Return To Tremarth

by Susan Barrie

“I can always present him with a bill when he leaves! ”

  Hannah allowed her to have a peep at the patient before she went to bed – in another of the many bedrooms at Tremarth that she had hurriedly got ready for herself – and she found him lying with his eyes closed in a room that was illuminated very, very softly by a bedside lamp.

  At first she thought that Richard Tremarth was asleep, and she was resisting an impulse to tiptoe to the side of bed to make sure when his eyes opened swiftly, and he turned his head sideways to regard her. “Oh, so it’s you! ” he said.

  Her heart gave a quite extraordinary bound, and with a note of relief in her voice she exclaimed, “Oh, so you do remember me!” Richard Tremarth looked faintly bored, and then he began to look slightly puzzled. She was so obviously delighted because he seemed to know something about her.

  “Well, I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?” he said. “You’re the redheaded young woman who calls herself Charlotte Something-or-other I’m afraid I don’t seem to have a very retentive memory at the moment, and I’ve forgotten what your surname is. But I’m sure you told me! ”

  “Woodford,” she murmured, advancing very cautiously to the side of the bed. “Charlotte Woodford.”

  “Ah, yes.” He lay looking up at her, and apart from the fact that they had a slightly abnormal look about them his eyes shone with very subdued humour. “You asked me whether I’d seen you before, and I had to tell you the absolute truth that to the best of my knowledge you’re an absolute stranger. That other young woman, too… I didn’t know her from Eve.” “She… we’re friends,” Charlotte explained. He nodded, and winced very slightly because it obviously hurt his head.

  “That’s what she said,” he said. “I must say I find her soothing and rather comforting. Is she a fully trained nurse?”

  “She’s partially trained.”

  “She struck me as being pretty competent. She told me I wasn’t to talk, and above all that I wasn’t to ask any questions ” His eyes left her face and roved in a puzzled way round the room. “I don’t know why,” he confessed, “but I’ve got a sort of impression that this is a woman’s room. It’s very tidy at the moment, but I seem to see it littered with feminine things.” “My things.” She spoke very, very softly, close beside him, and although Hannah might not have approved she could not resist adding: “This was my room.”

  The puzzled look in his eyes worried her. He was so plainly trying hard to remember, and the effort of trying to recapture something of his past life seemed to hurt him almost as much as actually turning his head on the pillow.

  “Yours? Then why don’t you turn me out?” “Because I’m perfectly happy for you to be here… Because, as I tried to make you understand, you had an accident, and we put you to bed here.”

  “But…? Why your room…?”

  “You seemed to take a fancy to it.”

  He frowned, shut his eyes tightly for rather a long moment, and then once again let them rove round the room.

  “It’s a nice room, a very nice room. And I’ve a kind of impression the sea is outside – ”

  “It is.”

  “And I’ve been here before.”

  “You have! ”

  “When?” He looked directly up at her with very bright, clear eyes. “Tell me when! ”

  “Oh, you’ve been here several times.”

  He caught at her hand that was pressing lightly and coolly against his forehead, and he inhaled the perfume of her fingers with obvious pleasure.

  “You smell nice,” he said. “Lavender and old lace… lavender and hem-stitched pillowcases! Did someone make lavender bags in this house long ago?”

  “My aunt did.”

  “And did I know your aunt?”

  Hannah put her head round the door, then came in very purposefully and frowned reprovingly at Charlotte where she stood in close proximity to the patient in the bed.

  “I hope you’re not worrying him, Charlotte,” she whispered. “There’s lots of time for him to find out where and who he is, and tonight is not one of them…” She frowned still more as she saw the overbright eyes gazing up into Charlotte’s face as if he felt that it contained a secret. “Please say good-night and leave us,” she added urgently.

  Charlotte was filled with an extraordinary and quite unreasoning resentment as she found herself forced to leave the room and take up her station on the landing outside. She understood perfectly that Richard Tremarth, if not in an actually critical condition, was far from well, and as it was getting on for ten o’clock it was certainly far too late to be perplexing even a semi-invalid.

  But she had felt that things were stirring in Tremarth’s mind as she stood with his hand grasping her wrist and his face pressed very close to her fingers, and if only Hannah hadn’t intervened… But then Hannah, of course, was a nurse, and she was acting on instructions from the local doctor. When she rejoined Charlotte on the landing she was looking quite cross with her.

  “You really ought to have had more sense than to ask him a lot of questions,” she said. “A patient who has lost his memory gets it back gradually, and not as a result of having it jogged at a time when he ought to be asleep. I’ve given him the sedative Dr. Mackay left for him, and he should sleep peacefully throughout the night. But just in case he wakes and feels the urge to start wandering about the house as he did last night I’m going to sit with him through the night. You can wake me about six o’clock – if I should happen to doze off! ” with a certain amount of defensiveness – “with a nice cup of tea, and if everything’s all right you can sit with him for a few hours while I snatch a bit of rest. And then you can go off to Truro and do your shopping! ”

  Charlotte was suddenly and very genuinely concerned for her friend.

  “You’ll be worn out,” she protested.

  Hannah denied that she would be anything of the kind.

  “I’m tough,” she assured Charlotte. “And I’ve done this kind of thing before. But perhaps, if it’s necessary to sit with him to-morrow night, I’ll let you relieve me for a few of the darkest hours of the night. However, it’s quite possible that he’ll be very much better tomorrow.”

  “I hope so,” Charlotte breathed, and Hannah looked mildly taken aback by her strange earnestness. “I really do hope so!”

  CHAPTER V

  CHARLOTTE quite enjoyed herself in Truro the following afternoon, spending money freely or as freely as she dared – and buying all sorts of dainties for her invalid at Tremarth. She would not normally have purchased hot-house grapes at the price she paid for them, but for Richard Tremarth they seemed a good idea. And so did avocado pears and peaches, a brace of partridges (out of season, of course, and therefore very expensive) some smoked salmon and a clutch of plover’s eggs. She didn’t know why she bought the plover’s eggs, except that they, too, seemed a good idea, and if Tremarth’s appetite was likely to be as elusive as his memory he would require tempting in order that his strength should be maintained.

  Lastly, before she turned her car for home, she bought magazines and paperbacks, and then with the boot of the car loaded set off out of the car-park. The Cornish countryside that surrounds its somewhat dour capital – built upon granite over which the waves of the sea once washed, and therefore understandably a little detached and divorced from the encroachments of a modem world – is extremely attractive, and Charlotte certainly found it so as she drove along at a steady forty miles an hour, and felt for no easily understandable reason a desire to sing.

  Flowers… she thought suddenly. She might have added to her expenditure, by buying some really wonderful hot-house flowers for the invalid’s room, but the reason she had hesitated was because there were so many sweetly scented ones in the garden at Tremarth. And nothing could really improve upon a bowl of roses. She would take the scissors when she got back and snip, snip, snip until she had enough to fill a charming and rather valuable silver bowl that stood on the hall table at Tremarth and carry it up to gladden the invalid’s e
yes. She would place it on his dressing-table, where he could see it easily…

  And she might place one or two choicer blooms in a glass beside his bed. If he was as bewildered as his dark eyes indicated the roses might give him comfort.

  When she came in sight of Tremarth. after driving up over a cliff-top that was brilliantly green in the evening light, she could not prevent herself from feeling profound satisfaction as she viewed the pleasing outlines of her own house. It was such a very, very beautiful house in an even more beautiful setting, and the knowledge that it was hers affected her in much the same way as a warrior returning from a gruelling campaign that had taken him overseas to some very hostile lands might have felt when he returned to his ancestral castle.

  It was not a castle, but it was considerably more useful, and it was home. It was her home! And what was more, she could keep it! She would keep it!

  Waterloo, who had been disappointed earlier in the day because she had declined to take him with her in the car, came out and wagged his tail at the sight of her, and put his nose amongst the purchases in the boot. Hannah too emerged, and stood watching Charlotte unloading her somewhat strange collection of expensive greengrocery and other edibles, but made no attempt to assist her. She stood at the head of the flight of steps, wearing a crisp blue linen dress and a clean starched apron which she appeared to have included by accident amongst her luggage-they were left-overs from her hospital days – and looked extraordinarily efficient and charmingly wholesome with a slight application of lipstick and powder, which she usually disdained, but a little repressed, and even tight-lipped, which struck Charlotte as rather odd.

  Handing up packages containing smoked salmon and Dover sole, which she had been unable to resist, and urging careful treatment of them, Charlotte enquired why she looked so grim. With a sudden surge of anxiety she enquired:

  “There’s nothing wrong with Richard, is there? I mean, he’s not any worse?”

  “No, he’s not any worse.”

  “Has the doctor called?”

  “Oh, yes, he called shortly after you left, and was fairly satisfied with the patient’s condition. But unfortunately, also shortly after you left, someone else called to see him… and she’s still here! Upstairs in the sick-room, sitting beside the bed and already quite at home! ”

  Charlotte very nearly dropped her parcels, and her comparatively relaxed, carefree expression vanished altogether.

  “She?” she demanded.

  “A Miss Claire Brown, or so she calls herself. Says she’s Mr. Tremarth’s secretary.”

  “Oh!” Charlotte exclaimed, and she and Hannah stared at one another for rather a long moment. And then Hannah roused herself sufficiently to help Charlotte with the parcels, said she would go through to the kitchen and make her a pot of tea, if she hadn’t already had some, and suggested that Charlotte, as mistress of the house, went upstairs and interviewed the young woman who was sitting with Richard Tremarth.

  “Quite obviously he hasn’t the least idea who she is, but he seems to like having her sitting there with him. So unless you’re prepared to put her up for the night you’d better make an effort to dislodge her,” Hannah suggested. She peered inside one of the packages, and appeared somewhat overcome. “What on earth are these?” she demanded. “I thought pheasant shooting was over for this year! ”

  “They’re partridges.”

  “However much did you pay for them?”

  “I – I can’t remember.” Charlotte was peeping at herself in the hall mirror, and pushing a wayward lock of hair out of her eyes. “Do I look tidy enough to go upstairs?”

  “Of course you do. But wouldn’t you like some tea first?”

  “No, I – I think I ought to see this young woman.” Her eyes met Hannah’s very, very faintly amused brown ones. “What is she like?” she asked. “Is she -?”

  “Oh, charming. Not at all what I would describe as the average kind of secretary. And she must get a thumping good salary, because her clothes are marvellous. And she looks more like a model than a secretary… Well, that’s my opinion,” Hannah concluded, as if she personally considered her opinion was seldom at fault. “You see girls like her in the glossy magazines!

  Charlotte reached for the grapes and the peaches that she had purchased for Richard, and said she would take them with her upstairs. She took another hurried glimpse at herself in the hall mirror, wondered whether anyone would ever be likely to describe her as the type of young woman you might find in a glossy magazine, and ordered Waterloo to return to the kitchen with Hannah. Then, nervously smoothing the front of her hair again, she ascended the stairs until she stood outside Richard’s room, and even before she tapped on the door and entered she caught the monotonous drone of voices from within.

  The room – her room – was full of flowers. She need not have concerned herself about failing to buy some, for Miss Brown must have spent a small fortune on acquiring a selection of really prize blooms. Charlotte thought Hannah might have warned her as she gazed with astonishment at the tightly packed vases… and it seemed to her that every container in the house had been brought into use for the roses and lilies and other not so easily recognisable varieties that were saturating the atmosphere with perfume.

  There would be absolutely no need for her to go wielding her scissors in the garden in search of some fragrant if rather overblown blooms for the sick-room.

  Richard Tremarth was sitting up in bed and looking faintly flushed under his tanned skin, but his eyes were bright and amused, and even if he couldn’t remember very much he was obviously not suffering from boredom. His lug gage had been sent up to Tremarth from The Three Sailors, and Hannah had got him into fresh pyjamas that were quite strikingly becoming to one of his sleek, attractive darkness, especially as the almost purple blueness of the silk lent a quality of purplishblueness to his otherwise, unfathomable darkly grey eyes. And despite the fact that he was amused his eyes were still giving away few secrets. Charlotte noticed the length of his eyelashes, and felt her heart turn over.

  Miss Brown, who was occupying the most comfortable chair the room contained and sitting very close beside the bed, was laughing in an attractive way when Charlotte entered the room, and she was still laughing as she stood up to acknowledge the presence of the owner of the house. Her wood-nymph blue eyes had a bright sparkle of pure gaiety in them, under her fluttering brown eyelashes, and there was a glow like a peach in her smooth, firm cheeks. She said as she held out a hand to Charlotte, and tossed back the spun-gold hair from her shoulders:

  “You must be Miss Woodford, because Richard said you had red hair! As a matter of fact, he said you had the reddest head of hair he’d ever seen on a woman, and I’m afraid he kind of suspects it’s an indication of your temperament. But I’m sure you are behaving like a ministering angel to him at the moment, and even if he isn’t he ought to be profoundly grateful to you! I know I am, because he’s so obviously being marvellously looked after! ”

  Charlotte could not immediately think of any suitable reply to this, but she took Miss Brown’s hand and murmured something about doing the best they could – by which she meant that, she and Hannah were doing the best they could, and of course Dr. Mackay, whose bill she hoped would later be settled by Richard Tremarth. The remark about her hair did not predispose her to take a tremendous fancy to Miss Brown… particularly as the wood-violet eyes had sparkled with rather unkind humour as she made it.

  “I gather that you’re Mr. Tremarth’s secretary,” she observed. “I hope he recognised you?” she added, without any deliberate intention of sounding drily sceptical.

  Miss Brown looked downcast for a moment.

  “Well, no,” she had to admit. “I was horribly shocked because when I first walked into the room he just looked at me as if I was an absolute stranger. However, we’ve had a talk since then, and I honestly feel I’ve helped to jog his memory a little…She turned and bent gracefully over the bed, smiling warmly and encouragingly at the patient w
hile she smoothed his top sheet in a womanly way with pretty and dexterous hands. “Haven’t I, Richard darling?” she enquired softly. “You’re not quite as woolly as when I arrived! ”

  An expression of dry humour appeared in Tremarth’s eyes, and he even smiled a trifle whimsically.

  “If you mean that I’m rather woollier than when you arrived, then I’m quite ready to agree with you,” he replied, while he seated himself more comfortably against his pillows, and seemed fascinated by the evening light as it stole across Charlotte’s hair. “In my experience secretaries do not normally address their employers as ‘darling’, but perhaps you’re not an ordinary secretary?”

  Claire looked back at him quite unabashed, and continued to smile. “Well, shall we say I’m not a – frightfully ordinary secretary?” she suggested. “I manage to combine other qualities as well! ”

  Charlotte said hurriedly that she had been shopping in Truro and had bought him some grapes. She held them out to him in their paper bag, adding that she would bring a fruit dish up from the kitchen on which they could repose together with the peaches she had also bought him when she went downstairs again.

  “I – I hope you’re fond of fruit,” she said a little lamely, and received the curious impression that the invalid’s eyes actually warmed as he thanked her.

  “You’re being embarrassingly good to me! ” “That’s what I said,” Claire Brown chipped in. “When one stops to consider that it must have been frightfully inconvenient taking you in and turning this nice house into a kind of nursing-home-’ ’

  “Oh, rubbish!” Charlotte exclaimed. She looked at Miss Brown as if she could never really take to her, and then enquired rather more breathlessly of the invalid whether he liked fish.

  “I bought you some Dover sole and some smoked salmon – ” “Good heavens! ” Miss Brown exclaimed. “You are determined to spoil him! ”

  Charlotte ignored her.

  “I hope you’ll feel like a little of the sole to-night,” she said, still sounding a little as if she had hurried up several flights of stairs without pausing for breath, “because I’ve discovered a new way to cook it-a very digestible way! There’s a wonderful book of invalid cookery downstairs amongst my aunt’s books, and I’ve been looking various dishes up____________________ I hope I’ll be able to tempt you when you get your appetite back! ”