'Don't worry,' Bobbie answered quietly. 'I understand, Harry. Thank you for ringing me,' and saying goodbye quickly before the tears began to fall, she put down the receiver.
She leaned on the desk and one or two bright drops fell on to the polished surface. She brushed them away angrily with the back of her hand, and fetching a tissue blew her nose defiantly. If Harry didn't care enough to break off the evening at a reasonable hour and motor home, that was his affair, she thought, and getting back to her typewriter, she angrily dashed off the page, not making a single mistake.
But by bedtime Bobbie hardly cared whether she was alone or not. Her head ached intolerably, she could hardly swallow and her eyes felt blurred and sore. She switched on the electric blanket and crawled thankfully between the sheets, but sleep eluded her. She lay tossing from side to side, feverish and extremely thirsty, so that in the end she decided to get up and make herself a hot drink. Sliding into her warmest dressing-gown, she walked slowly along the upstairs corridor, wishing now in the big silent house for Harry's reassuring presence. There was always a light left burning in the hall at night, so she had no difficulty in finding her way, but she felt distinctly top-heavy now she was on her feet.
She had turned into the corridor leading to the kitchen when suddenly a man's tall form loomed in front of her in the gloom. 'Oh, Harry!' she croaked thankfully, and flinging her arms around his waist Bobbie laid her burning forehead against the lapel of his coat. Strong arms closed round her and she babbled on half deliriously, 'Oh, I'm so glad you've come! I feel so ill and I wanted you so. I never thought I'd be such a fool. I suppose it's because I feel so rotten.'
Bobbie opened her eyes suddenly, aware that there was a deathly silence. The arms still held her as firmly as before, but the corridor was now brightly lit and the figure she was clasping so tightly was certainly not Harry's.
She looked up to see Sean's face above her and he was gazing straight over her head at somebody behind her. Slowly, very slowly, Bobbie turned, still half held in Sean's arms, to meet her husband's gaze. Harry must have just come in, and in her confused state she had neither heard the car nor the opening of the front door, though it was very probable that Sean had heard both.
As she turned quickly to look back at him she caught a look of gloating triumph in his eyes before he lowered them. He dropped his arms from her shoulders and cleared his throat, but before he could speak, before he could say anything to compromise them further, Bobbie stepped forward. 'I came down to make some tea,' she explained hastily. 'I must have a drink, I'm terribly thirsty,' and then suddenly the floor seemed to rise up and hit her.
The next time she opened her eyes she found herself back in bed. She could hear voices somewhere in the room, and then someone said distinctly, 'She'll be all right now. I've given her an injection. She should sleep until the morning,' and she remembered nothing more. It was certainly daylight when she opened her eyes again, although the curtains were still drawn so that only a subdued light entered the room, but even this Bobbie found to be a trial to her sore eyes. Someone was sitting beside the bed and she turned her head to see her mother gazing at her anxiously.
'Why, Mummy,' her voice she was surprised to note was still a croak, 'what are you doing here?'
Mrs. Bentham leaned forward and took Bobbie's hand in hers. 'You gave Harry a bit of a fright last night, so I came along to have a look at you.' Her mother chuckled. 'You've got as fine a dose of chicken-pox as ever I've seen,' she ended.
'Chickenpox!' Bobbie was horrified. 'Oh no! I must have caught it from James.'
'Some child you've been in contact with, the doctor thinks, although he says you're lucky not to have got shingles. You could have had either.'
'But why do I feel so ill?' Bobbie asked. 'It's only a children's complaint, after all.'
'Not at your age,' Mrs. Bentham pointed out. 'Adults frequently feel seriously ill. You're not to be left, the doctor says, so Harry's going to get a night nurse in.'
'Oh, nonsense,' Bobbie said weakly, 'I shan't need a nurse.' But she was wrong, because as the days progressed she needed constant attention. The spots covered not only her face and body, but the inside of her mouth and the back of her throat so that for three days she was hardly able to swallow and was glad to have someone to moisten her parched lips. During the day Mrs. Bentham, assisted by Mabel, looked after her, and at night Harry had secured the services of a retired nurse who went out to private cases to supplement her pension. Nurse Robertson was of the old school and she seemed to anticipate Bobbie's every want. In the small hours when she was unable to sleep Bobbie found it very comforting to open her eyes and see the uniformed figure sitting under one of the small shaded reading lamps, crocheting or reading a book. She had only to move restlessly for the nurse to be immediately at her side.
Of Harry himself she saw little. He was only allowed into her sickroom for short periods and when he came he was curt and taciturn. Hidden behind a surgical mask since he had never had chickenpox himself, he seemed almost a stranger, and in consequence her conversations with him were stilted and unnatural, so that she almost dreaded the day when she was on her feet again, and had to resume normal relationships once more.
There had been no opportunity to explain that she had genuinely mistaken Sean for him on the night he had returned unexpectedly from London and no opportunity either to find out what Sean himself had had to say on the subject. Judging by the look she had glimpsed in his eyes and which was the one thing she remembered clearly about the whole episode, it was quite possible that he had allowed Harry to go on thinking that they were in each other's arms by mutual consent.
Bit by bit, Bobbie was losing all her former illusions about the handsome Sorensen twins. She knew now that they could both be vindictive, and after the episode of the party they probably felt they wanted to get even with Harry. Her mistake could quite possibly have put a weapon into Sean's hands, one which he would have no hesitation in using.
Bad though her attack of chickenpox had been, eventually Bobbie began almost reluctantly to get better. She clung as long as possible to the services of Nurse Robertson, knowing that while she was in the house there was no question of Harry coming back to share the bedroom with her. She did not know whether her mother suspected her motives in taking as long as possible over every step in her convalescence, but she knew it was possible that Mrs. Bentham guessed Bobbie was pretending to feel weaker than she actually was.
One morning when she came out of the bathroom to start dressing Mrs. Bentham said bracingly, 'Well, I see no need to come all day any longer, my love. You're much better now and shouldn't require any actual nursing. I should tell Nurse Robertson this evening that she can look for another post.'
Bobbie did not answer immediately as she went over to the dressing table and examined her face. She still had several spots and passionately hoped that they would leave no mark. She had been very good about restraining herself from touching them, but nevertheless she had one or two rather unsightly marks on her shoulders already, where the scabs had rubbed off as she tossed and turned during the night. 'What an awful thing to have caught,' she said as she turned back to her mother. 'I wonder why I never had it as a child?'
Mrs. Bentham shrugged. 'I've no idea. You had everything else as far as I can remember, including scarlet fever. Let's just hope that Harry doesn't get it, or you'll have to postpone your holiday.'
Yes, the holiday. Bobbie in her sickroom had temporarily forgotten all about it. She did not even know whether Harry had actually made any bookings, although he had intended to do so on that fateful day he went to London. She would have to gather her courage and ask him outright if he did not volunteer the information soon, otherwise in his present frame of mind he might begin to think she was totally disinterested in their belated honeymoon.
Her illness too must have made him intolerably behind in his work, for it was unlikely that he had been able to get anyone at this eleventh hour to come down and finish off th
e manuscripts. No wonder he seemed so unapproachable; he had a deadline to meet, she knew, since the date of publication had already been settled.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It seemed very quiet that afternoon, the first afternoon she had spent without her mother's company. Eventually the silence began to get on Bobbie's nerves. Tired of looking at magazines, she switched on the children's television and sat staring blindly at the set, lost in unhappy thoughts.
On impulse Bobbie decided to take her courage in her hands and go downstairs to buttonhole Harry in his office. Before she lost her nerve she jumped up, opened the door into the corridor and went along the landing.
She discovered to her surprise that she was weaker than she thought. It was the first time she had tackled the stairs and by the time she reached the ground floor her knees felt distinctly rubbery. But she pressed on and was soon standing before the door of Harry's room.
She hesitated a moment now the confrontation was at hand, but once inside she discovered she was in for yet another surprise.
The first thing Bobbie noticed was the sound of a typewriter and she saw that the door into her office was ajar. She walked over and pushed it open. Harry was sitting on the window-ledge reading through some typescript, and behind the desk was no other person than Miss Battersby herself.
In her astonishment Bobbie ignored her husband and addressed herself to Miss Battersby. 'Why, Batty, what are you doing here?'
Miss Battersby got up and came round the desk. 'How are you, my dear?' She shook Bobbie by the hand.
'Better, I hope. I was sorry to hear you'd been so ill. She's not looking too chipper yet, is she?' and she turned towards Harry.
Bobbie glanced across to find that Harry was watching her thoughtfully over the top of the papers in his hands. He straightened at Miss Battersby's words and said, 'She's not her usual scintillating self, I must admit, but we'll soon have her back to normal. I expect you're surprised to see Batty here. I ran into her that day in London, the day you were taken ill, do you remember?'
Bobbie put her hand to her head and laughed tremulously. 'It's one day I'll never forget!' she replied.
'I met Batty in the Strand. She and her husband came home for New Year and are staying with friends. I rang her up the next day and told her I was in a hole and like the good friend she is, she volunteered to come down and help me out,' and Harry patted Miss Battersby on the shoulder as he walked past her into his own room.
'I suppose I shouldn't call you Miss Battersby any more,' Bobbie began. She was left wondering what to do next. Harry had shown no desire to stay and continue the conversation.
'Oh, that's all right, my dear,' Miss Battersby reassured her. 'I'm Mrs. Milton now, but nobody remembers. People still address me as Miss Battersby and I don't mind.'
'Well, I'll try and remember,' Bobbie promised, 'and thanks again for all you're doing. I don't know what Harry would have done while I was laid up.'
'I didn't want you to miss your honeymoon,' Miss Battersby said bracingly, and Bobbie's face flushed as with a muttered farewell she turned and walked back into the larger room.
But if she expected any help or any more conversation from Harry she was doomed to disappointment. He was sitting at his desk and only half glanced up as she came into the room and stood hesitating near the door. 'I shouldn't do too much your first trip downstairs,' he advised, then turned away, all interest in the conversation obviously ended as far as he was concerned, so that Bobbie had no alternative but to walk slowly out of the room.
When she was outside the closed door two bitter tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. It was unlike Harry to behave with such indifference, but there seemed no way in which she could get within reach of him. He was holding her very definitely at arms' length, and Bobbie found that it hurt far more than she had ever anticipated. It hurt to feel that she was out on her own. In the few weeks since she had got engaged and married to Harry she had not only become used to his unobtrusive way of looking after her, but she had got used to the warmth of affection with which he surrounded her. That atmosphere had now absolutely changed, and it was very unpleasant to feel excluded, she discovered. Could it be that she had fallen in love with her own husband? That his good opinion of her mattered so much?
But this situation Bobbie found in the days that followed was now the normal. Harry continued to sleep in the dressing-room on the pretext that she had not yet fully regained her strength and if he returned to share her bedroom it might retard her convalescence. During the day he and Miss Battersby were shut away in the office and she was neither invited nor encouraged to join them.
Bobbie found time hanging heavily on her hands. She did not want to go down too often to visit her parents in case her mother began to sense her un-happiness and start to ask embarrassing questions. Even Mabel, preparing for Aunt Jo and Mr. Sorensen's return from Stockholm, had no time to sit around and chat.
Bobbie began taking long walks, discovering that if she took a short cut across the garden at the back of the house and through the woodland she could drop down into the valley and make a wide detour, returning via Charlton Heath village, a distance of about four or five miles.
The first time she attempted the walk she arrived back almost in a state of exhaustion, and had to rest at the bottom of the drive before she could venture up to the house.
But as the days went by and the strength returned to her legs, she began to enjoy the long tramp, and sometimes even walk the distance twice a day if the weather permitted.
On wet days, however, she was confined to the house and this increased her unsettled feeling. She had not yet summoned up the courage to ask Harry what kind of clothes she would need for their holiday, and she had no idea even of their actual date of departure.
The only bright spot was that neither Nils nor Sean came on a visit. To have seen either of them might have been awkward, Bobbie felt, and she blessed them both for staying out of the way, though she realised that they would not be doing it out of kindness of heart, but merely because it suited their convenience.
Looking at herself in the mirror one morning Bobbie came to a decision. Although her face had remained unscarred, she was looking distinctly sallow, and her hair, usually glossy, had lost all its lustre. She knew a good beauty salon in London and on impulse she went to the telephone. Yes, they could fit her in tomorrow, and yes, they could do a full beauty treatment if she was there promptly at eleven.
If Harry seemed a little surprised that evening when she announced she was going up to London on the early train next day, it soon faded from his eyes and he merely nodded. 'A good idea,' he said as he laid down his napkin after their evening meal. 'I felt you might be getting a bit fed up with nothing to do at the moment and Batty and me shut away finishing off the books. It seems a pity when you did all the grind that you aren't in at the kill, as it were.'
Bobbie smiled faintly. So Harry was not quite blind after all. He had seen that she felt out of things and even sympathised. But he made no offer to accompany her to town next morning, and said off-handedly, 'Sure you'll be able to get yourself to the station?' and at her nod turned away as if he had already dismissed the subject from his mind.
When she got up next morning Bobbie found she was rather looking forward to a day spent in the bustle of London, and when several hours later she came out of the beauty salon after being steamed, pummelled, massaged and anointed, she felt like a new woman. She certainly looked a good deal better than when she had entered the hallowed portals of the beauty salon, and although there were still deep shadows under her eyes which even expert make-up could not completely hide, at least her hair was restored to its former glory and her whole constitution felt rejuvenated after the expensive treatment which she had just undergone.
She had been rather alarmed when she saw the size of the bill, but had produced her cheque-book and made out a cheque without a murmur of protest, feeling inwardly that it was probably money well spent. After a quick meal she telephon
ed an old school friend who had married and settled outside London on the borders of Kent and Surrey. She was delighted when Melanie suggested that she came for an early supper.
But it was inevitable after such a long separation that once the girls were together they should talk on and on, so that by the time Bobbie returned to London she was only just in time to catch the last train back to Charlton Heath. She had managed to ring and explain her delayed return, so it was no surprise as the train came to a halt to see Harry's tall figure standing at the exit to the station approach.
'What about my car?' she asked when she saw he had his own in the station yard.
'It will be all right here until tomorrow,' Harry said carelessly, 'one of us can come down and pick it up then. Come on, hop in.'
He sounded quite relaxed and Bobbie chanced a rather nervous sideglance at his face. 'It was a bit stupid to stay until this last train, though,' he went on. 'I think you're overdoing it a bit. The sooner we get off on our holiday and you can really get some sunshine, the better.'
Bobbie was silent for a moment or two. So he was still going ahead with their plans for a belated honeymoon, was he? And it sounded as if the journey would take them into the warmth abroad.
She found herself apologising. 'I went to see an old friend,' she said, 'and I'm afraid we talked. You know what women are when they get together and especially when they haven't seen each other for some time.'
Harry laughed. He sounded quite genuinely amused. 'Oh, so long as you've enjoyed yourself…' he remarked, and left the sentence hanging in the air.
But if Bobbie thought from his present attitude that the comfortable relations which she and Harry had previously enjoyed were about to be resumed she was doomed to disappointment. The next day everything went on as before. Harry and Miss Battersby retired once more to the workroom and Bobbie found herself shut out as usual and again at a loose end. She would dearly have liked to go in and ask them how they were getting on, but she did not care to lay herself open to a snub. Since the night when her illness had started and he had found her in his brother's arms Bobbie had discovered that Harry could be adept at keeping her at a distance and doing it in such a subtle fashion that she was now no longer at ease with him. Although she lacked the courage to bring the subject up she knew that if she were ever to sort things out between them the topic of his brother's behaviour would have to be brought into the open. Whether Harry believed her or not, some things would just have to be talked out. She still had no idea to what lengths Sean had gone. It was possible he had put forward a garbled version of the scene the night of her illness in such a convincing way that Harry might have been led to believe she was already regretting her hasty marriage. Her one ray of hope was the fact that he was still continuing with their plans for a holiday together. Surely, she told herself, this meant that he must be giving her the benefit of the doubt.
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