“I’ve wanted to thank you,” he began carefully, “for being so very understanding about Veronica. I think,” he spoke slowly, choosing his words deliberately, “I’m getting over it now. An event like today’s opening ceremony shows one how far removed from our kind of life is the one she must have led.”
There was a half-unconscious wistful note of pleading in his voice, but what he was pleading for Trudie couldn’t imagine; unless it was for her further understanding and support. Stifling her own feelings, she answered quietly, “Yes, she must find life rather dull at present,” and at once wished she had chosen other words. It might have sounded to Philip that Veronica was using his, Malcolm’s and any other male’s interest as an antidote to an otherwise boring existence much as a child might pick up first one toy and then another.
“I think she does,” was all Philip said, then he let in the clutch and they began to move forward again. “Who knows, perhaps today’s event will take her back into her own kind of life once more. I believe things move like that in the entertainment field, and if that’s what she wants...”
He did not speak again until he had halted the car at the extension doors, then as Trudie turned to leave him he laid one hand on her arm, delaying her a second.
“I meant what I said,” he told her. “I really am grateful. You’ve prevented me from possibly making a fool of myself.” Then he was out of the car and she was following him into the building.
“Excuse me, Sister.” Trudie found herself halted in the entrance by the uniformed figure of the porter. “Your brother is waiting to speak with you on the telephone. Said he’d hang on as you wouldn’t be more than a few minutes, but it’s urgent ... that’s why I was looking out for you.”
“Thank you.” Trudie hurried along to the telephone, talking over her shoulder, and reflecting she would have to be very quick as she had to change and be ready to help Philip scrub up. “Have they brought the patient in from the airport?” she asked.
“About three minutes ago,” the man told her. Trudie nodded and picked up the telephone, wondering if this were Malcolm or Geoff and what either of them could possibly want with her at this moment, especially if it were something “urgent.”
“Trudie here,” she said clearly. “Be quick, please.”
‘Trudie, this is Malcolm.” She could scarcely recognize her brother’s customary calm, precise tone in these agitated words that reached her over the wires. “I don’t know what this is all about, but Veronica is on her way down River Bank Lane. There’s nothing down there, as you know, but the road to the river, and there’s no side road or anything like that. She has Dad’s car. He’s still at the fete as far as I know. If anyone needs him in a hurry there’s going to be the dickens to pay. I just wanted to let you know and to ask you to follow as soon as you can. I don’t know what she’s up to, but she looks very odd as though she’s had something of a shock.”
“Thanks for letting me know.” Trudie’s mind was racing, and recalling her recent conversation in the car with Philip, it was only natural to conclude that whatever shock Veronica had experienced had come after the opening ceremony.
“It must have something to do with this Barry Vetch,” Trudie told herself, “but what?” Aloud she answered her brother, “I’ll be along as soon as possible. Stay with her, if you can. Does she know you’re there?”
“I don’t think so,” Malcolm answered. “I’m in the booth at the end of River Bank Lane. I watched her turn down there and then stopped to call you, but there isn’t anywhere else she could turn off down there, so I won’t lose her.”
“See you later, then,” Trudie said, suddenly oppressed by a feeling of real urgency. “Get after her, Malcolm. We don’t really understand her very well, not any of us.”
And that was the truth, at any rate, Malcolm reflected as he too hung up and turned to leave the stuffy little booth. He had tried to understand Veronica, he told himself soberly, but he knew very well that lie was apt to consider matters only from a factual and logical angle and take very little account of possible emotional crises.
“I may have approached this in entirely the wrong way,” he thought, starting off after his father’s car that was almost out of sight now, somewhere toward the end of the River Bank Road. “But there must be a logical reason why she left all those autograph-hunters when she was obviously enjoying being in the center of things and revelling in the admiration.”
Carefully he went over his own observations following the opening of the fete. Veronica had been the center of a group of people all enthusiastically proffering programs, autograph books, even pieces of paper for her signature. He had watched her laughing, chatting, scintillating with happiness; her amazing, vital zest for living was so obvious that it seemed to stand out like a radiance about her, a radiance nothing could quench.
But something had quenched that vital spark, and that something had been the name of the man whose plane had crashed. Barry Vetch. Unlike Trudie and Philip, Malcolm had no need to search his mind to think of any connection with that name. He remembered only too well that Garth mentioned this name once in his letters. He had recalled the name on later occasions when he had seen it in various papers, recording some new activity of this apparently free-spending young man.
“I wonder where the connection lies?” Malcolm mused, then he stopped wondering as he saw Veronica turn his father’s car into the side of the road and knew she had switched off the engine.
He slowed down, halted, then slid into reverse gear and quietly went back around a slight bend he had just negotiated. When he was certain his car could not be seen from where Veronica was parked he pulled into the side of the road, and walked quietly but purposefully in the direction the girl had taken.
It was doubtful there was any real necessity for such caution. Malcolm realized, before he had taken more than a few paces, ‘that Veronica’s mind was obviously on something miles away. She walked as though in a dream, looking neither to the right nor the left, walking steadily on to where the narrow footbridge crossed the river Fell that swirled and tumbled on its way to the sea.
“I wonder how she knew the way down here?” Malcolm asked himself inconsequently, then remembered. Trudie had wanted some special water-weed for the goldfish pond at the bottom of the yard. When they were children, she and Garth used to come down here for that very purpose, and he recalled now that she had brought Veronica with her one day, trying to interest the other woman in something to prevent that constant cry of boredom.
He paused then as Veronica stood for a moment surveying the bridge. There were two stone posts at either end, supporting the guard-fence to the bridge itself: a shoulder-high affair with a wide top, wide enough for a tall person to place his arms there to stand looking down the river. For a moment she stood there, then began to walk slowly but purposely forward.
Malcolm thought afterward he must have been particularly slow-witted that afternoon. Not until he had seen her carefully place her purse, the white lace handkerchief, and her long gloves in a neat pile at the end of the bridge and then take hold of the rough stonework to pull herself up, did he realize what she was about to do.
As soon as he realized her intention was to hurl herself into the swirling water he began to run, calling her name as he went. All the time he was praying soundlessly as he had not prayed for years that Trudie was on her way to him, that she would soon be there. This was one crisis in which he felt he could not stand entirely alone.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
When Trudie had finished speaking to Malcolm over the telephone she hurried to accompany Philip into the new and ultra-modern operating room equipped with all the latest instruments and aids to surgery that modern science could devise. She was greeted by a grim-faced Philip, already busy preparing himself for work.
“Three of them,” he announced. “Pilot, navigator and passenger. The pilot is beyond help from us or anyone else. He was dead when they pulled him from the wreckage. The navigator’s in pr
etty poor shape. He’s the one we’re going to have to work hard to save.”
“And the passenger?” Trudie asked as he paused. Philip gave her an enigmatic glance.
“The passenger—and owner of the aircraft—is badly shaken, somewhat bruised and very angry,” he said succinctly. “Mr. Barry Vetch himself. He insists that what happened was the pilot’s fault, but the airport official who came with the ambulance says that in his opinion this was a case of mental fatigue. Only an inquiry will prove him right or wrong. In the meantime Mr. Vetch is resting in a side ward, and we’re going to work on navigator Mannering.”
They worked in silence except for Philip’s request for the various instruments as he needed them. Somehow Trudie was grateful for the reassuring presence of John Broadly, who had also elected to join Philip at the extension. She watched Philip’s strong, clever fingers as he worked trying to shut from her mind all thought of Malcolm’s agitated voice over the telephone and to stop herself wondering what on earth had possessed her sister-in-law to head for the river bank, leaving an occasion that was so obviously giving her delight.
At last Philip straightened up and inserted the last stitches. He nodded to John’s assistant, who wheeled away the still, bandaged figure, then he turned to Trudie with a weary smile. “I’ll get rid of all this,” he gesticulated toward his white gown, mask and other regalia, “then we’ll have a look at Mr. Vetch before we go in search of the cup that cheers.”
“All right,” Trudie agreed, “but there’s something else...” But before she had time to say any more Philip was called to the telephone.
“That was your father,” he said a few moments later, a puzzled frown on his handsome face. “I don’t know whether I understood him correctly or not. He said something about his car being missing and he’s wanted out at a farm, and could I throw any light onto the subject of Veronica’s disappearance. I last saw her signing autographs.”
“Yes, but when we arrived here Malcolm was waiting to speak with me on the telephone.” Trudie told him, the sense of urgency rushing over her again as she recalled her brother’s agitated tones. “He said she left the fete and went off ... in Dad’s car. That he—Malcolm—had followed in his own car. She was going down River Bank Lane. Philip, there’s nothing down there but the river, and a footbridge over it. She knows there isn’t a through road for cars.”
“What did Malcolm expect you to do?” Philip demanded, knowing the other would not telephone without some specific plan of action.
“Get there as soon as possible,” Trudie told him and was almost whirled off her feet as he swung her around and down the corridor.
“Then let’s go,” he said crisply. “What are we waiting for?” Trudie had been driven fast before, and indeed, had ventured now and then to “put her foot down” when her father had allowed her the use of his car; but this was fast driving such as she had never previously experienced. She clenched her hands in her lap and stared at the road ahead as the powerful car surged forward, but she was not afraid. Philip was driving with control—of himself as well as of the car—as well as with speed, and she was only thankful that he had wasted no time in fruitless conjecture, but turned at once to see what he could do to help.
They reached Malcolm’s parked car as he was beginning to run. He was only a little way ahead of them and just around the bend. Philip braked to a halt and gave a tiny blast of the horn to let Malcolm know they were there, but not loud or long enough to startle Veronica who, by this time, was climbing onto the coping stones that topped the dry-stone wall.
“Veronica!” Philip called once as he too began to run, but she gave no sign of having heard, and with her heart pounding like mad, Trudie ran her hardest, keeping pace with Philip. They were almost at the bridge when Veronica suddenly stood upright, a slender figure looking strangely lonely outlined against the blue of the sky. Feeling as though her heart had leaped out of her breast and into her mouth, Trudie saw her elder brother pull himself up beside the girl and put one arm out to her. The next second Veronica had clutched wildly at him, and Trudie could never have said whether the girl was relieved to be rescued or whether she had indeed attempted to push him away. All Trudie saw was a sudden whirl of a dark suit and a white dress; and then two figures apparently intermingled vanished over the wall and into the swirling water below.
The current here was quite strong, as Trudie knew, as the Fell was fed by two fast-moving streams. It was the most dangerous point in an otherwise fairly safe river. Trudie wasted no time in peering over the wall but rushed down the bankside to where she knew the current would take them.
Malcolm was a good swimmer, as were all the family, but as she reached the bank and saw the two figures moving toward her she knew he was in some kind of trouble. She could also see, thankfully, that he appeared to have matters under control.
“She’s unconscious!” His words reached Trudie as he neared the bank, and from where she half-stood, half-crouched, eager to help, she felt a stir of admiration as he supported the limp form of his sister-in-law with powerful movements and brought her in to safety.
“Let me help!” Philip was on his knees, reaching out to help Trudie bring Veronica from Malcolm’s grasp and to drag her onto the bank. “She must have hit her head,” Malcolm panted, refusing Philip’s arm with a gesture and pulled himself up beside the unconscious girl. “She can’t have swallowed much water.”
“You reached her almost immediately,” Philip commented. “Good thing.” He was already working on her, trying to remove whatever water she may have swallowed. “As soon as we can we’ll get her up to the extension.”
They worked on Veronica for a few minutes before Philip was satisfied they could now attempt to move her. He lifted her carefully, carrying her to his car and placed her limp form on the back seat.
“I want Trudie back at the hospital with me,” he told Malcolm, “and your father needs his car. He’s wanted on a case, but I expect someone will have driven him there by now. You’d better follow in yours, and we’ll send someone out for Dr. Hislop’s and ask them to take it straight to The Cedars.”
They went back to the hospital, still driving fast but with by no means the same sort of urgency with which they had started out. Philip’s face was grim and he made no comment at all until they neared the extension gates. Then he turned to Trudie and said in a flat, toneless voice, “It must tie up somewhere. Barry Vetch said he had only flown down here because at the last minute a friend told him that Veronica Fleet was opening a charity fete in the vicinity. But why would she want to do this?”
“I don’t know, Philip,” Trudie said truthfully. “Maybe she’ll tell us when she recovers. It may explain a number of things, things we’ve never understood about Veronica.”
Philip made no answer, and once at the hospital Veronica was taken to another side ward where Trudie and a nurse prepared her for bed.
Malcolm, striding the corridor, had been busy, bedraggled and wet as he was. He had telephoned for someone to take his father’s car to the house, plus the staff at Marley House and was relieved to hear that his father had already been driven to the farm. Now, tense and not knowing what to expect, he waited for Trudie and Philip to join him.
“We’ll have a cup of tea,” Philip said. “It’s already on its way, then you must get a change of clothes, Malcolm, and come back here. We will see how she is when she wakes up. My house is nearer to the hospital than yours. We’re about the same size. I’ll call Foster and tell him to do his best to rig you out comfortably. You can leave your things with him, he’ll attend to them.”
There wasn’t anything else to be done at the time, and they were no nearer an explanation of Veronica’s conduct by the time Dr. Hislop had finished his evening rounds and driven over to join them. By the time a nurse came to tell them Veronica was stirring and muttering, Trudie felt she had lived through half a lifetime; there was nothing ahead but nightmares. All the same, she accompanied Philip to Veronica’s bedside, thankful f
or his controlled professional manner. As they took up their positions on either side of the narrow bed their glances met and clung full of sympathy and understanding so tangible that Trudie felt her heart lift with thankfulness even though her eyes filled with tears; the smile on her lips was tremulous.
“Philip?” Veronica was speaking almost in her normal voice and her tone had a question. “I even bungled this, didn’t I?” she smiled feebly. “Is Malcolm all right?”
“He is now,” Philip answered. “He was very wet!”
“I’m sorry.” There was no answering smile to his attempt at introducing a little lightness into the conversation. She put out one manicured hand and clutched Philip’s sleeve, holding on tightly.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” she said huskily. “You and Trudie, before I see Malcolm again ... or Father-in-law. You’ll have to tell me how much I ought to tell them. I want to tell Malcolm everything, but he’s so ... not hard, but just. But I don’t know about Father-in-law...”
“Leave it until you’re stronger, Veronica,” Trudie was beginning, but the other girl turned her head and smiled at her: a smile so different, so full of affection that Trudie could not believe these were the same lips that had once seemed only to be carrying a smile of superiority for her.
“I’ve been doing that long enough, Trudie dear,” she said softly. “I thought I could do it forever. But I can’t. I have to tell it all now. And when I have perhaps you’ll all think Malcolm should have let me sink.”
Philip nodded as Trudie looked at him questioningly. He took Veronica’s slim hand in his own and patted it reassuringly.
“Get it off your chest,” was his unprofessional remark. “You’ll obviously feel better, and neither Trudie nor I will say one word unless you want us to.”
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