Next Door to Romance

by Margaret Malcolm

  To Lisa's disappointment the incident seemed to have distracted his thoughts from what he had been saying, for instead of returning to it, he remarked casually:

  'That reminds me, Mrs Cosgrave has decided she wants a dog for company when she's on her own down here. What breed do you suggest?'

  'Oh, doesn't that rather depend on Mrs Cosgrave's personal taste?' Lisa suggested doubtfully. 'And the purpose for which she wants the dog? I mean, is it to be a watchdog or purely a companion? And then there's the question of how much exercising it there should be. Some breeds need more than others, you know.'

  'No, I can't say I did know,' Mark confessed. 'But you seem to know quite a lot. Comes of having a vet always at your beck and call, I expect!'

  'I've certainly learned quite a lot from Tom, of course,' Lisa said quietly. 'But quite apart from that, most country folk do know quite a bit about animals.'

  'Yes, I suppose so,' Mark sounded apologetic. 'Sorry, Lisa, I shouldn't have said that.'

  'No, I don't think you should,' Lisa agreed gravely. 'It—it isn't quite fair either to Tom or to me to imply that—that—'

  'That there was something more than friendship between you?' Mark finished. 'All right, I won't, then. And heaven knows, I've no wish to believe it! I want my girl all to myself!'

  Lisa slipped her hand under his arm.

  'But don't you know that's how it is?' she whispered.

  For answer, Mark stopped the car at the side of the road and drew her into his arms.

  'There's only one way for me to answer that,' he told her softly, and their lips met.

  The next day, Mark and Mr Cosgrave went up to London where they would be until the following weekend. Lisa went home, and found life rather drab and depressing by comparison. And that wasn't only because her only contact with Mark was over the telephone. Though she had never given a thought to the idea of a romance between Tom and herself, she had valued him as a very real friend. They'd spent quite a lot of their free time together and they'd discussed everything under the sun together. Perhaps most important of all, they'd worked together. Now all that had gone, and with Mark away, there was nothing to take its place, for Lisa, at any rate. For Tom—well, he'd got his work, and if he hadn't got Lisa's companionship, that didn't seem to matter because most of his free time he spent with Celia Palmer. Lisa knew that because Mrs Blewett took good care that she should.

  'Not, of course, that it's of any interest to you now that you've got that smart young London man after you,' Mrs Blewett suggested, watching Lisa closely out of her beady eyes.

  'Oh, but of course it's of interest to me,' Lisa said coolly. 'Tom and I have always been good friends, so naturally I'm glad if he's happy.'

  That rather checked Mrs Blewett, as Lisa had hoped it would. After all, what could even such an inveterate gossip make of a remark which showed neither too much nor too little emotion?

  She was not prepared for the trouble which that brief encounter caused between Tom and herself. He intercepted her in the hall one day, his face grim and unfriendly.

  'Can you possibly spare me a few moments of your valuable time?' he asked ominously.

  Instinctively Lisa stiffened.

  'Oh, certainly—if it's really important,' she replied coolly.

  'In my opinion it is. In here?' he held his sitting room door open.

  Lisa went in, her hands deep in the pockets of her dungarees, her face as expressionless as she could make it.

  'Well?' she asked.

  'Not well at all,' Tom told her grimly. 'There are two things I want to make clear to you.'

  'Oh?' Lisa said indifferently.

  'Yes. First of all, I must ask you not to gossip about Celia Palmer and me with Mrs Blewett—'

  'What!' Lisa was too startled to retain her pose of indifference. 'But I didn't!'

  'No? Then how does it come about that Mrs Blewett informed me that you confirmed her guess that Celia and I were going to make a match of it?' he demanded belligerently.

  'Oh, Tom, for heaven's sake, don't you know Mrs Blewett yet?' Lisa asked impatiently. 'She cornered me in the High Street. It was she who said you and Celia were going to make a match of it. Then she said it wouldn't interest me, of course, because of Mark. And that put me in a spot.'

  'Oh? And why?'

  'Because, if I said I couldn't care less, she'd have made something of that,' Lisa explained with the overdone patience she might have used to a particularly dull child. 'Sour grapes—something like that. On the other hand, if I'd said it meant a tremendous lot to me that you should—should look at another girl—don't you see where that would have landed me?'

  'So what exactly did you say?' Tom asked, breathing rather heavily, but without answering her question.

  'Oh—' Lisa's hands flickered expressively, 'just that of course I was interested in what she had told me —that you and I had been good friends, so naturally I hoped you'd be happy.'

  'I see. Well, all right,' Tom said gruffly. 'But that still leaves the second thing.'

  'Well, buck up,' Lisa urged with something of her old spirit. 'I've got a lot to do even if you haven't.'

  'Right!' Tom snapped. 'And please take this in! When any of your new friends want pets, kindly refrain from sending them to me for advice!'

  'I didn't, as it happens,' Lisa retorted. 'But if I had, wouldn't it have been a practical thing to have done? After all, you do know a bit about the characteristics of different breeds—'

  'I do,' Tom agreed grimly. 'But I don't relish having it suggested that I must make quite a nice little bit on the side from breeders by pushing their particular breed.'

  'Oh no!' Lisa exclaimed furiously. 'Who on earth suggested that?'

  'Mrs Cosgrave,' Tom told her.

  Unconsciously Lisa gave a sigh of relief.

  'Oh, Tom, but you can't take offence at anything she says!' she insisted. 'She's rather a dear, but she is terribly, terribly tactless, and—and rather simple, I think. Honestly, she didn't mean to suggest anything unpleasant.'

  'That's how I read her,' Tom admitted. 'In fact, it surprised me that she could have thought up anything so unpleasant as that, until I realized that the only explanation must be that someone else had put the idea into her head. I wonder who that could have been, Lisa?'

  'I don't know—and I don't care,' Lisa said recklessly. 'It's nothing to do with me, because all I said when I was asked to suggest a breed was that it seemed to me to depend on the personal feelings of the prospective owner and the purpose for which the dog was to be kept. And I also said that the best thing was to consult someone who knew more about the subject than I do. I didn't suggest any names, and if you think I was doing a useful bit of advertising on your behalf—or on Celia's, for that matter, you're wrong! I'm simply not sufficiently interested—'

  She was speaking to the empty air. Tom had gone through into the surgery slamming the door behind him.

  Lisa waited for a moment or two in case he should come back to apologize for his behaviour, but he did nothing of the sort. So she went back to her own part of the house and began to clean silver so forcefully that she almost put dents into it.

  To Lisa's intense relief, Mrs Cosgrave finally made her choice without any reference to either Tom or Celia.

  She selected a miniature black poodle, and though Lisa's personal taste was for larger dogs, it really was a captivating little creature. Like all puppies, it was mischievous and completely casual in its habits, but how could one be cross with it for very long when it was so gay and so obviously happy in human companionship? Mrs Cosgrave adored it, Mr Cosgrave tolerated it, but gave a warning that it had to learn who was master in the house because he'd no use for a badly trained dog.

  'And mind you remember that, Violet,' he cautioned his wife. 'If you spoil the animal so that he's a nuisance, I'll have him put down—and that's a promise not a threat!'

  Generally Mrs Cosgrave did remember, and Chicot, being extremely intelligent, learnt his manners with reason
able speed, except in one respect. He couldn't bear being left alone. If he was, he howled and barked incessantly. And that, apparently, was a fault which could not be cured. In the end, Mrs Cosgrave gave up trying to. She simply saw to it that the dog never was alone. It seemed to her the simplest solution, and so long as Simon wasn't worried, what did the means matter?

  But it was certainly necessary, just now, to see that Simon shouldn't be worried, because he was so irritable that it was abundantly clear that he had something on his mind, though what it was, Mrs Cosgrave had no idea—these days, her Simon rarely took her into his confidence.

  The trouble was, in fact, the elusiveness of Sir Gerald Tenbury.

  Simon's first idea had been for Mark to put pressure on Lisa to bring about a meeting with Sir Gerald. He had taken a lot of persuading that such a course simply wasn't feasible. Indeed, it was not until, in desperation, Mark broke his promise not to pass on the news that Sir Gerald was living in the neighbourhood that he reluctantly abandoned the original plan. Reluctantly because he saw that there could be an irritating delay before he could make the contact he so desired. He wasn't in much doubt what sort of welcome he'd get if he forced his way into Sir Gerald's home uninvited.

  No, it had got to be a chance meeting, and obviously the Bellairs still offered the best opportunity for that. Consequently, he 'took up' Professor Bellairs, much to that gentleman's embarrassment, and encouraged his wife to do the same with Mrs Bellairs.

  'She's on heaven knows how many committees,' he pointed out impatiently when Mrs Cosgrave protested that she wasn't any use at that sort of thing. 'There must be one at least dealing with something you're interested in—gardens or dogs or something—'

  Mrs Cosgrave did as she was told, but neither that nor anything else brought Simon an inch nearer to achieving his purpose.

  Then, one stiflingly hot day, when even in the spacious Manor grounds there seemed to be no air, Simon asked his wife if she'd like to go for a drive. She accepted eagerly.

  'It'll do Chicot good,' she explained. 'He feels the heat so badly, poor pet!'

  So, despite Simon's grumbles, the three of them set off. It was an aimless drive until, suddenly, Simon stiffened as a small car turned out of a side lane and passing them in the opposite direction, took the turning towards Bardley. Instantly Simon turned and followed.

  'Oh, are we going back already?' Mrs Cosgrave asked in a disappointed way.

  Simon didn't answer, but when they got nearer Bardley, the little car in front turned off for Addingly. Simon followed it.

  'I thought so!' he muttered with considerable satisfaction as the car turned in at the Bellairs' entrance.

  He, however, kept going and it was not until a quarter of an hour later that he turned back and went in at the same entrance.

  'Why, there's the car you were—' Mrs Cosgrave began.

  Simon interrupted her sharply.

  'Listen, if you say a word to anybody about having seen that car earlier this afternoon, I—I'll stop your allowance for six months! Understand? And don't take that yappy little brute in with you. He'd just make a damn nuisance of himself.'

  'But, Simon, he does so hate being left alone,' Mrs Cosgrave objected.

  But it was no use. Simon was adamant and the dog was locked in the car despite its piteous whining.

  They found Professor and Mrs Bellairs and Sir Gerald sitting in the shade of a clump of sturdy trees. The garden ran down to a little stream that, despite the long spell of hot weather, chuckled and gurgled over its stony bed in a way that brought at least an illusion of coolness that was lacking in the Manor garden. But Simon hardly noticed his surroundings. He was on his mettle. It wasn't an easy situation, but he'd got to convince everyone that it was at least a chance one—

  The Bellairs weren't happy. They knew perfectly well that Sir Gerald was annoyed at having been run to ground like this, but what on earth could they do? One can't send neighbours—and the Cosgraves were practically that—packing, particularly in view of the link which Mark made between the two families.

  They did not need to have worried. Sir Gerald was quite equal to the occasion. He greeted Simon politely enough, but turned immediately to Mrs Cosgrave.

  'I understand from Mrs Bellairs that you are very much interested in gardening,' he said pleasantly. 'I wonder if you'd give me the benefit of your experience—'

  And from then on, he talked to no one but Mrs Cosgrave who, flattered and set at ease by his skilful handling, talked naturally and quite interestingly about gardens she had known. And, bored though he was with Professor Bellairs' account of an archaeological dig in which he had taken part many years ago, Simon wasn't altogether displeased. In fact, he was rather amused as he heard Violet promise to let Sir Gerald have some cuttings in the autumn. If, after all, it was through Violet, of all people—

  Tea was served—and then, quite suddenly, the peace of the afternoon was shattered. Round the corner of the house Tom Farrier came racing at top speed with Lisa in his wake.

  'Why, Tom—' Mrs Bellairs said anxiously, half rising from her seat.

  Tom took no notice. A forbidding and threatening figure, he stood over Simon Cosgrave, his face black with anger.

  'Is that your car out in the drive—the black saloon?' he demanded.

  'It is,' Simon replied belligerently. 'Any objection?'

  Tom ignored the question.

  'You will come and get your dog out of it at once!' he announced grimly. 'That is, unless you want it to die!'

  CHAPTER 7

  There was a moment of shocked silence. Then, as Mrs Cosgrave gave a pitiful little scream, Simon Cosgrave jumped to his feet with a roar, his face purple with rage.

  'You young jackanapes!' he bellowed, his arms flailing furiously. 'Who do you think you're talking to?'

  'You,' Tom told him, holding off the threatened blows with skilled control. 'Well, are you coming? Or am I to ring up the police?'

  'The police?' The colour in Simon's face faded to an ugly blotch of red and white.

  'Yes. Causing an animal unnecessary suffering is an indictable offence,' Tom told him grimly. 'And the sentence, if the animal dies as a result of it, is likely to be heavy. So I advise you to hurry, Mr Cosgrave!'

  Simon looked round the circle of watching faces and unconsciously he moistened his lips with his tongue. If he had gained any ground this afternoon, thanks to this young fool he'd lost it and more besides! Their faces told him that—bleak and critical and unfriendly, ready before they even knew what it was all about to assume that he was to blame.

  'A lot of nonsense!' he muttered thickly, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. 'The dog was quite all right when we left him!'

  'But I told you, Simon, Chicot hates being left alone—' Mrs Cosgrave whimpered, her eyes full of tears, her lips quivering. 'Oh, please, please do hurry—'

  The entire party hastened round to the front of the house and peered into the car. A little black body lay very still on the back seat.

  With hands that shook despite himself, Simon opened up the car and Tom, pushing him unceremoniously aside, leaned forward and picked Chicot up.

  'Oh, he's dead, I know he is!' Mrs Cosgrave wailed.

  'I told you, Simon—I told you, but you wouldn't take any notice. And now he's had a fit or something being left alone. He's so highly strung—'

  Tom, holding the dog in the crook of his arm, laid his other hand on the curly black chest.

  'He's not dead yet, Mrs Cosgrave,' he said ominously. 'But there isn't much time to spare.' He turned towards the house. 'Come along, Lisa. I'll need your help,' he flung over his shoulder.

  Lisa followed at his heels, forgetting all their differences, thankful only that she could help. For half an hour she obeyed the orders Tom flung at her without hesitation. Then for a moment he paused in the treatment he was giving and put the stethoscope to Chicot's chest. His face grew grim, but he returned to the treatment for another quarter of an hour before, again, he applied the ste
thoscope. But this time his hands dropped to his sides and he shook his head.

  'That's it,' he said grimly. 'He's had it, poor little chap. Fetch Cosgrave, please, Lisa.'

  It wasn't a task that Lisa would have chosen to do, but in Tom's present mood she couldn't argue with him. She went out to the hall and found Mrs Cosgrave sitting slumped in a chair, occasionally sniffing and mopping her eyes. Simon was striding up and down, his face grim and scowling. Of Lisa's parents and Sir Gerald there was no sign.

  As Lisa came out, both the Cosgraves turned towards her. Mrs Cosgrave said nothing, but her hands stretched out appealingly. Mr Cosgrave stood still, his feet planted wide.

  'Well?' he demanded.

  'Mr Farrier would like to see you, Mr Cosgrave,' she said briefly.

  Mrs Cosgrave gave a little cry.

  'That means—it's bad news, isn't it?' she asked, wide-eyed.

  'I'm afraid so,' Lisa said gently and then, as Simon brushed her aside and strode into Tom's quarters, she put a restraining hand on Mrs Cosgrave's arm. 'Mrs Cosgrave, don't go in. It will only distress you—'

  'But I must, my dear,' Mrs Cosgrave said firmly. 'I must know—'

  Something in the older woman's manner convinced Lisa that whether she ought to stop her or not, she wouldn't be able to so, since there was nothing else she could do, she followed in her wake and was just in time to hear Tom say, coldly and formally:

  'I regret to have to inform you that I have been unable to save your dog's life.'

  'Just as well,' Simon said harshly. 'I've no use for a dog that's so nervy he throws fits because he's left alone for a while. If this hadn't happened I'd have had him put down anyway. A dog like that's better out of the way,' he finished unfeelingly, ignoring Mrs Cosgrave's heartbroken cry.

  'Just a minute,' Tom said, dangerously quiet. 'Are you trying to make out that the dog's condition was due entirely to nerves?'