by Betty Neels
They climbed steadily and presently sat down to rest. The sun was warm now, the sky a brilliant blue, the water shining like glass.
‘This is a magnificent place,’ observed the doctor. ‘Will you mind leaving it?’
‘Yes. Each time I come I tell myself that I’ll come again very soon, but somehow it isn’t possible—although now that Felicity lives on her own and has so many friends she won’t want me to go on holiday with her, so I’ll come again. I’d like to come for Christmas.’
Louisa had stretched out on the grass. She had kicked off her sandals and the gentle wind was playing havoc with her topknot. Her eyes were shut but she went on talking. ‘Is it a secret your being up here? Something to do with Sir James going off like that in a hurry?’
‘Partly a secret, so don’t ask questions.’
‘I’ve often wondered—do doctors tell their wives things they’re not supposed to talk about?’
‘I imagine it rather depends on the wife...’
She opened an eye to look at him. ‘Will you tell Helena when you’re married?’
‘You have an unruly tongue, Louisa. I have no intention of answering that.’
The splendid air must have gone to Louisa’s head; she said airily, ‘Oh, have I annoyed you? I expect you’re wishing that she was here instead of me.’
The doctor, who wasn’t wishing anything of the sort, merely grunted.
She sat up and put on her sandals again. She said, ‘It’s hard for us to be friends, isn’t it? Now and then we get on quite well, don’t we? And then I say something you don’t approve of and you come over all distant. We’d better go back; it’ll be lunch time by the time we get there.’ She hesitated. ‘If you’d rather not stay for lunch... There’s nothing worse than having to eat a meal with someone you don’t see eye to eye with.’
The doctor said in a quiet voice, ‘Perhaps we might bury the hatchet? Just for a few days while I am in Scotland?’
‘Well, that would be nice. We could forget about the consulting rooms and Percy and Helena.’
He got up and pulled her to her feet. ‘We’ll shake on that.’ As they started back he asked, ‘Have your aunt and uncle always lived here?’
She explained about them as they strolled back. ‘Aunt Kitty is my mother’s elder sister. She didn’t marry until she was in her forties. Uncle Bob has lived here for years; the house was his father’s, and his grandfather’s before him. He’s retired now, but he had a solicitor’s practice in Torridon. They’re two of the happiest and most contented people I know.’
‘They are to be envied. Your aunt lived in Salisbury before she married?’
‘No, she was a fashion buyer for a big shop in Bath; she used to come and see mother when she was alive.’
‘This is a far cry from a fashion showroom.’
‘She hasn’t missed it. I think that’s because she loves Uncle Bob so much, nothing else is as important.’
‘She is to be envied, and so is your uncle—to have such a wife must be something every man longs for.’
Louisa, on the point of making some polite remark about Helena, decided against it. He had spoken casually but the look on his face was bleak.
Uncle Bob was home for lunch; it was a leisurely meal, and he and his guest discovered a mutual interest in trout fishing, although they were polite enough to include Aunt Kitty and Louisa in their talk. It was early afternoon before Thomas got up to go, but only after he had suggested that Louisa might like to show him more of the country round the loch.
‘We might take Bellow and find a pub for lunch?’
He was just sufficiently casual, and at the same time too friendly to refuse. Besides, Louisa didn’t want to refuse. She said, ‘All right, but I’ll bring some sandwiches.’
‘Splendid. About ten o’clock?’
After he had gone, Aunt Kitty said briskly, ‘Well, there’s a decent man for you. He must be a splendid doctor, one you can trust.’
Louisa said primly, ‘Yes, I believe he’s very well thought of. I don’t know much about him.’ She added, ‘He’s engaged to a beautiful girl,’ just so that Aunt Kitty didn’t get ideas into her head.
Her aunt gave her an innocent look. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. Will they marry soon?’
‘I don’t know. They—he never talks about it.’
‘You would think that a handsome, successful man, engaged to a beautiful girl, would want to marry without delay. Perhaps he hasn’t a house?’
‘He has a lovely house—in a very small village—old and rambling and beautifully furnished.’
‘Oh, well,’ said Aunt Kitty, getting to the root of the matter. ‘The girl is in no hurry to wed.’
‘She is having too good a time and...’ She paused. ‘She is so sure of him that she will only marry when she wants to. Her name is Helena and she is the most unsuitable wife for Thomas. I hate her!’
Aunt Kitty, satisfied with her probing, said comfortably, ‘She sounds perfectly horrid. Men can be so stupid, you know, when it comes to their own feelings.’
* * *
They were lucky with the weather. It was a glorious day again. With food and drink in a rucksack on the doctor’s shoulders, and Bellow prancing around them, they set off. They walked miles, stopping to admire the view from time to time, eating their sandwiches sitting on an outcrop of rock above the loch, talking about nothing in particular.
They got back in time for tea at Aunt Kitty’s—scones and honey, bannock, baps with strawberry jam, sponge cake light as air, and endless cups of tea.
Louisa, listening to Thomas and Uncle Bob discussing sheep farming, wished that the day would never end. But, of course, it did. The doctor went away presently, saying all the right things with his beautiful manners to her aunt, and adding casually, ‘A very pleasant day, Louisa. I shall be away tomorrow and part of the day following. And then I have Sir James’s appointments. You return on Saturday, don’t you? So do I. I’ll drive you back.’
He watched her face carefully as he spoke and saw disappointment, chased away by hastily assumed indifference.
‘That’s very kind of you, but I have my return train ticket.’
‘You can trade that in when you get back. We’ll leave here mid-morning, spend the night on the way and get back to Salisbury the following evening.’
‘Where?’ asked Louisa.
‘The Lakes. I told my mother to expect us.’
‘But I haven’t said I’ll come with you...and I don’t know your mother.’
‘A good opportunity to get to know each other,’ he said cheerfully.
Most unfairly, she thought, he enlisted Aunt Kitty’s aid. ‘Don’t you think it is a good idea?’ he wanted to know.
‘Very sensible. So much pleasanter than that long train journey and getting back tired out. Especially since you have to work in the morning, Louisa.’
‘Well,’ said Louisa slowly, ‘if I won’t be in the way at your home, I’ll come with you.’ She gave him a sharp look to make sure that he wasn’t being polite. There was nothing but friendliness in his face, and she had to admit to herself that she enjoyed his company, although probably once they were back in Salisbury they would resume their guarded attitude towards each other.
‘Splendid,’ said Thomas. ‘I’ll pick you up around ten o’clock on Saturday morning.’
‘You’ll have coffee before you go?’ asked Aunt Kitty. ‘And you’ll take a pot of my strawberry jam to your mother...’
* * *
Louisa had to admit to feeling lonely when he had gone. It’s only because there’s no one else and it was pleasant to have someone to walk with, she reflected, and I dare say he felt the same, since he had to be here anyway. She wondered if he would tell Helena, and decided that he would; he wasn’t a man to conceal anything from hi
s future wife. Helena wasn’t going to like it, though.
Louisa thought of her efforts to get Percy and Helena interested in each other and wished that she had never meddled. It was none of her business whom Thomas married; probably Helena loved him dearly, and as for him, although he had never shown his feelings in public, he must be wildly in love with her. The very idea made her feel so wretched that she went for a long and tiring walk in the sudden rain, assuring her aunt that she simply had to see as much of the loch as she could before she went home again.
But it gave her the opportunity to think clearly. When she got back she would try and undo any harm which she might have done—perhaps coerce Percy back to herself, much though she disliked the idea, and leave the doctor and Helena to be together as often as possible. If she could persuade Percy to spend as much time as possible with her, then probably he and Helena would presently become less interested in each other.
Filled with uplifting thoughts, Louisa went to bed.
* * *
On Saturday, her bags packed, once more in the suitable outfit for travelling and her hair pinned securely, Louisa went downstairs to wish Thomas a good morning.
He was standing by the open kitchen door, talking to her uncle, but he turned to look at her. A long look which took in her formal clothes and disciplined hair; already she was well on the way to being Miss Howarth again. She looked a little pale, too, and worried, and he wondered why. Perhaps because she was sad at leaving. He said cheerfully that it was going to be a lovely day and driving to the Lakes would be delightful.
A remark to which she replied politely as she drank her coffee. Not the happy, carefree girl who had walked the hills with him, thought the doctor, but whether she was Miss Howarth or Louisa he wasn’t able to forget her for one moment. And, even if she didn’t return his love, he knew that he could never marry Helena. And, even though the prospect didn’t look too good, he had every intention of marrying Louisa.
They set off presently, waved away with warm invitations to return as soon as they could, Aunt Kitty blithely taking it for granted that they would come together. Louisa, her head twisted round to look back so that she could get a last glimpse of the house and the village, and finally a last glimpse, too, of the loch, faced front at last and stared ahead of her. She wanted to weep because she had been happy and because she wasn’t sure what awaited her when they reached Salisbury.
‘We’ll go as far as Spean Bridge and then on to Fort William. We’ll stop there for lunch, then take the A82, go through the Pass of Glencoe and Rannoch Moor to Glasgow, then go down the A74 to Carlisle. We can stop for tea before we cross over into England.’
He spoke casually, not looking at her, making light of their long journey.
‘Where do we go from Carlisle?’
‘Troutbeck. A village about thirty miles from Carlisle, a few miles north of Windermere. It’s very small, buried in the hills.’
‘It’s your family home?’
‘Yes. My mother lives there. Are you quite comfortable? Is Bellow asleep?’
She turned to look. ‘Yes. Does he like long journeys?’
‘Oh, yes. He’s gone everywhere with me since he was a puppy.’
He began to tell her about Lucky, keeping up a gentle flow of talk, and the awkwardness she had been feeling gradually slipped away. So silly, she thought; she had never felt awkward with him before. Even when they hadn’t been the best of friends she had never felt uncertain and—horrors—shy of him. Realising that made her stiff and reserved again, although Thomas didn’t appear to notice, pointing out interesting bits of scenery as they sped past, for all the world as though he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
Which he was, of course.
At Fort William he took her to one of the hotels, left her to find the Ladies, told her he would meet her in the bar, and went for a brisk walk with Bellow. Louisa, tidying her already tidy hair and powdering her freckled nose, took a good look at herself. She had a healthy colour from all the fresh air at her aunt’s house, but she didn’t look her best somehow. She practised a few smiles and cheerful expressions, decided that she had got fat, and, thoroughly dissatisfied with her person, went along to the bar.
Thomas and Bellow were already there, sitting at a table overlooking the street, and they both got to their feet as she reached them. Bellow greeted her as though he hadn’t seen her for weeks, but the doctor was more restrained.
‘We’ll eat here, if you don’t mind. Sandwiches? A salad? I’d like to get on again as soon as possible. What would you like to drink?’
‘Tonic and lemon, thanks, and sandwiches will be fine. I had a huge breakfast. I must stop eating for a bit—all that good wholesome Highland food...’
When he’d given their order he gave her a leisurely glance. ‘You’re just right as you are.’
She cast him a suspicious look. He was being polite, not meaning a word of it, otherwise how could he be in love with Helena and her complete lack of curves?
He was watching her face. ‘No, I mean it, Louisa.’ He was smiling a little, and she blushed and then frowned fiercely, annoyed with herself because of it. The arrival of the sandwiches caused a welcome diversion.
They were off again very shortly, driving down the A82 towards Glasgow, still miles away. The Bentley was comfortable and roomy and there was little traffic, the scenery was beautiful, grand and awe-inspiring under a blue sky. ‘I could go on for ever,’ said Louisa suddenly.
‘So could I, but probably for a different reason.’ He sounded as though he was laughing. ‘We’re making good time; I had expected more traffic.’
They had crossed Rannoch Moor and presently were driving alongside Loch Lomond. For almost sixty miles there was a series of unending beauty until they neared Glasgow. Thomas worked his way round the edge of the city and picked up the motorway to Carlisle. At Gretna, he cut across to the A74.
‘Tea?’ he asked. ‘You must be longing for a cup. We’ll stop in the next village.’
They stopped at Blackford, just north of Carlisle, for their tea, a splendid meal of teacakes, scones, bannock, and a dish of pastries rich with cream.
‘This is my final fling,’ said Louisa, choosing a second cake. ‘I shall eat nothing but salads and those horrid biscuit things which taste like hay.’
Before they reached Carlisle, the doctor joined the M6, and at Penrith took the road to Troutbeck, still another twenty-five miles or so. Louisa stared out at the distant mountains and felt nervous. Supposing his mother didn’t like her? And would she wonder why he hadn’t brought Helena with him instead of a complete stranger? The doctor hadn’t spoken for some time, and she wondered uneasily if he was regretting his invitation.
They were on a narrow country road now, surrounded by wooded hills and wide meadows. There was no sign of a village, only an occasional farmhouse standing well back from the road.
Louisa said, ‘Are we nearly there? It’s very beautiful country.’
There was no need for him to answer for round the next bend she saw the first of the houses. Troutbeck was a scattered village, strung out along the road for the best part of a mile, a charming mixture of cottages, small, neat houses which looked as though they had been there for ever, and larger houses on the lower slopes of the hills behind them.
At the very end of the village the doctor turned into a narrow side lane and then through an open gateway, along a short drive bordered by shrubs, and stopped before the door of the house at its end. A house built of grey stone, ample in size and with a wing to one side. It had tall chimneys and a large conservatory along one wall. There were trees around it, and a vast lawn like green velvet surrounded by flowerbeds.
‘How very nice,’ said Louisa, getting out of the car as the doctor held the door for her. She looked at him and smiled. ‘That’s quite inadequate, isn’t it? Did you grow up here?
’
‘I was born here. It’s been in the family for a very long time. Come in and meet my mother!’
He whistled to Bellow and they crossed the raked gravel and went through the open door into a wide hall with a curving staircase at its end. There were a great many doors, and one of them was flung open now and his mother came towards them.
‘Thomas, my dear.’ She lifted her face for his kiss, and Louisa had a moment to study her hostess. As tall as herself, rather stout, elegantly dressed with grey hair worn in an old-fashioned style. Mrs Gifford must have been a very pretty woman in her youth. Indeed, she was still remarkably handsome...
‘Mother, this is Louisa Howarth.’ He looked at Louisa and smiled. ‘Louisa, this is my mother.’
Louisa took the hand offered to her and met the blue eyes squarely. They were just like her son’s—clear and sharp.
‘We shall like each other,’ said Mrs Gifford rather disconcertingly. ‘Come and see your room and then we’ll dine. You must be hungry; you’ve come a long way. Thomas, bring the bags in, will you? I’ve put Louisa in the little summer room.’
Another door opened and a stout, elderly little woman trotted towards them. ‘Mr Thomas, there you are at last.’ A beady dark eye took in Louisa. ‘And your young lady.’ She lifted a round, wrinkled face for him to kiss. ‘And just you leave those bags for me...’
The doctor hugged her. ‘Ada, you grow more beautiful each time I see you. Leave the bags. This is Miss Louisa Howarth—doubtless you know all about her.’
Ada bounced over to Louisa. ‘And as pretty a picture as ever I did see.’ She pronounced, ‘You’ll be a bonny bride, miss; I’ll be glad to dance at your wedding.’
Louisa opened her mouth to explain and caught Mrs Gifford’s eye. ‘I’ll explain later,’ said that lady sotto voce and led the way up the uncarpeted staircase.
‘I do apologise for that, Louisa—I may call you that? Ada has been with us since she was a young girl—she’s part of the family. She’s getting old now, but she still acts as our housekeeper, although she has plenty of help. But she does get confused at times, especially when she gets excited. She adores Thomas, you see, and I fancy she thinks you are to marry him.’