A Girl to Love

by Betty Neels

  Mr Trentham crossed the hall in a couple of long strides, took the jug from her and put a large hand on her shoulder. ‘Oh, my poor little Sadie! You’ve had no sleep, no rest, probably no food—you’re exhausted!’

  ‘No, just tired. Mrs Woodley has been marvellous, so has Teresa, and Woodley has been looking after Gladstone…I must get some more lemonade, the children get thirsty. Do you want anything to eat or drink, Mr Trentham?’

  ‘No, and if I did you certainly wouldn’t be allowed to get it. Fetch the lemonade; I’ll come up with you.’

  He threw off his coat and put his case down in the hall and when she came back, walked upstairs with her to the children’s room. They were sleeping still, but Julie was restless and flushed.

  Mr Trentham put the jug down on a table. ‘Now tell me exactly what has to be done,’ he commanded in a quiet voice, ‘and then you’ll go to bed. And no arguing, please. If you don’t go quietly I shall pick you up and carry you there.’

  He meant it. Sadie said: ‘Very well, thank you, but I should like to get up about seven o’clock so that I can see to them both.’ And when he nodded: ‘This is what you have to do…’ It wasn’t much; giving drinks, shaking pillows, bathing a too warm little face and hands, soothing…

  He nodded. ‘OK—off you go,’ and she went thankfully to bed, too tired to feel unhappy because he thought she looked frightful.

  She slept soundly until her alarm clock woke her, and when she went to the children’s room it was to find Anna sleeping quietly and Julie curled up in her father’s arms. They were both asleep too. Sadie silently made the bed, went to the kitchen where she found Teresa making tea, filled the lemonade jug once more, and bore it, together with tea for two, back to the children’s room. Anna stirred as she went in and Sadie took her temperature, gave her a drink and went to run her bath, thankful that at least one child was normal again. She wrapped Anna in her dressing gown and sat her on a chair while she made the bed, and then, since the other two showed no sign of waking, bathed her and popped her back into bed. The tea would be cooling by now; she poured herself a cup and sat down on the edge of Julie’s bed to drink it, but only for a moment. Mr Trentham opened his eyes, yawned hugely and asked in a carrying whisper: ‘Tea?’

  He looked worn out, with a night’s growth of beard and bags under his eyes and his hair going in all directions; Sadie had never loved him so much. She poured his tea and took it to him and he cradled Julie carefully in one arm to take it. ‘You’ve slept?’ he asked.

  ‘Very well, thank you, Mr Trentham. Anna’s much better, almost well in fact, and I fancy that when Julie wakes she’ll be feeling more herself.’

  She heard her voice, very prim, very cool, exactly opposite to what she was feeling.

  ‘Still angry with me, Sadie?’ he asked lazily.

  ‘No, Mr Trentham. I—I—was tired. I’m sorry if I was rude.’

  ‘And yet, when you saw me, you looked…over the moon.’ He held out his cup for more tea. ‘I wonder why?’

  She said stiffly: ‘Naturally I was glad to see someone.’

  ‘I’m disappointed. I hoped you were glad to see me.’ He drank his tea, and as Julie stirred: ‘Will you see to her now? Anna’s asleep.’

  ‘She’s been awake, I gave her a bath and popped her back in bed.’

  He put the half-asleep Julie in her arms. ‘Do I see you at breakfast?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘It rather depends on how Julie is.’

  He nodded and got up and Sadie asked hesitantly: ‘Did you have a good holiday?’

  With his hand on the door handle he turned to look at her. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I did not. The sensible thoughts I should have had were very completely obscured by daydreams.’ His fine mouth turned down at its corners. ‘At my age too! I even found myself quoting poetry. You know Robert Herrick?’ and before she could nod a little uncertainly, ‘He wrote “How love came in, I do not know”—well, I don’t know either. My peaceful, hardworking life has been shattered, and I find that I have no interest in anything.’

  Anna had wakened up and was sitting up in bed, listening. ‘Why don’t you stop working, Daddy, and go out every evening with a pretty lady? I s’pect she’d be interesting.’

  He smiled at her but he looked longest at Sadie. ‘That might be an idea. Who shall I start with?’

  ‘Sadie, of course.’

  Sadie bent over the tray and no one could see her face. ‘No, love, that wouldn’t do; I’m not pretty and I’m not a lady. I’m sure you can think of someone else.’

  ‘You’re not a bit pretty, but your eyes smile,’ said Anna, ‘but I see what you mean. There’s Miss Thornton and Mrs Wilcox, though she’s rather old.’

  ‘But very handsome,’ suggested her father softly, his eyes still on Sadie. ‘I think I must take your advice, Anna.’ He smiled slowly. ‘What do you think, Sadie?’

  ‘Since you didn’t enjoy your holiday, Mr Trentham, I should think it might be a good idea to—renew your friendships.’ She made herself look at him then, presenting him with a politely interested face which gave away nothing of her feelings.

  He said blandly: ‘I shall take your very sound advice, Sadie. That is if you promise not to meet me on the stairs every night and demand to know where I’ve been.’ And when she prudently held her tongue: ‘Would you like help with the children? Shouldn’t Doctor Rogers come again?’

  ‘I can manage very well, thank you, but I would like the doctor to come and advise me how long they should remain indoors.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll arrange that. Anna seems quite well again.’ He grinned at the child as he spoke. ‘And Julie is on the mend, I hope.’

  Thank heaven they had recovered so quickly, thought Sadie, although they weren’t out of the wood yet. There would be a few days’ convalescence and both children would be peevish and bored. She foresaw endless games of Ludo and Scrabble and herself hoarse from reading Hans Andersen’s fairy tales. But they were dear children and she was fond of them, and once they could go out again she would plan one or two outings. She took Julie’s temperature, wondering when they would be going back to the cottage. No one had mentioned it, but of course. The children wouldn’t be going to school for another ten days and she was quite prepared for Mr Trentham’s habit of waiting until the last minute before telling her anything.

  Julie’s fever was much less and she showed some interest in her breakfast. Sadie washed her and sat her up in bed, bade Anna keep an eye on her and went away to have her bath and dress. She was on the point of going down to the kitchen to get their trays when Teresa appeared.

  ‘Morning, Miss Sadie,’ she beamed at the little girls. ‘Better, aren’t they—isn’t that nice now? The master says you’re to go to breakfast and I’ll bring up the trays.’

  ‘But, Teresa, I don’t suppose you’ve had your breakfast yet…’

  ‘Yes, I have, miss. I’ll stay with these two while they eat.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Teresa, you’re kind. I shan’t be long.’

  ‘You eat a good breakfast, miss. You had a bad night, so I’m told—you should have called us.’

  ‘I expect I should have, only Mr Trentham came home as I was going to the kitchen. He was kind enough to stay with the children and I had a good sleep.’

  Mr Trentham was already at the table when Sadie reached the dining room. He got up and pulled out a chair for her, wished her good morning, asked Woodley to bring some fresh toast and excused himself for continuing to read his post. His manner was pleasant, but he sounded absentminded.

  Sadie ate her breakfast in silence and as quickly as she was able; she quite appreciated that Mr Trentham had a large post to read, but surely he could have spared a word or two? As it was every swallow and every crunching bite into her toast sounded like thunder in the awful quiet. She could have eaten more, for although she was a small girl and still too thin, she had a healthy appetite, but she got up from the table as soon as she decently could, murmured her excuses and made f
or the door. She had taken two steps when Mr Trentham raised his head.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’ he wanted to know.

  She stood still, half turned towards him. ‘I’m not. You didn’t look as though you wanted to be disturbed.’

  ‘I am already disturbed, Sadie.’ A remark which meant nothing to her. ‘Will you sit down again for five minutes?’ he added, to her great surprise. ‘Please.’

  She sat composedly and looked at him. No one would have guessed that he had spent the night in a chair with a small girl on his knees. He looked well rested, well groomed and wore the smilingly bland expression which she never quite knew how to take.

  ‘As soon as the children are quite better, I think a day at my sister’s might be a good idea—you’ll come too, of course. She lives at Maidenhead. And a day at the Tower, perhaps? Don’t look so astonished, Sadie, it’s the done thing to take your young there. They love dungeons and suchlike horrors at their age.’ He paused to think. ‘I wonder if they’ve been on a bus tour of London? We might do that as well. When does school start at Chelcombe?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure, but I believe it’s about the sixteenth.’

  ‘Good—what with escorting the three of you during the day and wining and dining the pretty ladies thrust upon me so ruthlessly by my daughter, I imagine I shall have no time for daydreams. Do you have daydreams, Sadie?’

  She said quietly: ‘Oh, yes, Mr Trentham, I should think most people do.’

  ‘And what are yours, I wonder? To marry a millionaire and live happily ever after.’

  She said even more quietly: ‘Just to live happily ever after.’

  ‘Money doesn’t appeal to you?’ He was laughing at her.

  ‘Of course it does, but it’s not much use…I mean, what would be the use of marrying a millionaire if you didn’t love him?’

  ‘What—you’d rather have a flask of wine, a loaf of bread and thou, than an unlimited dress allowance?’

  ‘Well, of course I would.’ She was suddenly impatient with him. ‘Was there anything else you wanted to talk about, Mr Trentham?’

  He sighed. ‘A great many things, Sadie, but not now. I’ll bring Doctor Rogers up when he comes.’

  She escaped with something like relief.

  Anna was sitting up in bed, demanding to get up, and Julie was well enough to listen to the story Sadie was reading by the time Doctor Rogers arrived. Anna was pronounced well, although she was to stay in the house for another day, and Julie, with a normal temperature now, could get up on the following day provided she had no more fever. The two men went away and Sadie helped Anna dress; before she had finished Mr Trentham was back again. ‘I’ll have Anna with me,’ he offered, and frowned a little at Sadie’s surprise. ‘She can do a jigsaw or draw in the study while I write some letters.’ He added tetchily: ‘You have no need to look like that, Sadie, I’m quite capable of looking after my daughter.’

  He had gone, with Anna prancing along beside him, before she could utter a word.

  And Anna stayed with him for the rest of the day. It wasn’t until her bedtime that she finally came upstairs, full of the things she had done and what she would do on the next day and the jigsaw she had almost managed to finish. Sadie got her ready for bed, fetched Julie’s supper and presently, with both little girls asleep, went downstairs herself.

  Just in time to see Mr Trentham getting into his coat in the hall. He was wearing a dinner jacket and when he saw her, he called out: ‘I think I’ve earned an evening out, don’t you, Sadie?’

  She was tired and dispirited, but she answered him cheerfully. ‘Indeed you have, Mr Trentham; I hope she’s a very pretty lady.’

  He crossed the hall to her and to her great surprise, bent down and kissed her. ‘I’m out of practice,’ he told her airily. ‘That’s by way of a rehearsal.’

  She stood quite still until he had gone out of the house, then she went to her supper. Mrs Woodley had cooked a delicious meal, but Sadie didn’t really notice what she was eating. She felt as though her heart was breaking—but that, of course, was nonsense. Hearts didn’t break, they might crack a little, but cracks could be mended.

  She didn’t see Mr Trentham at all during the following day. She heard his voice in the hall as she helped the little girls get dressed, but there was no sign of him at breakfast; away all day, Woodley told her, and only back in the evening for an hour to change his clothes for some dinner or other. So the three of them repaired to the playroom and passed the day happily enough, on the little girls’ part at any rate, in painting and making plasticine models and playing with Gladstone. After lunch, Sadie, longing for a breath of air, got Teresa to sit with the children while she put on her coat and took the dog for a walk. It was another grey cold day, but it was dry, and she stepped out briskly with Gladstone striding out beside her. She walked for half an hour and then turned for home, feeling better, telling herself that self-pity would get her nowhere. She arrived back at the house with glowing cheeks, took Gladstone down to the kitchen for his tea, and went back to the playroom.

  She heard Mr Trentham come in presently just as the three of them, greatly hindered by Gladstone, were finishing a jigsaw. They were on the floor before the fire and Sadie didn’t get up as the children ran to meet their father. Instead she busied herself collecting up the pieces and putting them back in their box. She had said good evening pleasantly, but that was all. He looked tired again and in no mood for small talk, and she was surprised when he asked: ‘Do you think the children are well enough to go to Maidenhead tomorrow?’

  There were screams of delight. ‘Yes, I think so. If I wrap them up warmly and they don’t get tired— I mean, a long day…’

  ‘It won’t be a long day, you forget, I have to be home to change for the pretty lady.’ He gave her a mocking smile and when Julie asked: ‘Is she very pretty, Daddy?’ answered: ‘Absolutely stunning, love.’

  ‘Prettier than the one you’re going out with this evening?’

  ‘Oh, definitely.’

  ‘It’s not Mrs Langley? She laughs so loud.’

  ‘No, it’s Miss Thornton, she hardly laughs at all, but she’s on a diet, so I expect that makes her sad.’

  ‘What sort of a diet?’

  ‘Lettuce leaves and yogurt to keep her a lovely shape.’ He swung the child up in the air, kissed her soundly, did the same for Anna, bade a casual goodnight to Sadie and went away. He came back almost at once.

  ‘We’ll go directly after breakfast,’ he said, and went out again.

  It was a lovely morning, frosty and cold sunshine and a pale blue sky. The little girls, well wrapped up with Gladstone panting happily across their feet, were packed into the back of the car, Sadie, in her tweed coat and the blue wool dress, was told briskly to get in beside Mr Trentham and they were off. The rush hour was almost over and the mid-morning traffic was only just starting. Mr Trentham drove south to Hammersmith, got on to the M4 and raced along it to Maidenhead, turning off through Bray before he reached the town. Lady Crawley lived on the other side of the village in a large, rambling house set in a small park. It looked comfortable and lived in, a supposition borne out by the opening of a side door and the emergence of three children and two large dogs, followed by their mother, walking with unhurried dignity.

  Mr Trentham had got out, opened the door and allowed his children and Gladstone to meet the on-coming pack, and then gone round to Sadie’s side and ushered her out too. His sister had reached them by now, smiling and sailing through children and dogs with unruffled calm.

  She embraced her brother and turned to Sadie, who was feeling shy, and put a friendly arm through hers. ‘Nice to see you,’ she told her. ‘You must be feeling like chewed string! ’Flu’s ghastly at the best of times, combine it with small children and it’s beyond words. Come on in and have coffee. The children will be all right for a bit. Nanny’s coming down in a moment; she’ll see that they get their cocoa and look after them until lunch.’

  She slipped a
n arm in her brother’s and the three of them walked into the house, using the side door. It opened on to a stone-floored passage, full of clobber; wellingtons, fishing rods, old tennis shoes and racquets, a cricket bat or two, raincoats hung on pegs, dog leads, and where it opened into a small carpeted lobby, a basket with a cat and kittens.

  ‘Tabitha’s been at it again, I see,’ said Mr Trentham idly as they all paused to admire the little creatures. ‘I’ll have one of them—Mrs Woodley fancies a cat about the house. We’d better have two, then they’ll be company for each other.’ They went on through a door on the other side of the lobby and came into a square hall, panelled and rather dark, and so into a pleasant room, handsomely furnished but rather untidy. Lady Crawley swept a pile of magazines off a chair and invited Sadie to sit down.

  ‘Take her coat,’ she commanded her brother, ‘and put it in the hall and ask Maria to bring the coffee, will you?’ She sat down herself near Sadie. ‘My husband’s at his office this morning, but he’ll be back after lunch. I’d like him to meet you,’ and then: ‘What do you think of Oliver?’

  Sadie hadn’t expected that. She went very red and repeated: ‘Oliver?’ in a parrotlike voice. ‘Mr Trentham…he’s—well, he’s…’

  ‘Difficult, bossy, moody, bad-tempered—I know, but he’s quite a darling really.’ She eyed Sadie, who felt like something under a microscope. ‘You’ve discovered all that for yourself.’ It was a statement, not a question, and Sadie said with a touch of defiance: ‘Yes, I have.’

  Her companion had no intention of letting the matter rest there; luckily Mr Trentham and the coffee arrived and his sister said at once: ‘Come and tell me about your holiday. Was it a success?’

  ‘If you mean did I achieve peace and quiet—no, it was an utter failure; on the other hand, I had my mind made up for me.’

  She smiled at him. ‘You’ll try your luck?’

  He nodded and went on pleasantly: ‘Nanny’s fetched the children inside—the dogs too. They’ve gone up to the nursery, she’s got her hands full.’