by Betty Neels
‘Oh, come on, Celine.’ They were standing in the kitchen garden, just inside the door, and she backed away once more, but Nicky took her arm and pulled her towards him. ‘You’re being a silly prudish girl.’ His voice held impatience. ‘Just let me show you…’
‘Very unwise,’ said Oliver gently, and came through the door as he spoke.
‘It’s my opinion that it might be better for all of us—and that means you as well—if you don’t try to show anyone anything. I think the best thing is for you to get into your car and go. Now!’
He placed a gentle compelling hand on Celine’s arm and pushed her just as gently through the door. ‘Go and have a good cry somewhere,’ he advised her. ‘We’ll have a little chat later.’
She started to walk away and heard Nicky’s furious voice and Oliver’s quiet calm one. It was just like being in a nightmare and for the moment she hadn’t a thought in her head, only a numbness. She walked down the drive, past the Aston Martin and out of the gate, then she turned uphill, away from the village. Oliver was quite right, she was going to have a good cry, but preferably in solitude. Halfway up the hill she climbed a gate and went into a copse. It was cool and dim here and there was no sound except for the wood-pigeons and the rooks. She took the narrow path between the trees and the field beyond and sat down on a hummock of grass. She could see the house and its gardens very clearly below her, and presently she watched a figure who could only be Nicky get into his car and drive away. She started to cry then, and she went on crying until there were no tears left and her hanky so sodden that she had had to use the hem of her skirt. She didn’t feel much better, only empty and sad and hopeless. Nothing mattered any more, and when she heard footsteps presently she didn’t turn round. She knew who it was: Oliver was a man it was hard to get away from, or so it seemed. She wondered briefly how it was that he was here at all.
‘Why did you come?’ she asked without turning her head. ‘And how did you know that I was here?’ Her voice was still thick from all her crying.
‘He told his wife he had to come here to collect something he’d left behind.’ He sat down beside her. ‘And I could see you up here from the house.’
She stared out over the fields. ‘Did Nicky…did he say anything?’
‘Nothing. You won’t see him again, Celine.’
‘But he must have said something…I mean,’ she hesitated, trying to find the right words, ‘if he’s going to divorce his wife he—he might want to see me again—he said he…’ She stopped, because she had been going to say that Nicky had told her, he loved her, but he very surely never had.
‘He’s not going to divorce her—she intends to divorce him before she becomes a nervous wreck. And he doesn’t love you, Celine, just as he’s never loved any of the other girls in his life.’
Oliver had flung an arm round her shoulders and she found it comforting.
‘I suppose it’s because you aren’t interested in women that you’re easy to talk to—like an uncle.’
He took this unflinchingly on the chin. ‘Very likely, in which case perhaps I might be allowed to give some avuncular advice. You have to shut the door on these last few weeks and never open it again. You must forget, and the easiest way is to go from here and get a job where you work so hard all day that you sleep, exhausted, all night.’
Celine blew her beautiful nose with resounding resolution. ‘That’s all very well, but it’s impossible to leave Mother and Father to cope—after all, I started it all…’
He sounded quite unworried. ‘Is there anyone who could take your place for a few weeks? A cousin or an aunt or an old school friend?’
She said reluctantly: ‘There’s an aunt—my mother’s much younger sister. She lives in Bridport—she’s a widow.’
‘Would your mother and father object if this could be arranged?’
‘No, I don’t know—I suppose not—as long as they didn’t get too involved. And anyway, I don’t want them to know…’
He was soothing. ‘Of course not. All the same, if you’ll let me talk to them it would make it easier. I could see this aunt too…’
‘If you want to.’ Her voice was small. ‘I don’t really care— I’d like to die!’
‘Self-pity will get you nowhere. And don’t look at me like that—consider me as a necessary evil and make the best of it.’ He passed her a very large white handkerchief and she blew her nose and mopped her face once more. ‘I know of a job.’
‘Where?’ she asked listlessly.
‘Bethnal Green. I’m a paediatrician—I do most of my work in hospitals, but I’ve started this follow-up clinic because I find that over the years, a number of patients never return for check-ups, mostly because the hospital is too far away, the fares are too much, the baby can’t be left or there’s no one to mind the children. The clinic has helped solve this problem, it’s easy to get at for anyone living in the East End and the waiting time isn’t too long. I’ve got two nurses and a couple of partners there, but we need help—another pair of hands to dress and undress the children, take their particulars, find notes and run errands. I’m not there all the time, of course, but it would be a whole day’s work for you.’ He added thoughtfully: ‘But perhaps it wouldn’t do—you’ve led a sheltered life here, haven’t you?’
Celine was feeling wretchedly miserable, but that stung her. ‘You’re only saying that because you think I’m…I thought he loved me and we’d be married. I suppose if I’d had a job and met a lot of people I’d have known. Well, I won’t make the same mistake twice, the next time I’ll have it in writing.’ She sounded quite fierce, but her rage subsided as quickly as it had come. She said with pathetic dignity, ‘I’m quite capable of hard work and I don’t care in the least what I do. If things can be fixed here, I’ll take the job.’
‘Good.’ Oliver sounded neither surprised nor pleased. ‘The hours are long and irregular, and you’ll be paid—’ he named a generous sum. There’s a room over the surgery where you can live rent free, and you’ll get a luncheon voucher.’ He got to his feet and pulled her to hers. ‘We’ll go back now and I’ll have a talk with your mother and father while you wash your face. Do you think you’ll want to weep any more, or will you be able to discuss your future sensibly?’
She seethed. ‘You really are horrible!’ she began, but he wasn’t listening.
‘You’re a big girl, aren’t you? That’ll help a lot at the surgery. Oh, don’t worry, no one will harm you, but they won’t bully you either; in any case, I shouldn’t allow that.’
They were retracing their steps and Celine studied the massive back going ahead of her. He was a very large man, but not only that, he was very sure of himself, she simply couldn’t imagine anyone trying to get the better of him.
They reached the house, not hurrying, and she went to her room, leaving him to find his own way. As they parted in the hall she said ungraciously: ‘I suppose you want to stay the night?’
He studied her face, pale and pink-eyed. ‘Suppose we leave that for the moment?’ he suggested mildly.
She went on upstairs. In truth, she didn’t care what he did. He seemed to have taken over her immediate future without any trouble, and she was too unhappy to do anything about it. After all, she could always come home, and perhaps Aunt Chloe from Bridport wouldn’t want to work her fingers to the bone, even for a few weeks. It would be a pity to go, she mused, splashing cold water on to her puffy face, the bed and breakfast business had got off to a good start and there was no reason to suppose it would peter out. Barney and Angela knew the ropes now and her mother and father had accepted it. But Oliver, overbearing and always right, had hit on the solution. Celine blinked back fresh tears, made up her face and did her hair, then went downstairs. She wanted to turn and run when she reached the hall, but Oliver must have heard her step on the stairs; he came to meet her and shepherded her into her father’s study, his hand firm and reassuring on her shoulder.
CHAPTER FOUR
CELINE HAD NO
IDEA what Oliver had told her parents—indeed, she didn’t much care, but whatever it was, he had smoothed the way for her. Beyond her mother’s ‘Darling!’ and her father’s ‘Sorry this had to happen, my dear’, they said nothing, only plunged at once into the plans Oliver had suggested.
‘There’s no reason at all why Chloe shouldn’t come for a time,’ declared her Mother. ‘She loves organising and Angela and Barney like her. I’ll telephone and see what she says, though she’ll want a day or two to get organised, you know.’
‘That should do very well, Mrs Baylis—I’ll come down in a week’s time and fetch Celine,’ and when Celine made a small denying movement: ‘The surgery isn’t easy to find unless you’re familiar with the East End—it will save a lot of trouble if I take you straight there. There’s a caretaker living over the clinic and she can take Celine round the place.’ He turned to look at Celine, sitting silently with a rigid face. ‘That is, if you still feel you’re up to it?’
‘Of course I am. A change will be very—very pleasant.’
‘I hope you’ll find it so.’ He got to his feet. ‘And now I must be going. Shall I give you a ring tomorrow morning and see how things are?’
‘You’re not staying for the night?’ asked Celine, and had the curious feeling that her lifeline had been cut.
‘Afraid not,’ he smiled at her kindly.
‘Not even for dinner?’
‘Er—no. I’m sorry.’ He shook hands with Mrs Baylis and the Colonel, but he only smiled again at Celine and waved a casual hand, so that she didn’t go to the door with them, but stayed sitting in her chair. It was a pity she seemed quite unable to think properly; she still felt empty and numb, and the wish to have another weep was very strong.
But not possible. Her mother and father were barely back in the room before a car turned into the drive. ‘Customers,’ said her mother with satisfaction and a barely concealed relief because she didn’t know what to say to Celine. The whole miserable matter would have to be mentioned sooner or later, and later was preferable.
The couple who got out of the car looked around them with critical eyes before they addressed Celine, waiting in the porch.
‘Got room for three of us?’ asked the man without bothering to say good afternoon. ‘Me and the missus and the kid? He can sleep with us.’
‘I’m afraid we haven’t any rooms with three beds,’ said Celine, wishing they would go away.
‘What’s the damage, then?’
She told him, and because she didn’t care if they stayed or not, charged the full price for the child. Rather to her surprise he didn’t object but nodded briskly. ‘OK Anyone to take the bags?’
‘Yes. I’ll show you the rooms if you like to come inside.’
She didn’t like the wife very much either—far too fat in jeans and a striped shirt and a great deal of jewellery, and she didn’t like the child at all when he got out of the back of the car, a boy of ten years or so with a discontented face and a whiny voice. She took them to the east wing, listened politely to their comments about the out-of-date plumbing and the funny old furniture, agreed to give them dinner and went to tell Barney to get their bags. She had a feeling they were going to be tiresome, and she was right; the boy whined for fish and chips, his father loudly voiced his disappointment at not being able to have his pint before dinner, and his wife pushed the peas Angela had picked from the garden on to the side of her plate and declared that there was nothing to beat frozen veg; she couldn’t abide stuff straight from a garden.
Celine, not really caring what they had to say, put the newly picked strawberries back in the fridge and took in dishes of ice-cream—the only item on the menu they all appeared to enjoy. Feeling mean about the strawberries, she offered second helpings of ice-cream and met their approving looks with remorse.
The boy stayed up after dinner, roaming the house, teasing Dusty and making a nuisance of himself, and when Celine pointed out in her politest manner that they might have the sitting-room for their use until they went to bed, they did nothing to restrain the boy. She saw them go next morning with real relief; she had spent an almost sleepless night and their unreasonable demands for this and that in the morning had quite worn her out.
She had had time enough to think during the night, for, tired though she was, she was unable to sleep. She lay thinking of Nicky, wondering what he was doing and where he was and whether he had ever loved her at all. Oliver had said he hadn’t, and although she didn’t want to believe him she was aware that he wasn’t a man to lie. All the same, it was a bitter pill to swallow. She filled the day with a good deal of quite unnecessary work, spent several hours in the garden and went in for tea to face, at last, her parents’ gentle questions. They were upset for her sake, but she sensed that they neither of them had liked Nicky very much and her mother at least was relieved that the whole sorry affair was over.
Mrs Baylis had had a long telephone conversation with her sister and presently embarked thankfully on to the plans they had for the next few weeks. Everything would be splendid, declared Mrs Baylis. Chloe would come for as long as she was needed, so Celine mustn’t feel she had to rush back home. It seemed that Oliver had telephoned Aunt Chloe too, and that lady, impressed by his quiet assured voice stating such sensible reasons for Celine to leave home for a while, had entered into the plans with enthusiasm and would be with them in five days’ time, so that Celine could give her some idea how to run the bed and breakfast business.
To all of which Celine listened quietly, agreed with her father that the job at Bethnal Green sounded interesting, assured him that she would have quite enough money to live comfortably, and took herself off to the garden again, to be interrupted within the hour by a charming elderly couple who were delighted with the house, their room and the dinner she presently served them. The Colonel, wandering through the hall, had met them and been so taken with the old gentleman that he had produced a good claret to go with their meal and after dinner had strolled with him through the gardens, while Mrs Baylis and his wife chatted pleasantly in the drawing-room.
‘If only they were all like that,’ sighed Mrs Baylis, watching their beautifully kept elderly car going down the drive. She took Celine’s arm. ‘Darling, are we making money?’
‘Yes—not a great deal, but enough to feed us all, pay the wages and put some by. Father’s kept the accounts, you know, and he’s banked quite a nice sum—it’s worth it, Mother. I feel mean leaving you, though, just as we’re getting started.’
‘Nonsense, darling. You’ve got it all running so smoothly and your aunt is a splendid manager and good with people—well, you have to be, don’t you? I expect you’ll meet any number of types at the surgery.’
Celine said quietly: ‘Yes, I expect so.’ She didn’t really care.
‘And you’ll come back feeling quite yourself, darling.’
She forced herself to say, ‘Yes, Mother,’ in a cheerful voice, because that was what her mother wanted to hear.
The days went by. There was a good deal to do—lists to make for Aunt Chloe, menus to make out for Angela, shopping to be done, and if she didn’t sleep soundly at night no one knew. Celine grew a little thin and there were shadows under her lovely eyes, but when Aunt Chloe arrived, she met her cheerfully enough and spent a whole day with her, making sure she knew what she was letting herself in for. They had had a few quiet days, but now, on the same day as Aunt Chloe, a party of six arrived, making excellent material for her to practise on, as well as convincing her that she hadn’t left her comfortable house in Bridport for nothing.
And two days later, Oliver arrived. Celine had just ushered three young women to their rooms, and when she got downstairs again, there he was, standing in the hall, talking to her mother and father.
His hullo was noncommittal, friendly and rather casual. ‘Ready to leave in the morning?’ he wanted to know. ‘Can you put me up for the night? I see you’re busy.’
‘Yes, of course there’s a room. There are
only those three ladies, and it’s getting a bit late for anyone else.’
‘You’ll be our guest,’ said her father. ‘We dine a little later than any guests who may be here. Come into the study and tell me how your uncle is faring—I’ve got some good malt whisky…’
And that was almost all Celine saw of Oliver that evening, for conversation was general at the dinner table, and as soon as the meal was over she excused herself. Breakfast had to be laid and she had to check that everything was as it should be in the kitchen. Angela and Barney were coping well, but Mrs Stokes’ help wasn’t quite enough; next week they must see about getting more help from the village. She had already talked to her mother about it, and reminded Aunt Chloe to bear it in mind.
That lady had taken to the chores like a duck to water, and Celine had noticed that she was on the best of terms with Oliver—indeed, she hadn’t offered to help in the dining-room but had stayed talking with the others, and as Celine went out of the dining-room she felt pettishly that she had done more than her share of the work that evening. After all, Oliver had come to fetch her, and there was still a lot she wanted to know. She went slowly into the hall and wandered to the front door, still standing open. Well, if he chose to ignore her, he could for all she cared. She had taken barely a dozen steps when he came unhurriedly out of the door.
‘The best time of the day for a stroll in the garden,’ he observed cheerfully, and took her arm.
She stood still. ‘It’s very pleasant, but I’m just on my way to bed—I’m tired…’ Her voice had risen as well as being sharp.
‘And sorry for yourself. Poor little you, doing all the work while we sit around gossiping.’
‘I’m not little!’ she snapped, and tried to take her arm away—something quite impossible, and it would have been undignified to tug at it.
‘No, you’re not. You’re quite a big girl, aren’t you? I believe I said that before. You’ll be a lot more tired after a day’s work at the surgery. I suspect you’ll dislike me there even more than you do now.’