‘Everything all right?’ Judith had come back into the room, carrying a sheaf of papers and a cup of tea.
Annie smiled, very brightly. ‘Yes. Yes, everything’s fine.’
‘Fancy a cup? There’s a pot made.’
‘No, thank you.’ Desperate to get away, Annie shook her head. ‘I’ve got some errands to take care of before Davie gets home. I’ll see you next week.’
‘Good.’ The other woman gave her a quick, friendly smile and addressed herself to her paperwork.
Annie stepped out into the street. It was crowded and very busy. The noise of the traffic seemed suddenly deafening. She walked quickly; all she wanted was to get home. To be on her own. To think.
Why hadn’t he called? Or even dropped a short note to let her know he was back? Why hadn’t Miss Whatever-her-name-was recognised her name? Obviously Richard hadn’t even mentioned it to her. And yet – he had asked her to marry him. And – chagrin brought warm colour to her cheeks – she had told Davie and her mother…
She hurried up the garden path and let herself into the quiet house, flinging off her coat and hat, kicking off her shoes in a sudden savage spurt of temper. How dare he? How dare he make such a fool of her?
She stalked into the sitting room, threw herself into a chair, nibbling at her thumbnail, trying desperately to keep the goad of her anger white-hot. Trying not to feel the awful, physical ache of disappointment. She rubbed at her hot cheeks with the palms of her hands. Why should she care? She hadn’t really made up her mind to marry him anyway. Defiantly she lied to herself, fighting off the miserable tears. One thing she was resolved upon: she would not be telephoning his crabby old bat of a secretary again. Not for anything.
Unable to sit still, Annie scrambled from the chair, walked on stockinged feet to the French windows, looked out into the early summer garden. She took a deep, calming breath. She was letting her thoughts run away with her, she knew it. He’d come, of course he would. There must be some explanation, some reason for his silence. She dashed a quick hand across her eyes. There had better be, she told herself a little grimly.
It was two hours later, and she was sitting in the garden trying to read a book when she heard the sound of the front doorbell. Sighing, she laid the book aside and stood up. Davie was forever mislaying his door key. She went through the house to the front door, opened it and blinked.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Hill – these came for you this afternoon, when you were out. The lad asked me to take them in for you – but then I had to go out myself…’ The woman who stood there, rather awkwardly clutching a bunch of long-stemmed roses, was small and bird-like, with a twittering voice. Her eyes, behind rimless glasses, were bright with curiosity. She lived in the house across the road. ‘I’ve only just come back, and I said to myself, “I must deliver these straight away” – lovely flowers – I did put them in water…’
Annie’s heart had lifted. She reached for the flowers. ‘Why, thank you, Mrs Dobson, that was very kind of you.’
Mrs Dobson had her nose buried in the blooms, sniffing noisily. ‘Lovely smell, too. Flowers do make such a lovely gift, don’t they? Is it your birthday?’ Again that bright, curious glance. ‘Are congratulations in order?’ The words were coy and questioning.
Annie shook her head, trying to contain her impatience. ‘No. No congratulations, just a present from a friend, I suspect.’ Again she reached for the flowers. Reluctantly the woman gave them up.
‘Thank you again.’ Annie stepped back, began to close the door.
Mrs Dobson leaned forward confidentially. ‘Have you heard the news?’ she asked.
‘News?’ Annie’s face was blank. There was a small envelope attached to the flowers. She pulled it off, her fingers itching to open it. ‘What news?’
‘The Pattersons. The whole road’s talking about it.’
‘Pattersons?’
‘You know – at number eight. It seems,’ she leaned even closer and her voice dropped, ‘it seems she’s in the family way. Again.’ She nodded her head in an odd and smugly satisfied way.
‘Oh.’ Annie fingered the envelope distractedly. ‘That’s nice,’ she added, since the other woman was patently expecting some kind of reaction.
Mrs Dobson sniffed. ‘Four mouths to feed seems quite enough to me, when you’re only a bank clerk,’ she said, righteously pious. ‘Mr Dobson and I were saying so just the other day.’
Annie’s temper was rising. She opened her mouth to speak and then, over the woman’s shoulder, caught sight of Davie, satchel swinging, school cap at a rakish angle on the back of his head, socks wrinkled about his ankles, dawdling down the road. ‘Here comes Davie,’ she said. ‘At last! His tea is spoiling. Thank you again for taking in the flowers.’ She lifted her voice firmly, and beckoned. ‘Davie, do come along. You’re late again.’
Davie, lifting his eyebrows in faint but unconcerned surprise, quickened his pace infinitesimally. ‘Hello, Mother. Hello, Mrs Dobson.’ Then he saw the flowers and his face lit in a wide grin. ‘They from Richard? He’s back then?’
Mrs Dobson cocked an interested head. She still had not moved from the doorstep. Davie slid round her, dropped his satchel on the hall floor and tossed his cap towards the newel post, missing it by a yard and leaving it where it lay. ‘What’s for tea?’
Annie smiled sweetly at Mrs Dobson, raised her eyes to heaven. ‘Boys!’ she said, and shut the door in the inquisitive woman’s face.
Davie had perched himself on the stairs, his elbows on his bare knees, watching her. ‘Well?’ he asked, nodding towards the envelope she still held. ‘What does he say?’
She slit open the envelope. ‘If it has anything whatsoever to do with you,’ she said mildly, ‘I’ll tell you. Here – hold these for a minute.’
He skidded across the hall floor and took the proffered flowers, stood watching her with expectant eyes.
Annie read the note. Twice. Davie hopped from foot to foot. She lifted her smiling eyes to his. ‘The first part is not your concern.’
‘What about the second?’
She grinned. ‘The second says, “Pack your bags and your buckets and spades. I’ll pick you both up at nine on Saturday morning. P.S. Bring the green thing and the little black hat.”’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It’s a joke. About a dress.’
‘Oh.’ Davie shrugged, dismissing such silliness. Then his face lit up. ‘Where are we going, do you think?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea.’
He dumped the flowers back into her arms and turned to dash into the kitchen. ‘I hope it’s ever so far away.’ His voice came back to her and she heard the pantry door open. ‘A really, really long drive. Is Scotland too far, do you think?’
‘Just a bit.’ Looking back at the note, she smiled, tucked it into her pocket. There came a clattering crash from the kitchen. ‘Davie, what are you doing?’
‘I just dropped the biscuit tin.’ His voice was cheerful. ‘But it’s all right. They’re only a bit broken. I can still eat them. I’m famished!’
Chapter Eleven
‘I did threaten you with a weekend in Brighton, remember?’ Richard said with a mischievous tilt of his brow. ‘What do you think – are you up to it?’ Grinning, he relieved Annie of the large leather suitcase she had hauled to the front door and strapped it on top of his own on the fold-down luggage carrier at the rear of the car.
‘How far’s Brighton?’ Davie asked. He was swinging energetically on the garden gate, scooting it back and forth with his foot.
‘About sixty miles.’
‘Can’t we go somewhere further away?’
‘Davie! Behave yourself! Get off that gate and go and fetch your bucket and spade and the other things. And don’t forget your paddling sandals,’ Annie called after her son as he scurried up the path and through the front door. She shook her head ruefully as she looked after him. ‘I do apologise. He’s been so excited—’
‘Abo
ut going to the seaside?’
‘No, don’t be daft – about going in the motor car!’ Annie laughed. ‘He suggested that we might go to Scotland.’
‘That could be arranged,’ he said quietly.
She turned to look at him. His narrow eyes were steady on her face. The expression in them brought a faint flush of colour to her cheeks. She flashed him a quick smile. ‘Did your disapproving Miss Brownel tell you that I rang?’ she asked lightly.
He nodded, laughing. ‘Oh, yes. The disapproving Miss Brownel tells me everything that goes on in the office. That’s what she’s there for.’
‘She sounded as if she was there to protect you from man-eating female clients.’ The words held a faintly caustic edge.
‘I think she does feel some responsibility in that department.’ Richard nodded gravely. ‘She’s been with me for a very long time, and before that worked for my father.’
Annie could not contain her curiosity. ‘How old is she?’
He considered, his head on one side. ‘Oh – about a hundred and eighty, I’d say,’ he said, straightfaced. ‘But her shorthand is very good.’
Annie giggled a little. ‘Don’t be silly.’
‘Next time you phone she’ll know who you are. I explained to her that ours was something rather more than a working relationship.’
‘You hadn’t already told her?’
He looked at her in surprise. ‘No. Why should I? Miss Brownel and I don’t have that kind of conversation. Or at least, even if I wanted to, Miss Brownel doesn’t. She’s run that office for upwards of thirty years, and I know absolutely nothing about her private life. Miss Brownel “keeps herself to herself” as she frequently puts it.’
‘Mo-other. Do I have to bring my sun hat?’ Davie had appeared at the front door, arms full of buckets, spades and sandals.
‘Yes,’ his mother said firmly, ‘you do.’
‘O-oh!’
‘Get on with it, Davie,’ she said, with crisp patience, ‘or we’ll leave without you. The hat’s on the kitchen table.’ She turned. Richard was holding open the car door for her.
She hesitated. He saw it, shook his head, smiling. ‘Davie,’ he said, ‘can take a back seat for a change. I want you beside me.’ As she climbed into the car she saw Mrs Dobson’s curtains twitch. She ducked her head to hide her smile. Mrs Dobson was undoubtedly adding two and two together and coming to a very satisfactory four. Anyone in the road who was unlucky enough to miss their departure would not, she guessed, be left in such a state of deprivation for long.
‘I rang you at home as well,’ she said on impulse as he opened the back door and stood waiting for Davie. ‘There was no reply.’
‘I wasn’t there.’ The words were easy. Richard’s eyes were on the open front door; for a moment she thought he would say no more. Then he glanced at her. ‘My sister – the one in South Africa? – is sending her son back here to England to school. She asked me to check out a couple of schools for her.’
As simple as that. Why had she been so silly? So suspicious?
Davie came out of the door, crashing it shut behind him. ‘All right, young man. Give me those while you climb aboard.’ Richard took the assorted bits and pieces from Davie, helped him into the car and piled his possessions on the seat beside him. The heavy diabolo rolled across the leather seat and thumped on the floor. Richard grinned. ‘Have you brought the entire contents of your toy cupboard?’
‘More or less.’
‘Would you mind locking the door for me?’ Annie had taken a key from her handbag. Richard took it, went to the front door and locked it, dropped the key in his own pocket before coming back to the car and swinging with practised ease into the driving seat. Well, Annie thought, as she settled herself comfortably in her own seat, that should give the meddlesome Mrs Dobson something to think about. For an amused moment she considered waving as they drove away, but – with enormous self-restraint – resisted the temptation.
As they pulled away from the kerb Richard glanced at her. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve taken the liberty of booking rooms in a small family hotel I know. It’s run by a very nice couple – the Suttons – and is near the sea. I’ve also booked dinner for us tonight at the Grand. I’ve already checked with Mrs Sutton and she says she’ll keep an eye on Davie for us—’
‘Can’t I come?’ asked the sharp-eared Davie from the back seat.
Richard shook his head. ‘Today is your treat, tonight is your mother’s.’
‘Does that mean I can do as I like today?’ the lad asked hopefully, glancing at Annie.
‘Within reason,’ Richard conceded. ‘Which way do you want to go? The main roads or the pretty route?’
‘Which way will take longest?’
‘We’ll travel faster on the main roads, despite the speed limit. The pretty route will take longer.’
Davie settled back in his seat. ‘Let’s go that way then.’
Annie, laughing, glanced over her shoulder at her son. ‘Doing what you like,’ she said, ‘does not include driving around in the car all day.’
‘I don’t want to drive all day,’ he reassured her. ‘Just quite a lot of it.’
Richard manoeuvred out into the main road. ‘That reminds me,’ he said over his shoulder, ‘I’ve got a book for you in my suitcase. I think you might enjoy it. It’s called By Car to India and it’s a true story written by a Major Forbes-Leith who drove his Wolseley over eight and a half thousand miles, to India—’
‘Gosh!’ Davie leaned forward eagerly. ‘How long did that take him?’
‘About five and a half months,’ Richard laughed. ‘I guess that would be a long enough journey even for you?’
It was a lovely day, warm and sunny with cotton-wool clouds dotting the blue sky. Before long they had left the congested streets of London and the suburbs behind and were driving with the windows open through the rolling wooded countryside, talking, telling jokes, singing songs. They wove their way through the winding, narrow streets of bustling market towns and quiet rural villages, passed cottages and grand houses, streams and pastures, patchworks of hedgerows and neatly tended fields. Richard and Davie kept up an almost unbroken stream of chatter; Annie for the most part was content to listen, and to smile. She had never felt so happy. Acutely aware of the man beside her, catching his eye every now and again as he turned to glance at her or reached briefly to touch her hand, any doubts or fears she might have been harbouring simply and suddenly evaporated. Why had she made it so difficult for herself – and for him? People did meet and fall in love. Of course they did. There was no statutory timescale, no litmus test to prove it one way or another; it happened, and had to be taken on trust.
Davie was singing at the top of his voice. ‘One man and his dog, went to mow a meadow—’
‘Penny for them?’ Richard asked, raising his voice against the sound of the wind through the open window, his quick, smiling glance warm.
She shook her head. ‘I was just thinking what a lovely day it is. I think I’d like it to go on for ever.’ Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
His smile answered the words.
‘You aren’t singing!’ Davie bellowed without taking breath.
Richard, grinning, obediently joined in. ‘Two men, one man and his dog, went to mow a meadow—’
It was coming up to lunchtime when the great South Downs loomed in the distance. ‘What do you want to do?’ Richard called against the warm wind that blustered through the open windows. ‘We can stop for lunch somewhere or head straight on into Brighton – which do you fancy?’
Annie turned questioningly to her son. Davie bounced on his seat. ‘The seaside,’ he said immediately, having obviously already given the matter some thought. ‘We can have fish and chips. In newspaper.’
Annie rolled her eyes to heaven, Richard laughed and put his foot on the accelerator. ‘Very well. Fish and chips it is!’
‘In newspaper,’ Davie repeated fir
mly.
‘In newspaper.’
* * *
The day was, without a doubt, one of the most enjoyable Annie had ever spent. Richard entered into the spirit of Davie’s day with an energy and enthusiasm that would have done credit to a child. They ate their fish and chips – in newspaper and well doused in vinegar – sitting on a bench on one of the town’s two piers, with the sea sucking and slurping beneath them. Afterwards, shepherded by Davie, they played the penny machines, rode on the fairground rides, bought sugared almonds at a pretty kiosk, and watched a hurdy-gurdy man with a dancing monkey. They hired deckchairs and sat on the beach. Davie rode three times on the donkeys, his sandalled heels drumming against the flanks of the shaggy, docile beasts in a completely futile attempt to make them gallop. They built a huge and intricate sandcastle and paddled in the shallow water, picking up stones and shells for Davie’s collection. Davie and Richard had a diabolo competition, which Richard won, while Davie outsmarted both the adults at quoits on the smooth, tide-washed sand. It was a hot and somewhat dishevelled party who gathered their belongings at last and trailed to where the car was parked to dump them untidily on the back seat. The car, having stood in the sun for the best part of four hours, was hot as a cooking stove.
‘I’ll open a couple of windows,’ Richard said, ‘and we can round off the afternoon with an ice cream, if you’d like. I told the Suttons we’d be there at about five, so we have time.’
They wandered back towards the pier. ‘There’s a “Stop-me-and-Buy-One”,’ said sharp-eyed Davie, pointing.
‘Here.’ Richard reached into his pocket for a coin. ‘Go and get yourself one.’
He looked enquiringly at Annie, who shook her head, smiling. ‘I think I’d better save myself for dinner.’
‘We’ve got tea to get through yet,’ he grinned. ‘Mrs Sutton’s cream teas are famous, and I can’t see Davie allowing us to miss that!’
Treacherous Waters Page 13