious car with thick plush seats and a window separating the front from the back.
“Yes.”
Annie suddenly had an inkling that this man must have money. No one she knew drove around in a car like this. No one that she knew could afford to. She leaned her head back into the soft seat and sighed as it cupped her sore body. “I guess this was what Cinderella felt like when she got into the coach.”
The driver got in and started the vehicle. They drove slowly until they were past the people who were snapping pictures.
He didn’t blink at anything that went on, simply sat next to her as they exited the parking lot.
Perhaps the locals always reacted this way? Maybe the ones with cameras had simply been the press wanting pictures of the people in the wreck? A few of the photographers looked awfully young to hold jobs though. But then, she’d heard that people overseas started work younger.
“Where are we going?” she asked when he didn’t elaborate about the car or comment on the cameras.
“I live about fifteen minutes outside of town. We’ll be there shortly.
“See that valley with the sheep over there?”
Annie followed his finger to where he pointed. “It’s beautiful.”
“I live about ten kilometers on the other side of it to the east. I have a nice home that’s isolated. I raise horses there.”
He had to be rich.
Perhaps he was someone important to Holland. “Do you raise tulips?”
The man slowly turned his head and stared at her. His gaze met hers and then touched on her features, causing her cheeks to warm.
Those eyes could hold a person indefinitely. Finally he asked, “Why did you choose Holland to visit?”
It was said kindly, not condemning or rudely. And she felt he was really interested.
“I’ve heard that it was a beautiful place. I love tulips. And I’ve always wanted to see a windmill.”
“Why did you pick this town?”
“I asked the travel agent for an out-of-the-way place that would be nice to visit. She said there were some famous people who lived here and they had several tourist attractions. Though it was off the beaten path, Europeans liked to frequent it when they visit, she said.”
“They do have a nice retreat here,” Victor agreed. “About thirty more kilometers north. And they do have a world-famous poet who lives just down the road from me. He’s won several honors.”
They hit a bump, and Annie winced.
Victor tapped on the window. “Careful, Haufman. Our guest is in pain.”
“Yes, sir,” the man replied in broken English.
“He speaks English too.”
“Yes. Since we’re off the main path of tourism you won’t meet as many people who speak the language, but there are some. My staff, some do, though others don’t. Europeans usually speak several languages.”
“Do you speak more than Dutch?”
She shouldn’t have asked, but then it seemed so natural.
He nodded his head slightly. “German, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese and a little bit of French, though I understand it much better than I speak it.”
“You’re kidding.” She gasped.
“I have a knack for languages.”
She couldn’t believe it. “Wow.”
“You’ll find other people who speak English at the resort and many of the tourist stores. But they’re in the northern end of town. As I said, you weren’t in a very tourist area. You’re lucky anyone right there could understand you.”
They turned onto a main road, most likely the main road she’d been heading for. It wasn’t as nice as some she’d driven on in Louisiana but then, there were a few roads in Louisiana that were worse than this as well. This was definitely more populated than the other road. An open market sat on the corner, large and with people hawking their goods. “Oh, look! We have one of those in New Orleans but it’s nothing like this.”
Victor smiled. “The French Quarter is for show. This one is a working market.”
“You’ve been to New Orleans?”
“On several occasions.”
Victor was an enigma. Annie’s curiosity was running wild.
“I was going to stay at the resort,” she murmured, seeing the buildings they passed. This was definitely not New Orleans.
“I can’t see you staying there,” Victor murmured.
Suddenly her attention was back on him. How did he manage that? Maybe it was because whenever he spoke it was as if she was hearing a friend. He had a voice that beckoned her to listen.
His voice and certain moves he made seemed familiar. She felt as if she should know him.
Embarrassed that she seemed to be imposing her needs here in Holland on a man she didn’t even know, she glanced away. “Why is it that you can’t see me staying there?”
“I don’t know. You seem more of a woman who would be happier at home surrounded by friends. Maybe one on one.”
Well he’d certainly pegged her there. “You’re very astute,” she replied quietly.
This road wasn’t as bumpy, and Annie found herself again relaxing into the thick luxurious seat, though increasingly aware of his presence.
She didn’t dare turn and look at Victor. Good heavens. Was she making a mistake staying with him? What had happened to her simple sense of propriety? She wasn’t supposed to be attracted to a man. She was a widow!
“You said something about your friends sending you here?”
“No. Yes. Well, no. I mean, I wanted to come. I’m just…well…” She sighed. Still not herself, she probably admitted to more than she should when she elaborated. “I lost my husband four years ago. We’d been married eighteen years when he died. And they thought, for my birthday, they’d give me a trip as a gift. They thought it’d be great for me to get out and see the world before going back to work.” She still felt really fuzzy from all the medication. Sleep really sounded nice right now.
“Ah.” Victor’s voice sounded like an invitation to continue. He leaned back and resumed his regular seat.
Dreamily