Trudie perched herself on one and made herself comfortable, the parcel of cuttings she had called to collect already beside her, the list in her father’s neat writing on the bench beside Ted. He went on working in silence for a time, then began to chat about this and that and village affairs in general, until he shot her a penetrating glance from under his bushy eyebrows and remarked, “Seems like I’ve to give you my good wishes, Miss Trudie. Will we be havin’ a wedding up at The Cedars this summer, then?”
“I ... no, I don’t think so, that is ... nothing’s been decided yet. We haven’t made any plans,” Trudie stammered, quite forgetting to thank him for his good wishes and merely feeling guilty in accepting them. “Dr. Malham’s the new superintendent at the hospital extension,” she added in a somewhat lame explanation, “and I’m going to work there, too. We shall have to wait and see for a little while how things work out there.”
“Shouldn’t wait too long,” Ted said startling her. “It’s put new life into your dad, has this engagement of yours. I haven’t seen him so perked up since we heard about Mr. Garth. Know what he said to me?” he demanded, beetling his brows in Trudie’s direction so that she could only stammer, “No, Mr. Parkinson. I can’t even guess.”
“He said, ‘Know what, Ted? I’m getting another son. Won’t be like my own, but he’s a good boy and worthy of the family. One of the easiest ways I know of adding to what you have ... a wife for your boys, a son for your daughter.’”
“I didn’t know he felt like that,” Trudie said as the old man lapsed into silence again. “He hasn’t said anything to me.”
“Doesn’t say much except about what really moves him, doesn’t your dad,” Ted commented gruffly. “Came up here for hours on end when you first had the news about Mr. Garth. Didn’t say much, except now and then he’d talk about the days when you were all little and you and Mr. Garth used to come down here with him for plants and the like. Told me about Mrs. Garth coming, too. Seemed to buck him up no end that she’d come, to join the family, but he hasn’t said much about her lately. Been too taken up with this news of yours, I suppose.”
“I suppose so.” This was a new angle, something she had not thought of, Trudie realized. She had only been thinking of herself and her own emotions. Now that it seemed her father’s feelings were also involved, she would have to do some fresh thinking.
“I’d better be getting back.” She gathered up her plants and cuttings, ready to leave. “Mrs. Emma gets cross if we’re late for meals, and she had tea already prepared.”
She said her goodbye to Ted, his “Think on what I’ve told you, Miss Trudie, and don’t wait too long” lingering in her ear, but her thoughts were in turmoil as she briskly walked home. If her father found comfort in this “engagement” and if Philip still thought of it as a form of protection, would she be wise to end it just now? But the memory of the glances she had seen exchanged between Philip and Veronica flashed back to torment her. As she turned into the gates of home and saw Philip’s car outside the door she made up her mind.
“I’ll try the same thing,” she thought, suddenly mischievous. “I’ll try flirting with him ... nothing serious, just to detract a little from the menace of Veronica.”
Full of this resolution, she went quietly upstairs without announcing her presence and hurried to change into a soft hyacinth-blue wool outfit that Philip had already admired. She brushed her hair until it gleamed and shone, applied her make-up lightly but with skill and, daring, added a touch of perfume before she went downstairs and opened the lounge door. As she stood framed in the open doorway, transfixed with horror, the smile on her face felt frozen and pinned there like a mask. On the hearthrug, scarlet with embarrassment, Philip dropped his arms from around Veronica; Trudie could see traces of the other girl’s vivid lipstick still on his mouth.
For a full moment Trudie stood still. She could not have moved had her life depended upon it, and neither of the other two seemed inclined to move either. As though released from some spell, Philip said suddenly, “Trudie, don’t start imagining things. There isn’t ... this doesn’t mean anything. I can explain...”
Casually, indolently, and complete mistress of herself and of the situation, Veronica moved away from him and crossed to the table at the far end of the room to select a cigarette from the box. She turned to Philip almost insolently. “Have you a light, please?” she asked in her clear, husky tones. Moving like an automaton, Philip took his lighter from his pocket and flicked it into life and all the time his. gaze did not leave Trudie’s face. After one shocking, burning wave of color had flooded it, all traces of anything but a devastating whiteness had faded.
“There isn’t anything to explain, not really,” Veronica went on, coolly sinking down on the sofa and lightly crossing her slim legs. “I was feeling sorry for myself. Last night brought home to me how very alone I really am. There you all were, paired off like birds at mating time. Even your father devoted himself to the lady specialist as though he were out courting! There’s Philip and yourself,” she flashed Trudie an enigmatic glance, “Geoff and Ursula. Malcolm looks at me with affectionate regard but just as something—not someone—always there, taken for granted. When Garth was around...” Her voice broke suddenly, and for the life of her Trudie had no means of deciding whether the emotion was real or a clever act, but it served its purpose, since Philip turned then to look at her, taking his glance from Trudie’s. Veronica made a play of dabbing at her eyes with a tiny scrap of a lace-edged handkerchief. “You’ve all been wonderfully kind to me, made me feel wanted, part of the family. I’ve no right to feel alone and out of things.”
“I didn’t know that was how you felt, Veronica,” Trudie began in a small voice that she did not recognize as her own. “If there’s anything any of us can do....”
Her voice trailed off uncertainly. It seemed Philip had already tried to do something to help kill the boredom or loneliness or whatever that Veronica was suffering from. Or was that really what had happened?
“I’m glad you’re seeing it in the right way, Trudie.” Veronica looked up and across at her sister-in-law, her huge green eyes apparently full of unshed tears. “You’re not a prude. You have a sympathetic heart, an understanding one as well. Can’t you see how I felt here, with you all so happy—not that I begrudge you your happiness,” she said passionately, flinging out her hands as though in emphasis—“Heaven knows, it lasts only a short time for any of us. It’s just that I was feeling lonely and sorry for myself, as I’ve just told you. To cheer me up, Philip gave me a big-brother kiss to seal the deal.” Again the ineffective dabbing of her eyes, and another pathetic glance in Philip’s direction was switched instantly back to Trudie as he did not appear to be impressed.
“That’s all it was, Trudie,” he said now in a strained, tight voice quite unlike his customary easy tones. “Just as Veronica says. She was sitting there, nobody else in the house, weeping a little to herself, when I came in... She didn’t even know I was there until I asked her what was wrong.” He moved a step closer as if uncertain of his reception. “Can’t you see,” he said with sudden urgency, “it doesn’t mean a thing? Can’t you forget it ever happened?”
“Sorry I’m late back, Miss Trudie ... Oh!” Mrs. Emma broke off as she looked over Trudie’s shoulder and saw the tense little group. “I’m sorry,” she was beginning again, but as though the homely voice of the housekeeper had restored the balance to normal, Trudie moved to follow her to the kitchen, speaking as she went.
“That’s all right, Mrs. Emma,” she said quietly. “I’ll come and give you a hand.” She turned and smiled at Philip before she followed Mrs. Emma down the short corridor. The smile was a trifle forced and her tone a little strained, but she said quietly, “We’ll talk about ... Veronica later, shall we? We must do something to help her, something together.” Before either of them could say anything in reply she walked firmly after Mrs. Emma, her emotions once again in a whirl she did not understand.
�
�They asked me to be on the committee for the summer fruit and flower stall.” Mrs. Emma was hanging up her coat and hat and donning her apron, busying herself as though to make up for time lost. “I didn’t think you’d mind if I stayed, seeing tea was ready.”
“No, I didn’t mind.” Trudie answered automatically, but part of her was thinking that if Mrs. Emma had not been late in leaving the meeting she would probably have been at the house when Philip arrived. However Veronica had managed to stage the embrace Trudie had witnessed, there would have been someone else in the house. That in itself would have made Philip at least more cautious.
“But if it only needed an empty house,” Trudie thought in misery, “perhaps it’s as well...”
“How long is Mrs. Garth staying?” Mrs. Emma shot the question at her without any warning, as though not consciously connecting their visitor with anything definite, but Trudie knew Mrs. Emma too well. Something had aroused her curiosity and her antagonism, and with thoughts of protecting Philip flitting through her mind she answered carefully.
“As long as she wishes, I suppose,” she said as lightly as she could. “Father naturally told her she could make this her home. She’s been here only a few days, you know.”
“Seems more like years,” Mrs. Emma grumbled to herself, but she recognized from Trudie’s tone that gossip about the new arrival would not meet with approval. “She doesn’t belong in the countryside,” she went on, determined to voice her opinion whether acceptable or not. “She belongs where Mr. Garth found her, in show business, among the lights and the noise and the sparkle.”
“She must have had a very trying time, all those months alone.” Trudie was trying to be fair to Veronica as much for her own sake as that of the other woman. She did not want to grow into someone eaten by suspicion and jealousy and all the other nasty attributes those qualities invited. She loved Philip, but that was her secret. If once she allowed these emotions to master her and display themselves in place of the outraged pride he would expect her to feel at the moment, then he would guess what she had striven to hide. She would never be able to face him again.
“Trying or not,” announced Mrs. Emma banging the oven door shut smartly, “she’d be a lot happier if she found herself a job and was busy instead of lounging about here all day. Satan,” quoted the housekeeper with conviction, “always finds some mischief for idle hands to do, and that’s as true now as it was when I was a girl!”
Trudie said nothing, leaving Mrs. Emma, with an injured air, to push in the laden tea wagon, while Trudie followed with extra cakes and sandwiches. She would have offered to stay and help with dinner, but she dreaded the housekeeper’s shrewd eye. Instead she forced herself to sit quietly, talking with Philip about everyday things conscious that Malcolm, as well as Mrs. Emma, was eyeing them both with a speculative air.
“Whatever she guessed,” thought Trudie as she waited for Philip to speak with the cold light of the May moon shining on her upturned face, “she could never come anywhere near the truth ... for I’m sure if she knew this wasn’t a real engagement she would have no scruples at all.”
“Trudie.” Philip touched her arm tentatively, sending a little thrill like a mild electric shock along her nerves. “What can I say?” he cried as she did not speak. “Whatever I say will sound fantastic ... if it’s the truth ... and I can speak only the truth to you!”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Trudie said wearily. “After all, it isn’t as though ours were a real engagement, a real love affair...”
“It’s something equally important, for me at any rate.” Philip spoke with such conviction that she was bound to believe him. “I must try and explain. I finished early today. Tony Mason took over some of my cases, and when I arrived at The Cedars I didn’t know whether I was seeking an oasis of peace in your company or trying to find out what made this ... damnable attraction between Veronica and myself persist. We all had a hard time last night,” he reminded her. “There was an emergency tracheotomy this morning on the chap with the pierced lung. He has eight broken ribs, not seven. There were other emergencies, too, arising from last night’s mix-up on the road, and I was tired,” he said, sounding defeated. “Not only physically, but emotionally as well.”
He paused for so long that Trudie thought he was not going to continue until she realized he was awaiting some comment from herself. Knowing how hard he—and all of them—had worked the night before and guessing something of what sort of a day must have faced him at the hospital, she said gently, “Go on, please.”
“I still don’t know how it happened,” he said in a tone of genuine bewilderment. “All I know is I had no intention of touching her, let alone kissing her, when I came to the house. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but there was no one about when I came. I went into the lounge, calling your name, and there she was, curled up and crying, trying not to let me see her tears.” He paused for a moment as though trying to recount every detail. “I repeat,” he said, “I still don’t know how it happened. One minute I was dabbing at her eyes with my handkerchief—that scrap of lace wasn’t performing a very effective job—and telling her she was not to worry any more, that she wasn’t alone now and all that sort of thing. The next minute she was in my arms and her lips were on mine ... and then you appeared.”
“I see,” Trudie said, feeling the comment to be lame and inadequate but unable to say another word at that moment. Philip caught her by the arms and forced her to turn around, facing him.
“You’re a nurse, Trudie,” he said abruptly. “You don’t blame a patient because he ... picks up some germ, some unsought virus that is none of his seeking but gives him a fever just the same. That’s what this is, can’t you see? It’s a fever in the blood ... it doesn’t mean anything. Like all fevers it will build up to a climax and then lose its height. Maybe that climax was tonight, when you pushed open the door and saw what happened. I don’t know, but whether it did or not I want you to understand how I feel. I needed you before, when I told you I wanted a nice, safe engagement with someone who hadn’t wedding bells and bridal veils on the brain. You, bless you, helped me without making any conditions, any silly rules. I shall always be grateful for that,” he added softly.
He paused a moment, but as she did not speak he continued, and there was no mistaking the sincerity in his voice.
“I need you more than ever right now, Trudie,” he told her. “I need you, just as any patient needs your father when he’s sick and running a temperature. I want you to try and understand what is happening and help me fight it. Whatever this thing is between Veronica and myself, it isn’t real. It certainly isn’t love. It’s somehow connected with vitality, animal zest for life. I don’t know how to put it, and certainly that doesn’t make it sound a very attractive sort of affair, but I think you know what I mean. It’s a form of illness; an obsession, if you like. It isn’t love; it isn’t even desire, but it’s something I want and need out of my system, and I can’t fight it off alone. Will you go on helping me, please?” he ended.
“I ... tonight... after what happened,” Trudie’s voice was so low that he had to bend his head even farther to catch the words, “I was going to ask if you’d rather we ... ended this . . . pretense. We could make up some excuse, pretend we’ve quarrelled...”
“But I couldn’t quarrel with you, Trudie, it’s unthinkable!” Philip said in horror-struck tones. “I couldn’t even pretend. Won’t you go on with it, just for a little while ... please?” he added, and she was lost. Her resolution failed her as she sighed and nodded, still unsure of the wisdom of all this even while agreeing to continue the charade.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Trudie went back inside Veronica had already left the room and gone up to bed.
“She said she had a headache,” Dr. Hislop explained when Trudie casually remarked on the absence of her sister-in-law. “I wish she would open up a little more, poor child,” he went on in a compassionate tone. “I’m sure she would be a great de
al happier if only she would talk to us.”
“About Garth, you mean?” It was Malcolm who put the question, quietly and without emotion. “Perhaps there is something about their lives and that tragic ending, she would rather not discuss with anyone.” he went on quietly. “We all sense there was ... something out of the ordinary and can’t put a finger on it. We are completely in the dark, but I still say you’ll get nowhere by trying to find out from Veronica. Leave well enough alone,” he advised, rising from his chair and stifling a yawn. “Whatever it was it’s over now, and unless we hear something from an outside source I think it wiser not to probe.”
“Maybe he’s right.” Dr. Hislop packed his last pipe of the late evening carefully as Malcolm said good night and left them. In the far corner of the room Geoff was carefully placing the files into his briefcase he had assembled for Ursula to take to Herr Mazo the next morning quite oblivious of anything or anyone around him.
“At any rate,” Dr. Hislop went on, puffing placidly and looking affectionately at his daughter through the blue haze of smoke, “you’re happy enough, my pet, and that means a great deal to me. You are happy, aren’t you?” he added, suddenly urgent. “I mean about this engagement of yours. Any date settled for the wedding so far?”
“No date so far,” Trudie said with an effort, and with an even greater effort she smiled at him. “We both have work to do first,” she said lightly, “and there’s no hurry. But I’m happy,” she assured him. “Why ever should I not be?”
Why not, indeed? She asked herself the question scarcely listening as her father talked on, putting into words his hopes and dreams for his children’s future. Why should she not be happy, when, despite whatever attraction it was that lay between Veronica and Philip, he wanted to continue with their game, still wanted the world to believe she was his chosen wife-to-be, and accepted everywhere as his fiancée. Dr. Hislop’s monologue ended. Carefully he knocked out his pipe and picked up the flask of hot malted milk that Mrs. Emma always left ready for him to take upstairs.
Nurse Trudie is Engaged Page 11